#fidgets dismay | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lowkeyren · 11 months ago

Text

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME!

in which — sunday, realizing he fell head over heels for you, tries to push you away, only to have his efforts backfire, which leads to a heated confession.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

wc: 2.3k, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, woooo tension!!!, takes place before penacony quests, sunday fumbles everyone cook him rn, apology scene ib maxton hall, reblogs r much appreciated! from event req: here + art by @/hanahanayart on x

the first thing sunday noticed about you was how you consistently avoided meeting his gaze, how your eyes seemed to wander, frequently darting to the ground.

even now, as you’re sitting across the table from him, you’re fidgeting with your hands, fingers nervously twisting the small charm on your bracelet. your eyes flit from the patterned tablecloth to the rim of your teacup, never settling on him for more than a moment.

you’re tense, he notes.

as you both go through the marriage contract, he finds himself distracted by the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, and how your fingers fidget with the edges of the document; a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he observes your gestures.

the moment you notice him staring however, you stiffen and abruptly shift in your seat. he watches as the flush on your cheeks grows more pronounced, and your words come out in awkward stammers as you try to continue the subject.

though he catches on, quickly averting his gaze to spare you any further embarrassment. the corner of his mouth twitches as he shakes his head slightly.

right, you must be the type to be easily swayed by looks and status.

of course he’s aware of his own charm, and even more so, the effect he has on others —evident by the multitude of pursuers vying for his hand in marriage.

but something is different about you, different enough to intrigue him, different enough to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, different and compelling enough for him to entertain the idea of marrying you.

sunday is a busy man.

his schedule is packed with a myriad of tasks ranging from managing various negotiations to organizing the upcoming charmony festival. his desk is cluttered with intricate sketches of the festival’s layouts, post-it notes with scribbled annotations, stacks of detailed itineraries, and reminders of… you.

you have a knack for surprising sunday with unique gifts that inevitably end up on his desk.

for instance, the delicate keychain that’s shaped like a tiny halo dangling just of reach, or the hand-knitted coaster he sets his mug on, or a handwritten note reminding him to take a break with a small doodle of him in the corner, or the sleek pen he’s using right now, personalised just for him (he complained about pens having grips that were too slippery or uncomfortable once.)

somehow, you never fail to invade his thoughts at every given chance. the worst part? he actually started looking forward to your presence —much to his dismay.

he doesn't know when exactly it started, but he’s certain “it’s all your fault” because he finds himself checking his phone much more frequently, eagerly awaiting your messages. he’s also become attuned to your daily visits, recognizing the distinct sound of your footsteps as they approach his office. heck he even finds himself rearranging his schedule to make sure he’s free during your usual visit time.

you plague his mind to the extent that it distracts him, where he finds himself unable to focus on his work without your voice suddenly echoing in his thoughts; the sound of your infectious laughter, the warmth of your smile like a siren’s call, and the endearing stutter in your words when you say his name —which all seems to linger and sway with every thought.

sunday fears that he may have loved you more than he will ever allow himself to.

sunday gazes at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. his brows are furrowed, and a deep sigh escapes him as he tries to calm his turbulent thoughts, gripping the edge of the sink for support.

his current dishevelled appearance bears a striking resemblance to that of a fallen angel; stunningly attractive, yet marred by a decadent edge that whispers of turpitude.

as the head of the oak family, he shoulders countless responsibilities and maintains a careful distance from those around him. so is it wrong when he feels a twinge of insult, almost as if it's shameful to be powerless to resist you, when you entered his life with a mere marriage contract but seamlessly wove yourself into the deepest, darkest corners of his heart?

“sunday, are you okay? you’ve been in there for a while!” your voice echoes from the other side of the door, tinged with worry and care.

he’s confounded by your unwavering concern, unable to fathom as to why you continue to pour your heart into him, even as he remains cold and indifferent. he appears detached to you, often aloof and devoid of any intimacy —yet you never seem to mind.

you make him want to tear down the carefully constructed barriers he’s built around his heart and hold you close. even now as you soothe his back and gently preen his wings, he finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of abandoning his old ways and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.

but he thinks you don't have to be so insistent on winning him over, really. because he has already belonged to you in a way that’s intrinsic, a devotion deadlier than hell.

perhaps he just hasn't come to accept it yet.

walking along the streets of golden hour, sunday is painfully aware of the stare you fixate on his figure, even though you try to be discreet about it. when his hand lightly grazes against yours, you freeze momentarily, your body tensing before you quickly adjust your pace to match his long strides, positioning yourself at his side.

you notice that his face is etched with a grim expression, lips drawn tight; he appears visibly stressed, a noticeable contrast to his usual calm demeanor.

“ahem…” you clear your throat, “y’know,” you begin, your voice soft with an attempt at comfort, “whenever i feel upset, i've found that treating myself to something nice to eat always helps lift my spirits.”

your words hang in the air as he remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead; undeterred, you continue speaking.

“there’s a new restaurant robin told me about yesterday, would you—”

“—stop talking.”

his words seem to have escaped louder than intended, drawing the attention of bystanders who now stop to observe the scene. murmurs ripple through the crowd as they exchange curious glances.

“oh… well i just wanted t—”

“just, leave me alone for once,” he interrupts sharply, each syllable from his lips like a drop of acid, eroding the walls of your heart until nothing is left but a hollow ache.

a flash of regret crosses his face the moment he sees your face drop. he watches in silence as you nod curtly before pushing your way through the gathering crowd, the haunting image of your hurt expression only further exacerbates the stress he’s already grappling with.

you gaze at the chat screen with sunday’s name, your fingers hesitantly hovering over the send button; his words from a few days ago echo relentlessly in your head, replaying over and over again.

you sigh before putting your phone down. he probably doesn’t want you bothering him, right?

in that case, even if he was 'annoyed' by you, why did he have to say it in front of everyone? sure he was cold to you at times, but you thought he cared for you at least a little. and if he intended to push you away, why accept your gifts in the first place?

regardless, you’re not about to forgive him so easily. your dignity demands that you maintain your distance for now, not merely out of pride but also to give him a taste of his own medicine.

sunday hasn’t received your usual “good morning” text today… the day before, and the week before. actually, he hasn’t seen you at all either. (but robin has, she mentioned that she noticed you seemed a bit down. when she asked about it, though, you didn’t give her a clear answer.)

his office feels eerily quiet without your timely “interruptions”; his desk, once cluttered with your little gifts and notes, now sits noticeably emptier. most importantly, your absence only serves to distract him more than your presence ever did.

he has lost count of the times he’s run his hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration that has become all too common lately. what he said that day, was purely “in the heat of the moment”, a lapse into uncharacteristic harshness he now deeply regrets.

he envisions the hurt in your eyes, the way your expression crumpled as his words pierced the air, the weight of his own words gnaws at him, and he feels a pang of guilt so sharp it almost physically hurts.

he may have been reserved with his affection, but he never intended for his words to wound you so deeply. ultimately, he was only trying to guard the vulnerability he rarely reveals; but now, his facade has crumbled. and even he can no longer convince himself of the cold indifference he once tried to project.

it’s a bitter irony that he thinks you shouldn’t try so hard to win him over, when he tries just as hard to resist you.

his efforts would have paid off,

—if only his heart is as cold as he pretends it is.

he hears your footsteps for the first time in two weeks.

as you enter, he tries to mask the relief on his face, but his eyes betray him, softening as they lock onto you; his pulse quickens, and he rises from his desk almost instinctively. as usual, you keep your eyes averted, but today, the familiar shyness has been replaced by a palpable tension that he can’t ignore.

you set the stack of documents on his desk before turning to leave in silence, but his hand reaches out and gently grasps your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“—wait, please,” his voice trembles.

you turn around, finally meeting his gaze. the steady rhythm of his heart quickens into an erratic flutter, almost like a caged dove desperate to escape.

“i apologise… for what happened that day.”

“a simple ‘sorry’ would suffice for the embarrassment you put me through, but it doesn’t erase the sting of your words or the way you belittle my feelings,” your voice quivers slightly.

you shake your head and let out a frustrated sigh. “listen, i’m not a pawn for you to play with. just tell me how you really feel, not what you think i want to hear.”

you pause, searching his face for any sign of genuine emotion, but all you find is the same frustrating distance. “i mean it, i’m truly sorry, please let m—”

“you can’t just say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine." you scoff and wrench your hand away from his grasp with a sharp jerk, “cut the crap, you’re seriously driving me insane!”

there's a pause before he responds. “im driving you insane?” his eyes narrow, his expression growing intense as he steps closer. with each step he takes towards you, you retreat until your back hits the edge of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing against you.

“but do you know what you do to me?” his hair tumbles messily and hangs over his forehead. “do you think it’s easy for me to keep my composure when everything you do makes it harder for me to hold it together?”

his hands, which were previously clenched at his sides, now grip the edges of the bookshelf on either side of you, closing the space between you even further.

“maybe i’ve been distant,” his voice, though strained, holds a desperate edge. “but it’s not because i don’t care, it’s because i'm terrified of what i might feel if i let myself get too close.”

“it’s because you drive me insane —and i can’t get enough of it.”

you pause, taking in his raw confession before burying your face into his shoulder; a damp patch forming on his clothes. “but it’s not fair, sunday.” your fingers dig into his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.

“you can’t push me away and then pull me back in with your words.” your words are muffled; he tenderly runs his hand along your back, his soothing touch calming you down.

he sighs before saying, “i know i’m sorry, please give me some time, i’ll make things right.”

“promise?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. he gently cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “i promise.”

and this time, he lets himself sink in your embrace, holding you tighter than before. it’s then he realises just how much he had missed out on.

extra:

“darling...”

“hm?” you gently stroke his wings, smoothing out the feathers with delicate care.

his wings flutter slightly under your gentle hands, softly rustling as you brush through the layers of plumage.

“why were you delivering documents to me that day?” he asks, voice laden with curiosity.

you let out a soft chuckle as you recall the nervous expressions of the staff on that day when sunday walked into his office. his wings had fluttered with every tentative step someone took toward him, a clear sign of his agitation.

“i don’t know,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “maybe none of your staff dared to come near you, so they asked for my help.”

he subconsciously leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “well i’m grateful you came by,” he murmurs, though he can’t quite hide the way his wings quiver in response to your tender caresses.

“it turns out, i got more than just a set of documents that day."

you raise an eyebrow playfully. "oh? and what might that be?"

he leans in closer, his forehead gently touching yours, “a reminder of how much i need you."

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

2K notes · View notes

igorluvr · 6 months ago

Note

Can you do some with nam gyu?

‘HERE WITH ME | nam-gyu x reader

PAIRING: nam-gyu x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: when you enter the Squid Games, you encounter a particular group of people, and to your surprise, one of them takes a special liking to you.

CONTENT: heavyyyy fluff, he’s a big softie for u, reader replaces gyeong su oops, love at first sight aww, shy!reader, both fall in love too fast

AUTHORS NOTE: first fic !! i didn’t know what to write abt so i came up with my own plot i hope u enjoyyy !!

word count: [1k]

AFTER the first game, you lost all motivation to keep going. Hours felt like days, eating felt like a chore, and you felt horrible for leaving your little sister alone in the world. You told her it would be just a couple days, that “big sis would be back soon,” but now you knew that you might never reunite—at least not in this lifetime.

Everything felt disgusting. You ran to the bathroom and cried for what felt like hours, feeling like vomiting as you scrubbed the blood and guts off your skin, washing so hard you swore some of the blood was yours. The walk back to your room felt like a death sentence as the smell of bodies grew stronger.

Sitting on your bed, you stared into space, trying to distract your mind from all the carnage. It felt as if the world outside was dead silent, with nothing happening beyond your little bubble. Hunger stabbed at your stomach as everyone else lay asleep. Using the dark, quiet room as an escape, you imagined floating in space, where nothing could hurt you, finally alone with your thoughts and soul.

That peace was abruptly shattered when the lights suddenly blared on, like a siren reminding you of where you were. “Damn,” you thought, “I stayed up the whole night?” The pink-suited guards lined everyone up and loaded them into the colorful hallway, leading to the next game. You weren’t sure if it was due to hunger, lack of sleep, or pure terror, but you felt weak as you walked up the steps, each stomp taking a toll on your body.

You heard from the previous winner that you would be playing dalgona, but when you entered the next room, you were met with two circular rainbows and six lanes. The announcer instructed everyone to form groups of five. Even though you hadn't played many games as a child, it was common sense to know dalgona was not a team game. Had the man lied? Was this really it? You glanced at him, noticing a look of dismay on his face. Maybe he didn’t know either.

As the timer began, everyone formed their groups, leaving you standing alone. The minutes ticked by, and your nervousness grew. You knew waiting for someone to pick you was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up. Meeting new people had always been tough, and the pressure was tenfold now.

Just as you accepted your fate, a group of four approached you: a tall man with purple hair, a pretty boy with dark, long hair, a girl covered in piercings, and a boy who resembled a baby deer. The man with purple hair introduced himself as Thanos, but you zoned out, fixated on his friend. He stared deeply into your eyes as he fiddled with his rings. You tried to avoid eye contact, but every time you looked up, he was already watching you.

“Um, hellooooo? You deaf or somethin?” Thanos quipped. You snapped back to reality as he explained he wanted you on his team. You nodded, mainly out of necessity, but agreeing nonetheless.

The teams sat in neat rows, preparing for the games ahead. You overheard conversations about who would play which game, but your new team was strangely silent. Thanos and his friend chatted about a necklace, while the other two focused on the competitors. Your nerves ramped up, and you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jacket. The longer-haired boy suddenly tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured. Usually, you would’ve said you were okay, but in this situation, what was the point of lying? You shook your head, and concern washed over his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. All you could do was shrug. Suddenly, he took your hands and kissed them gently. The warmth spread across your face, leaving you feeling flushed and exposed. Did he know how his words affected you? Were you developing feelings in a place like this?

“It’s all gonna be okay, darling, I promise,” he reassured you. Just then, the girl beside you, Se-mi, interrupted.

“Hey, how about instead of drooling over her, we figure out our games?” she scoffed. You watched as Nam-gyu shot her a venomous glare, transforming his expression entirely.

“Nobody was talking to you, bitch,” he spat, his sudden coldness making your mind whirl. Why was he hostile with her yet soft with you?

As if nothing had happened, he turned back to you. “Which game are you best at, sweetheart?” You barely whispered your answer: “Um... gong-gi, I think.” He immediately understood, and soon after, your team’s games were decided.

Se-mi would play ddakji first, Min-su would follow with flying stone, you’d go next with gong-gi, Nam-gyu would play spinning top, and Thanos would go last with jegi.

When your team was called, fear washed over you. As your knees weakened, you felt Nam-gyu squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna do great.” His words bolstered your confidence more than you could admit.

Each game passed swiftly, and your team finished with eight seconds to spare. As you crossed the finish line, Nam-gyu launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you bounce with excitement. You were enveloped in his scent, overpowering the stench of blood around you. The touch of his hands melted away your worries, and for a moment, you felt truly safe.

As you walked back to the rooms, a smile formed on your lips. Was he genuinely interested in you?

When you settled into bed, a few moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of the bed creaking beside you.

"You did sooo good in gong-gi. Your hands were literally moving like a ninja" he praised, beaming with admiration. You giggled, "It was nothing, really."

He crawled closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, you loved this habit he’d picked up. “I’m so proud of you. You looked nervous, but you pushed through and helped us win,” Nam-gyu chuckled. You responded with nothing but a shy smile; words didn’t feel like enough. You turned your face the other way so he wouldn't see how much his words affected you

“Don’t hide your pretty face, you’re cute when you smile,” he said, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze. The compliment made you smile brightly.

“There she is—there’s my girl,” he added, inching closer until he was almost spooning you. You melted against him, relieved to have someone to stay beside in this chaos. As time passed, nothing else mattered. It was unlike how time slowed before, this time it was a comfortable passing. His hand played with your hair, scratching your scalp in a soothing rhythm.

“You remember how nervous you were when you first went up to play?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “You were a disaster, but it was the most adorable disaster I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling in your chest and comfortability blooming. “You were just as bad, you dropped the spinning top across the floor”

“Well, I had to make sure you didn't feel alone in your clumsiness,” he teased, his breath tickling your ear. The closeness felt intoxicating, and you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him.

“You’d better not mess up like that again. You’re the only person here I actually like” you said, nudging him with your shoulder.

His gaze softened for a bit, like he was admiring you, then quickly flashed back. “Only if you promise to stay by my side forever,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Always,” you whispered, feeling an undeniable connection grow between you.

As the laughter settled, the world around you faded into the background, like you were in your own little bubble. He leaned in closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead that sent a shiver down your spine.

“When we get out, I’m gonna take you to my club so we can have a proper party together, get you out of that shell” he suggested, a grin spreading across his face. “Yea?”

“Yea, I’d like that, just make sure those girls aren’t all over you” you replied, smiling against him playfully.

“Oh don’t worry, Imma show you all off. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mines.” He chuckled, proceeding to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

The more than friendly banter made your heart swell, and you cuddled into his side, feeling a fuzzy warmth. You could see a future painted vividly in your mind—one filled with laughter, love, and euphoria.

Soon, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped in a sense of warmth and possibility. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope flickered in your heart, igniting the feeling that maybe, against all odds, you could find light in this dark world together. In that moment, everything felt right, and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else but here—with him.

#squid game #squid game 2 #nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #player 124 #player 124 x reader #choi su bong #thanos x reader #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #nam gyu fluff

902 notes · View notes

vunblr · 3 months ago

Text

Built to Last

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

Word Count: 3.4k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "I didn't do a thing". Card number 4B-016

Bucky didn’t know what to say when Dr. Raynor told him to pick up a hobby. It wasn’t a suggestion. She said he needed something to keep his hands busy other than fighting, fidgeting with the weight of his past, or rotting alone in his apartment. He had scoffed at the idea at first. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do with his life, and a hobby was part of that uncertainty. But after taking his time to think about it, carpentry had stuck.

Before the war -before everything- he used to help out at a woodworking shop near his parents’ place. Just small stuff. Sanding, assembling furniture, little repairs here and there. It had been a way to make a few extra bucks to help at home, and he barely remembered the details of the work itself. But he remembered the feeling. The weight of the wood beneath his hands, the scent of sawdust in the air. The satisfaction of making something solid, something that stayed put when he was done with it.

So, he signed up for a class. Twice a week, a few hours at a workshop not too far from his apartment. At first, it was just to shut Raynor up. But soon enough, he found himself staying longer, working on projects after class, getting lost in the routine of measuring, cutting, and sanding. He liked the precision it required, the way it quieted his mind. His hands had spent too many years destroying. This, at least, was the opposite of that.

And though he wouldn’t admit it, he liked the errand of buying supplies.

Most of the wood was provided at the workshop, but for everything else -sandpaper, varnish, nails, brushes, hinges- there was a small hardware store along the way. Just a hole-in-the-wall place, the kind of shop that had a little bit of everything and a counter perpetually dusted with stray wood shavings. Bucky told himself he went there because it was convenient and nothing more. Liked its atmosphere.

He had no idea how it happened, but somehow -much to his dismay- Sam ended up signing up for the carpentry classes, claiming it would entertain his head. He had begrudgingly shown him the spot where he got his supplies, but after fifteen minutes of Sam chatting up with her, while Bucky busied himself grabbing what he needed, he was starting to think he regretted it.

She knew who he was -how could she not?- but she treated him like any other customer. When she learned he was taking lessons, she started asking about his projects every time he went there. Once a week, like clockwork. Sometimes, when he came in looking roughed up after a mission, she’d even ask if he was okay. Direct and simple, like it wasn’t strange at all for a man like him to be standing in her shop, debating between varnish finishes with bruised knuckles. Every now and then, she gave him candies.

Now, she leaned her hip against the counter, twirling a pen between her fingers as she smirked at Sam. “I bet you expected some grumpy old guy back here, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sam admitted with a laugh. “No offense, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sell power tools and nails in a dotted sundress before. It’s a little disorienting.”

Her grin widened. “Keeps people on their toes.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose and grabbed a box of nails off the shelf with a little too much force, shoving it into his basket. He told himself it wasn’t irritation that he was feeling. Definitely not.

Sam caught the movement immediately, and jerked a thumb toward him, “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just mad he’s not getting attention.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but squeezed his hand around the next box of nails he picked up. He didn’t need more nails, but standing there empty-handed wasn’t an option while Sam worked his usual charm on her.

She then flicked her gaze over him, with a little amusement, before she pushed off the counter and strolled toward him. “Need help finding anything, James?”

James.

His fingers tensed around the box again.

She was one of the few people who ever called him that. It always did something weird to his chest, like the name fit better in her voice than his own head.

He swallowed. “No. I’m good.”

Her lips quirked, fixing her eyes to the box in his hand. “You sure? ‘Cause I think you just grabbed two different sizes of nails. And I’m pretty sure the second one’s too big for that book holder you told me you’re making.”

Bucky scowled, glancing down. Damn it. She was right.

“You can never have enough nails,” he muttered, shifting the box in his grip. “Besides, I’m thinking about another project, so…” He trailed off, trying to sound casual.

Her eyes widened with interest. “Oh? What are you making next?”

“Yeah, James,” Sam chimed in, voice dripping with amusement. “What’s your next masterpiece?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. He could practically hear the smirk in Sam’s voice because they both knew he was full of shit. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“A coffee table.”

Her face lit up. “That’s bigger than your usual work,” she said, beaming. “I can’t wait to see a picture when it’s done.”

Bucky swallowed, resisting the urge to fidget. Great. Now he had to make a damn coffee table for real.

“He doesn’t have one, you see,” Sam said as if Bucky wasn’t standing right there. “His place is pretty spartan.”

“Oh, really?” she mused, tilting her head with interest.

“I think he needs some help with the whole ‘making a house feel like a home’ thing,” he continued, grinning. “Everybody knows 40s men weren’t exactly in charge of those things or managing a household.” He sighed. “And since he’s alone-”

Bucky felt utterly betrayed. It was partially right. He was alone, and after so many years of being in survival mode, his apartment still didn’t feel like a home, just another place to exist. But he didn’t have the right to call him off about that in front of her.

His features shifted into a neutral mask, and his shoulders went rigid. Without a word, he set the basket on top of a nearby box and turned toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”

“Wait.” Her voice was gentle but firm, and before he could leave, she reached out and briefly touched his elbow.

The warmth of her hand was barely registered before he tensed, fighting the instinct to pull away. His feet stayed planted, but his gaze dropped to the ground as he gave her a small, awkward nod.

“I have something for you,” she said, already moving toward the back room.

Bucky’s shoulders twitched, and the urge to bolt mounted fast. Sam, sensing he had overstepped, exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, man,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “I just was-“

Bucky waved a hand dismissively, though his jaw remained tight. He didn’t have the energy to say it’s fine, because it wasn’t, not really. But she was already gone, and for some reason, that alone was the only thing keeping him rooted in place.

A minute later, she returned with a well-loved book in her hands. “Here.” She held it out, and when he hesitated, she smiled. “Last time we talked, you mentioned wanting to catch up on books you missed. This was one of them, right? Red Mars?”

Bucky’s brows lifted, caught off guard. He looked at the book, then at her, with surprise flickering across his face. She remembered.

He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers on the worn cover before taking it. “Thanks…”

“I’m only lending it to you,” she teased, “And, you have to tell me what you think about it when you return it to me, like a real-life Goodreads review.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think he-”

“He knows what it is,” she cut in smoothly, lifting a brow. With an easy shift of her stance, she subtly positioned herself between them, like a shield. “I taught him.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright.”

Bucky looked down at the book again, running his thumb along the edge of the pages, and then at her, standing between him and Sam, cutting through the teasing, speaking in his favor. Of course, he didn’t need it, but… it felt nice.

And before he could stop himself, he flicked a smug little smile in Sam’s direction. Just a quick, fleeting thing -boyish, almost careless- but enough to make Sam blink in disbelief.

“Did you just-” Sam pointed at him, then looked at her, eyes wide. But she had her back turned toward Bucky, and was completely unaware of the display

“Stop messing with me, Sam,” Bucky pleaded, tone all wounded pride. But still smirking.

Sam scoffed. “It wasn’t that serious, and you’re clearly not that affected.”

She turned briefly, and just like that, Bucky wiped the smirk clean off his face, replacing it with a look so convincingly forlorn, like a dog that had just been kicked, that Sam nearly choked on his own indignation.

That bastard. Using his Winter Soldier undercover acting skills.

And then -before Sam could get a word in- she sighed and shook her head. “It’s not funny, you know,” she said as she looked at Sam. “He’s your friend, and he’s been through a lot. You don’t even know me, and you’ve been messing with him this whole time trying to mix me into it. I thought the Avengers were better than that.”

Sam’s mouth opened, then closed. He had faced down alien invasions, rogue governments, and Bucky at his most feral, but this? This had him momentarily speechless.

And Bucky? Bucky beamed.

Because after six months of clipped conversations and hesitant efforts to talk to her in his still-awkward way, she had shut birdbrain down for him, without hesitation. And just minutes ago, the two of them had been so damn chatty.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, keeping up the little orphan act, shoulders curling in just enough. “He can’t be dealing with my shit all the time.”

“It’s not okay, James,” she countered. “You should speak up for yourself. Don’t just take this kind of treatment.”

Sam found his voice again, throwing up his hands. “Oh, he speaks just fine for himself, let me tell you-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She cut him off with a sharp look. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to sort from the last delivery. Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll ring you up.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Sam standing there, baffled.

Bucky, still holding the book, let the smugness seep into his expression again, and Sam shot him a glare. “I hate you.”

----

A week later, Bucky walked into the hardware store, a little worse for wear. He moved stiffly, with fresh a bruise shadowing his jaw, a scrap on his nose, and roughed-up knuckles, the kind of raw that came from a fight, not precisely carpentry.

She glanced up from the counter, and her smile faltered. “Jesus, James. You look like you got in a fight with a truck.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

She folded her arms. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” It came out too quick, too practiced, but before she could call him on it, he pulled something from inside his jacket and set it on the counter, her copy of Red Mars.

“I read this during some downtime,” he said like he hadn’t just brushed past her concern.

Her expression softened. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

He hesitated, rubbing a thumb along the book’s spine. “Dense as hell, but… good. I liked the way it built up all the politics and survival stuff. And the tech felt real.” He tapped lightly against the cover before adding, “Kept my mind busy.”

Something warm flickered in her gaze, and she leaned on the counter, propping her chin her hand, and grinned. “Told you it was good. You want the follow-up novel?”

He nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll bring it the day after tomorrow for you since you have class.” She tapped the book with her fingers before sliding it off the counter, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching her. There was something about the way she did things for him like she actually gave a damn, like lending him the book. It seemed just a casual thing but also showed that she’d thought about him.

And he liked that. More than he should.

His hand curled at his side, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to do something. Instead, he glanced around, searching for anything to distract himself with.

That’s when he saw it.

One of the shelves against the back wall sagged at an ugly angle, one side barely clinging to the wall bracket. He frowned. “Your shelf is falling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been like that for a month. My boss keeps saying he’ll fix it, but…” She gestured vaguely to the still-broken shelf.

Bucky wet his lips. “I can fix it.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I can fix it.” He looked at her then, raising his brows just slightly.

Her lips twitched. “I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity, James.”

“You’re not.” He tipped his head toward the backroom door. “Let me see it.”

With a shake of her head, she sighed. “Alright. Knock yourself out.” She lifted the counter flap to let him pass through, and as he ducked beneath it, she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “Such a gentleman.” And he repressed a smile.

As he started to work, she stepped toward the counter. “Want a coffee while you’re at it? Nothing fancy, I bring it in my thermos from home.”

Bucky glanced up from where he was bracing the shelf, rolling his shoulder to ease a dull ache. “Yeah. Sure.”

She poured some into a plain ceramic cup, and just as she set it on the counter, the bell above the door jingled. Two men walked in, murmuring between themselves as they started browsing. She didn’t think much of it at first, but as she rang up their items, she caught the way their eyes kept flicking to Bucky, more precisely, to his left hand, exposed where he was securing a bracket.

Their whispers weren’t subtle. She didn’t catch all the back and forth but picked up some words.

“…murderer.”

“Why the government…”

“surely a sociopath-”

Her grip on the counter tightened. Assholes.

She flicked her eyes toward Bucky. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge them, but she knew he heard every word given his enhanced hearing. His movements slowed just slightly, his shoulders squared a little tighter.

Something hot burned in her chest.

“Get out.”

The two men stilled. “Excuse me?”

She folded her arms, fixing them with a flat stare. “You heard me. The house reserves the right of admission, and I decide you’re not welcome here.”

One of them scoffed. “For what? I didn’t do a thing.”

“You disrespected a veteran, and an Avenger, no less. Someone who puts his life at risk so you don’t have to.”

Bucky’s hammer stilled mid-swing.

The men bristled, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Oh, come on, lady. You know what he is-”

“I know exactly who he is,” she snapped, stepping forward. “And I know you’re the kind of cowards who whisper about a man behind his back instead of saying it to his face.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “So, like I said, get out.”

The men looked between her and Bucky as if waiting for him to react. He didn’t. Just worked his jaw, and locked his gaze on the shelf like it was the only thing in the room.

The tension stretched, but she didn’t back down, didn’t look away.

Eventually, with a few muttered curses, the men turned around and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind them.

She exhaled sharply, with anger, then turned back to Bucky. He was still gripping the hammer, with his fingers curling around it like a lifeline. He wasn’t looking at her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally said, quietly.

She shrugged, reaching for her coffee like her heart wasn’t still pounding. “Sure, I did.”

He then glanced at her, with an unreadable expression. Like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that she had chosen to stand up for him and lost customers because of it.

“You want some sugar with your coffee?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

Bucky blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. He almost wanted to smile.

“No, thank you,” he murmured, turning back to the shelf for the final touches. It didn’t need much fixing, just a few adjustments, and a new bracket, barely fifteen minutes of work. And now it was done. His excuse to be here was gone.

He swallowed down his disappointment and took a sip of the coffee instead.

She leaned against the counter, watching him, wrapping her fingers around her own mug. “That was a quick job. Guess I’ll have to break something else next time.”

Bucky’s grip on the cup tightened just slightly. Something else? Wait. Did she-

He tilted his head, gazing at her with mild surprise. “That so?”

She blinked, as she’d just realized she’d said it out loud. A beat of silence. Then, instead of backtracking, she simply lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, “Maybe.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee, trying -failing- to ignore the way something warm curled in his chest.

Fuck it.

Stomping down the old instinct to talk himself out of it, to recall every failed date, every misstep, every why would she be interested thought, he decided to man up.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” He kept his voice even, aiming for casual, like it didn’t matter either way. Like her answer wasn’t about to determine whether he will spend the next week brooding.

She tilted her head, considering. “Well, that… depends.” Serious. A little guarded.

His stomach dipped. Shit. Did he misread-She was friendly, sure, but she was friendly with everyone. Just because she indulged him with a little extra care when he showed up didn’t mean she meant anything by it. Maybe she just felt bad for him. Maybe she was the kind of person who went out of her way to make people feel seen, and he was just another project, another lost cause that-

“If you’re asking me out,” she said, with a slow smile tugging at her lips, “then yes, I’m free. But-” she continued, “if you were about to suggest coming here after hours to see what else needs fixing… then no.”

Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn. And I wanted to impress you with my handyman skills.” He let himself flirt, just a little.

She hummed and then reached for his hand gently, as her thumb traced over his bruised knuckles. The warmth of her fingers, the softness of the motion, sent a tingle down his spine, straight to his chest, where it bloomed into something dangerously warm.

“You don’t need to impress me, Jamie.”

Jamie.

Oh, fuck.

“Just pick a time and place.”

He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” And after a beat, “What do you think abou-”

The door swung open, and the bell jingled as a small crew of workmen entered. Bucky shut up immediately, scratching the back of his head as she turned to greet them.

“Good afternoon, guys. I’ll be with you in a sec.” Without missing a beat, she grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbled something down, and pressed it into his palm before turning to the customers.

Her number.

“Surprise me,” she murmured over her shoulder before slipping into work mode, shifting gears like she hadn’t just tilted his world off its damn axis.

Bucky stared down at the paper. Then at her.

Then, with a barely contained smirk, he tucked the paper into his pocket and walked out of the shop, already deciding on the perfect first date.

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #4bbingo

860 notes · View notes

fortunxa · 11 months ago

Text

Physical affection with Jinx

H E A D C A N O N S

╰┈➤ requested

Jinx x fem!reader

cw: mentions of nsfw, hallucinations

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Jinx is such a touch-starved girl.

She doesn’t shy away from physical contact, but paradoxically, it can catch her off-guard if she’s not the one initiating it—blame it on her childhood.

As you get to know her, start off gently with some light taps that get her attention.

She’ll often nudge your shoulder, drag her nails across your arm or leg as you’re talking, doodle on your skin, or simply grab your hand as she’s excitedly leading you somewhere.

Jinx is just so curious as to how you’d react, testing the waters.

But once you gain her trust, her innocent touches turn into proper hugs. And I don’t mean duvet-like embraces that let you breathe, but cocoon ones where you can feel every ounce of her as she holds you tightly.

This is the moment you realize she’s now afraid of losing you.

Those hugs come unexpectedly, like a predator pouncing on its prey, and you often stumble from her sheer force.

She’s definitely a waist/torso hugger, and believe it or not, it’s not because of her height but because she genuinely feels safer that way.

Shoulder hugs are traps, so be prepared for a paint bomb to find itself attached to your back.

She will be impressed if you can throw her over your shoulder.

Loves piggyback rides.

Pinky promises. It’s a childish gesture but one that holds enormous significance to her. She would link her finger with yours with those wide, innocent eyes. No take-backs.

– “You know that’s legally binding, right?”

If you’re her first kiss—which, let’s be honest, you probably are—her Jinx persona is nowhere to be found. It’s Powder now, and she’s so cautious as she closes the distance.

Her lips ghost over yours so lightly it almost tickles, but you let her take her time as she grapples with the newfound closeness. You don’t rush her, and when she finally kisses you, it’s slow and tentative. She wants to feel and analyze everything.

– “Was that good?”

As she gains confidence, she starts experimenting with the mix of sensations.

She’s attentive to your reactions, and she soon finds all of your sweet spots.

Will randomly kiss you, and it doesn’t matter where or when.

Forehead kisses, kisses on your neck, earlobes, stomach, hips, thighs… You name it. She adores every single one of them.

She’s the type to swap a piece of candy or gum through a kiss.

Jinx is all about PDA. She wants everyone to know you’re hers.

Hickeys, hickeys, and more hickeys.

Unfortunately, when the wrong people figured out that you’re her partner, it did get you kidnapped once as a way to undermine Silco. Take Jinx’s favorite person away, and she becomes erratic, unfit to carry out his plans.

Heavy on ‘once’ because the hell she brought them was enough to terrify anyone else with the same strategy.

The number of explosions that day alerted Piltover itself.

Talking to Silco and/or Sevika? She’s holding your hand, slightly pushing you behind her in a protective manner. Neither of them approves of your relationship, they deem it a distraction.

Much to Silco’s dismay, she will drag you into most of their private meetings and fidgets with your fingers if she gets bored.

You’re ordering at the bar? She’s either behind you with her arms around your waist or next to you with her hand on your hip as she’s pulling you closer.

You’re on a mission together? There she is, fighting back-to-back with you so she knows you’re there, unharmed. If you’re separated, she can’t concentrate properly anymore, and she keeps seeking you out in between firing her gun. She’s prioritizing your safety over anything else, which has gotten her injured quite a few times.

She insists that she can patch up her wounds herself, but once you see that goddamn stapler approaching a gash, you’re frantically snatching it away from her hands.

You tend to her injuries in such a caring and gentle way that it brings tears to her eyes.

At first, you’re worried you went too deep with the needle as you were stitching her cuts.

– “What’s wrong? Did that hurt? I’m so sorry–”

– “No one has ever done that for me before.”

Whenever the roles are reversed, and you’re the injured one, she’s in a frenzy. She’s muttering to herself as she grabs the first aid kit.

Stern face and furrowed brows, but despite it all, she tries to be delicate—‘tries’ because the voices are making her movements jerky.

– “Are you crazy?! What were you thinking? No, no, she wasn’t thinking at all…”

She will absolutely kiss your wound better afterward.

Cuddle time on her couch after a long day.

She loves it when you sweep her off her feet and carry her bridal style to lay her down.

She likes to be the little spoon but face toward you because your scent and the sound of your heartbeat calm her down.

Occasionally, she’ll be the big spoon to switch it up and make you feel secure, too.

Your presence helps with her night terrors, and she sleeps more often with you around.

But you always wake up with her hair in your mouth, her elbow on your face, and covers on the ground, and she’s snoring—occasionally drooling—in a starfish position.

– “Where the fuck did your pillow go?”

Morning kisses!!!

Morning sex.

Showering and taking baths together.

Hygiene isn’t a big thing in Zaun (shocker), so when you have time to get clean, you do it together. Washing each other’s hair, trying to get all the grime—and occasionally blood—out.

It’s a tender moment that turns entertaining—or sexual—rather quickly.

You’re washing off, and you turn around to see Jinx with a bubble beard, her face completely stoic. She starts pretending to be a Piltovan man as you’re laughing.

Or she’ll come up behind you and press her soapy body to yours as her fingers dip inside you.

Physical affection while she’s working on a project can go two ways:

When she’s confident in her work: She loves having you close, whether it’s by having you sit on her lap and vice versa or grabbing your hands for an impromptu dance break when she’s feeling her playlist. She’s babbling about her ideas and designs, explaining each step as you play with her braids.

When she’s experimenting: Do not come close or she’ll scream. She’ll be too scared to have you near in case she messes up an equation and causes an explosion. She will actually make you go elsewhere as a precaution. But she’ll be more than happy to show you her progress after!

You love painting each other’s nails, but she often chips hers.

She straddles you as she does your makeup and vice versa.

Will use her own saliva to clean up any messes.

Jinx absolutely adores trying out new looks on you, and she treats you like her human canvas.

Not only with makeup but with markers and paint, too.

She will draw out tattoo ideas and judge each placement.

Speaking of tattoos, you constantly trace hers with a light touch that sends shivers down her spine.

Brushing and playing with each other’s hair. She actually melts in your hands once you take her braids out and start massaging her scalp.

Will bite your arm out of excitement. The urge to chomp is just too great.

You comfort her differently depending on how bad her episode gets:

You either hold her impossibly close, hiding her face in your chest as you stroke her hair and start humming or talking about something she loves to ground her.

If she gets to a point where you can’t even approach without her backing away—or worse, getting violent—you dim every bright light and reduce any other stimuli. You don’t call her by her name—neither Jinx nor Powder—as both can trigger her even more. She will use some of her bombs to try and muffle the voices with the sounds of explosions, but you do hide any other weapons. You don’t talk too much or too loudly to not confuse her even more. Once she’s calm enough, it’s back to scenario number 1.

You’re both crying by the time her episode ends.

– “Please… Tell me you’re real.”

Jinx is so in tune with your emotions, and contrary to popular belief, she’s very empathetic.

She notices any tone or mood changes immediately.

If you’re mad at something or someone, she’ll be mad with you, if not even madder. You have her unconditional support because her trinket can do no wrong. She’s tracing her nails down your back or stroking your thigh as you’re rambling.

– “And then Sevika called me incompetent. Can you fucking believe it? How was I supposed to know that they put the shimmer there?!”

– “Sevika’s a bitch. That barrel was totally in your way.”

If you’re mad at her, she’ll spiral. You want to leave to cool down? Nuh-uh. She’s holding you so tightly, shaking like a leaf, that it makes your anger dissipate.

– “Don’t leave me, toots. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll be better.”

If you’re sad or crying, she cups your face in her hands and makes you look at her as she praises you. She wipes every tear away. This is also the only other time she will reach for a hug over your shoulders/around your neck—no paint bombs included. She just wants to cradle your head and soothe you.

3K notes · View notes

sweetshuga · 5 months ago

Text

It was just like any other day today—mundane. You sat in the front row with your friend, mindlessly swirling your pen around your fingers as you looked at the lecture ahead with zero interest unlike your friend beside you who took notes diligently. You, on the other hand, were too busy checking out the new lecturer to focus on the droning.

Suddenly, as if having heard your thoughts, Matt, the new lecturer, locked eyes with you, fixing his glasses as he took a step forward. Seeing that most of the students were either busy with their own discussions or the presentation at hand, he quietly approached where you sat.

"You’re awfully distracted, sweetheart." He stated, almost cocky in a way that told you he knew you were distracted by him, and the unexpected pet name made you feel that tingle in your lower abdomen—a telltale sign of your arousal.

He leaned a tad bit closer and talked in a more hushed voice, as if telling you a secret. "I’d appreciate it if you’d pay more attention... you pay to attend, after all." He folded his arms, his silver wedding ring glinting in the overhead lights, catching your eyes immediately.

Getting called out wasn’t as embarrassing when he was standing in front of you looking like a whole damn 5 course meal with desserts on the side. You nodded, almost absentmindedly, mumbling a dazed "sorry, prof" before quickly snapping out of it and looking down at your laptop.

You reminded yourself, for the nth time, that he was a middle aged man and probably happily married judging by how much he was flaunting his ring.

Dilf.

You sighed, noticing how absurd your own thoughts were. Suddenly, your friend nudged you, making you tense up. "You just said that out loud." She whispered, biting her lips to stifle a laugh when she saw your absolutely petrified expression. You quickly turned to look at Matt, your face burning and hoping against hope that he didn’t hear that, but to your dismay he seemed awfully amused not to have heard it.

You could’ve sworn you heard him snicker quietly to himself before he turned around and walked back to the board, thankfully not making any comments about your slip up.

𓆩♡𓆪

The day finally ended, leaving you with the embarrassing memory of the lecture earlier today and your remaining desire for the 36 year old lecturer that just started working at the university you go to about three days ago.

You couldn’t help yourself, you’ve always had a thing for older guys and it didn’t help that he was exactly your type to the tea. From his slightly cocky confidence to the small hint of sarcasm he used in everyday speech just made your clit throb for attention.

He had also mentioned on the first day about his daughter who’s still in middle school, playfully asking advice about teenagers.

A dilf indeed.

"Damnit, what’s wrong with me?" You sighed, rubbing your temple as you walked down the almost empty hall until you reached the door to his office. Taking a deep breath, you gently knocked on the door, waiting with batted breath until you heard a soft "come in" from inside. You opened the door and slipped inside with a small stack of papers in your hand.

Matt looked up, his glasses still perched on his nose and his already messy hair slightly more disheveled as his keyboards clicked softly with each of his taps. "What brings you here?" He looked back at his computer, typing in a few things before looking at you again. "Well?"

You snapped out of your tiny trance and walked over to him, putting the papers on his desk. "Uh, Dr. Lexi told me to give these to you." You said as you stepped back, looking at his ring that never failed to catch your eyes.

His eyes followed your gaze and landed on his ring, raising his eyebrows in amusement as he looked back at you. "Thanks-" he paused before continuing, fidgeting slightly with his wedding ring. "-You seem to really... like? my wedding ring huh?" He chuckled, taking it off and setting it aside before leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "You curious?"

His speech was informal and casual even though he was a lecturer, but that seemed to soothe your nerves a tiny bit.

"Uhm... May I ask what you mean by if I’m curious?" His smirk widened ever so slightly at the confusion in your tone. "Oh, what I mean by that is... Do you wanna know if I’m still married? You seem unable to take your eyes off of it." He mused, tilting his head slightly to the side, the cockiness exuding from his tone didn't go unnoticed by you.

Was he enjoying this?

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it as nothing came out and the only thing you could do was nod. Matt’s smirk turned into a lopsided grin, "There you go, it wasn’t so hard to admit it now was it?" He twirled the silver ring around his fingers.

"Well, to answer your question sweetheart – I’m not married." He leaned back in his chair, a small chuckle escaping him. "This is just to ward off women you know?" He looked at you, his blue eyes looked almost... hypnotizing in the golden hour glow.

Oh, so he knew how attractive he was huh?

You felt like you were in a trance as you looked at him, your eyes slowly raking down his face until it landed on his pink kissable lips, you wondered how they would taste. Your gaze travelled to his beard – the stubble only adding to the whole dilf aura he had going on.

"Earth to Miss Dilf Lover." He chuckled, shamelessly joking, leaning forward to get your attention.

You blinked, only now realising that you’ve been staring at him without saying anything like a creep. "Y-yes Prof. Sturniolo?" You almost, almost, cursed out loud at the stutter in your voice. A genuine chuckle left Matt’s lips and the sound left your panties drenched.

"Why don’t you come here?" He patted his lap, smirking as he waited for you to either decline or tell him he was crazy, but he did not think you would actually comply and sit on his lap facing him, but was he complaining? Nope, not one bit.

A small, surprised chuckle rumbled in his chest, his hands immediately finding your hips as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. His lips curled into a slow grin.

Damn, did he like this.

𓆩♡𓆪

Before you knew it, you were already dry humping his thigh, your cheeks slightly flushed with both embarrassment and desire.

You quickly picked up a quick rhythm, shamelessly satisfying yourself on his thigh, letting out soft moans—which went straight to his dick. A muscle in his jaw twitched when he clenched his jaw, biting back a groan at your sounds and the way you needily rubbed yourself on him.

You couldn’t help the whine that left your lips when he held your hips tightly, halting your movements completely. The desperation in your tone made him chuckle in amusement. "What’s wrong sweetheart? You stopped moving." He asked even though he was the one that stopped you. His tone was full of concern, but you knew better... or did you? After all, you were dry humping on your lecturer’s thigh—whom you’ve known for four days max.

Fuck it.

"Please Prof, let me- let me move." A breathless plea rolled out, followed by your breath hitching slightly when he shifted, his thigh pressing perfectly against your clothed clit. The sensation made you let out a small moan.

"Well, fuck me," Matt breathed out, "You are sooo desperate aren’t you?" He smirked despite the painfully stiff bulge tenting the front of his pants and the way his chest heaved with ragged breaths—barely controlled desire.

Your eyes rolled back briefly when he suddenly ground you hard on his thigh, the friction left your hips jerking slightly. "Oh-- ffuuck." Your mouth went slack when he started to ground you on his thigh, his fingers digging into your hips as he controlled your movements.

Your hands quickly found their way onto his shoulders, a chocked moan leaving your mouth when he pulled you forward just right.

It was a bit embarrassing how quickly you started to feel that taut feeling in your stomach, but you were too into it to really think about how desperate you were.

"Sh-shit-- I’m gonna- gonna cum." You moaned softly, your head falling forward to bury your face in his shoulder, effectively muffling your moans and it turning into small whimpers instead.

Your movements grew jerky as you got closer, your breath hitching more and more. "C’mon, come for me baby." Matt turned his head subtly and whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

His words combined with the relentless friction against your clothed clit was all that was needed for you to climax. A drawn out moan left your lips when you came, your back arching and your hands clutching his shoulders tighter. Your hips jerked and twitched in sync with the aftershocks running through you.

"Good girl." He praised, his voice raspy from how turned on he was.

𓆩♡𓆪

Matt let you stay seated on his thigh for a few more minutes, letting you catch your breath. He shifted in his seat, his erection was so damn uncomfortable and painful by now, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Boundaries.

As much as he wanted to bend you over the desk and take you right then and there – he knew you would let him and he could tell you wanted him too – but he also knew where to set the boundaries.

Matt cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "Well, would you look at the time?" He rasped, "I think it’s about time I go, I’ve a meeting in 10 minutes after all." He lied, watching as you lifted your head, nodding slowly before you climbed off his lap.

"R-right, I-uh, I'll take my leave. Uhm, have a good afternoon Prof." You mumbled quickly, the small hint of disappointment didn’t go unnoticed by Matt. You took your phone from his desk, where you had put it, and scurried out of his office, haphazardly fixing your hair and clothes on your way out.

Matt sighed, slumping back in his seat, gazing down at his boner. He ran his hand through his hair, utterly confused as to why he did what he did just now.

This was bad.

"What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t possibly start falling for my student..." He trailed off, realising he might have already fallen. "Great, Matt, just great." He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands in frustration.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎�� 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟏.𝟕 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆˚࿔ 𝒊𝒔𝒂’𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ .ᐟ Sooo I’ve been shit at posting lately but uh... here is something that has been collecting dust in my drafts until I had enough motivation to finish it 🤗 Also, look at the cute bow divider I made it’s adorb 😔

693 notes · View notes

fuddaroundandgetbueckets · 14 days ago

Text

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: Sexual content (lowkey rated R srry), swearing probably

WC: ~10k

A/N: Apologies for the delay life is lifing blah blah blah. I am headed to Paris on Wednesday for a few days so hopefully this will sedate everyone until I’m back lol shoutout to whoever is still following this!! Also these songs are what I listened to for each part but to each their own!! Lmk what you think xoxoxo

A Long Time Coming Part 11 – Just like the Movies

Summer/Fall – 2022

After they kissed for the first time, the morning after wasn’t awkward like either of them expected. Paige had leaned over and showed her a funny trending TikTok, Azzi had laughed, and then they smiled goofily at each other for an insufferable amount of time before parting ways. Azzi even gave her shoulder a hard punch as she left.

Everything was fine.

They didn’t discuss what the kiss meant or how they felt about each other – the only thing that hung between them was the quiet buzzing of anticipation of when they would kiss again. Which, as it turns out, would be the very next day.

And every day after.

Monday

Get it together, Azzi thought.

The squeaks of shoes against laminated hardwood floors filled her ears. Palms sweaty, Azzi lined herself up to shoot a free throw and…missed.

Missed.

The team was having a late practice. The last of the afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the practice gym, momentarily blinding her.

Yeah. That’s why she missed her shot.

Not because of a blonde watching her from the sideline, 10 feet away.

Definitely not that.

Azzi let out a deep exhale as Caroline passed her the ball to shoot again, trying her best to refocus. Her periphery worked against her, though, as she caught sight of Paige throwing her head back at something she had said to CD.

Focus, she told herself.

She twirled the ball in her hands, forcing her eyes to zero in on the rim and shot again.

Missed. Again.

Her teammates beside her sprung into motion as they followed the play of the ball, continuing their scrimmage. Azzi felt herself going through the motions with them, but her feet felt slow and her eyes couldn’t help but involuntarily make their way over to the bench. To Paige.

Get it together.

Azzi played on like that for fifteen more minutes before the screech of Geno’s whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. Her teammates and her gave a collective sigh of relief, trudging slowly and out of breath to where Geno stood expectantly to give his post-practice monologue. Her elbows bumped with Amari’s as they shared tired smiles, semi-focused on any reprimanding from their head coach.

Feeling a slight pressure on her back, Azzi felt her spine stiffen as a familiar hand found home there for the huddle. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to, as she’d somehow grown a sixth sense over the years when it came to Paige. To Azzi’s dismay, their shared kiss the night before may have heightened it even further.

Azzi stood still, stiff as a board. Every part of her wanted to pay attention to her head coach, listen to his words of wisdom and requests to the team, but all her ears could hear were static. Because all she could do was feel.

Feel Paige’s fingers that pressed over her jersey carefully. Feel the tips of Paige’s sneakers tap the back of Azzi’s shoes as she shuffled behind her. Feel Paige’s breath ghosting the back of her neck.

Her chest hammered, and she fidgeted with a loose string at the bottom of her jersey. You need to relax, she told herself. They had shared their first kiss less than twenty hours ago, and she would rather jump out of a moving airplane than out herself for freaking out at being in Paige’s orbit.

Though, there she stood – freaking out about Paige’s chest brushing her back. Embodying the complete opposite of the calm, chill, cool girl she was this morning leaving Paige’s apartment. She released a long exhale through her nose.

When Geno called the huddle and excused everyone, Azzi sidestepped away so fast she nearly knocked Paige over, ignoring the side glances received at her abruptness.

Turning her back to her team as they shuffled to the locker room, she made her way to the rack of basketballs that lined the back wall of the court. Halfway through the scrimmage, she had mentally decided to stay late and shoot around solo as self-punishment for her lower-than-Azzi-Fudd-standards practice. It hadn’t been necessarily pitiful, but it wasn’t pretty either. She knew from the way Geno’s eyes had followed her a little too closely, and how she wanted to kick herself repeatedly for her thinking how goddamn pretty Paige looked in her pink UConn sweatshirt when she was supposed to be shooting a goddamn basketball.

Picking up a ball, she dribbled until her mind cleared and she no longer heard voices echo in the gym. The silence eased the hammering in her chest that hadn’t stopped since the huddle, and she felt something eerily similar to peace. She closed her eyes, letting the ball dribble between her legs, releasing a deep exhale through her nose.

She was in her element.

Well, she was.

“The princess is putting in hours, huh,” she heard from her left side. Immediately, Azzi’s hands stuttered on the ball she had been dribbling and fell out of its rhythm, rolling away from her.

Towards Paige.

Of course she had stayed after practice.

Paige scooped up the ball at her feet slowly, her knee still constricted by her brace. She had been cleared from her crutches by her doctor earlier in the day (resulting in Azzi receiving a video of her doing a crutch-less dougie in celebration). Watching her finding her way back to normalcy made Azzi’s lips quirk reflexively as their eyes met. The hammering in her chest returned.

She feigned a nonchalant smile, “Not my best practice – can’t let Geno down.”

Paige tossed the ball back and forth in her hand, tilting her head to the side. With all the audacity in the world and a smirk, she said, “Something on your mind, Az?”

One second passed. Then another.

Azzi felt her lips part and an incredulous breath escape her. This was their first face-to-face interaction since she left Paige’s apartment this morning, where they had viciously attacked each other’s faces – and enjoyed it. Now, Paige stood several feet away and was teasing her?

A second huff left Azzi’s lips.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush that was creeping up her neck. “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, walking toward her favorite three-point spot. She stuck her hand out, “Ball.”

Paige stared at her a moment before walking toward her leisurely, still tossing the ball back and forth between her hands. As she got close enough to where Azzi could see the freckle that lived on the side of her jaw, she dropped the ball in Azzi’s open palm.

Turning to face the rim, Azzi dribbled once, twice. She realized in that moment that Paige watching her shot so closely was worse than any stadium filled with thousands of screaming fans telling her to airball. And then, she realized missing her shot with Paige so close to her was somehow worse than that. So, her hands were tied.

Dribble.

Swish.

She turned back to Paige, catching the way her eyes lingered below her neck before slowly trailing back to meet her gaze. Azzi tilted her head to the side, feeling like herself again as the thump in her chest became steadier. She smirked, “Something on your mind, P?”

She watched Paige’s eyes flitter up to Geno’s office that watched over the court. Seemingly satisfied, she looked behind her at the exit doors, giving them a nod. As her eyes found Azzi’s again, a smug-looking smile spread across her lips. She stepped closer, hands sliding into the pockets of her joggers. At their proximity, Azzi could see the flecks of grey in her irises.

Thump.

After several beats of silence, Paige said simply, “Yeah, there is.”

Azzi’s breath caught as Paige lightly gripped the tip of her chin and kissed her so gently, she felt like she would melt to the ground had Paige’s other hand not been steadying her at her hip.

Thump.

Paige pulled away momentarily before pressing a second soft kiss to her lips, as if Azzi were made of glass – but more so like she couldn’t help herself. She hovered there, letting the tips of their noses brush.

When she pulled away, she slid her hands off Azzi achingly slow before finding their way back to the pockets of her joggers.

Walking backwards, a lopsided grin grew on her face. “Get your shots in, princess. ‘Imma wait for you in the car ‘til you’re ready to go.”

With that, Paige walked out of the gym.

Azzi didn’t realize her mouth was hanging open until the loud click of the door echoed around her.

Tuesday

Every Tuesday, Azzi had an accounting lecture at 11am.

She always came prepared – hoarding two protein bars in her backpack at all times, pencils and notebook in case her laptop died, and ready to intensely write notes as her professor spoke.

This Tuesday, Azzi found herself daydreaming in class, scribbling soft nonsense in her planner as her eyes lost focus ahead of her. It was an anomaly.

She was, of course, daydreaming about Paige.

About Paige’s lips, specifically. And the way her thumb had gently glided over Azzi’s jaw and guided her face close to hers just yesterday. And also, the day before that. The low noises she had made as their kiss deepened.

She felt herself trace her fingers over her upper lip absently, a flash of white heat growing at the base of her stomach. She pictured Paige laying down, slightly out of breath as she kissed down her neck. She wondered what noises she would make then, how fast her heart would beat if she ran a hand down her chest, or gripped her hips –

The sounds of chairs scraping back brought Azzi out of her haze with a blink, and she was suddenly aware of her classmates getting up to leave around her.

Her mouth quirked in annoyance; she would have to rewatch her accounting lecture online tonight.

As she rose from her seat, her cheeks flushed as if the people around her could read her thoughts. As if they had any insight on the embarrassment she felt from realizing how far gone she was for her best friend. It was one thing for her to work consciously with her deep adoration for Paige, it was completely different to navigate the apparent sexual deviant she was becoming from their lips touching on Sunday.

Because, Azzi realized, she was deeply, deeply attracted to Paige. In the way that made her want to scream. And blush.

The only thing that waived the fantasies that recently riddled her mind was the taco bar that waited for her at the women’s basketball dining room (it was Taco Tuesday, naturally).

As she trudged across campus, her thoughts fluctuated –

Should I get shrimp or beef today?

Wonder if Paige likes being kissed on the neck.

Stupid – everyone does.

Who can I ask to send me the accounting notes from today?

Wonder if she likes giving kisses on the neck back.

Like obviously, who doesn’t.

I hope they have chips and guac.

Her thoughts carried her all the way into the dining room, her body moving on its own in grabbing a plate as her mind was elsewhere. She hummed happily, the smell of the room lighting up a wave of dopamine only Mexican food could ignite. Beginning to load her plate, she paused at the protein selection: beef… or shrimp.

Beef.

Shrimp.

Beef.

Shrimp.

She felt a tug on her braid and heard a casual, “Yo.”

Paige. Of course.

Azzi turned and gave her a once-over. Her face was bare, with her ponytail loose and low at the base of her neck, strands wisping around her cheeks. Purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, blue eyes locked in on Azzi. Following the length of her body that had somehow grown another inch or two on Azzi in the last few months (to Azzi’s annoyance), her left leg adorned its brace. She was the picture of casual and relaxed, while Azzi felt like the snap of a twig would have her dragging her to the nearest closet to kiss her senseless.

“Any day now, Az.”

Azzi blinked. “Hm?”

Paige’s lips lifted in amusement, motioning her hand dramatically toward the buffet.

“Oh.”

Robotically, she grabbed two shrimp tacos and continuing piling on her plate, avoiding the smile she knew was growing on Paige’s face.

“Stop it,” Azzi grumbled.

Azzi could hear the mirth in Paige’s voice as she replied, “I didn’t do anything.”

Without taking her eyes off the options of food, Azzi shouldered her in the chest, eliciting a chuckle from Paige.

They loaded their plates in silence for several beats before Paige said, “I could eat chips and guac every day of my life, swear.”

She sounded so nonchalant. So…Paige. Like she hadn’t thought about their kisses every hour since they happened (like Azzi).

Azzi’s eye wanted to twitch.

She gave a hum in reply, focusing on piling refried beans on her plate. She didn’t even like beans like that.

Her body was acutely aware of Paige hovering next to her. She knew she was staring at her side profile, eyes bouncing from the crown of her head to her seriously full looking plate.

“You think I could make good guac?” Paige asked.

That got a snort out of Azzi. “Paige, you can’t even make eggs.”

“Where’s your faith in me?”

“It’s back at my parent’s house – circa 2020,” Azzi said, finally looking up at her. “When you made our fire alarm go off. Making ramen.”

Their eyes crinkled at each other at the memory, Paige shaking her head with a smile. Azzi felt a blush creep up her neck, and she wasn’t sure at all why.

“Give me some credit – there were no instructions,” Paige paused, eyes locked on hers. “You know with practice I pick up things fast. And I’m good with my hands – as you know.”

Azzi’s mouth fell open slightly, and she was pretty sure she looked like a blowfish.

As you know? Did she have an early death wish?

On paper, there was nothing wrong with what Paige had said – but it was in her tone. Her voice had dropped, like she meant something else. Or maybe Azzi was reading too much into it. Her eyes looked down briefly to Paige’s long fingers that held her plate. Gripping firmly, slender, veiny –

Azzi pursed her lips and wordlessly turned around, joining Nika and Aalyiah at their table. She was definitely blushing now, and this time she knew why. She gave the pair a strained smile in greeting, taking a large gulp of her water.

Paige sat down next to her slowly, scratching her upper lip to hide the smug expression on her face. “Wassup,” Paige said, turning to their friends.

“Aaliyah won’t let me visit her in Canada,” Nika pouted.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “I never said that.”

“Why not?” Azzi asked, shoving a taco in her mouth.

“I asked her what the name of that gross cheese thing they eat was.”

Aaliyah scoffed. “It’s poutine. And you asked if I had a pet moose.”

Nika turned to her with a quirked brow. “Well, do you?”

Azzi and Paige snorted at that.

They sat together, close as usual. Azzi’s heart was stammering slightly, which she was chalking up to her coffee from this morning. Because she was absolutely fine being this close to her best friend she made out with less than 48 hours ago, and then again on the practice court less than 24 hours ago.

She shoved a spoonful of beans in her mouth, her knee bouncing.

As Nika and Aaliyah dove into an animated pretend argument over if Canadian or Croatian food was better, Paige pressed her right thigh into Azzi’s.

Azzi looked down at their sweatpants covered legs. The touch wasn’t new by any means – except, yes, it was. Because she knew Paige was doing it on purpose; to make Azzi feel her, feel something.

Fine, she thought.

Azzi pressed her thigh back.

Having been leaned with her forearms over the table, Paige gave her a glance over her shoulder. Her expression was blank, but she looked for one, two, three seconds. Azzi counted.

Wordlessly, Paige shifted her gaze back to their friends and leaned down to scratch her right leg. Azzi stiffened as Paige’s shoulder brushed her chest, and her heart might have actually stopped when she felt her hand lightly touch her calf. Slowly, Paige dragged her hand up her leg to end at her knee, giving it a squeeze. It stayed there for five seconds – Azzi counted that time too.

This is new, she thought.

Paige let her finger brush Azzi’s thigh as she lifted her hand to scratch the underside of her jaw, pretending like nothing happened.

Technically, nothing did happen. They’re best friends. Very comfortable best friends. The flutters in her stomach were from the suspicious looking beans on her plate.

I am not turned on from a calf touch, she told herself. Or a knee squeeze. I am stronger than this. Resilient.

(She was not).

She got up slowly, patting her stomach appreciatively in the hopes of mimicking fullness. “Gonna take a nap before my next class,” she waved, grabbing her plate with her free hand. “See you guys later.”

Unassuming, her friends waved and chorused goodbyes after her – Paige remaining silent. They locked eyes momentarily, but Azzi knew she had to get home before she did something ridiculous like lay Paige flat on the table and make everyone throw up their lunch.

Suddenly feeling a sense of false urgency, she hurriedly dropped off her plate with the dirty dish pile and left the dining room, feeling unfocused as her thoughts were filled with bed, bed, bed and Paige, Paige, Paige.

So unfocused, she didn’t hear her name being called.

So unfocused, she didn’t realize someone had grabbed her by the arm and shoved her in the nearest janitor’s closet until the smell of Windex invaded her nose.

“What the –” she started but went mute when the light flickered on and she saw who was in front of her.

Paige.

Obviously.

“I was calling after you,” Paige chuckled, already reaching for Azzi’s jaw and rubbing a thumb over her cheek.

“Oh.” Azzi blinked at her, feeling slightly dumbfounded at, well, everything in this moment. Paige’s hand on her cheek, gentle but firm. The dingy janitor’s closet. But mostly that Paige was standing so close, and Azzi could smell the Dove soap she used.

Paige tilted her head, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Stupid,” she whispered as she closed the distance between them, kissing her tenderly – once, twice, three times.

Azzi felt like her brain was short circuiting.

In the span of a few days, Paige and Azzi had gone from never having crossed the boundary of physical intimacy in their several years of friendship to suddenly being unable to keep their hands off each other. And Paige was acting so…calm about it. And it felt unfair.

If steam could come out of Azzi’s ears, they would in this moment.

So, she decided to level the playing field.

Gripping the collar of Paige’s hoodie, she tugged until their lips crashed together.

After a quick grunt of surprise, Paige’s hands instantly found her waist, tugging her closer as their kiss deepened. With their hips touching, Azzi felt like her body was pulsing.

More, more, more.

Azzi let her tongue outline the shape of Paige’s mouth, which she parted eagerly. In a swift motion, Paige moved to hold Azzi against the door, their tongues meeting with a fervor they hadn’t experience together yet.

Paige slid a hand down the side of Azzi’s body, firmly stopping at her hip bone and tugging forward. The move had Azzi feeling dizzy with want, and it was overwhelming. So much so, she gently pushed Paige away before she did something embarrassing like fall to her knees.

Breath's mingling, Paige stared at her with heavy eyelids. She wet her lips, a lopsided smile etching onto her face. “I think you like kissing me.”

Azzi let out a breathy scoff, pushing her back slightly. “You’ve kissed me first every time.”

“Yeah,” Paige agreed, smile still on her lips, “And you kiss me back every time.”

Azzi’s cheeks warmed and she turned her attention to the cleaning supplies that lined the wall next to them. She sniffed, “Next time pick somewhere that doesn’t have us next to a mop bucket.”

If Paige’s grin could get any wider, her face would split in half.

“Next time?”

Azzi feigned annoyance with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe.” Inside, she was screaming.

“You’re obsessed with kissing me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Azzi’s blush was beaming now as she tried to cover it with a scratch to her neck. Paige caught her hand there, sliding it down and loosely dangling their fingers together.

Quieter now, she said, “You wanted a nap before class, right?”

Azzi looked up at her from her lashes, nodding.

Paige looked at her fondly, twisting a loose curl that hadn’t made it in Azzi’s braid. “Alright, lemme walk you back. But don’t get any ideas – I’m not just a piece of meat.”

“You couldn’t be more irritating.”

Wednesday

The library was empty for once.

Azzi sat at a table with Caroline, Nika, and Paige, working on their individual assignments. Azzi purposely chose the seat across from Paige instead of next to her as per usual so she could focus, and it almost worked – had Paige not been brushing her foot against Azzi’s ankle. It was almost impressive how good Paige was at getting under Azzi’s skin with little to no effort.

Without looking up from her textbook, Azzi pushed back on Paige’s foot as a warning to stop. Of course, Paige didn’t pay her any mind, and when her foot came back it began tracing up Azzi’s calf.

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, letting herself enjoy the feeling for a single moment before standing up and mumbling something about finding a textbook. She ignored the feeling of Paige’s eyes following her as she walked away. She also ignored the way she liked it.

Walking deep into the shelved rows of the library, her fingers dragged along the spines of books she passed. The row smelled of stale paper and the subtle air freshener spritzed throughout the library. It made her happy.

She paused and her eyes landed on a book covering Latin American history, which would be perfect for the class she planned on taking to fulfill her history elective next year –

A hand landed above her head, and she looked up to see Paige giving her a soft smile. In the quiet of the book-covered shelves surrounding them, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thought you got lost,” Paige murmured.

Azzi leaned on the shelf to her side, letting her body fall slightly under the umbrella of Paige’s arm that was still extended. “Right,” Azzi murmured back, “Makes sense.”

In their hushed tones, Azzi felt a different kind of unsteady thumping of her heart. This one was accompanied by less anxiety and more of a pull towards Paige, butterflies at the pit of her stomach. It was addicting, honestly.

Paige let her eyes drag across Azzi’s face languidly before leaning her head down to speak quietly, “You look nice today.”

A familiar blush creeped up Azzi’s neck as her chest bloomed with the compliment. Maybe she had purposely put on mascara and blush this morning, along with wearing Paige’s favorite purple hoodie because she knew they would be together later.

Who’s to say, really.

“Thanks, Boogers.”

Paige winced, replying loudly, “Bad nickname.”

Azzi’s eyes widened at her volume, “Paige, shush.”

A goofy grin grew across Paige’s face. Her level of volume stayed the same as she replied, “What? I’m not talking loud.”

“Yes, you are. Stupid.”

“Shut me up then.”

They stared at one another, unblinking. An unspoken challenge flashed in Paige’s eyes. Azzi cocked her head to the side, thinking.

Paige loved to push Azzi; it might be time for her to push back.

“Fine.”

Stepping forward, Azzi placed a hand on Paige’s chest and a lingering kiss on her left cheek. She could feel the long exhale Paige released through her nose as it hit her neck. Ghosting her nose along Paige’s cheek, she leaned over and placed a second long kiss on the opposite side of her face. Dragging her nose along the underside of her jaw, Azzi placed a kiss there as well.

Paige exhaled through her nose again, and Azzi could feel the swallow of her throat as she gave the column of her a neck an open-mouth kiss.

Finally, Azzi brushed her lips so lightly over Paige’s, it was like she was never there at all.

Stepping back, Azzi smiled ruefully at Paige’s closed eyes and parted lips. She patted the center of Paige’s chest, whispering, “Don’t get lost on the way back.”

Paige peeked an eye open in time to catch Azzi’s grin as she stalked away.

Thursday

Paige and Azzi had been shopping for hours in the Storrs mall.

Prior to this, Azzi had called Paige complaining that she had nothing to wear to their annual team dinner tomorrow night.

At hearing her distress, Paige mumbled into the speaker, already lacing up her shoes, “Be ready to go in five.”

Now, in the Nordstrom changing room, Azzi was trying on dress number four. Paige sat on the cushioned bench outside her stall, hunched over with her elbows on her knees, fingers tapping her cheekbones patiently.

Azzi stepped out of her dressing stall, her curly bun slightly frizzy from tugging the simple olive dress over her head. Her cheeks looked flushed from the fluorescent lights of the room.

She twirled, arms extended, “Well?”

Unmoving from her position, Paige smiled, “Looks nice.”

Azzi pouted. “You said that about the last one.”

“And I meant it then too.”

Azzi huffed, spinning back to the stall, yanking the curtain. Her eyes landed on the last dress she had picked out to try – It was black, simple, figure-hugging. She could wear it a million times for any occasion.

Practical, pretty, and $200.

Meaning, too expensive.

She would just try it on for fun and wouldn’t get sad that she wasn’t buying it. Definitely.

Slipping the dress over her head, her bun grew more lopsided. Staring in the mirror, the dress was unfortunately…perfect.

She turned to the side, taking in the way it hugged her in the all the right places and still looked modest at the same time. She felt mature. Pretty. Confident. She sighed, yanking the curtain back to let Paige see.

Paige’s eyes perked up as she came into view, sitting up straight. She was smiling so fondly at her, Azzi thought her heart might split open.

“That’s the one, Az.”

Azzi looked down and slid a hand down her side, pursing her lips. “I know. I wish it wasn’t so expensive.”

“You want it?”

Azzi didn’t look up as she let her fingers caress the fabric. “Yeah, but I can’t justify spending that much.”

“Get it.”

She looked up then, caught off guard by the intensity in Paige’s eyes. Azzi’s brows scrunched as she said, “I just said –”

“You look good,” Paige said, sounding slightly in pain. “If you’re not going to buy it, ‘Imma buy it for you.”

Azzi let out a burst of a laugh at that. “Paige, that’s ridiculous. I can’t let you do that.”

Paige stood then, walking towards her slowly with her hands in her pockets. She stopped when their chests nearly touched and leaned her head down. In a soft voice, she said, “I think you look really pretty in the dress – and it’s the first one today you’ve tried on I can tell you feel good in.”

Paige leaned her face closer and gave a gentle peck to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi felt the kiss like an electric shock to her system, goosebumps rising on her skin everywhere. Her eyes wanted to flutter shut, but she refrained to take in the tender way Paige was looking at her.

“’Imma buy you this dress,” Paige muttered low, “And we can go get dinner. ‘M starving and know you are too.”

Azzi looked at her through her eyelashes. “I’m paying you back.”

Paige gave her a lopsided smile and turned her around by the hips, her fingers trailing along her lower back as she gave her a gentle push towards the changing room. “Sure,” she said lightly, like it was funny of her to even suggest that. “Go change.”

As Azzi tugged the curtain closed, she put a hand on the wall beside her for a moment. She had known for however many months about her feelings for Paige, but the way Paige stared at her and took care of her had her genuinely weak in the knees. She would almost be embarrassed if she heard anyone else describe this feeling but living it herself was entirely different. Her crush on her best friend wasn’t just growing – it felt nuclear.

When Azzi emerged from the changing room sheepishly, Paige tugged the dress out of her hands before she could hide it from her.

As promised, Paige bought her the dress.

And refused to let Azzi carry the bag.

Azzi tried to stop the heart eyes she was giving the back of Paige’s head; she really did.

————————-

Soft R&B filled the quiet space of Paige’s car as the girls rode back to campus. The sky was pitch black, and Azzi leaned her head back in the seat, stealing glances at Paige’s profile illuminated by her dashboard. Their Chick-fil-A order sat protected in Azzi’s lap, the smell wafting throughout the car.

“Bro, I’m starving,” Paige grumbled.

“We’re almost home.”

“But I am so hungry. It’s painful.”

“The dramatics.”

Paige looked over and pouted at her, making Azzi smile.

“Do you want to find a spot and pull over?” Azzi relented.

Paige pumped a fist. “Thank god – yes.”

The next thing Azzi knew, Paige was swerving into a nearby bank parking lot, quickly putting the car in park.

Paige snatched the bag from Azzi’s lap, finding her chicken sandwich before handing Azzi her own without tomatoes. Before Paige could open her sandwich, Azzi grabbed her hand and poured hand sanitizer in her palm. Paige nodded silently, rubbing it in as Azzi poured it in her own hand. They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the cars pass on the busy road next to them.

Besides the constant whirring noise of passing cars, the quiet of the car offered a sort of stillness and feeling of solitude Azzi couldn’t remember the last time she felt with Paige. There were no walls shared with roommates here, no janitor’s closet down the hall from where their friends sat, no eyes to see them.

Just them. Alone. Ten miles from campus.

The quiet felt vulnerable. In this moment, they felt vulnerable.

With a mouthful of chicken, Paige said, “I like kissing you.”

Azzi snorted, answering back with similar amounts of chicken in her mouth, “Me too.”

They sat in comfortable silence again for several minutes, before being interrupted by Paige once more, “Like, I really like kissing you.”

Azzi gave her a sidelong glance. “I figured.”

“Alright, cocky.”

“What? You kissed me first.”

“Yeah, but you kissed me back.”

“Yeah, I think that’s how making out works.”

“So, you admit you like it too.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page. You know, in case you want to stop.”

Azzi looked at her fully then, wiping her face and fingers with her napkin as she finished her sandwich. Softly, she said, “No, I don’t want to stop.”

Paige glanced at her, taking a sip of her diet coke. “Cool. Me neither.”

Silence ensued again. Cars whirred by. Paige’s hand rested dangerously close to Azzi’s on the center console.

Azzi looked at her again. “You know you can kiss me now, right?”

Paige turned her head and blinked at her. Wordlessly, she leaned her forearm on the console. Azzi leaned forward as well, her hands sliding on her thighs. They stared at each other for a moment, as if soaking the other in. Memorizing each other. Like they hadn’t already, secretly.

Paige angled her face, letting her eyes fall to Azzi’s lips. “C’mere,” she whispered, pulling Azzi in by where her jaw and neck connected.

The kiss was languid and slow in the best way. Azzi felt herself falling into it, her stomach doing flips at the way Paige caressed her mouth so carefully with hers, like she could do this forever. Kissing Paige felt like a drug to her, inducing a craving at her core she never knew she had.

And when their tongues traced each other, Azzi wanted to sigh into her mouth. Maybe she did, because she felt Paige smile against her, clearly amused. Azzi pulled back a centimeter.

“What’s so funny,” Azzi mumbled against her lips. Paige gave her a peck, not moving back.

“You’re crazy,” Paige said, making Azzi’s lips vibrate with each word.

Azzi let the back of her knuckles trace the edge of Paige’s neck. “Not very nice,” Azzi said into her mouth.

She could feel Paige’s smirk grow again, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Friday

Fridays were supposed to be Azzi’s easiest class day. Her accounting pop quiz had other plans.

She walked solemnly into her apartment late that afternoon, giving a disheartened hello without looking up.

From her living room couch, she received a chorus of Hey’s back, one standing out in particular. Her head snapped up to see Amari, who was painting Ines’ nails, and Paige. Her gaze locked with Paige’s for a beat too long, something unspoken flashing between them.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asked, preparing to stand. Azzi noticed her hair was down, slightly wavy from braids she wore yesterday. Light was catching on her blonde strands through the window, making some pieces look almost white. The tops of her high cheekbones looked rosy in the way Azzi knew she must have spent some time outside today, catching the last of Connecticut warmth.

She’s so pretty, Azzi sighed internally.

Shifting her backpack on her shoulder, she said, “Nothing, Accounting just kicked my ass today.” She walked past the living room, ready to lay down for the foreseeable future until she had to get ready for Geno’s dinner.

Entering her room, she dropped her backpack in the corner, immediately flopping on the side of her bed, letting her legs dangle and back decompress. She knew without saying anything that Paige would follow her there, and she smiled to herself as she heard a dramatic grunt and the drag of her slippers over the vinyl apartment flooring.

Like clockwork, Paige entered her room a second later. She tapped her foot against the door, letting it close enough to give them privacy.

“Hey,” she said, letting out a breath as she mirrored Azzi and laid next to her. With their necks turned and ears flat against the comforter, there was nowhere else to look other than into each other’s eyes.

Azzi’s lips quirked. “You already said Hey.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi watched as Paige’s cheeks got rosier. “Whatever.”

They watched each other as seconds ticked by. Paige’s eyes flickered to the soft smile playing on Azzi’s lips. Azzi caught the tension in Paige’s jaw, looking like she was restraining herself from something. From her.

“Class wasn’t so good?” Paige asked, but her eyes were following Azzi’s tongue as she licked the corner of her mouth.

Without answering, Azzi propped herself on her elbow and leaned over. She slowly slid a hand along Paige’s waist under her shirt, letting her fingers drag lightly over her stomach near her belly button. She watched as goosebumps raised along the skin she touched, the contrast of Paige’s warmth and her cold hands leaving her own fingertips tingling. Azzi wasn’t sure when she had become so bold, but she just couldn’t stop.

Her eyes flicked up and saw Paige watching her with lips parted. She inched closer, letting her head tilt as she took in Paige’s blue eyes and fanned out hair under her.

Azzi leaned down and gave her a slow kiss on the cheek. With her lips staying there, she whispered, “You look so pretty.”

Azzi knew she probably shouldn’t be acting like this, especially with their friends and them only being separated by the thin connected wall of her bedroom and living room. But she felt like a girl possessed as she nudged Paige’s nose with her own, and captured her lips in a kiss. Their lips pressed together firmly, eliciting a quiet guttural groan from Paige as she instantly wrapped her arms low around Azzi’s waist.

They kissed slowly; tortuously so. As their tongues connected, Azzi let her knee slide over Paige’s leg, to which Paige let her hand drag over her sides and under her thigh, holding her there. Azzi’s lower stomach fluttered

“You guys getting ready for dinner?” They heard Amari call from the living room.

The two girls pulled apart and stared at one another, eyes crinkling as they gently touched foreheads. The look they exchanged held a promise – they’d find time to be alone again soon.

-------———-

Geno held his annual team dinner at Storrs Country Club as a final hoorah before preseason crept up.

Although originally arriving together, as the group of girls shuffled in, Azzi and Paige were separated. They found themselves sneaking glances from across the room, wishing they were sat next to each other instead of two tables apart.

Instead, Azzi sat next to Caroline, who was animatedly discussing her aversion to the grey jerseys they would have to wear this fall.

“It’s just so unflattering,” Caroline continued, unaware of Azzi’s wandering eye to a nearby polo-wearing blonde.

“Totally,” Azzi mindlessly agreed, this time catching Paige’s eye as they made prolonged eye contact. Azzi smirked, whipping out her phone to text quickly You’re staring.

She was too, but that’s besides the point.

Watching Paige look down at her phone, they locked eyes again.

Azzi, trying to hide her smile, mouthed, what?

Paige bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly as she scratched the underside of her jaw in an attempt to cover up the blush that was creeping up her neck.

Satisfied, Azzi turned back to Caroline now, attempting to be an active participant of the conversation.

“And, who even looks good in cellblock grey,” Caroline said, sounding disgusted.

Azzi nodded, “You’re so right, absolutely no one.”

Well, she thought, maybe one person.

They continued back and forth for several minutes before Azzi saw Paige approach Caroline from behind and tap her on the back. “Hey, switch seats with me?” Paige asked her.

Caroline stared at her with furrowed brows, “Uh, no?”

Paige leaned her forearms on the back of her chair, sighing quietly. She leaned down and whispered something in Caroline’s ear, causing her to roll her eyes and scoot the seat back. Standing now, she turned to Azzi, “See you, Az.”

At the sight of Caroline leaving and finding Paige’s original seat, Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at the abruptness of it all. She turned to Paige, who was making herself comfortable next to her. “What was that?” she asked, confused but entertained.

“Wanted to be closer to Geno’s podium,” Paige deadpanned, “Bad eyesight, you know.”

Azzi huffed a laugh. “Right. And I’m the princess.”

“You are,” Paige agreed, taking a sip of water.

Azzi rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

When the dinner started to roll out, Azzi felt her mouth water. That is, until a platter of roasted brussels sprouts landed in front of her as an appetizer. She stared at it, scrunching her nose as she pushed it away from her.

“Gross,” she mumbled to herself. The memory of her throwing up the night before last year’s championship game flashed through her mind, making her frown subconsciously.

Paige caught it all, pausing before flagging down a waiter. One came quickly, leaning his head down to listen as Paige requested, “Can you take this away, please?”

She pointed to the platters of brussels sprouts in front of herself and Azzi.

Wordlessly, the waiter nodded and lifted the plates away from the pair. Azzi looked at her from the side, offering a small smile as a thank you. Paige stared at her, letting her hand rest on her knee under the table.

She squeezed three times. Azzi counted.

She thought then, if it wasn’t obvious before, Paige Bueckers was her person.

Saturday

Paige had asked her to come over and watch the Aces versus Sparks game. The game being on West Coast time had it starting at 10pm in Connecticut. Translation: a sleepover was inevitable.

Azzi and Paige had had so many sleepovers it was easier to track the times they didn’t sleep together than not.

But that was before, and Azzi found herself shaving her legs thirty minutes before embarking for Paige’s apartment. For what – she didn’t know. But there she was, doing it anyway.

Now, she lay on Paige’s bed with her with baby-smooth-dolphin legs, feeling like an idiot because Paige had barely touched her. Fully invested in watching A’ja Wilson dominate, the blonde had her right hand in a permanent fist, pumping every five minutes as she said, “My GOAT.”

They lay side by side; shoulders attached like Velcro. Azzi had her neck craned down, playing Smurfs on Paige’s Ipad.

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Yes, I am.” Azzi’s eyes never lifted from the tablet.

“You don’t even know what’s goin–”

“A’ja has seven assists and four blocks. Rae has six points. Chennedy has eleven. The Sparks need to stop handing out turnovers.” Azzi gave her Smurfette a cute little purple hat to wear.

Paige was staring at her with her mouth slightly agape, looking unnerved.

Azzi gave her a glance out of the corner of her eye. “You were saying?”

Paige’s lips split into a grin as she hooked her arm around her shoulders. Azzi felt a cheek land on the top of her head.

Azzi smiled to herself, leaning further into Paige’s warmth.

Eventually the game concluded, with the Aces winning 98 to 87. The girls went through their nighttime routine, as it was somewhat a science at this point. They brushed their teeth together, Azzi flicking Paige in between the eyes after she hit her in the thigh with her good leg. Azzi slipped a pimple patch on Paige’s cheek because she claimed she was too tired. They jointly stacked Paige’s extra pillows off her bed and onto her desk chair. Paige grabbed the extra throw blanket she kept for Azzi when she got cold at night.

It was all so routine, Azzi had accepted tonight would be the first day of the week the pair did not share a kiss. Part of her felt relief in the fact that her and Paige could still maintain a level of normalcy after the week they had had, and another part of her craved their newfound intimacy. Craved Paige’s affection. Her unsubtle tenderness.

They laid in the dark now, both facing the ceiling with eyes wide open. The pipe outside Paige’s window rattled slightly with the wind. It made Azzi want to fidget.

“I thought about you a lot this week,” Paige spoke first, still facing the ceiling. Azzi felt her heartrate pick up.

“Like what?”

Azzi felt Paige’s shrug as their shoulders were pressed together. “Just how much I liked what we were doing.”

The rattle of the pipe filled the quiet of the room for a moment before Azzi replied, “Me too.”

A beat passed. And then another.

“Do you ever think about doing more than kissing?”

Paige laid quietly next to her, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly unprovoked by Azzi’s question. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s heart thumped faster. “With me?”

“No, with Geno.”

Silence stretched between them for several moments before Paige continued softly, “Yes, with you.”

“Oh.”

Azzi turned her head to face Paige slowly, taking in her profile. “You know you can, right?”

She watched Paige pinch the bridge of her nose. “Can what, Azzi.”

“You can do other things with me.”

A long breath left Paige’s mouth. Several seconds passed.

In a fluid motion, Paige turned on her side and tugged Azzi towards her, slanting their lips together.

Finally, Azzi sighed in her head, a smile dancing on her lips.

Attempting to hide the immediate glee she felt from their mouths being attached again, Azzi pressed into her harder. They kissed like they were trying to prove something; to themselves, each other – it was unclear. What was obvious, was that Azzi was getting turned on. Quickly.

She sighed softly as Paige kissed across her cheek and over her jaw, her tongue darting out with the movement of her lips. Azzi tilted her head to give her better access to her neck, a breathy short moan escaping her as Paige simultaneously hooked Azzi’s leg over her hip, slotting their legs together, and leaving a trail of kisses down the column of her throat.

Azzi felt her core tightening as Paige glided a firmly gripped hand over the side of her butt, down her thigh and all the way down to her calf.

Thank God she shaved.

Paige repeated this motion several times, her fingers trailing along the inside of Azzi’s thigh as she gripped her hamstring. Their lips found each other again, tongue clashing instantly.

The way Paige held her made Azzi feel like the sexiest woman alive. Paige kissed her like a woman starved, like Azzi was the only woman to ever exist. That made her feel a little bold.

Unbreaking the kiss, Azzi reached for Paige’s hand that rested on the underside of her thigh and dragged it until it rested on her ass. She smirked at Paige’s groan she felt against her lips.

Paige squeezed her hand, dragging her by the ass until their hips were firmly pressed together. With the way Paige was holding onto her, Azzi thought she was going to have indents on her left butt cheek in the morning.

Not that she minded.

It turned Azzi on to the point where she let her hand dragged across Paige’s jaw, roughly down her chest, and reaching to grab her hand again. This time towards the front waistband of her boxers.

Paige groaned again, and Azzi felt her core pulse as her fingers skimmed underneath the band, teasing the top of her underwear. Azzi didn’t know if she wanted to squeeze her legs together or let them fall apart – everything felt so good and Paige hadn’t even touched her yet.

Paige broke their kiss, the pair breathing raggedly. She glanced down at where her hand was resting on Azzi’s stomach. Her eyes glanced back up at Azzi’s, an unspoken question hanging between them.

Azzi realized Paige was leaving the ball in her court to decide her next move; that in itself made her heart flutter. Suddenly, the weight of what could happen next hit Azzi like a truck.

Maintaining her eye contact with Paige, she nodded slowly. She watched Paige swallow.

In a shuddering breath, Paige let her fingers slowly drag under the waistband of Azzi’s boxers, gliding over the top seam of her underwear. Her fingers moved, finding the crevice of where Azzi’s hip and inner thigh met.

Azzi felt like the skin Paige touched was on fire. Their mouths hung open, close, and they breathed raggedly. Paige touched her like she was a landmine; careful and like she was memorizing every point that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

Finally, Paige dragged a single finger down the front of Azzi’s underwear and over her folds, where she had begun to get wet thirty minutes ago.

Paige’s lips parted, her breathing coming out soft but uneven as her and Azzi stared at each other with half-lidded eyes. “Is this okay?” She whispered, voice low. She circled two fingers on Azzi’s clit over her underwear, pressing lightly to feel the wetness starting to seep through.

Azzi swallowed. “Yeah,” she said breathily. She spread her legs a little wider, which Paige took as invitation to press her fingers a little harder as she continued her ministrations.

Paige dragged her nose along Azzi’s neck, her lips only brushing faintly over her skin. She gave a feather-light kiss right below Azzi’s ear, her lips staying on her skin as she asked in a low voice, “Does it feel good?”

Azzi slid her hand up Paige’s cheek, slightly digging her fingertips into her hairline. She watched as Paige’s eyes rolled back slightly. “Yes,” Azzi said, her lips barely parting. Good didn’t even begin to cover it; she thought if Paige kept it up long enough, she could finish just from this.

Paige used three fingers to rub slowly up and down the front of her underwear, circling her clit when she got back to the top. She pressed as her underwear dragged into her folds, feeling wetter every time she rubbed up and down.

Azzi was panting quietly now, her eyes fluttering. Paige leaned down to ghost her lips over hers, their unsteady breaths intertwining.

“Do you want me to touch you?” She asked, but it sounded more like a plea. Azzi nodded, gasping as Paige made it back to her clit.

“Tell me.”

Azzi was starting to involuntarily lift her hips up, her body following Paige’s movements. She dragged her fingertips to the underside of Paige’s scalp and pressed. “Please,” she breathed.

Paige hooked a finger, dragged Azzi’s underwear to the side. They both released a shuddering breath as Paige finally circled her fingers there.

Azzi was rocking her hips up now, wetting her lips as their husky eyes met. Paige leaned over, kissing below her ear as she slipped a finger inside her, pumping in and out.

Azzi’s mouth dropped open.

“You like that?” Paige asked her in her ear. She licked along her neck.

Azzi tried to respond, but it became incoherent as Paige slipped a second finger inside her, alternating between circling her clit and pumping her.

“What’re you tryna say,” Paige mumbled huskily. “Lemme hear you.”

Azzi turned her head, lips falling open and resting on Paige’s as she moaned as quietly as she could. “Feels so good,” she breathed into Paige’s mouth. At the praise, she felt Paige work faster, press a little harder.

Azzi’s head fell back, mouth open. She was so close.

Paige stared at her in awe, her eyes looking drugged. “You’re so fucking hot, Az.”

Azzi croaked, her mouth unable to close. Her brows furrowed as Paige picked up her pace – circling, pumping, crooking her finger and –

Oh.

My.

God.

“Paige,” Azzi breathed, trying desperately to stay quiet. She was fully panting now, and Paige was staring at her like she was the last piece of food on Earth.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned, kissing Azzi hard. She mumbled against her lips, “So fucking pretty.”

Azzi was on fire. Her entire body pulsed, and she felt like she was gasping for air when suddenly Paige’s thumb pressed over the most sensitive part of her in that way and –

She fell apart.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Her head fell back on the pillow, her mouth open in a silent moan as her eyes squeezed shut. She covered her mouth to not wake anyone up, her body shaking in the peak of her orgasm. But Paige kept going.

“Paige, I –” Azzi saw stars. Her whole body had chills as she felt herself building up again and –

She pressed her hand into her mouth again, feeling a second orgasm course through her, shaking her to her core. Her body was twitching, writhing, all of the above. Her mind was blank as the pleasure coursed through her, apart from Paige, Paige, Paige.

“You’re so perfect,” Paige whispered, finally easing the pressure of her hand. “So perfect.”

Azzi’s hipa twitched, her hand finding her chest as she took in large breaths. Paige removed her hand from Azzi’s underwear, their eyes locking. Their expressions mirrored each other; euphoric, wild, scared.

“Holy fuck,” Azzi whispered.

Paige tucked a piece of Azzi’s hair behind her ear, letting her hand drag down the side of her face. “That was okay?”

Azzi nodded, her lips slightly parted. “Very much more than okay.”

A beat passed before they grinned at one another. Paige leaned over and cupped her jaw, giving her a soft kiss, rubbing her thumb across her cheek. She leaned her forehead against Azzi’s as she pulled away. Azzi closed her eyes in content, a small smile playing on her lips as their bodies tangled.

“Two times, huh?”

She popped an eye open to see Paige’s shit-eating grin.

“Shut up.”

Sunday

Drip.

The pipe outside Paige’s bedroom window sounded louder than usual. She sat at her desk, iPad open to an assignment she’d lost focus on thirty minutes ago. She turned to the window, shooting the darkening clouds outside and the pipe she couldn’t see a glare.

The drip was distracting her.

She stood then, letting out a low grunt as her joints adjusted. She unconsciously reached for her left knee – a precautionary reflex. Her hands found her hips, and she began a slow pace around her room.

Her eyes glided along the wall above her bed, decorated in her favorite album covers.

Music.

Yes, she should put on some music.

Pause, she thought.

She couldn’t put on music, because that would require going on her phone. And if she went on her phone, she would find herself staring at her text thread with Azzi, whom she hadn’t spoken to the entire day.

It wasn’t on purpose. Azzi had spent most of the morning lounging with Paige in bed, their fingers loosely hooked and laughing over something stupid. When she’d left at noon, shooting Paige a coy smile through the door as she stepped out, Paige thought it was in both their best interests to go about their days (primarily before Paige’s heart jumped out of her chest, or she never let Azzi leave her room again).

But now in the solidarity of her room, where Azzi was just taking up space eight hours ago, Paige was starting to pace.

Her mind was running like an engine; back to Azzi’s soft lips. The way her breaths came out short when Paige touched her there. The way she had been fantasizing about doing everything they did last night for months, and it was somehow better than how she imagined. Azzi was more beautiful, more perfect, softer, breathier, firmer, than in her dreams.

Paige was fucked.

Because it wasn’t even just that now she knew what got Azzi going – it was the fact that over the course of this week, Paige had a taste of what it was like to be with Azzi. Stealing kisses, subtle touches, quiet words no one else had to hear. Her rock. Her best friend. The girl she was falling for.

Paige was ruined for anyone else.

Roughly, she dragged both hands down her cheeks, squeezing.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 9:37pm.

Yeah. She was going over to Azzi’s apartment.

She slipped on her slides and grabbed her hoodie off her desk chair, putting it on haphazardly as she blindly reached for her keys and nearly bolted out the door.

Azzi’s apartment was only down the block, so as light droplets of rain covered her, she didn’t mind. Honestly, the cool of the rain helped combat the steam that was surely rolling off her head from overuse.

Then, the rain picked up. Paige blinked, and suddenly she was in a torrential downpour.

“Of course,” She mumbled to herself, not fighting the water that pelted on her in every direction. She walked, no, stomped, for five minutes, eventually making it to Azzi’s front door. She banged her fist on the door twice before stuffing her hands in the pocket of her hoodie.

She heard shuffling and laughter, and like a beacon Azzi opened the door with the living room lights illuminating behind her.

Paige could imagine how ridiculous she looked standing in front of this damn near angel, sopping wet as the storm raged on behind her. Feeling water in every crevice of her body, her heart pounded as hard as the thunder outside as Azzi gave her a wide-eyed stare. Glasses were perched at the bridge of her nose; her hair was in a messy bun at the top of her head, and she wore an oversized Nickelodeon shirt with boxers that were probably a decade old. Poop emoji slippers adorned her feet.

Fuck me, Paige thought. I love her.

After the initial shock of seeing her in her soaked state, Azzi immediately stood aside and ushered her in. “Oh my gosh, what is wrong with–” Azzi started. Before she could finish, Paige was fisting her shirt collar with both hands and kissed her.

Azzi gave a small noise of shock but quickly grabbed Paige’s shirt in her own hands and kissed her back with equal fervor.

They kissed like they were starved.

Deprived.

Hungry.

Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s jaw as she cupped her face, their lips finding each other like they had done this their entire lives instead of just one week. Her lips tasted like the mint chocolate chip ice cream Paige knew she had after dinner. It made her smile as she broke the kiss, leaning her forehead against Azzi’s.

Their chests moved in unison as they regained their breaths, eyes crinkling at one another like a joke was being told that only they knew.

“Hi,” Azzi beamed, a breathy laugh escaping her.

“Hi,” Paige smiled back, only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

“You’re drenched,” Azzi snorted, pulling away slightly.

Paige grabbed her biceps before she could get too far, leaning in to mumble against her lips, “Didn’t notice.”

“Oh my god?”

Paige and Azzi turned their heads slowly to the side, as neither of them had spoken. Staring at the pair, unblinking, with mouths dropped was Amari and Aaliyah on the couch.

Paige blinked once.

And then again.

She took a large step to her right away from Azzi, leaning one hand on the nearby kitchen island and the other on her hip.

“Hey guys,” Paige said, voice cracking. “What’s up?”

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #paige x azzi #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wlw #wnba #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #SoundCloud #Spotify

272 notes · View notes

11rosebunny · 1 year ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬 (𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍 + 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍)

content: f!reader. fluff. togame being an asshole per usual…

word count: 2045

Haruka Sakura

You two were simply at his house for a small hangout, it wasn't anything too special after you both started dating. You've grown accustomed to going over to his apartment and just being in the same room together.

So when you slip on one of his plain white shirts, he knows immediately that it's his because he doesn't own many coloured shirts like you do. He lost his mind.

The sight of you in his floor bed with his shirt.

Right away, he'll question you, "Is that my shirt?" As blush creeps up on his cheeks.

You answer "Yes." Without much thought but in his head, he was going crazy.

He tries to act like it's nothing and brushes it off, but the way his eyes never leave your body and the way he keeps fidgeting with the hem of the shirt you're wearing makes you question what he's doing. He doesn't say anything the whole time which made you curious and knew something was up.

Hajime Umemiya

He has to do a double take on your body when he comes across you wearing something of his own. The first time it happened, you were relaxing on the school roof top with him, seeing that you guys finished gardening fairly quickly, the shirt you were wearing had gotten a little too dirty to your liking, so to fix the solution he looked at you, then his shirt.

"Do you want to borrow mine?"

You eyebrows knitted in confusion as your eyes went wide. You kept protesting and telling him to keep it, besides, what was he going to wear then? He quickly solved the problem by saying if you'd like to borrow his sweater instead. This time, you agreed to those terms.

You quickly changed in the washroom before heading up to the rooftop again. The school was empty and luckily Sugishita had plans that day (which is very rare causing the both of you to question what he was doing today). Upon returning, he was in the hammock he usually takes naps in and was busy on his phone after not being on it for a few hours. Momentarily, you sat in front of him feeling awkward and shifting your chair. He peered up from his phone and looked at you, then smiled.

"Wow that suits you huh?" He placed his phone down on his chest. You jumped at his compliment.

"It's not even mine..."

"Looks better on you though." A cheeky smile was brought to his lips.

You felt the tips of your ears burning as he motioned you to come with him. You were dating by then and yet you still felt awkward whenever you two got a little to intimate. He knew of this thought of yours but he found it cute. So when you stood up and made your way over to him, he quickly grabbed your wrist making you stumble onto his chest as he let out an airy laugh when you yelled in shock.

"You're going to break the hammock you asshole!"

Toma Hiragi

He really hated the way you dressed that day. Normally whenever you two would go out for a date night, it was usually at restaurants or a late night walk for drinks or ice cream, but today was special and you two decided to do something different.

The both of you agreed to visit the bowling arena.

It was open till 12AM and mostly older adults and few rowdy teenagers would roll up around those hours due to the alcoholic beverage that were available to order. Of course, you and him don't drink so your plans was just to bowl.

However when he picks you up from your house and sees your outfit, he could a feel a vigilant sense coming to his nose. The top you wore was a bit too showy and tight for his liking, even so, he refrained from telling you at first.

However, to your dismay, a lot more teenagers that you two expected to be there was out of your assumptions. The groups around your bowling area was rented out by the same rowdy teenagers he feared. The entire time he purely tried to focus on your date and ignore the hormonal boys that kept eyeing up and down. It was driving him crazy to not just drag you out the place and have a date night at home.

After it was your turn, he had enough of the whispers and stares about his girlfriend, so when you walk up to him to indicate it was his turn now, he takes his leather jacket from the couch where both your belongings were placed and in a swift move, he wraps it behind your back.

"Oh, are we going now?" You ask feeling sweat drop from your head.

"...No." He replied as you slipped in your arms through the sleeves. From the corner of his eyes, he could feel the stares of the group of teenagers mumbling under their breaths.

You didn't understand for the first few minutes till you watched him walk up to the stadium and saw him glance at the group of boys if they noticed you were wearing his jacket.

You smiled softly and held the jacket closer to your body.

Taiga Tsugeura

He barely has any interesting shirts, Nirei desperately tried to help him find his style sense, but when the others visited his house and browsed around in his room, Mitsuki looked in his closet to see the same exact shirts in different shades of grey. He took a picture and sent it to the group chat.

The four made that an inside joke.

Even so, you were aware of his limited choices of clothing, when you asked for a shirt at his house, on the outside he seemed normal about it. It took him awhile for it to click in his brain what you asked till he saw you in his shirt asking him if he's ready to go out yet.

The both of you were just going to go on a small walk around town having been bored at his house so the entire time he's outside with you he's extra giddy and smiley thinking about the fact that you are wearing his shirt.

You can tell he's in an extra good mood by the way he seems to blush and smile more while at the same time, taking glances at the shirt you're wearing every now and then.

Mitsuki Kiryu

His clothing of choices are very interesting. Aside from his loud patterned shirts, he still owns a fair amount of cute looking ones.

When you first looked into his closet a tiny part of you was jealous seeing how nice they were, you even told him you were going to steal some because of how good quality it was, and to your surprise he said,

"Go ahead. I don't mind." With a cat-like smile.

In doing so, you ended up putting a fashion show on for him.

He laughed the entire time and rated each outfits you presented to him, having different names for each of the fits making him place down his phone and put all his attention on you.

As much as he enjoyed the little game you made, he loved the way your body fitted some of his clothes, he falls into the shorter category of guys. Standing at a whopping 5'5 ft tall, some of the clothes fit you very well. He finds it amusing the way some of them still look baggy on you, making you look like blob of laundry.

He wouldn't mind if he saw you in public wearing one of his jackets.

Hayato Suo

You really hate his clothes. It's not the fact that it's ugly or weird, Suo tends to go for the Chinese clothing due to the hemp material he likes. Loose pants and kung-fu shoes, they're basically similar material types.

However, when you had to wear one of his jackets due to the weather being colder than usual, you fought with yourself thinking you'd look stupid wearing a Chinese tang-suit in public paired with your [Clothing style] would make you look ridiculous.

But once you refused, the dark-haired boy put on a faux smile and told you to put it on now.

There you were, in his tang-suit jacket.

It wasn't as bad as you thought, eventually you forgot about the jacket when you two continued your date outside. The whole time, he would glance at you whenever you weren't looking and look away with a proud smile.

"Suo is something wrong?" You ask questioning his silent smile.

He looked away and continued walking, "Nothing." He answer before wrapping his fingers with yours.

Jo Togame

Monk working clothes and matching sweatsuits.

He doesn't care much about style if he's being honest. The chore of running errands to spend money on clothing he's going to wear for 2 days and end up throwing them into the washing machine seems like a bother, so he keeps his wardrobe simple.

When he finds you stealing one of his grey sweaters, he notices right away.

"Is that mine?" He asks pointing at you laying in his bed with your phone in your hand.

He already knows the answer when you reply, "Yeah."

He chuckles to himself before walking over to you and placing the towel from his shoulders on his chair. His hair was still wet after having a short bath and threw on grey sweatpants and a random sweatshirt.

When you're just going through your phone and not paying much attention to your surroundings, the 6 foot man launches his body onto yours making you scream in surprise.

Instantly, he wraps his arms around your waist while messing up his wet hair on the sweater you wore. The phone in your hand dropped causing it to fling to the floor and create a crashing sound. The moment he got his hands on you, you tried breaking free.

"Togame stop! Your hair is still wet!" You kicked your legs and began to push yourself away from him but his grip was too strong.

You could feel a smile form on his lips against you as a lazy but purring voice replaced his tone of voice, "But you look so good [Name]."

"Let me GO!"

Tomiyama Choji

His outfits relate to similar clothing of streetwear and he's not even aware of that. He picks his clothing at random and goes for tight-fitted pants with sneakers. He's very short and light so most of his clothes fit you.

When you two are simply going out to eat and you accidentally spill water on your shirt, your mood shifts and becomes sadder.

He wasn't expecting something like this to happen, and thought about any solutions.

"My shirt is all ruined..." You whined across from the chair he stood in. You began to wipe down the liquid that wetted your shirt while he frantically began to clean up the table that had the water spills.

"Hey it's okay, you can always borrow my jacket." He looked up at you with his prominent smile.

You blinked at his offer but was he really going to give you a choice? The answer was no.

You went into the washroom to go change and slip on the the hoodie he wore for your date, and when you walked out he widened his eyes in surprise as a tiny of blush covered his cheeks.

"Sorry, I'll return your sweater back next time okay?" You walked out the restaurant with him with you wet shirt stuffed in your bag.

He shook his head and that's when you realized he seemed a bit more quieter than he usually is. Normally, he was loud and outgoing but in this moment, you senesced something was coming up.

"No it's okay, you can keep it."

"Really?" You smiled back at him as the two of you began walking.

He remained his eyes on you in a daze before the two of you wrapped your hands together, "Yeah. It suits you better."

You blushed at his statement.

2K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I just wanted to say I really like your writing style!!

I was wonder have you done a hybrid yan whose darling has a phobia of the animal they are a hybrid of?

Eg wolf with a darling scared of dogs, Naga with a darling scared of snake, ect.

I can definitely expand a little on that! I'll keep it very generic, so you can go for any kind of hybrid you'd like. :)

Yandere! Hybrid x Phobic! Reader

Featuring a hybrid of your choice and a Reader who's terrified of him, but not for the reasons one might expect.

Content: gender neutral reader, hybrid yandere, stalking, monster romance (mild NSFW)

He's been in love from the moment he saw you. So entranced, in fact, that he didn't even notice he'd stalked you all the way to your home. And much too eager to see you again to not return there the next day, and the day after and so on, until today.

Today, however, was meant to be special. He'd planned to confess his feelings and pray for the best. What's the worst that could happen, he thought. If you were to reject him, he'd just return to his habit of watching from afar.

Though he didn't expect you to scream and run away in a panic. You nearly toppled over the ground in your frantic escape, white as a sheet, mumbling apologies that slowly faded into the distance. He could only stare. He didn't get the chance to introduce himself.

That was...not his best moment. That night he turned and twisted, plagued by a shame he'd never known before. Was he truly so irredeemably monstrous? He'd never interacted much with humans before, so he never quite considered his own appearance. Could he really go back to admiring you secretly? Was there no way to convince you? His heart throbbed melancholically.

In the morning, to his great shock, you were already waiting for him in the same spot, just as pale, knees bent and ready to sprint at any given second. You managed to blurt out your explanation: the phobia. He suddenly remembered one instance where you stumbled upon an animal and had a reaction similar to what he experienced. So, you were indeed afraid of him, but not in the way he initially assumed. His eyes lit up with newfound hope: you were giving him a chance, after all.

The first months were rather clumsy. A lot of fidgeting, a lot of sneaky glances, and to his great dismay, a lot of distance. To think you were finally his, and he couldn't even hold you properly.

One must appreciate the small victories. You were no longer a stranger he'd follow from the shadows. He no longer had to imagine what you'd smell like, or what your laugh sounded like, or how your hands would feel in his. You have to take what's given to you, he'd tell himself once he was alone again, desperately touching himself to those scarce memories.

Despite his almost manic neediness, he always greeted you with a reassuring smile. Always asked before touching you. Always apologized if he got ahead of himself. He'd never allow his love to outweigh your comfort.

You jolt slightly.

"Sorry, was I too rough?" he freezes, observing your small, naked body underneath his.

"No, just muscle memory, sorry."

You purse your lips, embarrassed about your sudden anxious reaction in the middle of an intimate moment. Will you ever get over your fear?

"Hey now, is this the kind of face to have while I'm fucking you?" the hybrid jokes with a grin. "Small steps, remember?"

He'd wait forever if it was for you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere hybrid #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #hybrid x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster romance

2K notes · View notes

thebiscuitlabryinth · 5 months ago

Text

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

#so. that update huh #i was possessed by demons (sm) again and wrote this in a wild burst of inspiration. enjoy!!#i've been working with fairytales a lot recently. if you couldn't tell #it's midnight man i need to SLEEP #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #shadow milk cookie #the biscuit library

795 notes · View notes

thewitchblue · 4 months ago

Text

"So, don't be mad."

Bruce heard behind him. Tim watched with wide-eyes as you spoke. He knew where this was headed, and he was trying to subtly tell you to turn around and shut up. Bruce will have a heart attack.

Bruce closed his eyes to mentally prepare for the worst before turning around and seeing exactly what he's supposed to be "not mad" about. You were holding a toddler. He blinked at the toddler in confusion, and she blinked back at him. She seemed equally confused about him as he was about her.

"Who...?"

Who's the other parent? Who is the toddler? Where did you get the toddler? Why did you get a toddler? What's going on? Bruce was baffled. He had so many questions that he knew he won't like the answers to. You said sheepishly,

"I may or may not have accidentally combined my DNA with Wally's, and now we have a child that we kind of had to adopt and that I forged legal documents for."

You actually had twins, but you didn't want to tell him that. His heart wouldn't be able to handle both of them.

Bruce, for what it's worth, managed to keep his cool. What did he expect when they gave the scientist kid all the ingredients needed to clone? Really, it's Bruce's fault for allowing you to keep the kit Dick gave you for your birthday. He should have known your creativity would've wormed its way into your far too curious brain.

The Flash family have already invited you into their family despite you somewhat accidentally cloning one of them. You actually hoped to have cloned Wonder Woman, not Wally, but you mixed up all the vials and picked one. Now you had two red-haired demons running around. Bruce asked in a baffled tone,

"How long did you wait to tell me?"

You really didn't want to answer that question. Bruce narrowed his eyes at you when you remained silent for a suspiciously long amount of time. You mumbled your answer, so he turned to Tim when you didn't speak any louder. You two are the closest. He'd know the answer. Tim raised his hands in surrender. He really didn't want to pick a side. You would start a war against him, and he's revealed a lot of information to you that he revealed to no one else. You were excellent at making his secrets impossible to uncover, and he'd hate for you to go digging for worse.

You walked away with your little girl in your arms. She's three years old and you've hid her from everybody for two of those years. The Flash family accepted them both without problem, but you had to hide it from Bruce until the Flash family could bond with your precious babies. If Bruce makes you put them up for adoption, the Flashes will happily adopt them.

You texted Wally to pick you both up, but Bruce was ready for a speedster to show up and countered Wally's speed by silently setting up a trap. It worked immediately to your dismay.

"Not so fast. I have questions."

Bruce said calmly with a stoic expression. His stoicism broke, however, when your baby boy slide in as well and rammed into Wally, giggling. Wally gave Bruce an awkward smile and held your boy in his lap, bouncing him nervously on his knee. Wally fidgets often when he's anxious and Batman makes him incredibly anxious.

You gave Bruce a worried smile. You didn't mean to make twins. They mutated like that. They multipled too fast to stop them and suddenly you couldn't. You had to separate the fetuses and incubate them faster than you could stop. You tried to smooth the glare on Bruce's face,

"Before you get mad, I didn't mean for this to happen. Well... I didn't mean for twins to happen. I very much meant to create a clone."

Wally lightly hit your shoulder to get you to stop rambling before you start. You don't need to reveal everything about your lives together.

Your relationship kind of just... happened. You didn't think Wally would be happy when he found out about your twins (by accident, of course), but he was surprisingly excited. Anybody else would have likely hated you, but Wally? He loved his little ones with his entire heart. He didn't even hesitate when he saw the speeding redheads. He knew they were his immediately, but he didn't know who until you tried to subtly call out their names in a low hiss. Where could they have gone? They could have been in France for all you knew!

You were horrified to see both of your troublemakers in Wally's arms. You didn't know how long you planned to hide them, but it was terrifying to see Wally look at you with raised eyebrows while holding his squirming twins.

"I would say I can explain, but I feel like the explanation would be worse than your guesses."

You had said as you attempted to take them back from Wally. Wally didn't want to hand them over, however, and actively evaded your reaching arms.

"Nuh-uh, not until I know how and why."

He said with a smirk. You groaned and rubbed your face in your empty hands. He's serious.

"Dick gave me a DNA kit as a joke and I thought, 'I wonder if I could make a clone like Conner,' so I got a DNA sample of everyone and mixed up all the vials."

You managed to snatch back your twins as Wally processed the information you gave him. He watched you coo over your toddlers and realised he wanted that. He wants to be with you, and he wants to be in his children's lives. He wants to play with his kids and put them in little Flash costumes. He wants to see your smile reflecting on their little faces and hear their mischievous giggles before they run to play in the Russian snow or chase each other like they have eternity together. He wants to see your warm eyes look at him every day and know he's the reason you have so much love in them. He wants this life. He wants to be a dad.

You had frowned in thought when Wally asked to be a part of your lives and told him he was the first to even know about the twins and you didn't really plan for them to ever know their dad.

"It's nothing personal. I hadn't considered telling anyone about them, truthfully."

You mused on the thought for seemingly forever to his superspeed thinking before finally accepting him into your lives.

You couldn't keep the relationship a secret in a family of detectives, but they wouldn't know to look if they didn't have a reason to look, so you kept the relationship silent. You introduced your kids to the Flash family long before you ever revealed your children to your own family. You told the kids to keep it quiet. You called it a family secret, and they took it as a challenge to keep everything hidden from the detectives.

"How old are they?"

Bruce asked with great exhaustion. You mumbled, but Wally answered with his running mouth,

"Three years in January."

You lightly touched his knee when it sped up in a silent way to tell him to slow down for the normal eye. Bruce's eyes unnerved Wally as they stared him down.

"To clarify, I missed three years of my grandchildren's lives. Why?"

You shrugged. You didn't know how to explain, so you simply didn't. Bruce is an intimidating man, and making him angry is like walking towards a tornado. You asked like you already knew the answer,

"Are you not angry?"

Okay, you have a point. He is furious, but not for the reasons you had feared. He was furious because it was kept from him, not because it happened. You said quickly when you noticed his subtle anger,

"You shouldn't have given me a DNA kit if you couldn't accept what I could do with it."

He shook his head in disbelief. That's your defence? He wasn't even the one to give it to you, so he didn't consent to your shenanigans. Dick should have known better than to give the scientist Wayne a DNA kit. In fact, he'll have to call Dick and yell at him later.

Tim was watching with a nervous gaze. He knew you had kids. He didn't know the other parent, nor did he anticipate it being Wally. It felt like a sitcom, and he couldn't change the channel. He couldn't believe it. Wally? Really?

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It's a good thing he likes the Flash family because he wouldn't be able to handle it if it was Hal's kid. You hesitated before asking quietly,

"Do you want to hold her?"

Bruce looked at his granddaughter, and he couldn't help but soften. His anger vanished in an instant. Her big beautiful eyes looked at him so innocently that he couldn't stop himself from reaching out and taking her from your arms.

You subtly helped your son and Wally out of Bruce's trap as Bruce fawns over your baby girl. Maybe he can get used to being a grandpa after all.

#gn reader #wally west x reader #x reader #batsibling reader

376 notes · View notes

amorisxx · 8 months ago

Text

Snickerdoodle pt. ii

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader summary: Tashi invites you and your son to lunch with her family. You meet Patrick. And you can't stop sharing your cookies with Art. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, mentions of car sex, oral sex (fem receiving because Art is a munch), adults still acting like horny teenagers, hastily proofread word count: 4.2K prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Tashi does call you. She invites you to have lunch. On them.

You say no.

There’s no way you can go have lunch with the man you just fucked in a parking lot and his wife. You make up some sort of excuse, continuing to dodge her calls for a week.

Unfortunately, your karma is fast acting because you run into Tashi while picking up Kaleb from school one day. Lily and Kaleb have grown closer this school year. In any other instance, you’d be proud of your little dude for making friends, but you can’t help but side eye him when he asks to have a playdate with Lily right in front of Tashi.

Before you can properly respond, Lily is tugging on her mom’s sleeve saying “please, please, please” and Tashi is giving you an apologetic smile. You relent because to do otherwise would make you a terrible mom. Denying your son time with his friend just because you’re avoiding the consequences of your own actions would be a new low. So, you agree to bring Kaleb over that weekend. Much to your dismay, Tashi takes the opportunity to sneak in the offer of lunch again.

ᯓ

On Saturday, you find yourself on the Donaldson’s patio while Kaleb and Lily play in their picturesque backyard. Sunlight pours over the yard, engulfing everything in a warm, soft glow. Lush greenery billows out from the ground creating pillowy grass for the kids to run around through barefoot. A steady trickle of water flows over rocks into a large pond nearby. There’s a light breeze in the air, just enough to feel refreshing.

Tashi is sure to order lunch for everyone. And despite your reluctance to show, you still bring a shiny, red tin of snickerdoodle cookies for dessert. Art took to reminding the kids to finish their food before playing and to be careful near the pond. When they insist on feeding their leftover bread to the fish, he’s quick to make sure they don’t go too far. The afternoon sun settles over him as he kneels between the two, carefully pinching off pieces of breadcrumbs to gently toss into the shimmering water. You just barely hold back a small smile at the seraphic appearance of him, and when you glance back around, Tashi’s eyes meet yours with a slight smile of her own.

Despite the serene atmosphere of their home, you can’t fully relax into your chair as you nibble on your lunch. Art peeks at the way you keep fidgeting with your dress and adjusting your watch on your wrist. He subtly tries to tap you to grab your attention, but you pretend to be reaching for another mimosa to avoid the contact. You find yourself glad to have another drink, actually, because you’re feeling more nervous by the second. You sip from your glass and graciously fall into a conversation with Tashi about your baking in an effort to ignore Art. You think that maybe you’ll feel less guilty about your attraction to her husband if you appear unaffected by him.

Halfway through lunch, you meet Patrick, a tall man with dark curls and glimmering eyes. He’d sauntered over to the table with an impish grin, taking the seat across from you. They introduce him as the player Tashi is coaching and Art’s best friend. You learn that Patrick lives in their guest house. But the way he moves about the space suggests that he’s quite familiar with their home.

Patrick talks to you about his career. Says you might’ve seen him play. You give a tight smile, tell him maybe you had.

In truth, you have no idea who Patrick is.

He openly flirts with you. Says he’s single. You don’t miss the glare Tashi shoots him. Art, however, is laser focused on your reaction to Patrick, searching your face each time he makes a suggestive comment.

You’re shaking your head in restrained amusement at Patrick when Kaleb runs to the table for a sip of lemonade. He spills it in his haste to get back to Lily, and you use a napkin to dab his chin before he pushes your hand away, grumbling mom under his breath. When he’s out of earshot, Patrick casually tells you that you look too good to have a kid Kaleb’s age.

You’re too stunned to speak. Art reaches across the table and slaps the cookie that he’s stolen out of Patrick’s hand, which makes him glare at Art, while Tashi groans in annoyance.

She massages her right temple and sighs, “I apologize for Patrick. He lacks basic home training.” He only grins at her comment.

When he pours himself a glass of sparkling champagne, she snatches it from him, muttering about not fucking up his meal plan. Patrick licks the droplets of champagne that landed on his fingers. She looks at him with disgust and continues, “He wasn’t even supposed to be here. But you know what they say. Never feed a stray cat.”

After you’ve made your way through two mimosas, you turn to Tashi to ask for the bathroom. You expect her to take you. Or simply give instructions and send you on your way, but Art stands up and says, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

You want to decline, but your bladder is screaming, so you follow him through the large French doors leading into their kitchen. You reluctantly watch the way his muscles move in tandem with his lazy stride. His gait is noticeably less stiff as he makes his way through his home. Here, he doesn’t have to be Art Donaldson ™, just Art. He doesn’t turn around until he stops at a door situated in the hallway you passed when you entered their house. He could’ve just told you that the bathroom was on that hall.

“Here it is.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and reach for the knob. Before he can say anything else, you shut the door behind you and lock it. When you think you can hear footsteps departing, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You quickly pee and wash your hands, lingering to stare at the water rinsing over your fingers. It’s not until the stream is hot enough to sting that you retract your hands, grab the hand towel and turn off the faucet.

It would be nice to just stay locked in here until Kaleb is tired out and ready to go home. But you know that would be weird at best and suspicious at worst.

“You can do this,” you whisper to yourself in the mirror. “It’s just one lunch. After this, you never have to talk to these people again.”

With a mindful inhale, you move to open the door and pray Kaleb can make some new friends.

You’re thinking about how bad of a mom you are when you almost bump into Art.

“Shit! You scared me!”

He frowns at you. “What? You surprised there was someone else in the house?” He says, voice laced with amusement.

You roll your eyes. “No, I just didn’t expect you to pop up. I thought you’d gone back outside.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh…you didn’t have to do that. I could’ve found my way back.”

“Never said you couldn’t.” You think he’s standing closer to you now. “I just uh, I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been…” he moves his head from side to side, “a little tense.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp. “Really? You don’t say?”

He frowns. Like a kid who doesn’t understand why you’re taking away his cookies.

“Art, how did you think I was gonna act? After what…” you lower your voice, “after what we did,” you hiss.

His hand grasps your shoulder. “Hey.” He squeezes it. “I told you it was fine.”

You scoff. “So we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I didn’t say that. I told you, I wanted you.”

“And that makes it okay?” You crane your head back to stare at him.

He turns his head in the direction of the kitchen before letting out a sigh and bringing his eyes back to bore into yours. “Yeah. For me, it does.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen the intensity settled in his gaze the way it is now.

You look at him with disbelief. “Art. You’re married.”

He blinks at you.

“Your wife is literally sitting outside watching our children play.” You try to get him to see how wrong this is. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” You didn’t think Art could be so cold about this.

“It didn’t mean anything when she cheated on me.” His voice is steady, but there’s something undeniably hidden behind his hardened expression. You can’t place it, but whatever it is, it makes your brows soften.

“What?” You say lamely.

“You heard me.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. That time when he’d told you he understood, he actually had. And you hadn’t believed him.

You want to inquire more, but he interrupts you. “Listen, I’m not really up to rehashing the fails of my marriage right now,” he says, reaching to grab your hand. You let him. “Just know that you don’t need to feel guilty. About anything.”

His fingers gently tilt your chin to look him in the eyes. “And know that everything we did that night was something I’ve wanted for awhile. Something I still want.”

Your eyes impulsively dart to his lips.

“Please tell me I can touch you,” he all but whimpers.

And at that moment, you know you really aren’t a good person. Because it only takes a matter of seconds for you to lean forward and catch Art’s lips as his head moves towards you. You bring your hands around the back of his neck as his arms snake around your waist. His warm hand presses against your hip before traveling up until he reaches your ribcage. You sigh into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair. It didn’t take long for you to get lost in him, abandoning any form of restraint.

Despite the tenderness seeping through your fingertips, the kiss is rushed. It’s filled with lust and the desperation of two people, frantically trying to get as much as they can from the other. You whimper when you feel Art’s teeth dig into your bottom lip. One hand drags up to cup your breast, and the other moves to grip your ass, squeezing it. With an arch of your back, you let your head loll backwards a bit as Art’s pink tongue swirls around yours. He grunts out a small fuck when his thumb brushes over your clothed nipple and you moan. The action brings up flashes of him pressing his mouth to your breasts that night in the parking lot. You recall the way he sucked on them and played with your clit through your damp panties. The memory goes straight to your core.

Suddenly, Art pauses to glance towards the kitchen, as if weighing his options. You can feel him pressed up against you hard. And a part of you clenches when he turns back to you, grins, and whispers “fuck it” before attacking your mouth again. You let out a sound of surprise when you feel him ushering you back to the bathroom.

The lock clicks behind you as he presses you up against the door. His hands are everywhere and his tongue is following in quick succession. You’re so overwhelmed by it all that you can barely figure out where to place your hands. You settle for his shoulders as he falls to his knees in front of you.

Art spreads your legs, pressing his face into the side of your inner thigh. His nose and parted mouth travel up your thigh, bunching up the fabric of your knitted dress the higher he gets. Your stomach clenches when his hands come to caress the back of your thighs and make their way over your behind. In one swift motion, Art shoves his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs them harshly down your thighs.

His name tumbles out of your mouth in a gasp. He lightly hums to himself as he rids you of the extra material, and you don’t notice him place them into his pocket because your eyes are shut tight at the feeling of his wet mouth trailing up your thigh again.

When you feel a puff of warm air hit your lips, your eyes fly open, and you instinctively grip your dress to get a better look. Art’s eyes are closed as he unabashedly inhales your scent. After a particularly deep breath, his tongue comes out to lick against your folds. He releases a shaky exhale that tickles your clit. His blue eyes open up to peer at you, silently pleading for permission. You could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of him needing your permission when he’s already fucked you once and just forced himself between your legs, literally yanking your underwear down.

Still, he waits with his mouth mere centimeters from your heat, glassy eyes wide, looking to you to grant him this.

It’s possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You place your fingers in his hair firmly and lower yourself onto his waiting mouth. The groan Art releases into your pussy resonates through your entire core. Your head falls back against the door as he begins to eat your cunt like he’s been starving for it.

He hungrily laps at your soaking entrance, dragging his tongue up to your clit and back again. He’s a messy eater. Letting your juices coat his chin without a care in the world. Shoving his tongue so deep into you that his nose is flush with you. It makes your stomach flutter. The intensity and risk of being caught transports you to a time when you might’ve hid in a closet with your high school crush. Except the head was never this good.

You’re grinding your swollen clit into his nose as his tongue fucks into your hole when he grabs your thigh, placing it over his shoulder. The position lets him shove his face deeper into the apex of your thighs, moaning against you. At this rate, you’re not sure who’s enjoying this more. You start to feel dizzy, your senses overwhelmed with the feel of Art’s tongue and the sound of his groaning mixed with filthy slurping noises. It’s obscene the way he’s switching between licking into your hole and sucking at your clit.

“Ah-Art I’m gonna—,”

“Mmhm,” he nods into your cunt. He’s lost in it. He’s gripping your ass, kneading the flesh, when his tongue dips downward. He spreads your cheeks. You jolt when you feel something hot and wet swirl around your tight muscle. You’re surprised at how good it feels, your ex would never have done that to you.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh godddd,” you’re tugging his hair, pulling his ears, anything your hands can find purchase on.

Your thighs tremble as Art mercilessly sucks on your clit. The orgasm that washes over you has you lifting your back off the wooden door, vision gone black.

Art doesn’t let up. You have to push his head away from you to get him to release your overstimulated clit. He stumbles back on his heels, thighs spread, with a giant grin on his face. His chin is glistening and his lips are swollen and red. As you work to catch your breath, you notice that the front of his pants are soaked.

ᯓ

Art sends you out first. He has to change his jeans after he basically came from merely eating you out. The thought makes you giggle.

When you get to the table, only Patrick is there. You sit down, but you must look confused because he tells you Tashi had to take a call.

You nod.

“She left pretty soon after you went inside.” He takes a puff from his cigarette.

“Okay,” you say and smooth out your dress.

He blows out a cloud of smoke and tilts his head. He smiles at you like he knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

It makes you gulp.

“Where’s Art?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

“I uh…I don’t know,” you lie. “He disappeared after he showed me to the bathroom.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh.”

You can’t take the scrutiny. To keep from fidgeting with your hands, you reach for your neglected mimosa and take a sip.

Patrick puts out his cigarette. He looks over to the kids who are now taking turns throwing pebbles across the pond. It looks like Lily is beating Kaleb, but he’s determined to throw his further.

Patrick’s voice cuts through the air. “Hey.” He leans forward on his elbows and smirks, “was he good?”

You cough. “What?”

He laughs at your sputtering. “Oh my god. You let him fuck you, didn’t you??”

“Excuse me!” You look at him aghast.

“Oh come on,” he slightly sobers up. “I can keep a secret.” He mimics a zipper on his lips.

Thankfully, Art decides to finally rejoin you, saving you from having to respond to Patrick’s interrogation.

He sits down in the seat beside you, placing his hand on your thigh under the table. “He’s not bothering you, is he?” But he looks at Patrick as he asks the question.

Patrick scoffs. “No, we were just talking.”

Art looks at you as if to ask you to confirm. So, you nod. “Mmhm, everything’s fine.”

He looks you over then leans back in his seat, relenting. “So, where’s Tashi?”

As if on cue, you hear the door on the opposite side of the patio open as Tashi lets out a sigh. She plops down in her seat across from Art.

“I swear if I want shit done right I have to do it myself.”

She goes on to complain about how her team had fucked up Patrick’s upcoming campaign. If you’re being honest, the conversation is the last thing on your mind right now. Their voices fade out as you get stuck in your head.

You wonder just how much Patrick knew about you and Art. Had Art told him? Had he bragged about how easy you were to his best friend? Is that why Patrick’s been hitting on you all day?

It dawns on you that Art and Patrick might think you’re just a slut. The thought makes your stomach twist in humiliation. But some part of you feels excited by the idea. The thought that you could exist as a free sexual being. God is this what happens when you’re divorced and sexually dissatisfied for years?

The sound of someone clearing their throat steals you from your thoughts. You look up to see all three of them staring at you expectantly.

“I’m sorry?”

Art chuckles at your blatant inattention. It reminds him of the way you’d zone out when the PTA meetings ran over and Nancy couldn’t stop yapping.

“I promise, we do talk about more than just tennis.”

“Oh it’s fine,” you shrug.

Patrick laughs. “He’s lying. Neither of them can hold a conversation without bringing up tennis.”

Tashi rolls her eyes in his direction. “Patrick, you shouldn’t even be here right now. Shut up.”

You try to stifle your giggle at her dismissal of Patrick. Though her words drip with disdain, they lack any real malice. And if anything, Patrick’s smile grows wider the deeper she furrows her brows. You figure their bickering must also be characteristic of their tennis relationship.

“Also, I just know he was probably annoying the hell out of you while I was gone.” She tips her glass in Art’s direction. “Art here can barely keep him in check.”

“Okay, that’s not—“

Before Art can defend himself, Patrick cuts in. “Actually, I was just asking her out on a date,” he smirks at you. “Isn’t that right?”

His smile is daring you to disagree, and you realize he’s challenging you.

You clear your throat. “Yeah he did,” you say, peeking at Art. He looks like a disapproving father. Arms folded and mouth set in a hard line. “And I told him no,” you continue. “Because right now, I’m not interested in dating. I’d rather focus on me and my kid.”

Tashi smirks. “Yeah Patrick, no one needs your parasitic ass preying on them once they’ve already ditched deadweight.” She must realize her bluntness as her eyes lift to yours. “Sorry, I’m just saying.”

“It’s alright,” you laugh. Your ex was deadweight. You find yourself staring at your clasped hands. Your amusement at her comment had been genuine, but that’s the problem. For someone that just fucked this woman’s husband, you’re a little too comfortable in Tashi’s presence. Your lack of all encompassing guilt is concerning. Maybe it’s because you’ve had three mimosas.

Yeah. It’s definitely the mimosas.

You suppose that once reality sets in, it may all come crashing down on you. So, you enjoy the feeling for now. Besides, after lunch today, you intend to never sleep with Art Donaldson again.

ᯓ

Following that Saturday lunch, you proceed to fuck Art Donaldson after almost every PTA meeting. You two find yourselves in the back of your car screwing like rabbits with your clothes halfway on or in the front seat of his, you riding him while he tries not to slam you into the dashboard.

The night you have to throw Kaleb’s booster seat into the front as Art works to pull down your pants from behind is the night you decide this can no longer go on. Or more specifically, that fucking in a car is impractical.

Art convinces you to meet him at a hotel instead. You two get the same room each time, and even though you promise that you’re going to stop, you find yourself checking into that hotel room every weekend. If not there, Art comes to your place. It becomes your regular form of self care after a long week of work.

Kaleb has to start spending time with his father anyway, so you let him have Saturdays and Sundays. If nothing makes you feel better about your son hanging out with your ex and his new fiancée, it’s being able to forget it all with Art.

Unfortunately, the guilt begins to build a home for itself in your gut. Any time you aren’t being fucked by Art, you’re beating yourself up about it, swearing that you’ll never let it happen again. Never in your life have you experienced this much anguish over something. Yet, it’s a fascinating cycle of faux repression. The way you deny yourself out of some self-righteous need to be perceived as a good person, only to eventually give into your true desires when being a good person makes you feel utterly miserable.

It’s almost the same every time. Art will reach out to you. You tell him never to dial your number again. You feel bad, so you go to apologize. Then, you inevitably fuck him. But you hate yourself for fucking him, but you do it again because his cock is the only thing that makes you feel better.

It’s utterly ridiculous.

It’s also ridiculous that you can’t set firm boundaries with him. After the first hotel meeting, you nearly cried when you woke up cocooned within his arms. It was wrong. You’d already slept with him, cuddling was too far. It was too domestic.

You told yourself you wouldn’t let that happen anymore.

Yet, here you are again, trapped beneath his muscled arm. Except this time, he’s in your bed. And his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his mouth slightly parted for his warm breath to kiss your skin. The rise and fall of his chest against your back threatens to lull you back to sleep. You fight your heavy eyelids and shuffle to raise Art’s arm enough to slip out of.

You prop yourself against the headboard and stare out of the window. The leaves are starting to lose their green hue, and some have already fallen to the ground. Fall has always been your favorite time of year. Though the change in season isn’t as dramatic as the melting of icicles going into spring, the transition from summer heat to autumn has a way of slipping up on you.

One day, it’s unbearably hot, and you’re dreaming of when the air might catch a cool breeze, and the next, you’re reaching for a jacket because, though the days are still warm, the nights are getting cooler. And then one day, you’re peering out of your window to see that the leaves have changed color, and they’ve all fallen.

When you look back at Art, his blue eyes are already staring back at you. You wonder when he woke up. He has that small sleepy smile on his face, and his eyes are slightly swollen, and he’s reaching to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle his head into your lap. And you glance at the leaves from the trees and realize they aren’t the only ones that have fallen.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: let me know what you guys think of this part! I think I have about two more parts for pta!Art and reader because a bit of drama is about to unfold. *rubs hands together like an insect*

Part iii

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #pta!Art x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi duncan #challengers 2024 #challengers fic #a bit of #patrick zweig x reader

648 notes · View notes

lvl109 · 5 days ago

Text

“i’m really fucking nervous about this date and you're not helping at all, you bitch!”

your cries fall on deaf ears as his impartial gaze settles in outfit number sixteen, letting out a petulant huff as cerulean hues drag themselves over the newest combination of the same sweaters and shoes. the only difference? this skirt settled right at your mid thigh.

his brows furrow. a quick glance to your face makes your arms crossed, but he doesn't miss the embarrassment settling over your face. his eyes narrow immediately.

“you're wearin' the fuck me skirt?!”

“satoru gojo, so help me g—what?”

he's not listening. he hadn't even been a fan of the absolute douche you'd suddenly became infatuated with, rolling his eyes at your incessant fawning over lending him pens (that he never returned, the audacity of that utensil-poaching fucker) and doing his ultimate best friend duty of trying his best to keep you tethered to earth.

but his chest twists when he watches you smooth over the short fabric, lips pressed into a thin line as he watches you twist and turn in front of your full length mirror. you look good. and he's told you such after each outfit change. that's not even the issue.

but not that skirt. anything but that skirt.

“i've only ever seen you wear that skirt once! and it was when you were trying to get laid when we went to that frat party!” he points a finger at you accusingly when you scoff. “don't think i forgot. you cried when you saw that ponytail wearin' freak had his tongue down another girl’s throat and then proceeded to throw up all over my shoes!”

“that was two years ago! cho and i are friends now. stop calling him a freak, freak.” you smooth down your hair and check your lips for any smudges, batting off any of his (reasonable) complaints much to his outward dismay. “'fuck me skirt'. why do i even spend time with you? you read too much porn.”

he chooses to ignore that in favor of glaring at your back. “all i'm sayin’ is that i don't trust him. you know, the guy who made you cry so hard you nearly missed your last final? why the hell is he setting you up with someone else? and why are you letting him??”

“because unlike you, i don't have people tripping over their feet trying to get a date with you, alright?” your tube of lipgloss slams down against your dresser with more force than expected. your tone shocks him quiet instantly. “god forbid i go after someone that shows interest in me.”

satoru stares at your expression reflected in the mirror. slight annoyance, exasperation, and a bit of anger he wasn't expecting. but the one that makes him sit up a bit straighter from where he was lounging on your bed was uncertainty. you're nervous. your hands fidget with the hem of your skirt even as you huff in frustration.

“so just… stop, okay? i'm going to see him whether you like it or not. i just want to have a good time tonight.”

satoru stares.

the familiar feeling of something rotten stirs in his chest again. it laughs at him as you flit around your room, leering and pointing at his demise. this time when you ask him for his opinion, he tells you what you want to hear. your thankful smile at his cooperation does nothing to tame the growing pit of disdain.

jealousy festers within him once again. who cares if he got confessions daily? who cares if his locker was constantly stuffed to the brim with love letters and candies? who the fuck cared if his phone (silenced, always silenced with you) pinged with countless others clamoring for his attention?

none of it mattered as much as you did to him. none of it did. so why couldn't you see that despite the fame and the notoriety, all he'd ever wanted was you?

he watches as you toe on your shoes, the unspoken offer of using his shoulder to help you balance on each leg going unsaid as you gratefully lean on him. the warmth of your hand is near intoxicating. but he can't help but think about—

if she bent any lower, his inner voice supplies helpfully, anyone could see underneath her skirt.

he exhales heavily as it laughs at him again, offering an easygoing smile when you raise a brow at him. “i'm sorry, angel,” he offers sweetly, taking your hands in his and drawing you closer. you step in between his legs and narrow your eyes. “i really am, okay? you can't blame me for being protective. i promised your mom, remember?”

“yeah, when we were like five.” you roll your eyes, but you're not as mad at him anymore and his heart does a funny little dance at the sight of a smile peeking through. “idiot. why do you even remember that? we're not kids anymore. i can take care of myself.”

“i literally just told you about how you threw up on my shoes over a stupid guy.”

it earns him a smack to his head, but he chooses to ignore the faint pain in favor of basking in the light of your laugh. “as long as you don't forget about me if you get a boyfriend,” he snarks lightly, pulling out the pout he knows will get a reaction from you. “you promised we'd never be apart. linked pinkies ‘n all. clearly someone doesn't respect the sanctity of pinkie promises.”

he expects another cuff to his head. maybe a smartass response, maybe a shut up, toru. he's used to orbiting around you much to your other friends' shared exasperation and incurable betting habits. (he's sure shoko has made at least a small fortune on him.)

you link your pinkies instead, leaning down to press your lips to your thumb. he goes still for a bit, having to be nudged to do the same. slowly, your thumbs press against each other in a quiet promise.

“don't be stupid.” you ruffle his hair with your other hand, stepping away to look for your bag. he misses your warmth immediately. “you're my best friend. we’ll be together forever.”

just not in the way he wants.

#file.fics #this might get a pt 2 idk #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo fic

158 notes · View notes

puma-riki · 8 months ago

Text

You Make Me So Thirsty

Synopsis 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦

Pairing Vampire Bf! Jay x GN! Reader | Genre ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | Warnings ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴋɪɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ᴊᴀʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ | A/N Not sure how to feel about this AND I HAD NO TIME TODAY TO MAKE A RIKI SMAU UPDATE so take this instead

----------------------------

You were driving Jay absolutely fucking insane.

Not in the way that you were insufferably annoying, but actually the exact opposite. You were everything he wanted, everything he craved, and that was exactly the problem. The sweet, intoxicating scent of your blood clung to the air whenever you were near, and it was enough to make his throat burn like fire. The more time he spent away from you, the harder it became to push the hunger down.

He missed you. He missed you so damn much it hurt.

The texts and calls you sent—checking on him, asking if he was alright—made his chest tighten. He could picture the worried crease between your brows, the way your voice wavered just slightly when you asked him over the phone. You never overdid it, always so careful not to bother him. But it killed him to see your concern, knowing he was the reason for it.

He wanted to answer every message truthfully and whole heartedly, wanted to rush back to you and pull you into his arms, reassure you that he was fine. More than fine—he was craving you like a starved man. But that was the exact reason he stayed away.

He had only sent short responses back to you and turned down your offers to go out together, he would've ignored your calls entirely too but he's simply too weak, so he would answer with short but gentle reassuring words that he hoped would be enough for you while he tried to push away this burning desire for the time being.

Much to his dismay, it did not ease your concern at all.

You were starting to wonder if Jay was having second thoughts about your relationship. The past week, he had been distant—physically and emotionally. The last time you saw each other in person, you craved his closeness, so you tried to interlock your arm with his. Instead, he lightly shrugged you off and opted to hold your hand instead.

On the train ride, you sat next to him, but he leaned away from you. When you kissed his cheek, he jumped and covered his nose and leaned away as if he were trying to distance himself even more. You even attempted to hug him before you parted ways; usually, he would bury his face in your neck and hold you tightly, but that day, he barely wrapped his arms around you. He quickly took your arms off from around his neck, pinched your cheek, and hurriedly said his goodbyes, practically running from your doorstep.

Seriously, did you smell bad or something? Did you say something that upset him? Did you give him the ick? Do guys even get the ick? What the fuck?

You confided in your guys' mutual friends about your worries, and they were absolutely no help. As a final resort, you went directly to your youngest friend Ni-ki, who couldn't keep a secret for the life of him.

"And anytime I tried to get close, he leaned away and even covered his nose. He couldn't even look at me directly!" You scoffed and crossed your arms as you leaned back in the booth you were sitting in, across from Ni-ki, in a dimly lit diner. The milkshake you ordered sits in front of you, untouched.

Ni-ki's body seemed to stiffen and for a split second his eyes flickered away from your sulky state.

the hesitation in his eyes was enough to make your heart sink. You could feel the shift in the air, like he knew something he wasn’t telling you.

‘Maybe you’re overthinking this,’ you told yourself, but his next move only confirmed your suspicions.

‘He’s probably just… you know, going through something,’ Ni-ki said, his voice a little too casual, his fingers fidgeting with the bottom of his milkshake glass ‘I’m sure he’ll come around.’

You narrowed your eyes at him. That wasn’t the usual Ni-ki response. Normally, he’d blurt out whatever he knew without a second thought, but now… he was holding back. You couldn’t ignore the way his shoulders had tensed, or the fact that he wouldn’t meet your gaze anymore.

"Ni-ki…" you pressed, your voice softening. "Do you know what’s going on?"

His eyes darted to the side again, and you could tell he was fighting an internal battle, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was nervous. It was obvious he was trying to keep something hidden.

"I…" He trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I wish I could tell you," he mumbled, before catching himself and quickly adding, "I mean, I don’t know much! Jay just— maybe he's just got something going on, you know?" He took a sip of his milkshake to stop himself from digging a deeper hole for both himself and Jay.

But you could see right through him. Ni-ki wasn’t good at lying— at least not to you.

That same night Ni-ki, who had been sworn to secrecy, ran to jay and told him about the encounter, begging him to just fess up and tell you what was up because he could not take lying to you over something as touchy as this.

You were too sweet. Too tempting. Jay's resolve was already wearing thin, and every day he avoided you, it chipped away just a little more.

He wanted to be honest with you and tell you the truth.

He wanted to, really. God, how he wanted to hear your voice, to be close to you again. You didn’t even know how much he missed you—how desperately he craved your presence, your laugh, your touch. It was driving him insane. But how could he let you get close when the thought of your blood made him feel like a monster?

It wasn’t just about the hunger, though that alone was unbearable. It was the fear that you’d look at him differently—that you’d think he was weird or disgusting for wanting something so wrong, so unnatural.

You knew what he was. You’d known from the start that he wasn’t human, that he fed on blood. But that didn’t make it easier. What if you realized how badly he wanted your blood? What if you saw him as nothing more than a monster—a predator who couldn’t be trusted around you?

He shuddered at the thought. You meant more to him than anyone else in the world, and the idea of you looking at him with fear, or worse, disgust, twisted his insides.

He hated himself for wanting it, for the way his body reacted when you were near, how the scent of your blood pulled him in like nothing else ever had. It made him feel... unnatural. Inhuman. And if you found out just how badly he craved you, would you still want to be with him? Or would you pull away, realizing that he wasn’t someone you could be safe around?

Jay covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the mental image of you backing away from him, looking at him like the monster he feared you’d see. He was terrified of it—terrified of losing you because he couldn’t control what he was. Because the desire to drink your blood felt so primal, so wrong, and so overwhelming. And yet, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The truth was, he was just as scared of you leaving him as he was of hurting you. His love for you made him weak. Pathetic, even.

He’d told himself that feeding on animals would be enough. It had been, for a while. But now... Now, he wasn’t so sure. The scent of your blood had become so much stronger than anything else, like it was calling to him, pulling him in every time he thought of you. He couldn’t trust himself around you—not like this.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. You were the one thing keeping him tethered to his humanity, but also the greatest risk to it. The thought of losing control around you was too much to bear. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt you, but being apart from you was tearing him apart in a different way.

Just a little longer, he told himself. If I can hold out just a little longer, this will pass. It had to.

His phone buzzed again, your name lighting up his screen. His chest tightened, he squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face again, fighting the urge to answer, to beg you not to hate him for what he was.

He peered through his fingers at his phone that sat in front of him on the coffee table, almost mockingly. He double tapped his screen to turn it on. Your text from 10 minutes ago showed on the screen and Jay nearly broke his neck

Angel: I can't handle it anymore. I'm coming over.

Just then a sharp knock came from his door.

It was like Jay had just woken up because it was only now that he realized it was pouring rain outside, the sun had set hours ago, and he was just sitting in the dark in his living room.

fuck.

as much as his heart fluttered (though he technically didn't have a heartbeat) he prayed that you had meant that text for someone else and it was actually his elderly next door neighbor asking him to help find her cat again.

He swung the door open and it was in fact, not his neighbor.

It was you. Drenched from head to toe and out of breath, eyes watery, clutching the strap of your purse in one hand that had probably dropped from your shoulder as you ran to his place.

As beautiful as you look right now, his mind had to push away the instinct to just grab you and coddle you the rest of the night (and maybe the rest of his life) while he kissed your worries and fears away.

"Jay..." you breathed, you sounded as exhausted as you looked

"[name] you shouldn't be out here its dangerous, what are you doing!?" He was genuine with his warning about the rain but also he could already smell the sweet scent of your blood that was flowing through your whole body. He was lucky the rain dampened the smell.

"I know, I know, but I wanted to see-" You were still breathless as you took a step forward.

Jay took a step back and cut you off, "You can see me later, Its late and you're all wet. I'll drive you home." Jay rushed out. He was eager to get rid of you, though he wanted to do everything but.

"What- Jay seriously-" Before you could finish, Jay turned his back on you to grab his keys hanging by his door. You stared at his back, You were frustrated with him. He had been practically ignoring you over the phone and now he was ignoring you while you stood right in front of him.

You let out a groan," Jay!" and suddenly you jumped on his back. Jay flinched at the sudden extra, soaking-wet weight clinging to him, yet instinctively, his hands grabbed under your thighs to keep you from falling. The rain started to lose its effect on dampening the smell, the warmth of your body against his back was unbearable. His senses were going haywire

"what are you doing!?"

"I did not run all the way here for you to ignore me straight to my face Park Jongseong." Your voice was stern, even as you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

You were close. Too close. Incredibly close, and you were going to kill him. Jays hands shook as he held onto you, the scent of your blood flooding his mind. He tried to push it away, tried to focus on anything else, but you were making it impossible

“[Name], get down,” he said, his voice barely holding together. “You’ll catch a cold or something worse if you stay in these clothes.” But really, he wasn’t thinking about your clothes, or the rain, or anything practical. He was thinking about how soft your body felt against his, how warm your breath was on his neck, and how painfully bad he wanted to turn around and kiss you.

But he couldn’t.

You didn’t move. “Then stop avoiding me!” The frustration and crack in your voice cut through the storm outside. Jay could hear it, could feel it in the way your arms clenched around him. And it tore him apart. He was the reason you were like this, the reason you were upset, crying, drenched from the rain.

And all because he was trying to keep you safe from the monster he knew he was.

“Jay...” Your voice softened, and that was worse. The raw hurt in your tone was worse than anything. “What did I do wrong? Why won’t you talk to me?” Your head rested on his shoulder and Jay swore he could feel his knees almost give out under him.

Jay’s heart sank. You thought you had done something wrong? His chest tightened, the guilt crashing over him. How could he let you think that?

“Angel, you didn’t—” he started, but you interrupted him, your voice trembling as the emotions you’d been holding in finally spilled over. You hugged him tighter.

“If you want to break up with me, you should just say so.” Your voice cracked again, and Jay nearly collapsed under the weight of your words. “Just—don’t keep pretending like everything’s fine while you push me away. I can’t take it, Jay. I can’t keep doing this.”

You slid down from his back, landing softly on the floor behind him, your arms wrapping around yourself. You felt small, pitiful, and a bit cold. When Jay turned to face you, the sight of you standing there, drenched and crying as the rain poured outside his open front door, made him feel like the worst person in the world. He wanted to protect you from everything—especially himself. But now, seeing you like this, he realized how badly he had hurt you.

You sniffled, wiping at your face, but the tears kept coming. “I’ve been trying to give you space, but you just keep pushing me further away, and I don’t know why. If I’m the problem, just tell me. I can handle it." You paused, sniffling, your hands trembling as you reached up to push your wet hair from your face. "But if you don’t want me anymore, don’t—don’t string me along. Just say it, and I’ll leave.”

Leave? The word hit Jay like a punch to the gut. The idea of you leaving, of losing you, made him feel like he was falling apart. He wanted to scream that you were the last thing he wanted to lose—that you meant everything to him.

Jay felt his throat tighten, guilt crashing over him like a wave. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and hold you close, tell you that it wasn’t you—it was him. That he was terrified of hurting you. That the scent of your blood was enough to make him lose control. But the words felt stuck in his throat.

"[name], that's not-" Jay saw you shiver when a gust of wind blew past you. He reached behind you and closed the door. “I-I’m sorry,” he finally muttered, his voice so quiet it barely reached you. He took a step forward but hesitated, his hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch you but didn’t trust himself to get that close.

“You think I don’t want you?” Jay’s voice was strained, full of pain. He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I want you so bad, it’s killing me.”

You blinked, stunned by his confession, your tears still flowing. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

Jay clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He wanted to tell you everything, to explain why he was keeping his distance. But how could he admit that he was afraid of what he’d do if he got too close? That the very thing he loved about you—your warmth, your life, your blood—was the same thing making him want to run?

“I’m... scared.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Your brow furrowed, confusion mixing with the sadness in your eyes. “Scared? Of what?”

Jay let out a shaky breath, his resolve crumbling. He couldn’t keep lying to you. “Of hurting you. Of what I might do if I’m around you too much.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, ashamed. “I’m scared that if I lose control, I won’t be able to stop myself. You don’t know what you do to me, [Name]. You don’t know how hard it is to be near you and not...” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

You stared at him, your heart breaking all over again. “Jay... you’d never hurt me. I know you.”

Jay shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about knowing me—it’s about knowing what I am. I want you, but not just in the way you think. Every time you’re near, every second, I’m fighting the urge to—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “You’d think I’m a freak if you knew how much I want your blood.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice shook you. You’d always known what Jay was, but this... this was something else. You reached out, taking his trembling hand in yours. “Jay, I know what you are. I’ve always known. And I’m not afraid of you.”

Jay’s breath hitched as he looked down at your hand in his, his heart aching with the desire to pull you close. But his guilt weighed him down like chains, keeping him rooted in place. “But what if... What if one day I can’t hold back? What if I hurt you?”

You stepped closer, your eyes locking with his, and your voice softened. “You won’t. You’ve never hurt me, and you won’t start now.”

Tears threatened to fall from Jay’s eyes, but he blinked them back. He wanted to believe you so badly. He wanted to believe that he could trust himself. But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of his mind. He wasn’t just some guy who could get a handle on his impulses—he was a vampire, and the scent of your blood was like a drug.

But you were standing there, soaked and shivering, still holding his hand, still looking at him like he was Jay—not a monster from hell. And in that moment, he didn’t feel like one. He just felt like a man who was hopelessly, pathetically in love with you.

"I'll... get you a change of clothes." He sniffled and looked down at his feet. You knew he was trying to avoid this now that you were aware of his feelings.

His hand gently pulled at yours to lead you to his room. You quickly stepped out of your shoes and followed him (not that it was any use, you were already dripping all over his entryway). Your heart was just a bit lighter, but an anchor was dragging you down.

Jay handed you a pair of pajama pants you always left at his place and one of his sweaters to change into. He lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling while you changed in his connected bathroom. He could still feel your lingering scent in the air and hear your heartbeat pump blood all throughout your body, a heady reminder of everything he wanted to hold onto.

The door opening and warm lighting shining into the room made him look towards you, rubbing the ends of your hair with a towel and the discarding it into a hamper.

You gave him a soft smile and walked towards his edge of the bed, the cozy sweater hanging loosely on your frame.

"Hi."

"Hi," Jay replied, a shy smile creeping up on his face. But it disappeared as quick as it came. "I should probably get you home now." The rain had lost its effect, and he could feel that familiar carnal desire clawing at his insides.

Your fingers reached to play with the sleeve of his hoodie, “Jay?"

"Hmm?"

Jay glanced over at you, his heart fluttering despite the heaviness that hung in the air. “I know you’re avoiding talking about it,” you said, your voice soft yet firm.

He sighed, unable to meet your gaze. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Jay moved over a bit for you. You took a seat at the edge of the bed, your expression earnest. “You’ve been distant, Jay. I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong.”

“No, you didn’t! It’s not you, it’s me,” he blurted out, pushing himself up on his elbows to finally face you. “I just—being around you right now is… hard.”

You raised an eyebrow, the concern etched on your face deepening. “Hard how? You can tell me.”

Jay ran a hand through his hair, frustration, and longing mixing inside him. “It’s your blood,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s sweet and intoxicating, I can smell it so strongly when I'm near you, it makes my teeth ache, and my head spin." Jay's eyes flickered to yours and then towards your legs that were pulled up on the bed. He suddenly took interest in rubbing his knuckle against your thigh under your gaze. "I can’t control myself around you... I’ve been trying to keep my distance for your safety.”

You studied him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. “You think I don’t know what you are? I love you, Jay. I know the risks, and I’m okay with it.”

He shook his head, the guilt weighing him down. “But I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of monster, wanting to drink your blood. It’s… it’s a primal desire.”

You scooted closer, tucking your legs under you and taking his hand in yours. “You’re not a monster. You’re the same Jay I fell in love with. I can see how much you care about me. You’ve been avoiding me out of love.”

His eyes softened, but he remained hesitant. “But what if I lose control? What if I hurt you?”

You leaned in closer, your gaze unwavering. “You won’t. I trust you, Jay. I trust you to control yourself, just like you’ve trusted me to understand you. I want to be with you, all of you—even the parts that scare you.”

He searched your eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice steady and reassuring. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to push me away. I’m right here, and I want you to be honest with me.” Your other hand reached to hold his cheek.

Jay’s heart raced, a mixture of relief and fear swirling within him. “You really mean it?”

"Of course I do," You gaze flickered towards his lips, and you leaned in slowly, "Don't be silly."

Jay rolled his eyes playfully as he pulled you into his lap with a smile. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his rested on your waist. He felt giddy having you back in his arms after so long (Literally a week but okay) His eyes flitted to your lips, a thought crossed his mind, and his smile faded.

"What if... I accidentally bite your lip with my fangs? And then-" His head leaned back to rest against the headboard.

His eyes went back towards your face, and you didn't look very impressed or amused.

"Sorry."

"It's okay... it's cute." And you finally kissed him, your eyes fluttered closed along with his.

Jay couldn’t stop himself from smiling as your lips moved against each other, every brush igniting a fire within him. He felt as if he had been starving, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His arms fully circled your waist, pulling you closer, as if to tether you to him forever. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, getting lost in the sweet taste of you.

But the longer he kissed you, the more his instincts surged, a primal need awakening in him. The intoxicating scent of your blood was like a siren song, drawing him further into his desires. He felt himself growing bolder, the kiss turning heated as he instinctively flipped you, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress beneath.

You pushed him back slightly, Jay chasing your lips and your breath mingling with his. “Jay… are you okay?”

He looked into your eyes, panting softly. “I just—” he hesitated, the struggle within him palpable. “It’s been too long. I missed you so much. But I want more than just this. I need—”

Your voice was gentle, yet firm as you placed a hand on his cheek. “You can have it, Jay. If you need to feed… I want you to. Just be honest with me.”

The offer hung between you like an electric charge. Jay's gaze darkened, desire battling with the urge to protect you. He pressed his forehead against yours, searching your eyes again. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be in pain. Not like that.”

You nodded, your voice steady. “I trust you. Just... please, don’t push me away again.”

With that, he captured your lips once more, the kiss deepening with newfound urgency. He could feel his fangs brushing against your soft skin, a reminder of what lay beneath. You tasted so sweet, and the heat of your body was a drug he couldn’t resist. Each kiss was a battle against his instincts, and with every passing moment, he felt himself slipping further into the depths of his longing.

His lips strayed from yours and trailed from the corner of your lips to your chin, jaw, and down to your neck. Being this close to the source that had been driving him insane for weeks felt hypnotic. He could hear your heart hammering in your chest. Each pulse seemed to beckon him closer, igniting a primal instinct within him that he had fought so hard to suppress. Your hands trailed from the back of his neck and up to his hair, your nails soothingly scratching his scalp, sending chills down his spine.

Every kiss along your neck was a tantalizing reminder of the sweet temptation he craved, and with each gentle press of his lips, he felt his resolve beginning to waver. His mind raced with thoughts of how desperately he wanted to cherish this moment, to savor the warmth of your skin against his, but the intoxicating scent of your blood was pushing him to the edge.

Jay pressed several kisses along your neck, listening to your heart rate slow and your breaths even out, before he nipped at the skin. He could feel the heat radiating from you, enveloping him in a cocoon of desire. The familiar voice in his head whispered warnings of what he could do, yet all he wanted was to lose himself in you completely.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the cool touch of his fangs against your skin, a shiver of anticipation coursing through you.

As his fangs pierced your skin, a rush of warmth enveloped you, almost electric. It was painful for a second, and then it wasn��t; rather, it felt like a gentle caress, a merging of your essences that drew you both closer together. Jay’s grip on you tightened as he drew from you, a low groan escaping his lips that sent a jolt of excitement down your spine. The sensation was both exhilarating and soothing, a bond deepening between you in a way that felt almost sacred.

With each sip, you could feel his thirst for you mingling with a tenderness that wrapped around your heart like a warm blanket. He wasn’t just feeding; he was connecting, pouring his longing and affection into every gentle pull. You could sense the desperation in him, the way he fought against his instincts while still allowing himself to savor the sweetness of this moment.

“Jay,” you whispered, your voice soft and comforting. “It’s okay… I’m right here.” The words were a balm to him, a reminder that he wasn’t just a monster, but someone deeply in love.

Jay relaxed at your words and continued for a few beats before pulling away, the whole thing made you feel dizzy. He pressed light kisses to the fresh bite mark on your neck and trailed back up to your face. He trailed kissed all over your face and mumbled out, "I love you." as he did, making you giggle.

"You know, you could've done this weeks ago if you just asked."

"I think your line was supposed to be 'I love you too.'"

#enha fluff #HAPPY HALLOWEEN #i need him so bad look at his hair goodbye #enhypen fluff #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong fluff #jay park x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen au #vampire jay x reader #vampire enhypen #park jongseong imagines #park jongseong x you #theres not enough fluffy vampire fics

578 notes · View notes