#i made a game with the two of them together in it

[paperbackribs]

"Hey, it's 'they/them,' dickheads," Steve interrupts exasperatedly.

Modern non-binary Eddie who is out but the kids just don't really let it sink in. Don't think about how Eddie increasingly flinches every meet-up as they exclaim during the campaign, calling out that 'he' has said this and that about the current monster in their tracks.

Steve though. Steve, feeling a little stupid the first time Eddie had haltingly told him about why it was so important to them. That the euphoria of 'woman' or 'man' was actually reserved for the fizzing feeling of rightness when gender was mixed and erased for them.

Steve, who felt the cogs in his head rubbing slowly together but had fixed the idea firmly in his heart--for the person in his heart--interrupts as the kids draw up their last play.

"They," Steve cuts in, firm and with a gimlet stare at the boys who frown up at him in confusion.

"They what?" Mike asks in exasperation, clearly expecting Steve to stutter and back away despite Steve never having backed away from a fight in the entire time the two guys have known each other.

"Who what?" Dustin mutters absently as he adjusts his gold count. "We're nearly done." He licks the tip of his pencil before returning to his count of the loot.

Lucas eyes the hardening stare on Steve's face, flicking over to Eddie's suddenly wide gaze and pokes Dustin to look up, "I don't think it's that."

Mike sighs at Steve's hands falling to his hips, recognising the chastening posture even as he doesn't understand why. Eddie though. Their expression falls from wide surprise to understanding and something with a touch of awe that Steve doesn't quite understand from his friend.

"They, you dickheads," Steve repeats, lips pursed. "Eddie is not a 'he.' They're not 'her.' They are 'they.' They are 'them.' It's not hard. I literally used it like a million times already today."

Steve sniffs into the air and Mike scowls, "It just happens; Christ, Steve."

The light dims in Eddie's eyes, but he nods gamely, voice even and-- Steve can tell--deliberately light, "It's no big deal, easy to do. Don't worry about it, Stevie."

"But it hurts you," Steve insists.

Mike's eyes widen in surprise and Lucas winces.

Eddie hurriedly shakes their head with a forced laugh, "It's not like I've not gone by 'he' for nearly my entire life." They wink at Dustin, who had raised his head suddenly.

"You did a thing," Dustin says slowly, putting down his pencil next to a dragonborne figurine and miming an exaggerated wince and flinch. "Two hours and--" he checks his Casio watch, "thirteen minutes ago when the orcs invaded. I said our dungeon master was a right man of a bastard."

Eddie softens, genuine amusement lighting their face, "I'm used to you lot cussing me out, Henderson."

"But it wasn't the swearing," Lucas says, remorse filling his voice even as he pinches Mike. The other kid yelps but quietens when Lucas leans in, heatedly whispering and Mike goes red then white in the face.

"Oh shit, I forgot."

Teeth gritted, Eddie repeats, "It's not a big deal. Now--"

"Okay," Steve interrupts again, pulling a seat over to sit next to Eddie, thighs almost touching, "then it's no skin off our nose if we start practising for you, right?"

He turns to the boys, expression pleasant for the first time, "Eddie said it's no big deal, are they right?"

Mike blinks three times before pointing to his character sheet, "Eddie should have given me experience points for the giant spider but they stiffed me."

In an uncanny echo, Eddie blinks at Mike for his word choice.

"They were right," Dustin argues. He points at Lucas, "He figured out the clue and stabbed it--" he turns his finger to Eddie, "--and so they made the right call."

Eddie blinks again with eyes that look a little moist while Lucas continues with the cues given to him by his friends. He makes a loud boinking sound, "Sucks to be you. Hey, Eddie, can I have the spear these two bozos found?"

And with that, the sound of squabbling fills the room.

Steve looks on contentedly as Eddie leans back in their throne, eyeing the boys as they confidently back the adventurers into a corner while teasing the idea of a new battle simultaneously.

Steve leans back into his small frame of a chair too, a smile playing at the sides of his mouth as he listens to his favourite people love each other in their own special ways.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?“

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—“

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, flinching from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SAM WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

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[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Seven

CW: Mild/moderate sexual content

WC: 9.3k

Notes: if Azzi fudd shoved me I’d fold. Not that that’s relevant to the chapter or anything…

The cabin Paige had picked out was halfway up a mountain, surrounded by thick evergreens and wide open stretches of sky. The air was thin and cool even in July, sharp and clean enough that every breath made her feel lighter. It wasn’t some drafty old shack either — Paige had put her twelve million dollar Ferrari contract to good use, renting a sprawling modern place with big glass windows, a stone fireplace, and an outdoor patio that practically poured into the forest.

Right now, though, she wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She and Azzi were slouched together on the wide leather couch, a WNBA game playing low on the huge flatscreen in front of them. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten between them. Paige had one socked foot kicked up against the coffee table, her hair loose and messy, a sweatshirt hanging too big off her frame. Azzi wasn’t much neater — sweats, a tank top, her hair braided back to keep it out of her face. They looked more like college roommates than two of the most talked-about drivers in the world.

Paige tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth and chewed slowly, pretending she wasn’t thinking too hard before asking,

“So… what’s going on with your contract?”

Azzi blinked, glancing away from the TV to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in the last year, right? Eighteen million?” Paige asked casually, like she hadn’t looked that up weeks ago.

Azzi shrugged, totally relaxed. “Yeah. It’s up after this season.”

Paige sat up a little. “So what are you gonna ask for next year?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, looking thoughtful. “I dunno. Probably twenty-three.”

Paige immediately made a face, wrinkling her nose. “What? Why?”

Azzi laughed a little at her expression. “Because that’s a lot of money?”

Paige shook her head, scoffing. “You’re a two-time world champion, Azzi. Red Bull’s paying their number one guy sixty-five. Sixty-five. You can ask for thirty. Easy.”

Azzi gave her a skeptical look, smiling faintly. “Oh yeah? And what about you, moneybags?”

Paige kicked her lightly with her foot. “If I win the championship this year,” she said confidently, “I’ll ask for twenty-seven.”

“And if you don’t?”

Paige shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”

Azzi snorted, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for asking for less than you’re worth,” Paige shot back, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a second, then added, “How much are you making this year?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow at her. “Eighteen, like we just said?”

“Yeah, but with bonuses,” Paige said, grinning now. “You obviously hit your performance bonuses. You’ve got, like, what? Three wins?”

Azzi tilted her head, considering. “Four, actually.”

Paige grinned wider. “Exactly. So how much are you really pulling?”

Azzi smirked. “You first.”

Paige leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “Fine. Twelve million base salary this year. Plus performance bonuses for podiums, wins, points finishes…” She trailed off, doing rough mental math. “Probably around eighteen right now? Nineteen, maybe?”

Azzi let out a low whistle. “Not bad for a rookie.”

Paige grinned proudly. “Not a rookie.”

Azzi smiled at her — a small, real smile that Paige felt all the way in her chest. She didn’t always show it, but Azzi was proud of her. Not just as a teammate, but as… whatever they were outside the track.

Paige picked up the remote and muted the TV, letting the background noise drop away. The sun was sinking lower outside, turning the sky pale gold. The forest outside the wide windows seemed to glow.

Paige looked at Azzi again, a little more serious this time.

“You should ask for thirty,” she said quietly. “You’re worth it. Don’t let them lowball you.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“You really think I can get that much?”

Paige snorted. “I think if they don’t pay you that much, someone else will.”

Azzi smiled again, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll have you negotiate for me.”

Paige grinned back, a little proud, a little shy. “Maybe you should.”

They sat there for a moment, the game forgotten, the popcorn cold, the whole world narrowing down to the warm little bubble they’d built between them in that cabin in the woods.

It wasn’t much. Just a conversation about money. But for once, it wasn’t about pressure or contracts or media stories. It was just them. Paige and Azzi.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe — just maybe — that was enough.

–

They didn’t share a bed that night.

Neither of them said anything about it — it just sort of happened. The cabin had four bedrooms, and while most of them sat untouched, it still felt easier to retreat to separate spaces. Maybe it was because the season had been so long already, and Belgium had only made it longer. Or maybe it was because some things still felt undefined between them, unspoken in the cracks of their closeness.

Paige didn’t mind. Or at least she told herself she didn’t.

Her bed was soft and warm, sheets tucked military-tight, and for the first time in months she didn’t fall asleep to the sound of hotel traffic, airplanes, or the mechanical whir of an engineering debrief. Instead, it was pine trees and wind. No engines, no PR. Just high-altitude silence.

She woke the next morning to the bright slice of sun cutting through the blinds and the dull ache blooming behind her eyes — that familiar post-crash headache still pulsing through her temples like a lazy metronome. She sat up slowly, pressing a palm to her forehead, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of ibuprofen from the nightstand. Two pills, a quick swallow, and she let herself breathe through the sting.

When she padded into the kitchen, Azzi was already there — hair still damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie over leggings, barefoot and scrolling something on her phone while leaning against the counter. She looked up when she heard Paige move and saw the bottle still in her hand.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Still?”

Paige shrugged like it was nothing and opened the fridge. “Comes and goes.”

Azzi didn’t push, but the way her eyes narrowed said she clocked it. Said she knew. Paige grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge with her hip.

“I was thinking,” Azzi said casually, “we should go get breakfast somewhere. You hungry?”

Paige twisted the cap off and took a drink. “Yeah. Sure.”

She didn’t even ask where — she just followed Azzi out of the cabin, down the gravel drive, and into the rental SUV parked in front. Azzi drove (despite Paige’s argument) with one hand on the wheel, window cracked just enough to let in the mountain air. They went down winding forest roads until they hit a little town about fifteen minutes from the cabin — the kind of place with a population under a thousand and a diner that looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the 60s.

The waitress seated them near a window that overlooked the tree line, handed them thick laminated menus, and filled their mugs with burnt coffee that somehow still tasted perfect up here.

Azzi stretched out in the booth, long legs tucked under the table, reading the menu like it was a race strategy brief. Paige leaned into the corner of the booth, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, chin resting in her hand as she watched the waitress refill the coffee at the next table.

“You’re weirdly relaxed right now,” Azzi said, not looking up.

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You. This.” Azzi waved a hand around vaguely. “You’ve said maybe ten words since we left the house. And you’re just… chill.”

Paige smiled slightly, eyes flicking out the window. “It’s nice knowing I don’t have to do anything real for a while.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood that all too well.

When their food came — some gross omelete for Azzi, eggs and toast for Paige — they ate in a kind of easy silence, broken up only by the occasional clink of cutlery and the slow hum of conversation from the rest of the diner.

After a while, Azzi spoke again. “We should go out to Denver today.”

Paige looked up. “Denver?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Just go do something. A museum, a movie, maybe dinner. Not talk about cars for once.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “And how exactly are we getting to Denver and back?”

Azzi shrugged, totally unfazed. “I’ve got a guy. We’ll get a driver.”

Paige blinked. “You’ve got a guy?”

Azzi gave her a pointed look. “You’re so new to being a millionaire.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have an entire concierge of guys yet,” Paige said, mock-offended.

“You will,” Azzi said, sipping her coffee. “You’re gonna start flying private next. You’ll see.”

Paige laughed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Right. Because nothing screams grounded like flying private to go see the Denver Art Museum.”

Azzi grinned. “Grounded is overrated.”

“Oh, is it now? Says the woman who’s lived in Monaco and a penthouse in New York and owns three watches more expensive than my car.”

“I only own two,” Azzi corrected. “The third one was a gift.”

Paige tilted her head. “From a sponsor or a girlfriend?”

Azzi raised a brow. “I’d really hope I didn’t have a girlfriend right now.”

Paige just smirked, biting into her toast.

The banter came easy. That was the thing about Azzi — for all her intensity behind the wheel, she had a lightness to her when she wanted to. When it was just them, away from cameras, sponsors, race engineers… she was sharp and funny and dry, but never mean. And Paige could relax around that.

They lingered at the table long after they were done eating, refilling their coffee a few times, watching the town wake up around them. It was easy in a way that most things in Paige’s life weren’t. She liked that.

She liked this.

When the bill came, Paige snatched it up before Azzi could even reach for it.

“You drove. I’m paying,” she said.

“Oh, that’s the rule now?” Azzi grinned.

“It is in my world.”

And just like that, breakfast was over. But the ease of it lingered, carrying them out the door and into the rest of the day, into Denver, into something that wasn’t quite work but wasn’t quite just friendship either.

And Paige — headache or not — felt a little more like herself than she had in weeks.

–

Denver was better than she expected.

It started light — wandering through streets dotted with summer crowds, grabbing overpriced iced coffees from a place Azzi had seen on some list, dipping into a museum exhibit that Paige only half cared about but still liked, because Azzi was so into it. There was something nice about seeing her like that — interested, curious, less like a world champion and more like a normal person who actually knew what to do on a day off.

They ended up at Coors Field almost on accident. Azzi saw the crowd in Rockies hats on the street, checked the schedule, and turned to Paige like it was already decided. “We’re going.”

Paige hadn’t been to a baseball game since high school. She forgot how much she liked the atmosphere — the smell of food, the rhythm of the innings, the way everyone cheered for something simple. It wasn’t like Formula 1. No political storm behind every strategy call, no media fire waiting in the paddock. Just home runs and foam fingers.

They ate nachos out of a helmet-shaped bowl and split a soda. Azzi refused to wear team merch, claiming she wasn’t loyal to anyone in the MLB, but still stood up and clapped for a double in the sixth inning like she’d been a Rockies fan her whole life. Paige just laughed and went along with it. She liked seeing Azzi like that — not serious, not calculating. Just happy.

By the time they made it back to the cabin, the sky had long faded to dusk. The pines outside the windows had gone dark, shadows stretching out into the night. Paige kicked off her shoes at the door and sank into the couch without really thinking. She was tired, but not in the usual way. This was a good tired. A full day, nothing on her calendar, and the altitude giving everything a slow, comfortable haze.

Azzi turned on the TV — something dumb, one of those shows with too much color and nothing to follow. She curled up on the other end of the couch, remote in hand, barefoot and quiet.

Paige’s head was starting to throb again.

It wasn’t sharp. Just that dull, pulsing reminder that something still wasn’t right. She winced and touched her temple, like that might help. It didn’t.

Azzi glanced over and saw the motion. Said nothing at first. Then she opened her arms slightly and tilted her head.

“Come here.”

Paige looked over, brow furrowed.

“Seriously,” Azzi said softly. “Just — head in my lap. C’mon.”

Paige hesitated, then slowly shifted across the couch and lay down, cheek resting against the softness of Azzi’s thigh. The world quieted a little. Azzi’s fingers found her hair without ceremony, combing through it gently, and Paige let her eyes fall shut.

They sat like that for a while, saying nothing. The TV babbled on, ignored. Azzi’s touch stayed light, never too much.

Then, without being asked, Paige said, “Spa didn’t even look that bad, right? From the outside?”

Azzi paused her motion. “You mean the crash?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quiet. The kind of voice she didn’t use in media rooms or team meetings. She didn’t sound like the girl who’d taken pole at Hungary, or the kid whose name was all over every motorsport podcast now. She just sounded twenty-two.

“It didn’t look small either,” Azzi said gently.

Paige nodded. “I’ve never… I never wrecked before. Not once. Not in F3. Not in F2. Not with Sauber. Not even in the sim that often.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Her fingers kept moving, slow and steady.

“I saw it coming,” Paige said. “And I couldn’t do anything. I hit the brakes and I knew I was too late, and it just — the wall came up fast. I thought I’d bounced, but apparently the car spun after. I… I don’t remember it too well honestly..”

She swallowed. Her voice didn’t shake, but something else was trembling. Something inside her that she hadn’t let out before now.

“I wasn’t scared until after. Like, once I knew I was okay. Once the medics were there and I could breathe again. Then it hit me. How easy it could’ve been worse. If the angle was different. If the car rolled. If someone was behind me and didn’t slow down in time.”

Azzi’s hand stilled for just a moment, then resumed.

“Spa’s fast,” she said softly. “You go off there and it’s never small.”

Paige nodded, not opening her eyes.

“I haven’t said that out loud,” she added, more to herself than anything. “Not even to Liao.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to,” Azzi said. “But if you ever do… this is fine too.”

There was a pause. Then Azzi added, “The headaches go away eventually. At least until you crash again.”

Paige smiled faintly at that. “Great. Super comforting.”

Azzi chuckled, low and dry. “I’ve crashed three times. I still get twitchy in the wet.”

“You?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers never stopping. “Austria ’22, Monza last year, Suzuka my rookie year in the rain. You don’t forget the ones that hurt.”

Another long silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt… honest. Like they were both holding something in the air, careful not to drop it.

“Is it dumb,” Paige murmured, “that I didn’t feel like a real driver until it happened?”

Azzi looked down at her. “No. That’s real.”

Paige shifted a little, eyes still closed, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s leg like it made her feel steadier. It did.

“Thanks,” she said, barely audible.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just brushed a thumb lightly against Paige’s temple.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said. “You already are.”

And somehow — headache still humming low, mind still sorting through the wreckage of Spa — Paige believed her.

–

Paige didn’t want to move.

The couch was warm. Azzi’s lap was warm. Her headache, dull and low-grade now, made everything feel slower, heavier, like she was underwater but didn’t really mind. She might’ve fallen asleep right there if Azzi hadn’t shifted slightly and tapped her shoulder.

“Come on,” Azzi said, voice soft but leaving no room for debate.

Paige blinked up at her. “What?”

Azzi was already standing, stretching a little, offering her hand. Paige took it out of instinct — she always did — and let herself get pulled to her feet. She wobbled slightly with how fast she was upright, but Azzi caught her with a steadying grip on her hip.

“You should shower,” Azzi said simply. “It’ll help your headache.”

Paige yawned, already half convinced. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

But Azzi didn’t let go of her. She just started steering her through the cabin, up the stairs, like this was something that had been decided hours ago. Paige stumbled along, still heavy-limbed and slow to catch on.

It wasn’t until they crossed into Azzi’s room that Paige hesitated.

“Uh,” Paige said, glancing around, realizing. “This is your room.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Good job, P.”

Paige opened her mouth, unsure what she was supposed to say to that, but Azzi just kept tugging her gently toward the en suite bathroom.

And then, when they reached the door, Azzi turned, gave her a look — one of those looks, the kind that always short-circuited Paige’s brain — and said, “P.”

Paige blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

Azzi smiled — slow, a little dangerous — and dropped her voice. “I didn’t bring you in here to use my shower by yourself.”

Paige’s brain stalled so hard she actually felt it happen.

She opened her mouth again — to say what, she had no idea — but no sound came out. Instead she just kind of stood there, floundering, as Azzi shook her head fondly like she always did. With a hand firm on the back of Paige’s neck, Azzi guided her into the bathroom.

The lights were low, the big walk-in shower already misty from earlier. The room smelled like Azzi — clean, expensive, just a little bit sharp like something citrusy in her shampoo. Paige’s heart was suddenly hammering behind her ribs, not in a bad way, just in a very aware way.

It wasn’t like Paige had never seen Azzi naked. They changed in front of each other every race weekend — motorhomes, locker rooms, ice baths. It wasn’t new.

But it was new. Here, now, outside of the context of work. Outside of the frantic schedules and sports bras and ice packs. There was no rush. No excuses. No barriers.

Azzi reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up over her head in one smooth motion. Her sports bra followed — casual, like she was shedding armor — and she dropped them both into a hamper by the wall.

Paige stared, because what else was she supposed to do, because Azzi looked — well. She looked like Azzi. Strong and soft all at once, angles and curves and that effortless kind of beauty that Paige had always noticed and never, ever said out loud.

She realized she was staring too long when Azzi cocked her head and said, amused, “Eyes up here, babe.”

Paige snapped her gaze up so fast her neck twinged.

“Sorry,” she blurted, mortified, like she was thirteen again.

Azzi just laughed, low and affectionate. She stepped closer, letting her fingertips trail lightly along Paige’s arm, nothing pushy, just enough to make every nerve ending on Paige’s skin light up.

“You’re cute.,” Azzi murmured, like it was a private joke.

Paige opened her mouth again — again, no words. Just a hot rush of blood to her face.

Azzi shook her head and reached for the band of Paige’s hoodie. “Come on. Headache’s not gonna fix itself.”

Paige lifted her arms in a daze, letting Azzi pull the hoodie off. She shivered a little at the loss of warmth, but Azzi’s hands were already sliding lower, tugging gently at the hem of her t-shirt next.

It was slow, almost reverent. Not like earlier that year where the alcohol made everything a blur. Not like the locker rooms where nobody cared because it was all just routine. This was… different.

Intimate.

Paige let her head tip forward a little, letting Azzi work. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the nervous way her hands twisted together at her stomach.

Azzi caught that too, apparently, because she kissed Paige’s forehead, gentle and grounding.

“It’s just me, P.”

Paige exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.

Yeah. It was just Azzi.

Azzi who looked at her like she was someone worth taking care of. Azzi who had pulled her through more days than she could count this year. Azzi who was now guiding her, quietly and confidently, into the steam of the shower.

It was just Azzi.

And somehow, that made it all a little less terrifying — and a whole lot more inevitable.

The steam filled the bathroom quickly, making the edges of the mirror blur out until it was just soft light and warm, damp air. Paige stepped into the shower first, blinking through the mist, feeling the instant prick of heat against her skin. She leaned into it instinctively, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, washing away some of the tension that had been coiled there for months.

Azzi stepped in after her — confident, unhurried, like this wasn’t even a thing to be nervous about. Like they took showers together every day.

Paige snorted quietly under her breath.

Yeah. Definitely not normal.

She leaned against the cool tile wall and closed her eyes for a second, just letting the water drum against her scalp, against her back. It felt good — better than she wanted to admit. Her headache was still there, a low simmer, but it had eased just a little, like the water was massaging it away.

Still, after a moment, she cracked one eye open and glanced over at Azzi.

“I don’t really know how this is supposed to fix my headache,” Paige said, voice roughened by the humidity.

Azzi just hummed under her breath — that maddening little noise she always made when she was thinking something she wasn’t going to share. She didn’t answer, just moved closer, standing so close now that Paige could see the rivulets of water sliding down her skin.

Paige dragged her gaze upward sharply, catching herself before she got caught again staring at the wrong things.

Azzi noticed anyway. She always noticed.

The smirk that bloomed across her face was infuriatingly smug.

Paige squinted at her. “Bruh,” she said, deadpan. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Azzi tilted her head, like she was considering whether or not to be merciful.

She wasn’t.

“Why not, P?” she said, low and amused, stepping in even closer. “You don’t like it?”

Paige’s jaw tensed, trying to hold onto her cool, but it was crumbling by the second.

Because the truth was, she did like it. She liked it way too much. Her body was betraying her entirely — heart thudding under her ribs, stomach flipping, hands itching to touch but frozen in place like if she moved first, she’d lose whatever fake control she had left.

Paige straightened a little, forcing herself into the role she knew how to play — cool, unbothered, in charge. It was fake, but it was the only thing she had right now.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” Paige said, managing to get the words out steady even if her heart was doing somersaults.

Azzi just smiled again, slow and knowing. Like she knew exactly how much Paige was lying to herself.

Water beaded on Azzi’s eyelashes, made her look almost unreal. Paige hated how pretty she was — hated how much it scrambled her brain.

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” Azzi murmured back.

The water roared around them, filling up the silence, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the electric crackle of tension in the tiny space between their bodies.

Azzi’s hands — slow, unthreatening — came up to Paige’s waist, fingertips featherlight at first. Like she was giving Paige every chance to pull away.

Paige didn’t move.

Couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to.

Her breath hitched, caught painfully in her throat, but she stayed right there — leaning back against the wall, letting Azzi crowd into her space, pretending she wasn’t losing her entire mind.

Azzi leaned up, close enough to brush her mouth lightly along the line of Paige’s jaw — not quite a kiss, just a promise — and Paige had to shut her eyes again, had to tilt her head back to keep from just grabbing her right there.

It was funny, in a terrible kind of way.

On the track, Paige could hold her nerve through anything — rain, crashes, restarts, side-by-sides at 200 miles an hour.

But here, under the hot pounding water, under Azzi’s steady gaze, she was unraveling at the seams.

And Azzi — Azzi knew it.

“You’re shaking,” Azzi whispered, mouth still at her jaw.

“I’m fine,” Paige said automatically, because she was stubborn, because she had an image to protect even if nobody but Azzi was there to see it.

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, searching, serious now in a way that made Paige’s stomach twist even harder.

“You don’t have to be,” Azzi said, soft but firm. “Not with me.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold it together.

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so instead she finally, finally reached out — sliding her hands up Azzi’s sides, slow and tentative at first, then firmer when she felt Azzi lean into her touch. Azzi let out a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it went straight through Paige’s chest like a spark to dry wood.

She was supposed to be the top here — that was their silent dynamic, their unspoken understanding — but God, Azzi made it so hard. She made Paige want in a way that was dangerous, consuming.

Still — Paige tightened her grip a little, pushed Azzi back a step so she was the one leading, reclaiming some illusion of control.

Azzi smiled against her mouth as Paige finally kissed her — not messy, not desperate yet, but deep enough that Paige could feel herself start to slip into it.

And for once, she let herself.

Because yeah, maybe her head was pounding and her heart was sprinting and she had no idea how she was supposed to survive this night —but it was Azzi.

And that meant she was safe, even if she wasn’t anywhere close to calm.

–

The bedroom was mostly dark except for the soft blue glow of the television screen across from the bed — some late-night sitcom rerun playing on mute, the laugh track flickering silently behind them. The Colorado night pressed cool and crisp against the windows, but under the heavy blankets, it was warm. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but earned — like an exhale after too many months of holding her breath.

Paige was stretched out flat on her back, one arm behind her head, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling a little at the ends against the pillow. Her body felt loose in a way it hadn’t in a long time — not since before Belgium, if she was being honest with herself.

Next to her, Azzi was curled up under the blankets, wearing one of Paige’s hoodies that was about three sizes too big on her, sleeves swallowed up past her hands. Paige wasn’t even sure when Azzi had snagged it — she just looked over at some point and there she was, wearing it like it was hers.

Paige didn’t mind.

She liked the way it looked on her.

Azzi turned her head, resting her cheek against the pillow to look at Paige more easily. Her eyes were soft in the dark, less sharp than usual, the tough edges worn down by the same heavy exhaustion that Paige felt in her own bones.

“You feel better now?” Azzi asked, voice low and a little rough from sleep creeping up on them.

Paige let her mouth tug into a small, lazy smile. “Mhm.”

She meant it, too. The headache that had been gnawing at her for days was dulled to a distant ache, like a bruise more than a wound. Manageable. Something she could finally breathe around.

They lapsed into a loose conversation, the kind that spilled out easy when your bodies were warm and tired and there wasn’t anything else demanding your attention.

They talked about their early days — about F3, when every race felt like life and death, when nobody knew their names yet except for the real freaks who memorized junior circuit stats. They laughed about the miserable little hotels they used to stay in, the 3 a.m. flights, the terrible track food that made you sick if you so much as looked at it wrong.

“You remember Hungary?” Azzi said, grinning against the pillow. “You ate that gas station sushi like a complete dumbass and then qualified second anyway.”

Paige groaned. “Oh my God. I forgot about that. I thought I was gonna die.”

“You looked green in the paddock,” Azzi teased, poking her gently in the side.

Paige swatted at her hand, smiling despite herself. “Still beat your ass that weekend though.”

Azzi rolled her eyes dramatically. “By like half a second.”

“A win’s a win,” Paige said, smirking.

They laughed again, the kind of laughter that loosened the last stubborn knots inside Paige’s chest.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more recent things. They talked about how absolutely terrible the Canadian Grand Prix had been earlier that season — how they’d both finished out of the points, how everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

“I think that was the first time I’ve genuinely thought about just walking off the track and disappearing into the woods,” Paige admitted, stretching a little under the covers.

“Same,” Azzi said. “If I never see Montreal again, it’ll be too soon.”

Paige smiled faintly. “We were due for a bad one.”

“Yeah,” Azzi agreed, voice softening. “Still sucked though.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable. Just full — heavy with memories, with things unsaid but understood.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, letting herself drift a little. She was so tired she could feel it pulling at her like a current. But she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. Not while this was happening. Not while Azzi was here, warm and real next to her, talking to her like this was just… normal.

Eventually, Azzi shifted again, propping herself up slightly on one elbow, looking down at Paige with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey,” she said, nudging Paige gently. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige cracked one eye open. “You’re gonna ask even if I say no.”

Azzi grinned a little. “True.”

Paige made a lazy ‘go ahead’ gesture with her free hand.

Azzi traced a light line across Paige’s side, just brushing over the curve of her ribcage where the ink peeked out from under the hem of her sleep shirt. It was a small tattoo — easy to miss unless you were looking. Thin black lines, elegant and understated.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times, but I’ve never asked,” Azzi said. “What’s the tattoo for?”

Paige glanced down at it, at the delicate script running along the cage of her ribs.

It read: “Be you. Be great.”

For a second, she thought about brushing it off — making some dumb joke. She was good at that. She was a professional at that.

But the look in Azzi’s eyes wasn’t teasing. It was open. Real.

Paige took a breath, turning her head to look back up at the ceiling.

“It’s something my dad would text me before every race.,” she said quietly. “I got it my first year in F3. After everything.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just waited.

Paige swallowed, feeling the old ghosts stir a little in her chest.

“I didn’t know if I could do it back then,” she said. “Like… really didn’t know. I thought about quitting. A lot. More than I told anyone.”

Azzi’s hand was still resting lightly against her side, not pushing, not asking for more — just there.

“I felt like I was getting my ass kicked every weekend,” Paige admitted. “And not even just on track. Everything around it, too. The pressure. The travel. The expectations. It was… a lot. And I didn’t think I was built for it.”

Azzi’s thumb brushed gently against her skin, slow and grounding.

“But you didn’t quit,” Azzi said, soft.

Paige shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”

She smiled a little, wry and tired and proud all at once.

“Got the tattoo the day after the season ended.,” she said. “Just… to remind myself of what’s important.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at her, something deep and fierce flickering in her eyes.

Then, quietly, she said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

The words hit Paige harder than she expected — sinking into some soft, unguarded part of her she didn’t even realize she’d left open tonight.

She blinked up at the ceiling for a second, trying to find something funny or cool to say back — but nothing came.

So instead, she just rolled onto her side, facing Azzi properly, and bumped their foreheads together lightly, a silent thank you.

Azzi smiled against her.

The television flickered in the background. The world outside the cabin kept turning.

But inside this tiny slice of it, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, everything felt still. Safe.

For the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe she wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe — finally — she was living.

–

It was rare — almost unheard of — but Paige woke up first.

For a second she just lay there, confused, expecting Azzi to be the one already half-dressed and smirking down at her. But no — the other side of the bed was warm, the blankets still tangled around a deeply asleep Azzi, her dark hair a mess against the pillow.

Paige smiled a little to herself, slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was still heavy with early morning quiet, the kind of silence Paige never got to enjoy during race weeks. She found a pan, cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisked them lazily. The stove clicked to life with a small burst of blue flame. She wasn’t a world-class chef or anything — and God knew she’d had her fair share of microwave dinners — but living alone had taught her the basics. Eggs were easy enough.

She was plating them up when Azzi finally appeared, padding into the kitchen like something half-awake and mildly suspicious. She leaned against the counter, blinking at Paige.

“I’m shocked you can cook,” Azzi said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

Paige grinned and slid a plate across the counter toward her. “Yeah, well. I do live by myself,” she said. “Kinda had to figure it out.”

Azzi yawned and sat down on one of the barstools, eyeing the food suspiciously before taking a cautious bite. Then another. “Not bad,” she admitted, mouth half-full.

“High praise,” Paige said, deadpan.

They ate in companionable quiet for a little while, the sun rising higher over the trees outside. Paige leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out under the table.

“So,” Azzi said, pushing her plate away once she was finished, “what should we do today? You know. If anything.”

Paige shrugged, thinking. “I don’t know. Kinda nice not having anything I have to do.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her. “Your head feel okay?”

Paige thought about it, gave a small nod. “Yeah. Better this morning.”

Azzi didn’t look completely convinced, but she let it go. For now.

“You got any weird pre-race rituals I don’t know about?” Azzi asked, grinning, propping her chin on her hand.

Paige snorted. “Define weird.”

“Like… I don’t know. Lucky socks? Some weird handshake with your engineer? Secretly listening to Celine Dion to hype yourself up?”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Nah. I’m pretty normal, I think. I always put my left glove on before my right one. And I always tap the outside of the car with my hand before I get in. Just… a habit.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Cute.”

“What about you?” Paige asked, elbowing her playfully. “I bet you have a whole list.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Mm. You’ll have to guess.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You definitely have something dumb, like wearing the same sports bra every race weekend.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “Superstition’s part of the sport, babe. You’d be surprised how many world champions have a lucky sock or something even dumber.”

Paige grinned, finishing off her coffee. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause, easy and loose, before Azzi leaned forward again. “We should go shopping today.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?”

Azzi nodded seriously. “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

“Why,” Paige said, deadpan. “What do you even want to buy?”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t know. Stuff. Maybe a new hoodie since you’re clearly trying to steal all of mine.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi grinned lazily across the table, sunlight catching the messy curls falling into her face. “You love it.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged up in a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “Fine. Shopping. But if you make me carry your bags, I’m charging you a personal assistant fee.”

“Deal,” Azzi said, already pushing her chair back like it was settled. “You take cash, card, or direct wire transfer?”

Paige just laughed again, standing up and gathering the dishes. It was stupid how easy it was with Azzi sometimes — how the world could be loud and overwhelming and everything at once, but right now, here in this cabin kitchen with eggs and dumb plans, it felt like nothing outside mattered at all.

And maybe, for once, that was exactly the point.

–

The drive into Denver was easy enough, a slow crawl through the green, rising hills until the city started to fold open in front of them. Paige had the windows down, one hand draped over the door, sunglasses sliding a little down her nose. It was warm — the kind of sticky Colorado summer day where you regretted even thinking about jeans — so she’d thrown on a long-sleeve T-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts.

Azzi, naturally, looked like a damn model. Crop top, tiny shorts, sneakers laced up like she might sprint away at any second. She was chewing a piece of gum lazily, scrolling through something on her phone as they cruised into the city.

It was sort of a miracle they hadn’t been recognized yet. Then again, two young women dressed like that in Denver? They just looked like half the college kids wandering around on summer break. No one was expecting two Ferrari drivers — let alone a two-time world champion and the Rookie of the Year — to be shopping for dumb stuff downtown.

Paige tugged the sleeves of her shirt down as they found parking, feeling the sun hot on the backs of her legs. She didn’t complain though — it felt good to be out, to be, instead of having to constantly do.

They wandered through a few shops, Azzi clearly on a mission even if Paige couldn’t tell what it was. Paige mostly followed, hands stuffed into her pockets, trailing Azzi like some reluctant little shadow.

And yeah, maybe — maybe — she let her eyes wander once or twice. Maybe Azzi’s shorts were riding real high up her thighs. Maybe she had a strut that was just naturally infuriating. Paige caught herself looking and looked away just as fast, but not fast enough.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder with a smirk that could’ve melted concrete. “Careful, P. You’re gonna burn a hole through my ass if you keep staring like that.”

Paige made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a cough, pretending to examine a nearby rack of overpriced sunglasses. “I was not.”

“You so were,” Azzi said, laughing. She bumped her shoulder against Paige’s as she passed. “It’s okay. I’d look too if I were you.”

Paige shook her head, cheeks warming behind her sunglasses. “You’re a menace.”

Azzi just grinned like she’d won a prize.

By the time they were two hours in, Paige had somehow become Azzi’s personal shopping assistant, carrying three different branded bags looped over her arms. Not that she minded. It was almost funny, really — world-class athlete, trained to handle G-forces and hundred-degree cockpits, now hauling around luxury bags like an unpaid intern.

“Man,” Paige said, adjusting the weight of the bags, “I’m probably scaring all your hoes away.”

Azzi snorted. “Please. They probably aren’t even as good in bed as you are anyway.”

Paige froze, mid-step, mid-breath, like her brain blue-screened for a full second. She turned, wide-eyed behind her shades, and stared at Azzi like she couldn’t possibly have just said that out loud in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.

Azzi just smiled sweetly, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“You—” Paige started.

“What? You were good last night,” Azzi said, bumping her hip against Paige’s again before sauntering ahead toward the next store like nothing had happened.

Paige dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath. “Menace.”

She caught up a second later, because she didn’t really have a choice, but every so often Azzi would glance back at her with this glint in her eye — this dangerous, deliberate glint — and Paige would feel her brain short-circuit all over again.

Azzi was on one today. Full-blown menace mode, flipping through racks of clothes, holding up random things to Paige’s chest and pretending to seriously debate whether she could “pull it off.”

Paige took it like a champ. Mostly. She kept a running tally in her head of all the times she was going to make Azzi pay for this later, and the list was getting long.

By the time they finally wandered into a little café for a break, Paige was carrying so many bags that the barista actually laughed when he saw her struggling through the door. Azzi just winked at him and ordered them iced coffees like she hadn’t just been emotionally terrorizing her afternoon.

Paige sat down heavily, dropping the bags with a dramatic thud.

“You owe me so bad for this,” Paige said, stretching her legs out under the table.

Azzi took a slow, smug sip of her coffee. “Oh, babe. I plan to.”

And the worst — or maybe the best — part was Paige absolutely believed her.

–

The sun was starting to slip down behind the city skyline when they finally called it a day. Paige was stretched out on a bench outside the little boutique Azzi had insisted on hitting last, sipping the last of her iced coffee and trying not to feel like her legs were about to fall off.

She was about two seconds from asking if they could just Uber back to the cabin when Azzi appeared out of nowhere, flipping her sunglasses onto her head and grinning.

“So what do you want for the drive back?” Azzi asked casually. “Snacks? Water?”

Paige rubbed her thumb over her temple, pretending to think hard. “Milkshake.”

Azzi blinked. For a second — a real second — she looked genuinely surprised.

“You?” she said, like Paige had just announced she wanted to rob a bank. “A milkshake?”

Paige shrugged. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No, no,” Azzi said, hands up. “I’m just… shocked. You’re usually the ‘water and sadness’ type.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m allowed to want a milkshake sometimes.”

“You are,” Azzi said, still looking at her like she was witnessing some rare animal in the wild. “It’s just… cute.”

Paige pointed a stern finger at her. “Don’t make it weird.”

Azzi only grinned wider.

They hit a drive-thru a few minutes later — Paige ordered a vanilla milkshake, simple and classic, while Azzi predictably went for some monstrosity involving peanut butter, chocolate, and possibly diabetes in a cup.

Paige had just taken her first blissful sip when she noticed the car waiting for them. Sleek, black, windows tinted almost opaque. And when they climbed inside, Paige realized with mild horror — it was nice.

Partition between them and the driver, soundproofed, plush leather seats that you could probably take a nap on if you weren’t so busy feeling vaguely intimidated.

Azzi caught the look on Paige’s face and laughed under her breath. “Told you I had a guy.”

Paige shook her head, settling back against the seat, letting her head tip back against the headrest. Her cheeks felt warm — and not just from the sun she’d soaked up all afternoon. She could see the faint pink across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her shoulders, and she knew Azzi could too.

They hadn’t even been on the highway for five minutes when Paige felt it.

A hand. Sliding lazy and slow onto her thigh.

She cracked one eye open, turning her head slightly to glance down — and yep, there it was. Azzi’s hand, warm and casual like it belonged there.

Paige shifted a little, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t.”

Azzi hummed innocently, barely glancing at her. “I’m not even doing anything. Relax.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

Azzi gave her this look — the look — the one that made it very, very clear that if anyone needed to relax, it wasn’t her. She took another slow sip of her milkshake like she had no idea what kind of chaos she was causing, and Paige wanted to throttle her and kiss her all at once.

“This is payback,” Azzi said sweetly, “for last night.”

Paige groaned under her breath, slouching lower in her seat. “You’re so annoying.”

Azzi only smiled wider.

They sat like that for a few minutes — Paige determinedly focusing on her milkshake and the blurred highway sliding by outside the window, Azzi being a quiet little menace with her hand resting just so on Paige’s thigh, thumb brushing tiny, mindless patterns against her skin.

And then — then Azzi got bold.

She let her fingers drift higher. Barely an inch. Just enough for Paige to stiffen slightly, her breath catching in her throat before she could stop it.

“Azzi,” Paige said, voice low, a warning that didn’t sound nearly as firm as she wanted it to.

Azzi turned her head lazily, all fake innocence. “What? I’m just sitting here.”

Her fingers crept higher again, slow and deliberate, and Paige felt her whole body tighten — like a live wire strung too tight.

She squeezed her thighs together instinctively, trapping Azzi’s hand for a second, but Azzi only grinned, smug and unbothered, letting Paige feel every inch of her palm pressed against her.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to react.

“You’re evil,” she muttered, voice raspier than she intended.

Azzi just leaned in a little closer, her breath ghosting across Paige’s ear. “You love it.”

And — god help her — Paige did.

She cracked her eyes open again, shooting a sharp look at Azzi, but her glare lacked any real heat. Azzi knew it. Smirking, she shifted her hand just a fraction higher, fingertips skating dangerously close to the hem of Paige’s shorts.

Paige sucked in a shallow breath, jaw locking tight.

“You’re such a brat,” she said under her breath.

Azzi’s smile turned lazy. “You gonna do something about it, P?”

Paige gritted her teeth, trying to focus on anything else — the road, the mountains in the distance, the milkshake rapidly melting in her hand — but Azzi’s hand was all she could feel.

A gentle pressure. A teasing touch. Like she wasn’t even trying but still had Paige unraveling inch by inch.

Every shift of Azzi’s fingers was torture. Deliberate, patient, maddening.

Paige pressed her head back harder against the seat, swallowing thickly. She wanted to shove Azzi’s hand away — or maybe she just wanted to grab it and drag her closer and kiss her until they both forgot where they were.

The partition felt too thin. The car too quiet. Her heartbeat too loud.

“You’re so annoying,” Paige said, voice low and rough.

Azzi only hummed, pretending to be fascinated by the passing scenery. “Just evening the score, babe.”

Her hand slipped higher again, fingertips dancing over the edge of Paige’s shorts — feather-light, maddening, and so careful, never crossing the line but coming close enough that Paige was practically vibrating with tension.

Paige tightened her hand around her milkshake, using it as a lifeline.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Paige muttered.

Azzi finally looked at her, tilting her head slightly, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I know.”

They sat like that the rest of the drive — Paige trying not to combust, Azzi pretending she was the picture of innocence, her hand burning a slow, deliberate imprint into Paige’s skin.

By the time they pulled up to the cabin, Paige wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss Azzi or kill her.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

–

By the time they got back to the cabin, Paige had a plan.

Simple. Effective. She was going to flip the script right back on Azzi — pay her back for every second of torture in that car, for every smug little smirk and the way her hand had crept just a little too high on Paige’s thigh, knowing exactly what it was doing.

Paige was more than ready. She was practically itching for it.

But when they stumbled through the front door, shopping bags slung over their arms, laughing a little too loud from some dumb inside joke, Azzi just tossed her keys on the counter, glanced at Paige, and said, with a slow smile, “Nah.”

Paige blinked. “Nah?” she echoed, incredulous.

Azzi shrugged, already peeling off her sneakers like she hadn’t just shattered every expectation Paige had for the evening. “You had your fun last night. Let a girl breathe.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What, you scared?”

Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder — something amused and dark. “Hardly.”

Paige crossed her arms, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “What are you gonna do, then?”

Azzi let the question hang between them for a beat, long enough that Paige almost thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, with a little huff of a laugh, Azzi stalked forward, grabbed Paige by the wrist, and started dragging her down the hall.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” Azzi muttered as they went.

Paige grinned, letting herself be pulled along easily. “Nah,” she said, all faux-casual. “Just confident.”

Azzi didn’t say anything else, just hauled her all the way into Paige’s room and kicked the door closed behind them.

Paige leaned back against it, arms crossed, watching Azzi with a lazy smirk. “Come on, Az. What you gonna do?”

Azzi stared at her for a second — and then something shifted.

It was subtle, the way her posture straightened, the way her mouth twitched into a grin that was a little meaner, a little more sure. Like she’d finally decided something.

Paige’s stomach flipped.

Without warning, Azzi stepped in, crowding her against the door, hands landing on either side of Paige’s head. She didn’t touch — not really — but she was close enough that Paige felt the heat of her body, the tension radiating off her in waves.

Paige’s smirk faltered slightly.

Azzi noticed. Of course she did.

“Funny,” Azzi murmured, tilting her head. “You talk all that shit, but now you’re real quiet.”

Paige huffed a laugh, forcing herself to keep it light. “Please. You’re not scaring me.”

Azzi smiled — slow, dangerous. “Not yet.”

And then she moved. One hand slid down, fingers curling around the front of Paige’s shirt, yanking her away from the door and pushing her backward toward the bed with easy force.

Paige stumbled but caught herself, grinning again despite the way her heart was hammering.

She let herself fall back onto the mattress, propped up on her elbows, watching Azzi stalk closer like she owned the whole damn room.

“You really think you’re still in control?” Azzi asked, voice low.

Paige opened her mouth to fire back something smart — but then Azzi was on her, straddling her hips, pinning her in place without even trying.

And maybe it was because Paige was still a little pink from the sun, maybe it was the long day, the way she was still loose and a little tired from everything — but it took shockingly little for Azzi to take the upper hand.

Paige realized it the second Azzi leaned down, her weight pressing Paige into the mattress just enough, her breath warm against Paige’s throat.

Yeah. She wasn’t fooling anyone anymore.

Azzi leaned in closer, lips brushing Paige’s ear. “God,” she murmured, almost laughing. “It took, like, nothing to get you to fold.”

Paige scowled, cheeks flushing despite herself. “Shut up.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, grinning wickedly. “Seriously. One little shove and you’re all soft.”

Paige groaned and covered her face with one hand. “Azzi.”

Azzi laughed, low and pleased. “It’s cute.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so easy.”

Paige peeked out from between her fingers, half-glowering, half-embarrassed. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Azzi leaned down again, nipping at the side of Paige’s jaw in response. “You already said that, P.”

Paige grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t exactly push her off.

Azzi stayed there for a second, just looking at her — that kind of long, lingering look that made Paige feel seen in a way she didn’t always like.

Then, almost casually, Azzi asked, “Do you like it?”

Paige froze.

“Like what?” she asked, too quickly.

Azzi smiled knowingly. “When I push you around.”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

Azzi laughed softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “Come on, P. I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Paige shifted under her, awkward. She hated talking about shit like this — hated giving it words. But something about the way Azzi was looking at her — patient, steady, waiting — made her want to try.

“No…Yes…I don’t know,” Paige muttered finally. “It’s… easier sometimes. Not having to think. Just… letting you.”

Azzi’s face softened instantly. The teasing vanished, replaced with something quieter, more serious.

“Yeah?” she said, almost gently.

Paige nodded, staring at the ceiling.

Azzi leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “That’s not weird, P.”

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I mean,” Azzi said, grinning again, “it is a little funny how fast you gave up. But it’s not weird.”

Paige groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Paige grumbled something incoherent, but she didn’t move away when Azzi pulled the pillow off her face and kissed her properly this time — slow and easy, no pressure, no games.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled up on the bed, Azzi’s weight warm and solid over her, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows and painting everything gold.

For once, Paige didn’t feel the need to be anything but what she was — a little messy, a little unguarded, totally in love with the girl pinning her down.

And maybe — just maybe — that was the real reason she let Azzi win sometimes.

Because it wasn’t losing. Not really. Not when it was her.

[gf2bellamy]

part three: prophetic synchronicity

— ★ in a dream shaped like a library, spencer finally sees that love was never sudden—instead it was breadcrumbed in the form of coffee dates, late-night chess games, and the scent of citrus on a borrowed sweater.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of serial killers and working in the field

masterlist - part one ✦ part two

Time became measured in stolen touches and suppressed confessions.

Spencer had always been protective of you—perhaps to a fault—but now it bordered on obsession. Every field assignment left his nerves frayed, his focus splintered between the case and you. He hovered like a shadow, positioning himself between you and potential threats.

It escalated until Hotch pulled him aside, that familiar stern crease between his brows. "Reid, you’re distracted. More than usual."

The words were professional, but the look in his eyes said everything else: I know. And you need to get it together.

Spencer couldn’t even argue. He just nodded, guilty.

But even paperwork became an exercise in restraint.

He dragged out reports well past necessary, lingering in coffee shops just to watch you scribble notes with your tongue peeking between your teeth. He took you to Drip Drop Brew three times in one week, each visit punctuated by your delighted grip on his arm, your gasp of discovery as you scanned the menu. The way your entire face lit up could've powered entire cities. 

Spencer would’ve built you ten coffee shops if it meant seeing that expression again.

Then came the legs.

It started innocently enough—a brush of knees beneath the conference table, fleeting and accidental. But then he did it deliberately, hooking his ankle around yours during a briefing, pressing his calf to yours as if tethered by an invisible string.

You'd looked at him then, really looked, your pen freezing mid-sentence. But Spencer just kept working, his face the picture of academic detachment even as his pulse roared in his ears.

The need was unbearable.

To touch. To confirm. To claim.

Every casual contact burned like a brand, every moment apart felt like withdrawal. He was drowning in you, and the worst part? He didn't want to come up for air.

But the universe wasn't subtle tonight.

You'd fallen asleep somewhere between the opening credits and the first act of the movie, your head sliding onto his shoulder. Spencer froze, the remote clutched in his hand as your breathing evened out against his collarbone.

Carefully—so carefully—he paused the movie. The sudden silence made your sigh louder, your warmth more palpable.

His fingers moved on their own accord, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb tracing the arch of your cheekbone. When he tucked the strand behind your ear, you nuzzled closer in your sleep, your nose pressing into the hollow of his throat.

That's when he saw it.

Frozen on the screen, the subtitles screamed at him in stark white letters:

"Sometimes you don't see that the best thing that's ever happened to you is sitting there, right under your nose."

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Not when your shampoo—something vanilla and citrus—filled every breath. Not when your hair tickled his actual nose. Not when your heartbeat thrummed against his ribs like a second pulse.

Spencer's lips parted on a silent gasp before he pressed them into a firm line.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

But then—because he was only human, because he was so desperately in love—he let his head fall back against yours, his cheek resting against the crown of your hair. The subtitles blurred as his eyes stung.

He fell asleep like that: nose buried in your hair, the words burning behind his eyelids.

Dreams were rare for Spencer Reid.

When sleep came, it usually brought nightmares—his mother's fractured voice, crime scene photos that bled into each other, visions of you hurt in some alleyway he couldn't reach.

But tonight, curled around your warmth on the couch, his subconscious offered him something extraordinary.

A library materialized around him, the scent of old paper and lemon oil thick in the air. Mahogany shelves stretched endlessly in every direction, their contents glowing under soft golden light.

Spencer turned in his armchair, the leather creaking beneath him—

—just as you peeked around a shelf, grinning.

"You like it?" You were exactly you, yet not. 

You were wearing a soft pink sweater, the kind that he immediately recognized—because it was his. Well, sort of. It was like one of his favorite cardigans, but in a pale shade of pink.

The sight sent something warm and possessive curling through his chest.

"Like what?" He rose slowly, a little confused as he glanced around the library, taking in the shelves, the stacks of books.

The air hummed with static, the way it did before rain.

"The library." You gestured broadly, your nail polish chipped exactly as it had been yesterday. When he didn't respond, you pouted—that pout—and nudged a book toward him. "Check them out."

The volume had no title. When he opened it, the pages moved.And immediately, his breath caught. The pages weren’t filled with words.

They were filled with memories.

The first memory Spencer saw was of when you and he met. He recognized it instantly. It was so vivid, like it was happening all over again.

There you were: frozen in the BAU bullpen on your first day, all nervous energy and bright eyes, that ridiculous ladybug hairclip holding back your hair. He'd nearly knocked you over while muttering about fractal patterns, too distracted to notice the new profiler standing awkwardly with a box of files.

"You're... not Hotch," you'd said, and something in his chest had gone click.

In the dream, his throat tightened. He remembered everything: the way your laugh lines appeared before the sound left your lips, how you'd bitten your bottom raw that first month from stress, the shy smile that formed on your face when Garcia complimented your shoes.

The book trembled in his hands.

The You in the dream leaned against the shelf, watching him with tender amusement. "Keep going," you murmured. "The next one's better."

The book’s pages fluttered like a living thing, revealing another memory—the first case you’d worked together.

There you were on the jet, tucked into a corner with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against your thigh. Younger Spencer had slid into the seat across from you without a word, unfolding his travel chess set.

“Do you know how to play?”

"Not even a little," you'd admitted with that self-deprecating laugh he'd later learn meant you were overwhelmed.

For two hours, he taught you—the way knights moved in L-shapes, how pawns could become queens, why the Sicilian Defense was his favorite opening. He remembered the exact moment your frown of concentration melted into triumph when you captured his bishop (he’d sacrificed it on purpose, though he’d never admit it). The way your laughter had bounced off the jet’s walls when you realized too late that he’d cornered your king.

Checkmate.

The memory shimmered as the pages turned again, this time to something more intimate—a museum date disguised as a casual outing. You’d researched every painting in advance, scribbling notes in the margins of the exhibit pamphlet like you were preparing for an exam. 

His exam.

He remembered how he had looked at you when you added something to what he’d just rambled on about—how proud he felt, how surprised he was that you not only listened but also wanted to engage with him.

Page after page, the memories unfolded—each one a revelation.

The late-night work sessions where you’d fallen asleep on his couch, your cheek smushed against his copy of Atonement. The way you always saved him the last bite of your dessert, even when it was your favorite. That time in New Orleans when you’d traded your umbrella for his soaked-through jacket because “You’ll get sick faster than I will, genius.”

The realization struck him like a physical blow:

There was no single moment he’d fallen in love with you.

It was every moment.

Every shared glance, every inside joke, every time you’d looked at him like he’d hung the moon—they were all threads in the same tapestry, woven so seamlessly he hadn’t noticed the pattern until now.

The warmth in his chest wasn’t new. It was just you—constant as gravity, steady as sunrise. And it had been there all along.

He turned another page, but this one was blank.

Spencer frowned, flipping faster—empty, empty, empty. The fancy pages mocked him, their whiteness glaring under the library's golden light.

"You have to fill those." 

Your voice, sudden and close, made him startle. You'd been watching him the whole time, leaning against the shelves with that knowing smile he'd never been able to decipher—until now.

You plucked the book from his trembling hands, your fingers brushing his as you traced the pages he had just looked at.

"These are the moments you liked me," you said, tapping a memory where his younger self stared at your ladybug hairclip. "And now that you've finally realized you're in love with me—"

Spencer choked on air.

"—these pages," you continued, pointing at the blank pages. "will be filled with all the ways you love me." You snapped the book shut and slid it back onto the shelf with care, your pink sweater riding up just enough to reveal the dip of your waist.

Before he could protest, you pressed a new volume into his hands, this one heavier, its cover embossed with golden gilded letters he couldn't quite read. You nestled against his arm, your cheek warm against his sweater sleeve as he opened it.

Blank again.

"This one," you murmured, your breath ghosting over his wrist, "gets filled once you admit it to me. Out loud."

Spencer's pulse roared in his ears. "Admit it to you?"

You tilted your head up, so close he could count your lashes. "Yeah," you said, like it was the simplest truth in the world. "That you love me."

The library held its breath.

Your voice was soft, but the words struck him like a lightning bolt—crackling through his ribs, scorching his lungs. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to ignore the fantasies his brain already started forming. The idea of this volume being filled with memories of you waking up in his arms, of you holding hands on actual dates, of you—

Spencer blinked down at the book in his hands.

Blank cover, blank pages, yet it weighed more than any tomb in the Library of Congress. It thrummed against his palms, a living thing starving for the confession lodged in his throat.

"I..." His voice cracked. For once, his brilliant mind offered no equations, no statistics—just static.

You smiled that smile—the one reserved for his darkest moments, the one that had pulled him back from countless edges.

"It's okay," you murmured, leaning forward to brush a stray curl from his forehead. Your fingers lingered, warm against his temple. "I know it's scary." you grimaced slightly, as if speaking from experience.

Spencer closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. The book creaked slightly under his tightening grip. "This is the weirdest dream I've ever had," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You grinned, all mischief and moonlight. "But it feels real, doesn't it?"

He couldn't answer. 

Because it did.

The way your thumb traced absent circles against his skin. The way your lashes caught the golden library light. The way you smelled like home—like worn paper and that citrus shampoo you'd accidentally left at his apartment months ago and never reclaimed.

It felt more real than the waking world ever had.

"You can take your time," you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek—so casual, so certain. "I'm always going to be here."

And for the first time in his life, Spencer Reid believed something without evidence.

He believed you.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Drowned In Lavender

Thunderbolts/senator B. Barnes x Afab! (pregnant wife) reader

Summary: Bucky and Sam accidentally run into eachother in Washington. They make a plan to fly back to Brooklyn a few days earlier than Bucky's scheduled return time to surprise you! However, the surprise kind of spoils when you spot them first, and greet them in a very unexpected way.

Genre: 18+ [ MDNI!! I am not responsible for what you find on the internet. ]erotica, romance, sensual, comedy.

Smut tags/warnings: (6k+ words of pure filth.) Reader is 24 weeks pregnant, Sam being hilarious, Massage gone wrong, mentions of guns, Bucky being an amazing fucking husband, reader is VERY horny and needy, reader wears lingerie, beard kink/beard wetting, pussy eating, face sitting, breast play, vaginal fingering, implied squirting. NOT beta read.

Song recommended: Where Life Begins by Madonna.

An: the last congressman Barnes erotica I do before Thunderbolts releases. Also Im terribly sick rn so I apologize if this seems a bit weird. ENJOY!!

[ my marvel request box is back open. Please check out my pinned post for my request rules. ]

"Dude shut up! "

" Is the coast clear, Mr. Barnes? "

Bucky and Sam tiptoed inside the house, Sam closing the door behind them as he whispered like he was in a stealthy hitman game. In reality, all it was was the two men wanting to surprise you with Bucky's return back home. The plan was for Sam to stay with the both of you during the holidays as extra support for you during your pregnancy, however, from all you knew, they weren't going to be back until the end of the week. It was Friday.

The lights in the house were off. It was not what the two men were expecting. In fact, they were kind of hoping you'd be up. It was only 8 pm, after all. Perhaps you went to bed early because you were hurting?

Sam was wandering the kitchen and living room; he had been in your house enough times to know the whole layout of the place. Bucky set his crossbody bag on the marble island in the kitchen with a sigh. He tucked his phone into his back pocket of his jeans.

" I'm gonna go look upstairs. " He told Sam, nodding towards the stairs.

" Can I go up with you? " He asked with a smile. Bucky nearly laughed.

" No. "

Sam persisted.

" Well I just thought, you know, if we were supposed to be surprising her--"

" Just stay down here. " Bucky cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sam nodded understandingly and shrugged.

" Yeah--no, of course. I get it. Husband-wife things. Totally cool. '' Sam sniffed, shaking his hand and clapping his hands together, his gaze averting from Bucky's. Bucky's face contorted in a cringe, and he mumbled something under his breath as he started making his way up stairs.

He made sure that his footsteps were light as he walked up the stairs as to make as little noise as possible and to not make the floorboard creak. His heart was racing with anticipation as he made it to the top of the staircase. He almost had to restrain himself from running up to your bedroom door.

However, when he finally made it to the top of the stairs, all of his plans to surprise you crumbled to dust when he saw you standing in the doorway if your bedroom door. Pointing a handgun right at him. You squinted your eyes at him, trying to make him out through the darkness. He almost laughed. Again.

" Honey, " he called out from the top of the stairs, his smooth, sweet-and-deep-like-honey voice filling your ears with the familiarity of a favorite song.

" It's just me. " He said, his footsteps soft as he approached you. The moment you realized it was him, you wasted no time to throw the little gun down and run into his open arms. Like everytime, he caught you perfectly and gave you that rich laugh you loved so much. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, smoothing out your hair with his flesh hand.

" It seems I've taught you well. " He mumbled against your hair. You grumbled and playfully smacked his chest.

" Don't play games like that with me anymore. You scared the shit out of me. " You told him, looking up at him with a tiny smile. Your hand flattened on his chest, near his dog tags. " I thought you were an evil guy who broke in looking for you. "

A light laugh left his mouth, and he ran his exposed vibranium hand up your back.

" Nah. Its just me and uh.. " he looked over his shoulder. You followed his gaze. " That guy. "

Both of your eyes fell on a certain Sam Wilson standing at the top of the staircase. The three of you stood there silently for what felt like an eternity.

" It's good to see you Mrs. Barnes. " Sam said, his usual calm smile spread across his face. " Surprise? "

You blinked. Bucky coughed. You looked between your husband and his best friend back and forth many times, confused.

" Wait--why is he here? " You inquired, looking up at Bucky with curled eyebrows. A mutual feeling of awkwardness filled all of you, and the silence that came with it was so utterly terrible that you started feeling too exposed and hid into Bucky's arms further. After all, you were wearing one of your favorite lingerie sets under the purple robe tied around your body.

Bucky looked at Sam. Sam looked at Bucky. He was not going to speak up; he didn't have the right words to speak. So Bucky opened his mouth after thinking about it, then spoke.

" We were both in D.C, obviously. He had some business to take care of at the White House, and I was at Capitol Hill--as you know, for some very important business. " Bucky began, looking down at you, nodding his head along at he spoke. You were gripping his red wine tie and looking down at your feet, trying to ignore the warm feeling you had been getting in your lowe abdomen all day. Now that he was home, it was only worse.

" We ran into eachother a couple times while up there, and decided that since the holidays were coming up, we'd surprise you with an early visit and stay around for the next few months until you're due. " Sam took over the conversation, explaining to you the details--though you found it very hard to pay attention to him with your mind so fogged up. Bucky's hand lulled up and down your back, making goosebumps rise up your skin.

" And also all of the work that I need to do for the rest of the month will be done from home. " Bucky told you, his hand stilling somewhere on your lower back. It did not take long for him to notice the way you were avoiding his gaze.

" You okay, honey? " He asked you, his voice low like he was asking you directly and didn't want Sam in the conversation. You met his gaze finally and let go of his tie.

" Yeah, I'll be okay. " You responded, your face heating up. You had no idea where this odd feeling in your abdomen was coming from. Just a moment ago you were pointing a gun at him because you thought he was a random dude who broke into your house. Now you were all curled into his body and gripping onto him like a cat to a cat tree.

Bucky hummed and kissed the top of your head again.

" Well now that our plans have been spoiled, what are we gonna do? " Sam asked from afar, fiddling with his hands like he had nothing else to do. Your mind was already going to work, searching for many ways you could respond. Now, you didn't want to be selfish, but your husband had just came back home to you after a long two and a half weeks, and all you wanted was some alone time with him. The mere fact that Sam was even there only fueled that need to be alone with Bucky.

You looked up at Bucky for help, your mind caught in a cross roads. You tapped your fingers against his shoulder for his attention. He immediately took the message as you needing to tell him something important, and he ducked his head down so you could whisper in his ear. Your stomach churned in excitement, and you cupped your hand around the shell of his ear for extra security.

" I need you in the bedroom. " You told him. It was all you needed to say, really, but you weren't even sure if it was entirely what you wanted. Bucky's vibranium hand tightened around it's spot on your waist, and he leaned back so he could whisper his response in your ear.

" Why? What's wrong? "

" I don't know I'm just... Aching and sore--but at the same time you're back home and that does something to me... " You told him quickly, looking over his shoulder to see Sam facing the complete opposite direction of you two.

" Just please... meet me in the bedroom? " You begged him, looking up at him with big eyes. He pulled back a little so you would be face-to-face with him.

" Are you sure? " He asked, his eyebrows curved in worry. You gripped the sleeve of his suit jack and tugged on it.

" Yes I'm sure! " You whisper-yelled into his ear, your teeth gritted.

Sam stood in the background silently, blinking, utterly confused by the whole scenario. He checked his watch for the time, then looked away from the whispering couple and scratched his ear. Obviously he wasn't meant to be listening in on the conversation, but they weren't exactly good at whispering.

Bucky looked at Sam then back at you.

" Okay. Go inside, and I'll be there in just a moment. " He leaned down to peck your lips. " I love you. " You smiled warmly at the kiss and the ' I love you. ' You felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and you pursed your lips to hide the smile creeping on your face and tilted your head down.

" I love you too. " You responded quietly before picking up the tail of your dragging, opening robe and ran towards your bedroom. In an instant, the door was slamming shut and you were gone.

And God help him, Sam was trying so hard to be respectful. He was looking at his watch again, like he was actually doing something on it instead of eavesdropping on his closest friends.

" Sam. " Bucky called out for him, almost making him jump. Sam fake coughed and looked up at him, sweating in his suit. Bucky's voice was stern and knowing. Sam gulped hard.

" You should go to the guest room downstairs." Bucky told him, blinking slowly and pointing his index finger downwards as he spoke those last words. Sam couldn't fight the smile that was threatening to spread across his face.

" Alright. I'll do that. " He said, his lips twitching. " But while you two are at it, you might want to spin her that Marvin Gaye vinyl I got you last Christmas. And if you need lube, just hit me up--"

" Ooh, duuude that's weird. We're not gonna have sex with guests over. " Bucky groaned, his face scrunching up in disgust. "Now get the hell out of here before I push you down the damn staircase. " Bucky threatened, his cheeks heated with embarrassment from his friends comment. Sam was cackling at his reaction, clapping his hands together as he turned his heel for the staircase. Bucky inhaled sharply, closing his eyes and mentally preparing himself for what was going to happen the moment he opened the bedroom door.

" Lord help me," he muttered under his breath, curling his fingers into fists by his sides as he walked into the room.

~~

The door opened and shut with a soft click. You were already laying in bed, propping yourself up by your hands, waiting for him. Bucky gave you a soft smile as he took off his suit jacket and placed it down on the blue bean bag next to the door--which the mere sight of gave you, a pregnant woman, a heart attack.

" You okay, honey? " He asked you as he stepped out of his dress shoes. You huffed.

" You ask me that again, and I swear to Odin, James, I will rip your fucking head off and feed it to Alpine. " You warned him in a very flat, very stern voice that made your point clear quickly. Bucky stopped midway through getting undressed, his finger stilling on the top button of his vest when you started speaking. Nothing scared Bucky, but you did whenever you were mad.... and pregnant, apparently.

" Yes ma'am. " Was all he said, along with a fat gulp. He faced you and shimmied out of the black vest. The both of you locked eyes, and that warm feeling inside you intensified. The way his muscles rippled under his white button down as he moved? Basically pornography to your brain.

And the second he was out of the vest, he was on your shared bed and sitting on the edge of it. He sat in front of you with his legs crossed.

" You said you were aching and sore? " He asked, scooting closer to you, grabbing both of your calf's and smoothing his hands over them.

" Yeah. " you sighed, unsure of how to exactly explain to him that you were horny. It was just odd to you because most mom's in your parenting/birthing classes had shared that they found it hard to have a high libido and get wet while pregnant. But here you were, over-sensitive and needy like you were in heat.

And who knows? Maybe your husband already knew what you needed. He was pretty good at reading you, and often told you that you were an open book. Besides, you membered reading online and hearing from the dad's at your birthing classes that pregnancy was a pretty big turn on for them. Maybe Bucky was just as turned on as you were; which got you thinking about the night you started trying for your baby and how crazy and wild he got with you. Just thinking about it was enough to--

Oh no.

You were getting wet again.

" Baby?" Bucky's voice broke you out of the sex-dazed trance you were in. You blinked twice than looked back up at him.

" Yes? " You responded.

" Where are you sore? " He asked you, his sweet voice laced with worry, his lips curled into a frown while he looked at you with his head tilted.

You grumbled.

My pussy, you dumb fuck. You almost wanted to tell him.

" I don't know, " You paused to think. " Everywhere? " Bucky chuckled.

" Baby, that doesn't help." He said. His hands drifted down to the backs of your feet. You shivered.

" Is it your feet? Your back? " He asked, trying to pin point the cause of your issues.

" I mean.. I guess it's my feet. " You mumbled, averting your gaze from his shyly. Bucky made a low sound at that.

" Baby," his eyes raked up your body sympathetically. " Were you on your feet all day? "

His hands ran down your calves, trying to ease any tension in your muscles. The little hairs on your body stood on end with goosebumps as he touched you. You wanted to speak, but you couldn't. So you nodded. He frowned.

" Honey... You know standing all day can put tension on your back and feet. " He told you, his tone now low and serious instead of light and sweet like before. You gulped hard, excitement running through your body.

" I know, I just--I knew you'd be back soon and I didn't want the house to be a mess. " You told him with a pout. Bucky's hummed and leaned down to kiss your calf.

" Well, " he muttered, looking around like he was trying to figure out what to do. " Why don't you lay back and let me relieve you, yeah? "

He smiled at you, kind and charming. You looked back at him and returned the smile as he propped your legs onto his lap.

The moment you felt the cool metal of his vibranium hand and the warm heat of his flesh hand on your skin, you immediately melted. Usually, the temperature differences would make you flinch, but you had been with him long enough that you were used to it.

He ran his thumbs up the arch of your foot, in a straight line, his other fingers dragging along the back of your foot. You shivered and audibly groaned. He smiled.

" My poor baby," he purred. " all swollen and sore. " He thumbed at the ball of your foot, his eyes almost never leaving yours.

" S'okay though. Gonna take it all away. " He mumbled, kissing your knee. You shivered, the tiny wet spot on your panties under your robe becoming unmistakable at that point. It was just the way he was speaking to you. The words he chose along with the tone he chose; it was like he wanted you to squirm in your seat.

And you were.

" Feels good. " You rasped, the back of your hand splaying on your forehead as he slowly kneaded his thumbs into your skin. He stayed like that for a moment, creating different patterns and switching his hand placement frequently until he moved his attention to your other foot, which was arguably worse.

Bucky's mind wandered as he massaged you, his eyes falling down on your stomach as his worked his hands against you. You had gotten bigger since the last time he saw you. You were now on your 24th week, and still as beautiful as ever. In his mind, he started to map out exactly how your baby shower would go, while all you were thinking about was how much you needed your husband.... Mentally and physically.

His thumbs lowered to a certain pressure point on your foot, and your body almost jolted and you moaned softly at the contact. He kept his fingers there, rubbing rough circles into you tight muscles. He looked up and you caught his gaze.

" Right there? "He asked. You hummed, your cheeks heating up at at the warmth in his voice.

" Yeah, " you sighed. He started rubbing harder, his strokes long and persistent. " Oh god, James." You sighed into his touch, letting yourself melt like butter. He smiled proudly.

" I'm glad you feel good. " He said, continuing to work out your sore muscles. " Your pleasure is my top priority. " He told you, all with another kiss to your skin.

That was your breaking point. You needed him to fuck you.

"Baby," you whimpered, your fingers reaching out to tug on his wrist. He knew that voice like the back of his hand.

" Yes? " He looked up at you, rising his head slowly.You bite your lip, your heart pounding. His hands stilled on your ankles.

At a very eased and deliberate pace, your fingers traced up your stomach until they fell down to the knot of the belt that was keeping your robe closed shut around you. You undid the knot quickly, almost like you couldn't bare the thought of wasting another minute with it off. Once the robe fell open, so did your sweet husbands mouth.

You laid there underneath him, now in nothing but a cute little lingerie set that punched the air out of his lungs. It was a see-through babydoll top that was a lavender color and was paired with matching laced panties. The top was cut low, thin and floral laced, and the straps were in frills. The actual cup size was a bit too small for you, and your full breasts were spilling out of it. It was safe to say that it fit you better when you weren't pregnant, but you weren't complaining and neither was he. The opened slit straight down the under bust to the end of the top drove Bucky absolutely Insane. His mouth was open like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Oh. Baby," he groaned, running a hand down your baby bump, which had only grown since the last time he saw you. He lifted you leg and gave your ankle a soft peck before he crawled up your body, settling between your thighs. "Is this why you wanted to come in the bedroom?" He inquired, looking you up and down hungrily, drinking in your appearance like it was the last time he'd see you.

You couldn't do anything but nod. His breath hitched.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner? You know I'd drop everything if you would have told me." He asked, running his hands down your thighs smoothly. You bit your finger.

" 'm sorry." You apologized, your face heating up as he touched you. He clicked his tongue and crawled up your body, bracing his arms at the sides of your head.

"Don't say that, honey." He told you, his eyebrows curling upward worriedly. He leaned in and pecked your lips. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

His tone was reassuring and he ran his hand over your hip, squeezing it gently. Your hand snaked up his vibranium forearm, and curled around the white sleeve of his button down. Bucky dipped his head down to your neck and pressed a hot, wet kiss there, his flesh hand drawing circles over the waistband of your panties.

"I left you too long, hm?" He purred into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. Shivers went down your spine and you uselessly nodded. He lifted one of your legs and spread it wider around his waist, making your hips stretch out in a way that made you moan.

" Sweet girl," he mumbled, planting wet, sloppy kisses all over your collarbone. "You gonna be good and let me touch you? Yeah?" He inquired, looking up at you through his brows. You reacted so quickly that it shocked the both of you.

" Yes--yes--please, oh god. Yes." You gasped, nodding your head frantically and grabbing him everywhere like he was threatening to leave you. He chuckled and sat up a bit so he wasn't directly putting pressure on your belly.

"Lift up for a bit." He told you, momentarily pulling away from you so he could collect a few pillows from the bed. Since you both found out about your pregnancy, a significant amount of pillows had been added to your collection, which Bucky found funny. You sat up, allowing him to fix the pillows underneath you and add more onto it to help support your back.

"There you go." He grunted, stealing a quick peck of your lips before he settled back between your legs.

"Comfy?" He asked. You hummed in response and nodded. He shifted on top of you, placing one arm by your head as he hovered above you. You gulped, the anticipation of what he was going to do to you sparkling through your veins.

Your bottom lip sunk between your teeth as you looked up at him. A cold, metal hand came up to cup your warm cheek, and gently removed your lip from your mouth. Bucky ran the pad of his thumb across your wet bottom lip, caressing your skin lightly before he leaned down to kiss you.

You almost immediately moaned into his mouth the second it was on you. His left hand slipped down your cheek and onto your stomach, his touch feather-light as he rubbed your exposed skin gently.

"Fuck, I missed you." He groaned, his metal hand trailing up your body until it reached your breast. A pitched moan left your mouth when he cupped your breast into his hand, massaging your flesh through the very thin fabric of your lingerie. He could already feel your nipple hardening, the tiny bud nearly peaking out of the top of the lace.

Bucky's lips left yours with a little noise, and he leaned back a bit to get a good look at you; disheveled, messy, panting, the lace wrapped around you doing nothing to hide the beautiful body that lay underneath it.

"Loook at you." He chuckled, his voice gruff and rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. Your top was pulled downward on your left breast, threatening to spill out, but that was okay. He hooked his finger into the lace and tugged the lace down by the middle, letting both of your breasts spring free with a little bounce.

"So beautiful," he praised, running his palms down the curve of your breasts. "These perfect little things..." He went on, taking them into his large hands, cupping them by your under boobs, purposefully avoiding your nipple. "Feel so heavy in my hands now." He gave them a few gropes before he leaned down and let his hands fall by your sides, keeping himself steady above you.

Bucky's lips hovered above the peak of your breast, kissing your skin gently, his lips tip-toeing around your areola. His beard lightly scratched your skin as he moved his lips against you.

Your body was heaving up and down with his touches greedily, wanting more and more of his love, arching into him, begging for more. His lips dragged across your under boob, to the little spot on your torso where the skin of your breasts met the skin of your stomach. He dragged the tip of his tongue around your areola, the wetness,warmth and pressure of it making your nipple immediately rise up and harden. He repeated this a couple times before he finally wrapped his lips around your tiny bud and began suckling gently.

You nearly scrum and your hands shot to his head, tugging on his hair. Bucky shook his head and hummed In disapproval.

"Gotta stay quiet, babydoll." He told you, looking at you through his lashes. He released your tit with a little wet pop, then gave the whole thing a little grasp.

"I told Sam that we wouldn't be having sex, so shh." He whispered, already moving on to your other breast with a sly grin.

"Think this one wants my attention too?" He said smugly, keeping his vibranium hand on your left breast while his lips were already toying with your right one. For a moment, you mind was flogging with heat and your intense need for your husband, but through the midst of the fog, that last sentence ran through your mind curiously.

"Wait why would you tell him that?" You asked, your eyebrows furrowing. He looked up at you with a confused expression.

"He made a joke about us having sex and I told him he was gross and that we wouldn't do it with him here..." He responded honestly before going back to work, licking at your nipple like it was his only purpose. The moan you made almost immediately shut your mouth.

"Aged nicely, huh?" He joked, later on laughing at his own joke.

"Now c'mere, baby." He said with a grunt, lifting your legs up by the backs of your heavy thighs. "Let me get a nice taste of your beautiful little pussy, yeah?"

The words went straight to your cunt, making you ache for him even more. You made a little noise as you nodded eagerly, watching as your husband slowly lowered his body down yours.

Large, strong hands spread your thighs apart, and Bucky dipped his face between them, eyeing at the little wet spot on your panties.

"Oh baby," he moaned. "So wet," his flesh fingers ran down your slit, making you shiver. "All that just from some harmless touching." His fingers pressed against your center, and you could feel the coldness of the wet, think lace up against your warm slit.

"Feel that?" He moved his two middle fingers side to side on your clothed folds, taking your breath away.

"Yeah," you gasped when you felt his middle finger dip into your entrance, entering you kind of far for being behind the barrier of your panties. You were not expecting things to feel this good. You thought everything was going to feel different with being pregnant. In a way, it did. Primarily because you were more sensitive to his touch than usual, but it didn't feel a bad kind of different.

Bucky lowered his head down onto you more, and kissed your throbbing clit through your panties. You gasped, your fingers threading through his long, thick hair while he mouthed at you.

"This little thin thing," he scoffed, like your underwear personally offended him. "Don't do shit to hide this little pussy." With that, Bucky pulled the elastic band of your panties around your pelvic bone, and let it tap against your skin with a loud snap. Then he gave up and pulled the thing to the side, giving your now exposed pussy a wet kiss before he sat back up.

"Lift up, pretty girl." He instructed, waiting for you to lift up your hips. When you did so, his hands were immediately on you and tearing the useless garment off your body. Once it was off you, he was on you, running his hands up your thighs, eyeing the little mess between your thighs.

"Jesus fuck," he whispered, his eyes running down your wetness. You felt your face heating up In embarrassment, suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed. You tried to snap your thighs shut when his fingers drifted down your slit, but he just pushed them back open.

"Nuh-uh, baby. Still haven't tasted you yet." He scolded, dipping his head back between your already shaking thighs. The authority in his voice just made you crave him even more.

And god, help you, because the way you moaned when he licked that first stripe up your pussy, was loud enough for anyone within a 500 mile radius of you hear you. And god, help you, with the way his tongue was flicking up and down your aching clit so soft and gently like he was afraid of breaking you.

Your taste flooded his mouth like a favorite treat, making him moan desperately against your mound as his tongue swirled around your folds. Bucky pulled his head back a bit and ran two thick metal fingers down your dripping cunt by the back of his hand like he was petting you. His knuckles dragged across your flesh, the cold band of his wedding ring on his ring finger coming in contact with your pussy perfectly, reminding you of the life you shared together.

His fingers dipped into your entrance, finally, and you welcomed him in--not so easily at first--but welcomed him in regardless. You let out a little displeased moan at the stretch of his fingers, and his hand immediately stilled.

"Baby?" He asked, looking at you wordily. "Are you okay? What's your color?"

You struggled for a moment. Thee muscles in your pussy involuntarily contracting against his fingers, like your body knew that it wanted to be ready for him.

"Yellow? I don't know." You told him, your brows twitching in frustration. Your voice was broken up, like you were about to cry. Buck was immediately in action to relieve you.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay." He told you, kissing your inner thigh, and dragging his fingers against your walls just about an inch before stilling. "Just let me love you, okay?" He kissed the spot on your inner thigh that connected your pelvis to your thigh. "It might feel a bit weird, but thats okay because your body is changing. Just let me make you feel good."

You nodded your head understandingly, your eyes watery as he slowly moved his fingers into you. You winced again, but he made up for it with a kiss to your clit. He gently nipped at it as he slowly, very very slowly, dragging his fingers in and out of your cunt.

It had been months upon months since he last made love to you like this. He was always busy with Congress--senator stuff, always out of state, and never really had enough time to put on the side for you for intimate moments like this. Hell, he even had some work that he had to take care of the next day downtown super late into the afternoon. But that was fine. He didn't need to worry about it as long as he was between your thighs.

After a while, you started to opened up to him as he sunk deeper, and when he did, your moans grew louder. His fingers curled against a soft, almost squishy spot inside you that sent you flying. Your hands shot into his hair, curling your fingers into fists, your hips bucking against his face as he repeatedly hit that same spot.

"James--oh, baby--oh, fuck!" You moaned, your head flying back and your back arching. Bucky gave you a cocky grin, the sound of his name on your lips, all with that cute little moan running straight to his cock. But he knew he couldn't have his fill yet. Your pleasure always came before his, no matter how long it took for you to cum, and especially no matter if he didn't get to cum either.

Your already sore hips trembled against his face, your knees going weak as you desperately started grinding against his face, seeking more and more friction.

"Right there, babydoll?" He asked, his voice gruff and low, his finger curling and pushing in and out of that special spot repeatedly, drawing out long, needy moans out of you.

"Yes, fuck! Don't stop, baby. Ooh." You begged through broken up cries. He grinned and wrapped his lips around your twitching clit, sucking on it harshly and making you scream. Usually, he would want you to scream like that and go crazy, but at the moment, you both had company. His best friend kind of company.

"Shh, baby." He hushed. "what'd I tell you?" He questioned, stilling his fingers and pulling back from your core just a bit. You whined at the loss of contact, and he gave your wet pussy a little smack as a warning. You yelped, your eyes opening back up.

"Told 'm to be quiet." You responded, your breath shaky and your words slurred.

"Good fuckin girl." He growled through gritted teeth, putting his mouth back on you--rougher and messier than last time. It did not take long for his finger to find that special spot again. His fingers worked with his mouth In perfect harmony, his tongue flattening against your folds while he shook his head.

You had to muffle your moans by biting the heel of your hand, your thighs trembling around your husband's head out of control, your hips jerking.

God damn, everything felt like heaven. The little scrape and drag of his beard against your flesh as he ate you out only added to the sensations even more. But that was fine, because you preferred him with a fuller beard.

Your mind was so hazy and foggy as he absolutely devoured you, and for a moment, you felt like you wouldn't be able to speak anything until--

"You're growing your beard out." You commented. He hummed against your cunt, not hearing you the first time with the way your thick thighs were squishing his head and blocking his ears.

"Hmm? What was that, babydoll?" He asked, his heavy lidded blue eyes looking up to meet your gaze. You were so fucked-out that you almost forgot that you had even said anything.

"You're--fuck, mm... Growing your.. beard out." You repeated, this time between heavy moans. He grinned.

"Oh yeah? I thought you'd like it." He mumbled against your clit, punctuating his words with little suckles. He looked up at you again, grinning, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes deepening.

"You wanna come sit up on my face and wet it?" He asked you, nuzzling his lips over your clit with a slight shake of his head. You gasped at his words, an electric shock of lust running straight to your core.

"Wha--"

But it was too late. He was already pulling away from you and sitting down on the bed next to you.

"James--"

"Come on, pretty girl." He said, his tone condescending and almost mocking. "You brought this upon yourself. Now get on." He persisted, laying down on his back, adjusting himself near the headboard. You stammered, shocked, your mind going through so many different emotions.

"But i--"

He cut you off. Again.

"If this is anything about your weight, I don't fucking care. I tell you that everytime." He told you sternly with knitted brows. "Now come sit on my face, baby. Wanna feel your weight all on me."

His strong hands went to your hips, lifting you up gently. You wanted to protest, but your body betrayed you and moved before your mind did. Your knees dug into the silky lavender sheets underneath your bodies--the ones that you personally picked out, of course--and the bed creaked under you softly. Bucky was already moaning before you even lowered your face onto him.

"Mm, that's right, sugar." He moaned, placing his hands on your hips, positioning you onto his face perfectly, before he forced your body down onto his mouth.

"James!" You squeaked, gripping the headboard, feeling it rattle under your moving bodies.

"Shh, baby." He hushed you again, giving your sensitive clit a kiss. "Just let me make you feel good. You need this." He groaned, lapping his tongue around your cunt. You couldn't even protest him. Not with the whimpers leaving your lips and the way your pussy twitched whenever he kissed you too gently or pulled away from you.

Your poor little cunt was just too sensitive at that point. Any slight movement he made sent you down a spiral of primal need. So, you started rocking your hips against his face. This position let you feel the little facial hair on his jaw even better, snd each time it brushed against you, your eyes rolled back snd your thighs clenched around his face.

"James..." You whined his name, the sound going straight to his cock.

"Yeah baby?"

He licked a straight line up your cunt. You gasped.

"Never ever shave your beard, you hear me?" You told him, your voice low and threatening. He chuckled, the vibrations making your pussy ache. You whined.

"Will you cut off my head and feed it to Alpine?" He joked. You huffed.

"Oh I'll do so much more than that." You laughed darkly, driving against him faster and harder despite the very obvious ache in your hips and stomach.

He moaned against your cunt, his grip on your hips growing tighter. He forced you to still for a moment. All so he could suck and kiss your tiny little over-sensitive clit.

And there it was. Your breaking point presented to you on a silver platter.

Your head lulled back and your eyes shots into the back of your head. Your hand went down to tug at his scalp.

"Yes, yes!" You gasped. "Right there, baby--f'me. Mmmah! There. Fuck." You babbled, repeating the same words over and over through broken sobs. Fuck, Bucky had promised himself that he'd be quiet during sex, but he just gave up at that point from how hard he was getting off at your moans.

"Yeah? That's the spot, honey, huh?" He smiled, placing wet, hot, sloppy and open-mouthed kisses in your pretty, pulsating cunt. The tip of his tongue circled around your tiny bud and--just like that, you were gone.

The insides of your pussy convulsed, and your thighs snapped shut around your husbands head as you absolutely fell apart on his tongue. Your poor pussy spamsed violently as you came hard, your cum spurring all over his face wildly.

Bucky could not fight how happy it made him to see you like that, falling apart for him in a fashion as intense as this. He held your body down on his face until he almost suffocated, all so he could drink from the fountain between your legs.

"Fuck baby. So fucking messy." He moaned, closing his eyes, letting a little bit of you drip right into his mouth before he was back on you.

"Just can't help yourself, hmm?" Bucky cooed, lapping up the rest of your juices. You whined, shaking your head, biting your finger and drooling all over it while you helplessly whined at his touch.

When he was done, he gently guided you back down onto the bed next to him.

"Easy, easy." He said sweetly, his touch light and loving as you laid back down on your back. He kissed you deeply once you were settled and comfortable. You didn't realize how sore you were until you were immobile. When his hand drifted back down to your hip, you groaned into his mouth.

"You sore, baby?" He asked, kissing your cheek. You shifted in your seat uncomfortably.

"Yeah." You sighed, hating that aching sensations you were feeling. Your breasts had gone tender and your lower back had that awful pain running through it. But what was there to fear when your husband was there with you.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to keep your legs open that long." Bucky chuckled, gently kneading your sore flesh in his hands. You chuckled too.

"That's okay. We really needed that. Plus, I really enjoyed myself." You told him, your eyes sleepily fluttering shut while he random his hands over your sides. Bucky hummed, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"That's good, baby. That's all I need to hear." He said, kissing your belly--which happened to be the best decision he had made that night because right when his lips touched your skin, you both felt a little movement in your belly.

Your eyes shot open. He looked at you shocked. You looked at him shocked.

"Did you feel that?" You asked him. The look on his face was the very obvious answer to your question.

A soft smile spread across his face. He could not believe what he had just see. It was mostly insane for you because you hadn't felt the little one kick in the past two days. Hey here they were, moving against you like it knew their daddy was there and missed him as much as you did.

Bucky looked up at you with a dopey smile.

"Yeah." He said. "We're gonna be parents."

[dyns33]

Devil may care

I needed to write a Dad Matt, because I love Dad Matt stories, this man would be the best and the worst of a father for so many reasons.

Oh and Born Again never happened here. Nope, nope.

Y/N had only had two great loves in her life.

The first, Matt Murdock, during their college years. They weren't really together. Matthew was gallant, but he didn't want to commit to a serious relationship, yet they saw each other regularly.

His best friend often teased him when he saw them together, that it was ridiculous to refuse to name what they were when it was so obvious, which made him groan.

Without going into detail, Matt had told her about his childhood, his mother's abandonment, his father's death, the loss of his vision, his ex. He had a hard time trusting after all that, getting attached to people.

Y/N had tried to understand, to accept. But she was in love, she could feel it, and it wasn't healthy to continue like this if he wouldn't agree to give her more. She'd tried to talk to him about it after graduation, and of course, he'd immediately shut down. That night, it was over.

Three months later, Y/N met the second love of her life. A stunning, surprising entrance, after several weeks of vomiting in the morning and being tired.

"… I can't be pregnant."

"Oh, but you are !" the nurse repeated happily. "The blood test is infallible, you're having a baby ! Congratulations ! The daddy will be delighted !"

Having not been in a relationship since graduating, she didn't have to think twice to figure out who the dad was, and that he wouldn't be delighted.

Y/N could have called Matt. If he hadn't answered, she could also have called Foggy, who had wished her well after the breakup, with a sad smile. They always said they were going to work together, avocados at law.

But he didn't want a serious relationship, much less a child. However, as a good Catholic and a man of honor, Matthew would take responsibility. Unhappy, stuck, he would agree to support her. She loved him too much to inflict that on him.

It was too late to have an abortion, otherwise she might have considered it. There was always adoption too. It wouldn't be easy raising a child alone, with her job and her tiny apartment.

But when that little boy stared at her with his big eyes, Y/N knew she would never leave him. It was love at first sight.

She named him Jack. It came out without thinking, a connection to his father and grandfather, whom he would never meet. He looked a lot like him : the hair, the eyes, the nose. That mischievous little smile, which you couldn't refuse anything.

As expected, it wasn't always easy, despite the help of her family and friends. But she didn't regret it. Every moment with her son was wonderful.

Walks in the park, trips to the pool, birthdays. Even grocery shopping became a game with him, talking to everyone and jumping up and down the aisles, asking to buy everything.

Normally, he stayed close to her, obeying, but that day, the five-year-old boy was probably in an adventurous mood. Y/N had turned her head for a few seconds to grab some cereal and he had disappeared. Panicked, she had checked everywhere, calling his name louder and louder, until she spotted him talking to a stranger.

Except it wasn't a stranger.

If you could say he had changed, it was only to point out that he was even more handsome, with his suit, red glasses, and neatly styled hair.

Head tilted to one side, gripping his cane, Matthew Murdock made a funny face as he concentrated on the long story the little boy was telling him.

He couldn't know. He had no way of knowing, and Y/N slowly approached to hug his son, whispering an apology, hoping he wouldn't recognize her voice.

"Y/N ! No way, what a coincidence ! It's been so long, you… Oh, hello, little man ! Is that your son ?!"

"… Hello Foggy. Yes."

"He's adorable ! Matt, he's adorable ! You should see him ! It's funny, he looks a lot like you, it's like…"

Despite what some might think because of his flashy appearance, Foggy was smart. His sentence cut off abruptly, his smile frozen, and he looked from Jack to Matt, and finally to Y/N, fully understanding what was happening. Forgetting her groceries, Y/N stammered excuses to quickly get out of the store with her son, not giving them time to react.

Perhaps she should have known this would happen when she moved near Hell's Kitchen. Matthew was proud of his neighborhood, born and raised, and never wanted to leave. But it had the cheapest apartments, allowing for a room for Jack.

Maybe he hadn't understood. Maybe he only suspected, but he would choose to forget what had just happened.

But Y/N knew Matt. He was stubborn, he was curious, and above all, he wanted to do good.

So it wasn't really a surprise to find him on her doorstep. She wondered how he'd found her address, but three days of panic attacks seemed about right for him before he presented himself to her.

"… Can I come in ?" he asked nervously.

"Of course. Jack's napping."

"You named him Jack ?"

His lips trembled, betraying his emotion. It touched him that she had chosen his father's name for their son. He admired his father.

Not knowing where to begin, Y/N invited him to sit down, offering him some tea so she could gain more time to find the right words. Beginning with an apology seemed logical.

"I didn't want to force this on you. I won't force it on you. I'm not asking you for anything. If you wanted to see him, I wouldn't object, but I would understand if you…"

"Of course I want to see him." Matt said, his voice full of confidence. "I want to be there for him. For you."

There it was, the famous duty of sacrifice she dreaded so much. Y/N bit the inside of her mouth, unsure how to push him away without hurting or insulting him. Because it was really nice of him to want to be there. But he hadn't asked for all this, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"Look, Matt… You don't have to."

"It's my decision."

"I know, and I thank you. I'm sure you'd be wonderful with Jack, that he'd adore you, but… You don't love me. You didn't want anything serious, that's why we broke up, and why I didn't call you when I found out I was pregnant. I didn't want to put you through that. Think carefully, because if I tell him you're his father, then it'll be forever."

Matt listened patiently to her speech, swallowing each word and nodding, before placing his hand on hers.

"I don't need to think."

"Matthew…" she sighed.

"I loved you. I… I want you to know that. I was young, stupid, scared. I'm probably still pretty stupid and scared, Foggy told me that often. He yelled at me a lot when I left you, the biggest mistake of my life. I thought it was for the best. That I didn't deserve you, that I was bound to lose you or hurt you. Y/N… I don't feel obligated at all."

It was too good to be true. He wasn't a liar, she knew that. She'd always been able to trust him, always count on him. But as a mother, Y/N had to be careful.

Swallowing back a sob, she simply squeezed Matt's hand, and he tenderly stroked her fingers.

After a long silence, he resumed his thoughtful pout, indicating that maybe she wasn't entirely wrong to be on her guard.

He mumbled, before saying there was something he needed to tell her before deciding if she wanted him in her life.

Jokingly, she asked if he was married, which made him smile. No, there wasn't anyone else. Good thing, but that didn't mean he wasn't about to tell her something huge.

"So… I… I'm Dar…"

"Mommy ?"

Rubbing his still sleepy eyes, Jack trotted over to the couch to grab Y/N's leg. Frozen on his spot, mouth open, Matt didn't finish his big revelation, flustered.

"Who's that ?" the child asked in a small voice.

"Um… It's, uh…"

"I'm one of your mom's friends. We met at the store, remember ?"

"Oh, yeah."

Jack then flashed a big smile, considering his mom's friends to be his friends, and so he let go of Y/N to cuddle Matt's leg, gripping tightly like a little koala.

This could have panicked Matthew even more, but he couldn't help his beaming smile, patting his son's head before turning his attention back to Y/N, his face lit up with happiness.

They would take their time to catch up, then tell Jack the news, but everything would be fine, she could feel it right now.

Matt would also have to finish telling her his secret, but that couldn't be that important, right ?

[mrsjjongstby]

ONLY YOURS TO CATCH - N.RK

~ HIS FAVOURITE DETECTIVE

PART 1: BAITED AND BOUND

Pairing: Obsessed serial killer!riki x Detective!fem!reader

Genre: Dark romance.

Synopsis: You, a detective who has always solved her cases with ease — until he appeared. A string of murders, all more twisted and challenging than the last, draws you deeper into a deadly game crafted just for you. As the lines blur between hunter and hunted, you realizes you're not just chasing a killer — you're the prize he’s been chasing all along. In a city full of noise, he made sure only you heard him.

Warnings: Killing, blood, knives, jealousy, obsession, stalking behaviour, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of pregnancy(not related with the female lead), toxic dynamics, dark themes, cursing, jail/ prisoner setting, mentions of poison (cyanide), etc (let me know if i missed any!)

Word Count: 2,962

Some traps aren't meant to catch you. They're meant to keep you."

You are good at your job, you really are. But recently the job has been feeling way too easy. Something is just not adding up. You are a very well-known pro-found detective- the one the departments brags about infront of press and in articles.

You knew you deserved the praise, the applause but now, as you are sitting before the 35-year-old man while tapping your pen against the metal table, you don't know if you deserve the “The detective who solved it all” title anymore. 

“I killed Yuri” the man- Jae states bluntly.

He continued, “Had an affair with her and got her pregnant and I didn't want Hana to know, I did warn Yuri though, told her to get abortion but she was stubborn she said she didn't want to kill a life who hadn't even developed into a baby. But I didn't want that- I didn't want her or the child. I did what I thought was best-”

“And that is to kill her?” You can’t stop yourself, gripping the pen tightly as you yell. 

Jae shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

You don't understand why this is happening, why the past five cases you’ve been handled have been too easy to solve.

But one thing is for sure, you don't like it one bit.

You liked the critical thinking, assessment of the evidence and putting pieces together that come with the job.

But lately, the criminals are being found after you’ve only uncovered a few pieces of evidence.

Not that you aren't happy that the criminals are getting caught early but it's that it almost feels too unreal, too silly and too convenient for a criminal to be found with the first 3 clues.

Too absurd for the criminals to come out and confess- always with an underlying feeling and a strange tension you can’t quite place.

You look at him and ask, “So why are you confessing to me now when you tried to hide her body, hide the murder which you committed?”

Jae chuckles almost nervously “I guess I still have a thing for Yuri.”

You get up from your chair disgusted “Rot in jail bastard.”

With that, you leave the room with your mind full of thoughts and theories. And none of them make sense.  

Now, back in your office, you sat pondering about the past five cases. A knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

Detective Jun-ha, your senior, stuck his head in.

“That’s the sixth case you’ve solved in the past two weeks Ms. The detective who solved it all, are you sure you didn't make a deal with the devil?” Jun-ha, though technically your senior, never acts like one.

He has seen you grow. He was there through your thick and thin and he’s one of the few people who truly support you and are genuinely happy for you.

You gave him a tired chuckle. “Maybe I’m the devil. Anyways, what brings you here my dear senior?”

"Nothing, just checking up on my favourite detective” he says as you roll your eyes playfully.

"I'm doing alright, thanks for checking up on me senior”

“Good to know. I'll take my leave then” he says with a grin as he exits, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your smile fades as soon as the door shuts click.

This isn’t normal. It was like the justice system is on autopilot- making crime scenes easier and making criminals confess so that you have a perfect record. The nagging feeling in the back of your mind grows louder and louder. 

You know it. You feel it.  Someone is pulling strings...

A few days pass by. As you enter your office, the first thing you notice is a file placed neatly on your desk- an indicator that you got yourself a new case.

You walk over and flip it open.

There it is. 

Nishimura Riki.

The most wanted serial killer in the city. 

You aren't even surprised anymore. You’ve said the name often, seen it written across countless headlines, articles, reports, evidence sheets- it might as well be imprinted in your brain by now.

You get his cases often, it's like clockwork. Once in every three cases which took you no time to solve and are practically solved by themselves, his case awaits on your table.

A new one every time, only on your desk like the case only wants to be solved by you and no one else. 

His cases are different, they make you work, really work. 

They demand your attention, challenge your logic and wake up the parts of your brain which have been rusted due to the regular cases.   Riki’s trail is cold.

His victims are killed unusually, are scattered, his patterns are confusing and if you are being honest to yourself, the only common piece in his puzzles is, you.

All of his cases only ever come to you and with each murder of his, it's like the universe is leaving his case for you to actually solve.

And beneath the pressure and fear, you almost feel relief because for once, you aren't being handed the answer. You are chasing it  

As you are about to dig through the file, you get a call. The sound cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Ms.Y/n? We found a body. Linked to Nishimura. You are needed on-site. Now.”

You are already grabbing your coat, your mind preparing what to expect from him.

The alleyway is damp, cold and silent, completely as if its untouched by the chaos of the city around it. The streetlights flick, casting that glow on the body surrounded by rainwater.

You duck under the yellow tape. The officers nod at you, their faces pale. You nod back at them and look at her.

Female, early thirties. Clean, untouched except for the severe wound on her head. She has been posed. Elegantly, like someone took their time- as if it wasn't a murder but a performance.

What caught your eye was the folded piece of paper in her hand. You kneel and gently take the paper with gloved hands. You freeze as you open it.  

It was a page torn from a novel- not just any novel- your favourite novel. The one that you mentioned briefly in an interview a year or two ago. No one ever bought it up again.   The highlighted sentence, which was underlined by read ink reads,  

“The hunter always smiles when the prey finally notices the traps.”  

Your stomach twists. Because you know- this isn't just a message- it's an acknowledgement. 

Acknowledgement that he’s watching you- not just your work but you.

And you don't know how to feel about that.  

After inspecting the place, collecting evidence and talking to the nearby people you return to your office.

You walked into your office, but something was wrong. You locked your door- you were sure of it.

Yet there it is. On your chair. A plain black envelope. You quickly closed the door as you tear open the wax seal.  

Jae was wasting your time.   I handled it, you're welcome.  You shouldn't have to clean their messes.  You are meant for something greater- for me  Tune out the voice, love. I'm the only sound worth hearing.  Think smart, Detective This game is ours   - Your R 

You sit down slowly, the wait of the message heavy on your chest  And you feel it- he's taking control of everything around you.

Watching your every move.

Eliminating every distraction.  

For what?

For you.

You begin to notice the small things first.

The coffee on your desk, still hot and made the way you like it, even though no one was in the office when you arrived. 

Your favourite pen- the one with the broken cap with no ink left- replaced by a new one.

Same colour. Same brand.

A hair tie on your desk whenever you chose to leave your hair loose.

Always made your skin crawl and made you look around you to see if someone was watching you. 

Your instincts tell you to file a report, but something stops you.

You're a detective- why would you need another detective to help you?

That's what you told yourself.  

This felt like more than surveillance. It felt like intimacy 

Riki isn't just watching you work. He somehow made his way into your routine... Inside your life. 

And the worst part?

You don't tell anyone- Why?

Because you are scared you'll be mistaken for paranoid rather than being right. 

And that’s why you haven't been yourself lately.

You are always thinking. Something or the other runs through your mind 24/7. You haven't been able to sleep properly, fear clinging to you at night- the fear of being watched which caused you to not be energetic and more "alive-looking" in the morning.

And maybe that's the reason why you were seated across from Jun-ha after work hours in a café.  

"Ok. C'mon y/n, what's going on with you?" Jun-ha asks unable to comprehend why you have been like this for the past week or so.  

You chuckle awkwardly, "What do you mean, I'm doing just fine".

Jun-ha gives you a "Are you really fucking with me right now" look and says, "You know what I'm talking about, you look like a panda with your eye bags, you are always zoning out and you just look paranoid all the time." 

There it is.

Exactly what you feared- people thinking you’re paranoid, when in reality, you are right. Someone Riki is watching you. 

You don't want other people to perceive you as paranoid or delusional. So, you dismiss his worries and not-so-wrong accusations and say, "I'm just tired of dealing with his cases"

Jun-ha looks at you sympathetically, knowing who him means, "Ah I get it, his cases are so time consuming and hard- I wonder how you do it. Just be careful"  

You nod at that as you drink your latte, the bitter taste staying in your throat.

After a few days, an autopsy report lands on your desk.

Victim: Male, age 27 Time of death: Between 2am-4am Cause of death: Cardiac arrest (supposedly). 

You stare at the report, unease setting in your gut.

Something was wrong.

You visit the alleyway where the body had been found. The place covered with yellow "crime zone do not enter" tape and surrounded by multiple professionals.

You greet them briskly and make your way towards the scene. But you don't look at the body. No- you look around it. 

Your eyes catch a half-opened water bottle lying a few feet away holding a small amount of liquid.

With gloved hands, and after confirming with the forensic team, you carefully pick it up and bring it closer.

You unscrew the cap and take a cautious sniff.  

Minerals.

Sharp.

A chemical aftertaste that shouldn't be there.

Poison.

You sent it to the lab for testing- and the results came back quickly.

Confirmed.

Cyanide.

Cyanide- the silent killer. Efficient. Fast. And almost undetectable in standard reports, making it every seasoned criminal’s best friend and making it easier for them to get away with it.

But not on your watch.

Determined, you proceed to your next lead: Lee Haneul, the victim's girlfriend.

She's devasted when you met her- blood red eyes, trembling hands- but she’s cooperative.

"He left around midnight” she sniffles, “said he needed some air to clear his mind. He took his phone, headphones and his wallet"  

You nod, scribbling your notes, "Before this... did he mention anything strange? Anything bothering him? Weird behaviour?” 

She hesitates, then murmurs, "He... he said he'd been getting these creepy messages. Anonymous ones. He brushed them off — thought it was just one of his crazy stalker fans. He posted singing covers online... had a following."  

You thank her gently, offer your condolences, and leave, mind already racing.

Back at your office, you immediately request access to the victim’s phone — the password provided willingly by Haneul. 

You get his phone, and you extract the texts- there it is.

The last message received before his death: "Want to hear a song that ends with your last breath?"

You feel your skin crawl. 

You run the sender’s IP number.

It's a burner. Obviously.

But you trace its last activity, a ping from a local library. You head to the nearby library and review the footage along with your team.

There. A hooded figure. Tall. Black hoodie. Walked out at 1:47 AM.

You zoom in.

A janitor’s badge clipped to his chest. You track him down with the help of the authorities.

His name: Park Minjae.

Minjae is pale as a ghost under the harsh lights of the interrogation room  

"I-I didn't kill him!” he stammers, wide-eyed.

“I swear, I just saw someone dragging something in the alleyway, I got scared- so I hid" 

You lean forward, "Why didn't you call the cops?"  

He swallows thickly. "Because... because he saw me. He looked me dead in the eyes and then he smiled. Like he knew I'd keep quiet" 

You narrow your gaze.

“And this message.” You ask, showing him the threatening text.  

He widens his eyes and shakes his head frantically. "No! My phone broke a few days ago. I got it repaired but afterward, it started acting weird — random messages being sent, glitches everywhere. Turns out... it got hacked."   

He's telling the truth. You know it in your gut.

"Do you remember his face?" You ask quietly. 

"Uh y-yeah I do"  

You nod and show him a photo- Nishimura Riki mug shot. 

Recognition flashes instantly across Minjae's face.  "That's him! That’s the guy!" 

Which means...

Riki left a witness.

That's sloppy. Thats not like him- at all. 

Was it just a mistake? Or was it something else?

You began thinking- thinking of anything that could help your case move forward. 

And then it clicked. 

Cyanide.

There are only two registered mineral industries in the city who had legal authority over cyanide.

You immediately dispatch teams to both. 

One industry reports a suspicious transaction a week prior — security footage confirms it: a man matching Riki’s build, wearing a mask. 

Under pressure, the supplier, Lee Seo-Jun, folds quickly under interrogation. 

And when he does, he gives up an address. 

Registered under the name Kang Tae-jin- A name connected to exactly nothing.

A perfect ghost.

Until now. 

Your team gears up and storms the listed property — a sleek, modern house nestled in the city's quieter outskirts. 

Guns raised, shouting orders, you breach the door. 

And there he is. 

Nishimura Riki.

You visit the jail’s visiting room. It's quiet. Unsettling. 

He’s already there.

Handcuffed, relaxed, sitting like he owns the room.

His eyes lift the moment you walk in. 

And for the first time, you look him in the eye. 

Not through photographs. Not across crime scenes.

Here, In person. 

“Y/N,” he murmurs. “Finally.” voice soft—softer than you imagined, almost delicate. 

"You're earlier than I expected," he says, tone almost... proud. Proud of you- your skills.

His eyes glint.  “Though I didn’t want you to find me yet,” he says softly. 

He shakes his head, “You were beautiful out there,” he says even softer. 

The silence thickens, pressing up against the walls. 

You finally break it.  “Why? Why all of this? Why the murders, the notes, the chase?” 

He leans in, and for the first time, the smile drops. 

“Because you weren’t supposed to waste yourself on simple men and simpler crimes. They don’t deserve your mind. I do.”

You feel your stomach twist. “You killed them to get my attention?” 

“No. I killed them to clear your schedule.” 

“Riki—” 

“No,” he interrupts, voice rising just a little. “You were drifting. Getting tired. Losing yourself in noise. I fixed that.” His gaze pins you on the spot. 

“You’re here. With me. And don’t tell me it’s because of the law.” He tilts his head slightly, smile inching back. 

“Because we both know—you wanted this too.” 

You stare at him, heart hammering. Unsure if the chill running down your spine is fear… or something else.  

He leans back, eyes still on you.

"I told you this is our story, baby"

You don't know what makes you stand up- rage or disgust or the terrifying part of you that understands him a little too well. 

Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor.  Riki’s eyes follow your movement lazily, like a wolf watching its prey. 

You want to leave.  You should leave.  But you don’t. 

Instead, you lean closer.  Hands flat on the cold table separating you from him. 

"You're sick," you whisper. 

His smile grows, slow and poisonous.

"I'm devoted," he corrects, voice warm like he’s confessing love — not murder. 

You clench your fists, trying to steady your breathing. 

"You destroyed lives. Families. You ruined people just to get to me Riki"

Riki tilts his head, handcuffs clinking softly with the movement. 

"Ruined?" he echoes. 

"I think of it more like... rearranging the world around you.” 

You open your mouth — 

but he leans in so fast, so close, you freeze. 

Only inches between you and him now. 

And when he speaks again, his voice is barely a breath: 

"You feel it too, don't you?" 

His eyes are searching yours, merciless. 

"The world makes sense when you're with me." 

Your throat tightens. 

You can't move. 

Can't think. 

His next words are quieter than a whisper — a blade against your skin: 

"You were always mine to catch, Detective."

The guard bangs on the door, warning that visiting time is over. 

You step back, almost stumbling, heart hammering against your ribs.

Riki watches you go, a soft smile curling at his lips — 

as if the real game has only just begun. 

The door slams between you, but you swear you still feel his gaze. 

Watching.  Waiting.  Smiling...

PART TWO YET TO COME...

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

A/n: Hey guys! Writing is not my thing so sorry if it wasnt up to your expectations! And let me know if you guys want to be added in the taglist! Part two is in the making so stay tuned! Hope you guys like it! I literally was literally a second away from ripping my hair off due to exhaustion. Anyways! This is officially one of the longest fic ive ever wrote....... PLease show alot of love! ALSO THE DIVIDERS R FROM THE VERY TALENTED : @uzmacchiato @enchanthings @kodaswrld THANKS GUYS!!!!!!! ENJOY!

[loneliness-of-spring]

WHAT AN HONOR FOR MY RAMBLES TO INSPIRE INSANITY IN YOUR BRAIN UWAHHAHHA

I need to explode about jamil more he’s a very specific kind of tired mom control freak during his slow death spiral into overblotting (the burnout. The constant habit of ensuring people don’t get involved in his business in the first place because he’s so tired of having to clean up after kalim when he unintentionally makes mistakes and inconveniences, hence this expanding into being hyper-independent, keeping others at a distance, and a tight lid on his own emotions and desires all while having an ego and looking down on others. It goes so strong with this guy. It’s such a specific brand of hatred for his own situation directed towards Kalim it’s insane I GET HIM.)

Speaking of Kalim being upset because he’s been left out of the plan, once again refer to above for Jamil’s reasons why. LMAOO. I imagine when they learn to start working together (clunkily and reluctantly on Jamil’s side), they’d be TERRIFYING. Manipulator with magic that overrides your autonomy and boy who’s fucking royalty and has a sizeable amount of influence in this world that you’re very unfamiliar with. You’re soooooo lucky Kalim is magnanimous, but with Jamil there, hmmm…

I think, there’s still a healthy (not) amount of competition going on between the two to compete for your affections before and even after they learn to work together. They’d compete so hard to be in your presence and for you to just look at them it’s crazy. Jamil steals a copy of your schedule and uses every dirty trick in the book he knows how to maximise the amount of free time you share with him. Definitely shows off on purpose when you’re watching at basketball practice or tournaments so you tell him how cool he is (compliment him more, he’s affection-starved). How did you even end up there? Multiple subconscious suggestions, from conversations talking about his basketball games and practices coming up, getting ACE of all people to talk continuously about basketball and to do the direct invitation to these basketball events for him. When Ace yells, “this one’s for you!” and misses horrendously, Jamil follows up (with some time having passed in between so he doesn’t look like he’s putting ace down) with a perfect shot that he made sure you’d see, and then looks in your direction to make eye contact and put on his most charming smirk. He has the face card and he KNOWS it. He can offer homework help for a small price of hekping him cook at scarabia, too, to further increase the amount of time you spend together, even allowing him the setting to execute some calculated intimacy, like pressing his shoulder to yours to look over your work or coming up behind you to help you cut the ingredients. You get a free meal AND amazing grades out of it! He can take care of you damn well and he’s so much cooler than the others, see? Choose him over Kalim, who can’t possibly do the same for you. He’s all about that psychological suggestion.

Kalim… money. Leona said it well; he’s got a powerful weapon called money. Gifts, be it an outrageously expensive piece of jewellery he thought would highlight your eyes well, or a surprisingly thoughtful small gift like a cute looking rock he found on the sidewalk, along with his boyish charm and positive energetic puppy vibes are one hell of a combo. Throwing parties and inviting you to join and get drunk off the party atmosphere with him so it allows for some sort of closeness and skinship, or inviting you to the pop music club to get to know your favourite songs and musical genres, maybe even playing a song that fits your tastes to a T so you can see how cool he is and get all excited over the song and the fact that he played it… paying people to keep an eye on you at all times, especially when he can’t see you for a while like during classes, and to send him photos or write a whole report about your day… amazing.

And if they combined their abilities together, you’d get an absolutely terrifying duo that slowly but surely swallows up al your time to keep your eyes on them and them only…

what if... yuu and yan! scarabia... ? book 4 but they just dont want to let you leave.... think emoji

‼️‼️‼️THIS IS A YANDERE POST IF YOU’RE NOT COMFORTABLE PLEASE SCROLL AWAY. YANDERE CONTENT BELOW THE CUT‼️‼️‼️

I DO NOT CONDONE ANYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS POST!!!

I don’t know if you meant just our two scarabia characters or the whole dorm but either way I think it’s delicious. My thoughts here are more jamil-focused because he’s like. The main instigator in the first place WHAHHAHA

Also I got so stuck on thinking of what to illustrate for my points I’m so sorry 😭😭😭😭⁉️⁉️⁉️ this is more me rambling about bullshit

ooooh jamil’s plot takes on an extra sinister motive here whehehehehhe. He’s the first one to invite yuu into scarabia originally, for us to witness Kalim “becoming a tyrant” and a recreation of the Riddle situation. In a yandere scenario, aside from his anger and hatred towards Kalim and wanting to dethrone him, he’d definitely have an added motive of wanting to scare yuu away from Kalim right into his “caring” arms.

Kalim… would be a more “magnanimous” yandere. The type to spoil you absolutely rotten, treat you to anything in the world, just not the actual proper freedom you’re asking for. Trapping a bird in a gilded cage! He’d be way more agreeable to letting yuu stay in scarabia than in canon, and way more willing to “share” and show off his darling. I’m sure jamil abuses that fact to his advantage.

Jamil would be sooo manipulative. Unlike canon, he’d be more active in personally taking care of you, aiding in your escape attempts only to be “caught”, pretending to be your one and only ally in scarabia, all to gain more favour in your eyes. He’s the good guy, trying to help you, but his hands are tied by Kalim the tyrant! He’s risking his head just for you, see?

While he hates to put you through the gruelling marches to the oasis, he’s doing it to drive home the fact that Kalim’s a tyrant. It’s okay, he’ll take good care of you afterwards in any way he’s able to! He’s soooo sorry for dragging you into the mood swings of his tyrant of a dorm head.

If Kalim weren’t being controlled, he would’ve so gotten you on the same carriage as him during the oasis march. Literally cuddling up to you while sitting comfortably on plush, high quality cushions in the cooling shade as the entire scarabia dorm worked their asses off to get to the oasis in the desert sun.

I don’t think Jamil actually expected you to escape on your own; he’s got issues with looking down on others in a “I could do better than them, I just wasn’t allowed to!” fashion (I dunno how this holds up with book 7 I’m so sorry). In this scenario, I imagine that he probably had another escape plan for you in mind that would get you straight to Crowley/ an authority figure so he’d have no choice but to shut the tyrant situation down (he wouldn’t want a repeat of the riddle overblot, would he?), but once you crashed in Octavinelle and met the trio it was over for him and his plan.

Jamil’s overblot would go a bit differently. You’d definitely be locked up or held prisoner rather than tossed out with octavinelle and Kalim (saddening). The fight would go as per usual, but the aftermath? Horrific for Jamil. He’s RUINED in yuu’s eyes and he knows it. I think Kalim would’ve cried and even begged on his knees for you to stay and give them a second chance; literally bribing you with luxuries you could never think of having while living in that dilapidated dorm of yours (tempting when in a horrific living situation), but they can’t really do much coercion with the most powerful trio from octavinelle as witnesses. Jamil’s most definitely also trying to stop Kalim because this gives octavinelle extremely valuable information; the ramshackle prefect is a large weakness for the Scarabia dorm heads.

Perhaps if jamil didn’t literally just overblot, he would’ve used snake whisper again on you for you to agree to Kalim’s begging… and maybe even to agree to doing a few more things when you’re locked away in scarabia… Whereas Kalim is the type to worship his darling, jamil’s the type to want to be worshipped. In captivity, you’d be treated so affectionately by the two; adorned in all sorts of high quality clothing and jewellery from the scalding sands by kalim, jamil taking control over every little thing in your life so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger and forcing you to praise him for all that he’s doing for you, even using snake whisper on you in private so he can get you to worship him with the sweetest, most ego-inflating words, flirtatious and touchy actions, all while putting down kalim with every compliment you give him. Things you’d never do willingly with him.

The dorm… Oughhh the whole scarabia dorm… they’re all scheming and competing for yuu’s affections. If the WHOLE dorm were yandere, the competition would go crazy.

Some would temporarily work together, agreeing with Kalim to keep you in the dorm. Some would be backstabbers and do the same as Jamil; pretend that they’re your only ally and that you can’t trust anyone, constantly “helping” you to gain your favour and drive you away from the others.

The constant backstabbing would go INSANE you can’t trust anyone for shit because the moment you do they betray you/ get found out and hurt to reinforce that if you try to escape, people will be hurt in your stead. (in reality your “allies” find out about the others and tattle on them to the others. “If I can’t have you, no one can” mentality.)

If twst were a psychological horror game this would be it on expert level difficulty

[bucketbueckers]

HIIIII SEXY

if ur taking requests can i request smth angsty for paige ? i was thinking maybe if you could do something based on ilyis by gracie abrams where reader is in love w paige but doesnt think paige will ever like her back cause paige is always flirting w azzi and then paige comes over and acts all flirty with reader and reader blows up at her and is storms out and paige forces her to admit her feelings cause all along paige liked her but she didn’t know if reader liked gworls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

and it ends happily PLEASEEEE I BEG

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, teensy bit of angst, girls who hate communicating, reader might be a lil mean but we ball

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: You’ve been in love with Paige Bueckers for years, just another one of the countless moths drawn to her flame. You’d made your peace with only being her friend long ago, but it’s not until a well-timed blow up at Ted’s makes you realize it was mutual all along.

notes: as requested and in honor of finishing my last fuck ass exam 🫶 thank you sm for the request and im hoping i did this justice for you anon!! im sorry its a lil short 😓 but as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Ted’s was supposed to be a welcome distraction to cap off a hectic week. Between two back-to-back away games, constant traveling, terrible naps on bumpy bus rides home, and homework that just seemed to keep piling up, you were ready to unwind and tackle the next week with a clearer mind. However, you couldn’t seem to relax, and the jealousy blooming in your chest like hemlock as you stared at Paige and Azzi whispering to each other wasn’t doing you any favors, either.

The team had invited you out with them, intent on celebrating another regular season conference win. You’re one of their graduate assistants, having served as the team manager for a few years before the position opened up, although you’d built incredible friendships with the girls over the years. Well – most of them, seeing as your brain and your heart couldn’t quite agree on how you felt for Paige. Her freshman year was your first year as team manager and she went out of her way to make you feel welcomed, greeting you every day at practice and inviting you out to team get-togethers.

At first, you’d kept it together. You were strictly friends, not even considering anything else. By Paige’s sophomore year – your junior year – you’d realized that she was beautiful. Like, a dangerous beautiful where you’d find yourself staring at her, even when she wasn’t doing anything more than watching film on her iPad. During her junior year, you were finally able to put a name to your confusing feelings and discovered that you were falling for her – hard – somewhere in between ACL recovery and her corny jokes. You realized it was love at the end of her junior year when you told her that Coach agreed to bring you on as a graduate assistant and she almost broke your spine hugging you. Now, nearly a year and a half into your Master’s program, you’re still hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers and dreading the day the NCAA tournament begins – because the end of the season means the end of you and her. Because she’ll be on the first plane to Dallas and you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to find your courage and confess to her.

Ted’s was supposed to be a distraction. But it’s not, because the drink you’re sipping on makes your throat burn every time you swallow, and all you can think about is how you and Paige are a ticking time bomb that’s set to explode in April, and all you see is Paige looking at another girl that’s not you, and all you feel is the sickening mix of jealousy and shame that courses through your veins – jealous because all you want is Paige; shame because she’s your friend and you hate the way she makes you feel. You hate that your love makes you a little insecure and you hate that it feels like she’s choosing someone else over you.

Jana, who’s sitting next to you, throws an almost absentminded arm over your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into whatever conversation they’re having at the table. KK is yapping and you barely catch the gist of it – something about Coach making them run suicides and how the new protein powder she’s trying gave her a tummy ache, but the heat of Paige’s gaze on you makes you glance over at her. Her brows are furrowed, eyes hardened as she stares at Jana’s arm around your shoulders like it’s personally offended her.

What confuses you even more is how Azzi notices. She sighs, an exasperated sort of noise, and stands – not without flicking Paige harshly on her forehead and muttering something about “Talk to her” as she slides her way out of the booth and towards the bathroom. Paige’s cheeks are a little red as she rubs her head forlornly. You’d probably laugh if you weren’t feeling so green.

You go to take another sip of your drink, needing to occupy your hands and your mouth if you wanted to appear somewhat put together tonight, but you frown when you realize you’re empty. Catching Jana’s attention, you motion to your cup and she nods, removing her arm and allowing you to make your way to the bar.

You don’t think too hard about your drink order as you rifle through your clutch for your card. What you do think hard about is the all too familiar voice saying, “I got you. Can I get another Shirley, please?” as Paige slides her card across the bar, her free hand finding your wrist like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Paige,” you deadpan, an amused annoyance lacing your tone. “I can get my own drink.”

She grins ineffably at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in her eyes. It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’ve been so off all night. “Doesn’t mean you should,” she retorts.

“Oh?” you ask. “You making decisions for me now?”

Paige shrugs coyly. Her hand trails from your wrist to your waist, tangling in your belt loops – not pushing or pulling. Just holding. The touch makes you freeze. You and Paige had always been close. She was a touchy person, but never in public like this. “Just the important ones,” she murmurs. “So I know you’re taken care of.”

You blink at her, mouth suddenly dry. The sound of glasses scraping against the hardwood counter startles you. Paige thanks the bartender as she retreats, leaving the both of you alone at the edge of the bar, and you reach for your drink to occupy your hands as your mind spins. As unsure as you are about Paige returning your feelings, you’re not dumb. You’ve been flirted with before, been around Paige enough to know what her flirting looks like. The gentle confidence in her voice, the way her eye contact is so intense that strangely, it forces you to focus on her because otherwise, you’re sure that she’d find something she didn’t like if you couldn’t face her. The physical contact and the way she’s leaning into you. She’s flirting with you. Under any other circumstance, you’d probably be jumping for joy, but not now.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Azzi making her way back to the table. You make direct eye contact with her. She glances down, taking in your proximity, and she smiles at you. It sobers you up instantly.

“What the fuck are we doing?” you ask Paige, setting your drink back down on the bar and yanking her hand off of you. She blinks, her jaw falling slightly and confusion twisting her brows. “What are you doing? What, Azzi walks away, so you go and find someone else to keep you entertained? The one person who would run back to you anyway?”

“I – what?” Paige asks, hurt lacing her tone. She reaches out for you again but you take a step back, your thighs hitting the stool behind you. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does Azzi–”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until you register the burn in your throat and the way your eyes sting. “You flirt with Azzi in front of my face all night. She leaves, and you wanna follow me up here, talking about taking care of me? You wanna touch me and buy my drink, ignore this weird push and pull thing we have, and then walk away like it means nothing to you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, you laugh despite the hurt swelling in your chest. “Sometimes you can be such a dick.” You wipe your eyes, trying not to lose your mind when your thumb comes back smudged with mascara. At the heart of it, sure, you’re sad, but the most pressing emotion is anger. You’d rather not be a choice at all than be a second choice.

The both of you pause, just staring at each other, until guilt and realization blooms simultaneously on Paige’s face. She murmurs your name, her voice cracking a little like what you’ve just said has changed her life, but you don’t let her reach out for you as you turn on your heel and walk out.

You know you can’t leave – Aubrey drove you and you’re not built for walking home at midnight. You lean against the railing, your head in your hands, knowing that Paige will likely be on her way. The two of you weren’t one for arguments. On the rare occasions you got carried away, apologies were swift. Guilt of your own bubbles in your stomach – you blew up for no reason, allowing your emotions to get out of hand. Now, you know that you and Paige will have to have another difficult conversation, and you’re not even sure if she’ll still want to be your friend afterwards. This is something you might not be able to come back from.

You feel her next to you before you see her. She leans against the railing, giving you space, and it’s in this devastating little moment that your anger comes back. It’s muted, not directed at her, but at yourself. You’re angry because as much as you want to be angry with her, you’re not, and all you really want is her. It’s selfish – you’d hurt her feelings in the bar, barely thirty feet away from your friends, but your body doesn’t care about that.

She breaks the silence to ask you, unsurprisingly, “Do you like me?”

There’s a million responses on the tip of your tongue. You consider sarcasm, but you feel as though the weight of this conversation needs something a little more genuine. Maybe genuine communication could have saved the both of you from feeling like this. No more cop outs, is what you tell yourself, so you exhale and admit, “I love you.”

You’re not sure what you’re holding your breath for. Maybe rejection. A small part of you holds out for Paige’s agreement. You’re unprepared for the way her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her body, and despite the shock, you sink into her anyways, your head falling onto her chest. It feels like acceptance, like forgiveness. “I didn’t know you liked girls,” Paige confesses, sounding a little sheepish.

At that, you groan, resisting an eye roll. “I literally have a pride flag in my Instagram bio,” you mumble. “You want my coming out in writing too? ‘Dear Paige, I’m gay. I’d apologize but you probably should have known anyway. Love, me.’”

“You’re annoying,” she huffs, but you can hear the amusement in her voice anyway. She tightens her hold on you. “I probably…should have done that a little better. At the bar. Don’t want you thinking it meant nothing to me. It does. And I just–” Paige trails off a little, looking for the right words. “I was really scared. I’ve always been worried about doing too much, scaring you off, and losing you forever. I thought…maybe I could drop hints and let you figure out what you wanted, but I never stopped to think about how that would feel from your end. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For calling you a dick and making those accusations. I was scared and I let it consume me.”

You can feel the tentative smile Paige presses to your temple. “Truce?” she asks, and you nod, your fingers tangling in her shirt as you finally let the tension in your body dissolve. “For the record…there’s nothin’ going on with me and Azzi. She’s been telling me to ask you out for years. She was the first person I told when I thought I was in love with you.”

You pull back a little, meeting her eyes. The earnestness and honesty is clear as day, but you refuse to get your hopes up. “You love me?” you ask, not only to clarify, but also because this is something you’ve spent countless hours thinking about, wondering if it was even possible. To have it so close within reach…you need to be sure.

Paige, in typical Paige fashion, smiles crookedly at you and says, “You want that in writing, too?” She clears her throat dramatically. ‘To my favorite grad assistant, I’m in love with you. I’d apologize, but–”

“You are so fucking annoying,” you seethe, but there’s no real malice in your voice, your smile far too wide to be anything but over the moon. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times – how you’d respond to Paige confessing, or even how your own confession would sound. You’d never planned for it to happen this way. Maybe it was something that was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing. Maybe something out of a rom-com involving rain. Never an argument like this. The realization was never something dramatic with some cinematic soundtrack in the background. It was simple, almost like something clicks into place quietly. It’s messy, but it’s yours. And that’s enough for you. “So what happens now?”

Paige hums, leaning against the railing as her thumb brushes against your jaw gently. “Well…you can let me buy you another drink. Maybe split some fries. And, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in…but maybe you could be mine, too?”

You raise a brow, resting your hands over her shoulders. “Oh, really? Is that everything you want?”

Paige grins at you, her eyes flicking down momentarily before finding yours again. Her expression softens. “Not everything,” she admits. “But I’m trying to do this right. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

You roll your eyes, not missing the subtle tease in her words. When her hands drop to your waist, finding your belt loops again, you don’t freeze up. If anything, you melt into her. “Whatever you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s that much of an assumption.”

“Yeah?” she echoes. “‘Cause I’m still thinking about the fries.”

Huffing, you cup her cheeks in your hands, her skin warm against your palms, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you lean in to kiss her. She laughs, although she responds with a mix of softness and eagerness that makes you want more. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, but you pace yourselves, taking it slow and sinking into the feeling.

When you part, Paige brushes her lips across your temple, her arms tightening around you like she can’t believe she has you. And, maybe, the truth is you’ve always been a little bit of hers, just like she’s always been a little bit of yours. That is all you could ever need.

[utilitycaster]

I've been thinking about this since watching the C2E2 panel but Marisha said something about the value of coming in with other characters and having pre-existing relationships and actually? I somewhat disagree for longform campaigns.

I think for shorter stories, it really doesn't matter because in a very brief game, you have to come to the table with a very complete character idea. Candela, Thresher, and the Calamity/Downfall/Divergence trio have all managed to have consistently excellent character work regardless of whether people have known each other since literally before time (Downfall), whether they have a longstanding but not infinite pre-existing relationship (several relationships in the Circles of Needle and Thread or Tide and Bone; Calamity; Fiedra and Crokas in Divergence) or whether it's something relatively recent or even a first-time meeting (some Candela relationships; some of the Divergence relationships; Thresher). A nebulous "yeah, we've worked together" also works well for lighter series (ESO Blackwood, Wildemount Wildlings, The Menagerie) in terms of quickly getting to the story.

For longer stories, a longstanding pre-existing relationship can be strong; but it can also keep those characters from branching out and mixing, and unless that's explored it can really limit the story. I think the CR fandom especially tends to put a certain degree of weight on how good the twins were without realizing that they work not because they are twins and family, but because a big part of their story is realizing that they have people other than each other now. [I keep thinking about this actually w/r/t my thoughts about Veilguard - there are a number of reasons I consider my first run to be the "canon" one for me, but a big one is that romancing someone out-of-faction made me feel more integrated into the team because I suddenly had two really strong connections rather than just one.]

Part of why the Mighty Nein, in my opinion, are so compelling is that everyone ends up with an interesting and deep relationship with everyone else. And a big part of that is that we don't come in with any relationships longer than about 8 months, and indeed, that relationship barely ends up influencing party interactions because Molly is very outgoing, Yasha is frequently absent, and then Molly dies. So we have Caleb and Nott/Veth, who are also very much a story of people realizing they have more than each other now (and that neither of them really knew each other that much going in!); and Fjord and Jester, who have known each other for like 6 weeks and who spend some significant time apart (and both of whom are also fairly outgoing and quick to interact with other people). Beau and Caduceus being free agents did quite a lot as well. We don't just see an existing relationship continuing; we see relationships grow and change onscreen as the players find not just the relationship but the characters themselves, and that's what makes it compelling.

As mentioned with Vox Machina, the twins are great, and so are Pike and Grog; but Pike's absence means we see a lot of Grog and Scanlan (who don't have a very longstanding relationship prior to Vox Machina's formation), and the romances are all between people who didn't know each other well beforehand. Even the conflicts are ones that grew from people who met relatively recently (Keyleth and Percy's friendship and arguments being a prime example).

I think the twins were great and you should revisit Campaign 1 if you want that again, but as someone who felt Campaign 3 really struggled in terms of mixing up the pre-existing relationships to the detriment of party cohesion/conflict and an interesting dynamic, I'd much rather see strangers or near-strangers in longform campaigns, and save people coming in together for shorter works.

(I also, iirc, think this came up in the context of session zero, and that might be a factor because again the main campaigns seem to not do the same level of session zero as the shorter ones, and if they did that might fix the issue and make a pre-existing relationship better; part of why the twins work so well is that Liam and Laura essentially did their own mini-session zero on their own.)

[616ioi]

@#%! 1:52 , shishiba.

content: gender neutral, slight voice kink, no exact dom/sub roles, more of a drabble. testing things out here. angst. warning this contains slightly mature content, read at your own discretion. i yearn for a man like shishiba teehee 👴

Shishiba feels like a challenge. A not so normal guy with a normal relationship with sex. But there's ooonneee tiny problem — he struggles to get hard.

He feels ashamed, though he hates to admit it, but it's normal. He is not the type of man who runs wild at the sight of tight fitted clothes, or a seductive stare.

He is not the type of man who does a one night stand or friends with benefits. Undeniably so, shishiba wants a connection. He desires one.

The very few, and short lived relationships he's had ended up on a neutral stance. He wasn't enough to satisfy them.

They didn't understand how embarrassing it is for him. To show up and present his 'weak game' as he couldn't get it up. His ears would burn as the last girl had nearly teared up, thinking that he didn't find her attractive.

That wasn't the case.

Though, he didn't think it was a problem until he decided to watch porn. Thinking perhaps I haven't explored much. Not even that. In fact, it seemed to turn him away from sex. The videos — it repulsed him.

They had no care. Where was the love? Why was it always just sexual.

Shishiba would sigh and exit off the site, jaw set. He's embarrassed to think this would set him off.

Off to bed he goes. Then the cycle continues. Wakes up, breakfast time, work (another normal day of killing, investigating, fighting, and following orders. Maybe he'll stop for a coffee break with osaragi. She's nice company), return home, oh, another work call, leave, eat a snack. Again work.

Work, work, and more work.

This is the life he has chosen to continue to live. There is no regret. How can he regret now that he's gone so far?

But then, something pops until his head. Not something, someone.

It's you.

Lovely, little you.

The one with the softest cheeks that he oh, so dearly presses kisses into. The one with a voice that would whisper sweet things to him. The very one that he prides himself in loving, regardless of how things turned out.

He left, you accepted his parting and moved on. Even if you're with another, you are loving and loyal and he can never take that away from you.

But he wishes, for just one last time, you would run your fingers through his blond hair and hold him so gently. Maybe tease him for the light red that stretches from his ears down to his nape.

Maybe help him remove his coat as he gets ready to wind down. Then, you'd press the sweetest kiss to the tip of his ear, relishing in the fact that you've made him blush.

He would fumble with his tie, muttering something about dinner. The date you had earlier that evening did nothing to satisfy you so of course, he isn't going to let his lover sleep on an empty stomach.

You two didn't live together. You didn't even know the location of his home. Heck, not even his full name. Yet, that didn't seem to worry you.

Shishiba was dead set to not let you in too deep. A given name can be as powerful as a god striking a puppy with thunder.

You didn't understand what your voice does to him.

The time he showed up at your apartment door, all wet and covered in rain. Worry crossing every inch of his typical nonchalant demeanor. His umbrella was broken into bits and... was that blood on the handle?

His shoulders sag with relief. Before he seemed to return to his usual self, but you knew something was different. The change was so subtle, quicker than a split second, not even the trained eye of an assassin would catch it.

You weren't able to ask if he was okay when his lips parted to make one final request; take care of yourself.

He knew it when the realization hit you. You looked at him with the saddest eyes.

He's breaking up with you.

You didn't want to accept it at first.

Who would? It's a trashy ending to a relationship that seemed to blossom from nothing.

'I want to make you so happy. To cook with you and help you out on bad days. To be there for you.' Would he be a horrible person if he admitted that his suit pants tighten upon hearing that.

To admit that he got hard when he thought of a lovely life with you. Where you would greet him with a smile after a hard day and all his worries disappeared. Where he'd kiss and caress you as you slept so softly against him.

Where you'd tell him how handsome he is, and how he makes you feel so good.

That's the simple thing that hot him going.

It was the love.

'You can't just leave without an explanation!' But he did.

And that's one regret that plagues his every waking hours.

note. he would so have a lover that he's not yet over, or will ever be over.

LOVERYOU SHOULVE COME OVERRR CAUSE ITS NOT TOO LATEEE AUU

[woso-story]

Perfect Birthday For Ingrid

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x DaugtherMila

The early morning sun cast a golden hue over their cozy home, but Mapi and little Mila were already up, hard at work in the kitchen. Today was a special day—it was Ingrid birthday, and Mila was determined to make it perfect.

"Okay, Mami," Mila said seriously, her tiny brows furrowed in concentration. "We do it like you say, but it has to be perfect for Mama."

Mapi bit back a smile as she cracked an egg into the bowl. "Of course, mi amor. Mama deserves the best breakfast ever."

Mila nodded, her messy dark curls bouncing as she carefully poured milk into the batter, her tongue poking out in deep concentration. "Pancakes, fruit, and orange juice. And don’t forget the candle, Mami!"

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Mapi grinned, placing a single candle beside the plate, ready to be lit.

With everything finally prepared, Mapi and Mila carried the breakfast tray carefully through the hallway. Mila held onto the corner of the tray as if her life depended on it, her little voice whispering instructions as they went.

When they reached the bedroom, they pushed open the door, revealing Ingrid still wrapped in the covers, her black hair tousled from sleep. At the foot of the bed, Bagheera, their sleek black cat, lifted her head lazily before stretching and padding up toward Ingrid.

"Ready, Mami?" Mila whispered, eyes shining.

"Always," Mapi said, then started singing Happy Birthday in Spanish.

Mila joined in with her own unique mix—"Happy Birthday, Mama! ¡Feliz cumple! Gratulerer med dagen!"—making Ingrid burst into laughter, her heart swelling at the sight of her girls.

As they reached the bed, Mila clambered up, barely waiting before throwing herself into Ingrid’s arms. "Mamaaa! Best birthday ever!"

Ingrid caught her easily, hugging her close and kissing her cheek. "It already is, min skatt," she murmured, using the Norwegian endearment. "Because I have you and Mami."

Mapi sat down beside them, pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s forehead before reaching for a pancake. "And Bagheera, of course," she added as the cat curled up beside Ingrid, purring contentedly.

They ate breakfast in bed, Mila giggling as she fed Ingrid tiny bites of fruit, while Mapi stole pieces of pancake when Mila wasn’t looking. It was warm, cozy, and perfect.

---

The rest of the day unfolded like a dream. With both Ingrid and Mapi having the day off, they spent the morning at the park, Mila running around with boundless energy, dragging her moms along for games and laughter. Later, they headed to the beach, where the waves danced under the afternoon sun, and Mila built sandcastles while Ingrid and Mapi enjoyed the peaceful sound of the ocean.

As the sun began to set, they made their way to a small beachfront restaurant. The warm sea breeze surrounded them as they sat at a table overlooking the water. Mila and Mapi, naturally, found a way to make dinner an adventure—playing with their food, making funny faces, and trying to trick Ingrid into eating things with ridiculous airplane noises.

Ingrid just watched them, her heart overflowing with love. "You two are ridiculous," she said, shaking her head, but her smile gave her away.

"You love it," Mapi teased, winking at her.

"I do," Ingrid admitted softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Mapi’s hand.

Mila, sensing the moment, reached for both their hands, squeezing them together. "Best. Birthday. Ever."

And truly, it was. A perfect day, spent with the people Ingrid loved most.

[crazy4eky]

Lover

⋆˚࿔ warnings: nothing really but use of (Y/N)

⋆˚࿔ pairing: will smith x celebrini!reader

⋆˚࿔ wc: 1.8k

a/n: this is my first ever fic! so if it sucks don’t be surprised bc im not the best writer but hopefully it’s decent!! not proofread

—————

You had a huge crush on Will Smith. No, not one of those stupid 1 week crushes. This was a serious crush and you had it bad. Everything you did reminded you of him, no matter the setting. Whether you were at the beach tanning or sitting at home reading. You always pictured him right there with you. Not even doing anything just being there. Being yours.

One slight problem was that you were his best friend's older sister. You were 21 and Will was 20 but that didn’t stop the feelings, if anything it made them stronger. You knew Will had a reputation for going after older women. He was never shy to admit that. Macklin basically outed him to the world about it at one point.

But with you Will was different. He got extremely nervous and stuttered. You never expected a hotshot NHL player to quite literally fumble over his words when you were around but it’s not like you were complaining. Hell, anyone would kill to be in your position.

He always made sure to tell you how pretty you looked every time he saw you. Whether you had makeup or not. He just thought you were absolutely gorgeous 24/7.

Since you lived with Macklin you saw Will a lot. Will was always over at yours and Macklin’s apartment. If he wasn’t, the two would be at the Marleau residence, where Will temporarily lived. There had been talks of Will moving in when the next season started since there was a spare room in our apartment that was completely empty.

When leaving for away games he’d always make sure to say bye since he knew he wouldn’t talk to you till they got back. He’d always felt like he would’ve been overstepping if he asked to facetime when he was gone. So instead when leaving he settled with kissing the top of your head every time before saying goodbye.

He’d also buy you flowers regularly and when you’d ask why he’d say he ‘just felt like it’ and would shrug it off. He tried to replace them every time he noticed they were starting to die. And every Saturday without fail he’d bring you Starbucks and breakfast in the morning before going to practice. Will was an absolute godsend to you and you never wanted him to leave. Today was a random Tuesday and you were awake early as always and there was a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in.” You said sitting up on the bed and setting your phone down on the nightstand. When the door opened there was Will standing proudly with new flowers in his hands. God was he adorable.

“I got more because those ones were dying. These are my favorite flowers.” Will said proudly holding up the lilies. He had a big goofy grin on his face as he held them up. It was different from his usual shy smiles and nervous demeanor but in a way you liked it. “If you don’t like them I can definitely take them back though.”

“No, no!” You said quickly, almost too quickly. “They’re beautiful Will. Thank you.” You climbed out of bed and grabbed them from him, your fingers brushing against his slightly. You saw a faint blush appear on his face as soon as it happened.

You hugged him lightly, not wanting to crush the pretty flowers he was so proud of. When you pulled back you looked up at him and really took him in for a second. His bright blonde hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it a bunch, his pretty blue eyes were soft and shy while looking down at you. You saw him glance down at your lips for a second before snapping back up to your eyes. He leaned in closer so your lips were nearly touching. Just as he opened his mouth to say something he was immediately silenced when Macklin walked into the room.

“Hey (Y/N)-” Macklin spoke loudly as he entered the room but quickly shut up when he saw how close you two were standing. Your chest’s pressed together, Will’s arm still snaked around your waist lightly, your face’s centimeters away from one another. Immediately the two of you pulled back from each other when you noticed the position you were in. “Woah sorry. I can come back if you need me to.”

“No you’re fine,” Your face felt like it was on fire and unfortunately it was extremely obvious. Just like your little brother, you had splotchy red cheeks when you blushed and they were bright red. Will’s cheeks weren’t any better though. His blush went straight to his ears, something you had always teased him for in the past. “We were just uh- talking. I was thanking him for the flowers. What’s up? You need something?” You said casually, as if seconds ago you and Will weren’t having an intimate moment.

“I was gonna ask if you’ve seen my hoodie,” He asked awkwardly, knowing he’d walked in on something he definitely wasn’t supposed to. “The grey one I wore last week? I can’t find it anywhere. I literally searched the whole house.”

“Oh,” You walked to your closet and pulled a hoodie out “This one?” You held it up for him to see.

“Seriously? You stole my hoodie?” Macklin said unimpressed “Is it clean at least?” He spit out sassily.

“Geez yes it is. Now take it and go shower.” You said in the same tone as him. It earned an eye roll from him before he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

You finally turned back to Will who was still frozen in place with wide eyes. You tried saying something—but frankly you didn’t know what to say. You wanted to bring the almost kiss but didn’t wanna make it more awkward than it already was. When you finally went to speak, he beat you to it.

“I should go.”

You felt your heart drop when you heard his words. You thought maybe you’d heard him wrong so you cracked out a small “What?” But he didn’t answer. He just left. You stood there in complete silence—not knowing if you should chase after him or let him walk away. You didn’t have enough time to even process the decision because you could hear the front door slam shut. It’s like time had stopped when you heard it. Had that really happened or was this a bad dream and you’d wake up hearing Macklin and Will’s giggles from the living room.

Unfortunately that was not the case. Slowly you made your way to your bed, sitting down shakily. You pulled your knees to your chest and absolutely lost it. Tears spilling over and sobs wracking from your chest. You were thankful Macklin was in the shower because if he wasn’t he would be able to hear your sobs.

—————

It’s been a week since that day and Will is completely avoiding you. You hated it so much. You missed his small gestures, his hugs, his voice, his smile, him.

He wouldn’t come to your apartment anymore if you were home. Will insisted on going to his house when Macklin wanted to hang out. Macklin never questioned it because he could sense the tension between the two of you but neither one of you had told him what happened.

Eventually you were sick of it. Had he thought you wouldn’t have kissed him back if he’d tried? Was he embarrassed it got interrupted? You had to find out. You drove to the Marleau household determined to understand why he’d run away completely from you without any explanation. You needed closure because without it, you were a mess. When you got there you greeted everyone before making your way to the backyard and to the guest house. You didn’t wanna just barge in so you knocked. It felt like forever until the door opened but when it did Will’s eyes went wide the second he saw you.

“We need to talk Will,” You were looking up at him desperately. “Please. I won’t be long, I just need to say some things.”

All he did was nod, not trusting himself enough to speak. He moved out of the way so you could step in, closing the door behind you. He refused to look in your direction, instead choosing to look at anything but you. Apparently the ceiling fan was extremely interesting right now. You were starting to get a little annoyed with his behavior.

“What is your problem?” You blurted out.

He immediately froze, his eyes finally snapping to yours. “W-what?” His voice cracked.

“Don’t act dumb Will.” You scoffed, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been completely avoiding me since-” You paused, choosing your words carefully “Since we almost kissed Will.”

His eyes immediately turned sad at your words “I-” He stopped, not knowing what exactly to say. He looked away from you again and that pissed you off even more.

You grabbed his chin. Roughly but not enough to hurt him. You turned his head to look directly down at you. He could see the desperation in your eyes. Anyone could if they saw you right now. But you didn’t care. You needed to get him to see how much this meant to you.

“You can’t keep avoiding this conversation. We can’t pretend that didn't happen.” You hesitated your next words but continued. “I can’t pretend I don’t love you Will!”

It took him a second to process your words completely but when he did his lips parted into an ‘o’ shape. You started thinking you maybe read the situation wrong but before you could get any more words in his lips were on yours. You didn’t fully realize what was happening for a few seconds before fully reciprocating the kiss. One hand went into his hair, the other cupping his cheek.

All of the pent up feelings and desires were put into the kiss. Finally getting the sense of closure you both needed. You felt his tongue slide across your bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. To which you immediately opened your mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in.

After a minute you two pulled away from each other, foreheads resting on each other’s. That’s when you heard faint music playing. You pulled back and looked at the speaker then back to Will.

“You like Taylor Swift?” You giggled, hearing the familiar song ‘Lover’ that you’d listened to a million times while daydreaming of Will.

He finally cracked a smile after what felt like a lifetime. “Started listening to her because of you. I’d always hear her playing from your room when I was hanging out with Macklin. She’s growing on me.”

“Huh. Never thought you noticed that.” You said with a dumb smile on your face.

“I notice everything about you.” His words sent immediate butterflies to your stomach.

That night the dumb, love struck smile never left your face. Yet you didn’t care. You had Will after all this time. You finally got your lover boy.

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION XIII.

(a/n: g-g-goatmaru 🐐 okay i know he’s the gk so his jersey is supposed to be number 1 but i already messed them up since the first ep so no going back now. sorry and luv ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 0,9k

also: @ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyo 🔥

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number...

...99, Gagamaru Gin.”

After confirming your player, you left the room, and headed to collect your stuff from Anri. On the way to the field, you skimmed through your schedule along with his profile sheet, pausing every two seconds at each data. He seemed like a promising player with some oddly fascinating habits, almost like a mystery waiting to be unraveled, making you eager to meet him.

Imagine being Gagamaru Gin’s manager.

——————

Gagamaru Gin who you barely even register during the ongoing match you just walked into before he’s already diving mid-air to kick the ball, leaving a very strong first impression by performing a Scorpion kick if you recall from your studies right.

Did you just witness that in real life? Who is this man and why is he defying gravity so easily? Intrigued, you went closer to the barrier, observing him for the rest of the game.

The sound of the whistle was soon heard, meaning the end of the match. Turning around, you locked eyes, giving him a wave as he slowly approached you.

“Manager?” he assumed from yesterday’s information given by Ego.

“Yes, nice to meet you! I was shocked by your play on the field. That kick was amazing—“ you started, a bit caught up by the whole game as he patiently waited for you to finish.

“Thank you. Uh, what’s your name again?”

——————

•Gagamaru who doesn’t say a word but instead lets his black eyes do the talking during the first week. He’s a giant compared to you, making you feel just a tad bit intimidated by his height, but no worries. He’s actually fun to be around, even getting to the point of joking about his teammates.

•He turns out to be one of the easiest guys to work with, the literal embodiment of a chill guy. He’s usually ready on time, and doesn’t whine during training meaning getting actual work done, making you happily tick off all the schedules planned for the day.

•He’s not a picky eater either, so you don’t even need to worry about him not following his diet.

•You also get to learn how he doesn’t like packaged food at all during that one time when he straight up rejected the snacks you secretly offered him, saying he would much rather have a bowl of fruit than those artificially flavored chips. (makes you want to eat healthier)

•Some strange facts about him include eating with his hands or that his handmade hairtie is made of ivy. No judging tho, you let him do his things although you do offer him utensils. Gives you a personalized ivy bracelet for your birthday.

•Gagamaru who lets you drag him around like a teddy bear, and does what you say without a doubt. You earn his trust quite fast, making him listen to your advice during warm-ups and plays. Between stretches, he’ll tell you some of his crazy adventures.

•“Wait, so did a bear do that to your ear?”

•You swear your heart did something funny when he went from being a striker to a goalkeeper without a complaint. You would have put up a fight with Ego but seeing him enjoy his new position made you relieved, supporting him wholeheartedly.

•He strongly believes that you two will make it through the program together as you hype him up by telling him that with a talent like that, it’s practically guaranteed that he’s gonna have a spot on the team.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Gagamaru who’s honestly quite the same as before just more focused with sharper instincts and overall improved skills. After the match, his stats got even better than before with quicker reflexes and stronger agility including an inhuman reaction time.

•Sometimes you forget just how strong your player is—easily lifting you up, or helping carry triple the amount of training balls.

•Still, some things never change—his bluntness, nature-loving self unintentionally causes quite a shake in Japan, gaining fans all over the world.

•Pictures and memes of him go viral, like the word goatmaru, or how soulless his eyes are, making some fans wonder if he even blinks. You always explain them to him and loudly laugh at them during the night when you two are supposed to be analyzing his performance.

•You grow closer to Gagamaru over time. From keeping a bit of distance to now you shamelessly making him carry you on his back while you explain your observations, clipboard in hand.

•Or when he lets you brush out his two-toned hair in the morning, making you jealous every time at how soft it is as you listen to him talk about what his teammates have been up to.

•You’re glad that he’s become a bit more human like due to your interactions, easily forming bonds with the new team he’s in. Yet one of his funny habits till to this day remains the same—you catching him sleep, or read mangas inside the goal post, comfortably resting his head inside the net.

•It’s well known how Gagamaru loves animals and nature overall, but one of the most amazing things he does with the fame he got? Mentioning animal cruelty in interviews, and being an activist on national TV. Thanks to him, people began giving more attention to these problems, making you tear up anytime he’s doing an interview.

•His alien-like nature always shows, especially when you’re teaching him cute poses for meeting fans, or when he completely misses your subtle flirting, just staring at you with wide eyes like a confused cub.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

HAPPY (belated) DBDANNIVERSARY! I started this little thing a few months ago when I realised A) just HOW tiny that office sofa at the centre of soooo many Payneland smut fics is, and B) that Edwin was lounging on it with the back cushions at the ends. I dusted it off and wanted to get it finished for the anniversary but for various life reasons, my writing brain was not braining! Fingers crossed, I have a little more free time for projects now! Payneland, 2.3k, T, fun getting-together fluff, also on Ao3 (only visible to logged-in users)!

“Edwin?”

“Charles.”

Charles hummed, spinning his vintage football on his finger. Wasn't vintage when he got it, mind. But twenty-odd years being bandied about the same pokey office had made an antique of the old girl. “Been thinking ‘bout what Crystal said. About the sofa…”

Edwin gave him a look of mild betrayal over his book. “Oh, Charles. Not you as well.”

“Well, got a point, hasn't she? I mean —” Charles gestured broadly down to his knees — which were propped up against Edwin's knees. When they sat like this, cross legged and facing one another, they sort of met in the middle. “Barely room for one of us, mate! Not the best place for a living person to kip when she misses the last tube, is it?”

“Then we shall acquire a trundle bed. Or one of those —” he waved his hand — “newfangled inflatable mattresses. I hardly see the need to cast the entire office into disarray.”

“Not exactly a big redecorate, is it?” Charles teased, nudging Edwin's knee with his own. “One little sofa. Well, big sofa, hopefully. Bigger than this one. Maybe a bit softer, bit less, y’know... ancient.”

Edwin made an offended sound through his nose. “Charles! This sofa has been a stalwart of the agency since its inception!”

“Only 'cause the landlady let us have it with the flat,” said Charles.

“It has a history! Stories to tell.”

“You know Madam Seine was like, a madam madam, yeah?” said Charles, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. “Ran a brothel out of this place when she was alive. Reckon some of those stories are pret-ty raunchy, mate.”

Edwin pursed his lips and fidgeted. “Well. Be that as it may. You cannot simply — simply oust something for being a bit worse for wear and... and a bit old fashioned.” He sniffed haughtily. “It is bad form. Dreadfully disloyal.”

Charles softened. He bit his lip. “That right?”

“Yes.” Edwin primly turned the page in his book. “I shall hear no more of it.”

Charles sighed, rolling his shoulders back against his cushion. They never sat with the back cushions on properly, these days. In the first five years or so yeah, maybe. But not for ages. Nowadays they took the back cushions and propped them at the sides, against the curved armrests, so's they could face each other from opposite ends of the sofa.

Charles wasn't sure exactly when they started doing it, or when it stopped being a one-off and started being the norm. But it just made more sense really, didn't it? They didn't have a telly to point the couch at, weren't ever watching something else when they sat side by side, so what was the point in looking at anything but one another? It was better to be facing each other when they were chatting, telling stories long into the night. Better for hatching plans and theories. Better for playing games, for cards and catch and crosswords and cat's cradle. Even if they were both doing their own thing, like now, Edwin with his books and Charles with his ball games, there was something dead nice about doing it with the other in the background.

But it was a tight fit. One of them alone didn't have room to stretch his legs out on this thing — the two of them? This was the least amount of contact they could have, both their legs crossed and their kneecaps nuzzling. Sometimes they wound up tangled at the shin, or the knee or even the bloody thigh, both too long in the leg and too lax in the boundaries to give a toss.

Lately though, well, what with Edwin telling him what he had on the steps to Hell, Charles had been thinking...

“Reckoned you might like a bit more personal space, too, is all,” Charles mumbled, picking at a flake on the worn leather.

Edwin frowned at him, bewildered. “This amount has been perfectly adequate for the last two decades.”

“Yeah, but it's a bit different now, innit?”

“How so?”

Charles opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he supposed to say? Because you're in love with me now? Because I've not been able to stop thinking about your bloody knees touching mine for the last two hours and if that's me, just in like a mates way, you must be going bonkers? All sounded a bit bloody dickish, didn't it? “Just is.”

Edwin stiffened. “Oh.” He closed his book. He looked... upset. “I see.”

“What?”

“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Charles balked. “You didn't — Christ, I didn't mean it like that!”

“Well then enlighten me, Charles, because I fail to see how else you could have meant it.”

“I meant — it's not me, it's you!”

Edwin's eyebrows pinched together in helpless bafflement. “What a... uniquely distressing platitude.”

“I mean…” Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead. God, he was mucking this all up. “I'm just saying if it's a bit... I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, yeah? Or — or make you feel like I'm... I dunno. Rubbing it in.”

Edwin's eyebrows over the course of the awkward explanation crawled progressively higher, like they were backing up very slowly to his hairline. “‘Rubbing it in’?” He parroted, disbelieving.

Charles groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Shut up. Fuck. Trying not to be a dickhead, here.”

He heard a sound, a soft huff of air, and peeked through his fingers. Edwin was smiling — no, Edwin was laughing. Small and restrained, but a definite laugh. He closed his book.

“Charles,” he said — the word all warm on his tongue. “While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I am perfectly capable of managing my more... inconvenient feelings for you when we are spending time together.”

Charles snorted, scrubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Are you, now?”

“Yes. Though it is certainly a struggle; reigning in my amorous inclinations when faced with the irresistible temptation of…” he glanced down, smirking. “Your knees.”

Charles mock gasped. “Oi! My knees are fit.” He leaned in closer, making their kneecaps nudge. “Eh? Eh?”

Edwin raised his eyebrows and, deliberately, picked up his own knees and planted his feet flat on the sofa. “If your master plan is to persuade me to part with a perfectly serviceable sofa via knee seduction, I am afraid you'll not find me so easily swayed. Regardless of the relative 'fitness' of the knees in question.”

“Got my number, haven't you,” Charles grinned. He cracked his neck and sat up a bit straighter, propping his elbow on his thigh. “Alright then. New deal: thumb war.”

Edwin groaned. “Oh, honestly…”

“Winner gets final say on the couch. Deal?”

“Charles, we have not had a thumb war since the great poster debacle of ninety eight. We both agreed the fallout was too great.” He looked off past Charles’ shoulder, soberly, looking a dead ringer for a poor shellshocked world war one lad in a black and white army hospital photo. “And that is to say nothing of the collateral damage…”

“Just a one-off yeah? Friendly competition. Peace treaty goes right back into effect afterwards.”

Edwin gave him a look, but he sighed and set aside his book. “Very well.” He scooted a bit closer, straightening his pullover with a brisk tug. “But I thrashed you in ninety eight and I have every intention of doing so again.”

“Them's fighting words, lad,” Charles laughed, face warm, pleasant, bubbly anticipation in his gut. Something about Edwin getting physical, getting competitive always made his stomach flip. Just nice, wasn't it? Seeing his uptight best mate cut loose. “You're bloody on. C'mon then. Put 'em up.”

Edwin positioned his elbow, flexing his long fingers — regarding Charles with a self-assured quirk of his lip. “Queensberry Rules. No funny business.”

They locked hands, fingers in palms, thumbs bared. Did the business, back and forth, voices chiming in perfect polite unison “One, two, three, four, I declare thumb war —” and then let each other fuckin’ have it.

“Bloody hell,” Charles huffed, straining. “You been doing thumb push ups or summit?”

“Well, they do say the pen is mightier than the sword,” Edwin hummed, all nonchalant — but Charles could see the strain under the cool expression, see the tic in his jaw as he gave everything he had.

Charles grit his teeth, snatching his thumb back. Usually his tactic was brute force, get in there quick and wrestle Edwin down, but the cheeky sod was quick, and stronger than Charles gave him credit for. Their thumbs dodged and weaved, a tangle of near misses; Charles had a feeling all Edwin needed was one bang-on strike and he'd have Charles on the ropes.

He risked a glance up — and found Edwin staring at his face. “Oh, you're wrestling me without looking now?” Charles snorted. “Show off. A-ha! Gotcha!” He got his thumb hooked firmly over Edwin's, pushing down, so close to victory he could taste it.

And then he got a taste of something else.

Edwin's lips were gone almost before Charles felt them — but bloody hell, he felt them, alright. Quick as a flash and twice as blinding; Charles could've fallen through the sofa, the floor, six bloody storeys like a stone through a pond. He blinked, thunderstruck, mouth flopping like a fish.

Edwin cleared his throat and, politely, pushed Charles’ unresisting thumb down.

“And three, two, one… there. I believe victory is mine. Oh dear, what a shame, no new sofa for us. Still, I am sure we shall soldier on somehow. Now, if you will excuse me.”

He was all prim about it, brisk, proper stiff upper lip — boarding school lad leapt right out. But Charles made a grab for his knee before Edwin could unfold himself from the sofa and scarper.

“Yeah, just a tick, mate,” said Charles, a bit strangled. “Um.”

Edwin fidgeted on the spot. Well, he unsteepled and resteepled his fingers a couple of times. “Yes, I... I do apologise. I am not quite sure what came over me. You were sitting very close, and... it is. Inexcusable. Perhaps you are right after all. Perhaps it is for the best that we —”

Charles kissed him.

He could taste Edwin's little hitching breath on his lips, along with the fizzling, ectoplasmic energy of him. Christ, how could anyone walk through him and find a cold spot; he was so warm, a cosy log fire Charles just wanted to curl up against. His knees, still pressed against Charles', smoldered like hot coals and Charles wanted to touch him more, touch him everywhere, see what it felt like when they overlapped at the shin or the thigh or even —

Charles pulled back with a gasp of surprise. “Fuck,” he blurted, steadying himself on Edwin's knees as the realisation clipped him round the ear. “I proper fancy you!”

It was Edwin's turn to flop like a fish. “I... do… are you quite sure?”

Charles laughed. Couldn't help himself. He clapped his hands either side of Edwin's neck, thumbs tucked behind his ears — had he always had such cute ears? Where had Charles been? — and just sort of looked at him a moment. His best mate had one of the best faces out there. Charles wanted to smooth out the little confused scrunch of his bushy eyebrows with his thumb. Count the colours in those clever eyes; lean in and catch those soft, pink lips.

"Kiss me again,” he mumbled, leaning in close. "And I'll show you how sure I am, yeah?”

And Edwin, well, turned out he didn't need telling twice.

~

Probably shouldn't be that simple, should it? Flipping the switch from Edwin’s best mate to barmy about him. But the fancying Edwin thing, that had been the tricky bit. The bit Charles hadn't been sure he could do, or do enough.

The loving him bit? He'd been doing that for ages.

~

“Well that was… an unexpected conclusion.”

Charles grinned, dopily, at the ceiling. There was a crack in it they should probably do something about sometime, but that didn’t matter ‘cause the view seemed pretty brills to him, sprawled as much as a tall lad could sprawl on their tiny little sofa — and Edwin sprawled right alongside. And slightly on top of. “Bit better than collateral damage, eh?”

He could feel Edwin’s smile against his neck. “Considerably better, I’d venture. I might even be open to re-negotiating our treaty if we now have… alternative avenues of conflict resolution.”

Charles chuckled. Their legs looked proper daft, draped over the end of the tiny couch, feet all tangled up in the air. They really needed a bigger one, now they had so much more stuff they could be getting up to on it. “Right, then. About that. Is it a good time to point out you did sort of just cheat, yet?”

Edwin sighed. He didn’t have a leg to stand on and he knew it — those bloody lips of his were weapons of mass distraction and he’d hit Charles with both barrels. “Very well. I concede defeat.”

“Proper decent of you, mate, cheers. Brills! New sofa, then?”

Edwin hummed, twirling Charles’ necklace once around his finger. “Very well,” he said — with the same dangerous nonchalance he usually had when he was about to whip out a piece of evidence that'd nail their suspect to the bloody wall. “Dispose of the sofa on which we shared our first kiss, if it pleases you to do so. I shan’t protest.”

“... Oh, you bastard,” Charles laughed, tangling his hand in Edwin’s messed up hair — so bloody help him, he was about to get it even messier. “Kiss me again, you evil genius.”

And oh, he kissed him again. And again, and again. And their socked feet bobbed high and stupid over the arm of their too-tiny little sofa the whole time.

…Modern airbeds were probably pretty decent these days anyway, right? ~~~

This one felt a bit weird to write honestly, it feels very much like the sort of lighthearted, sweet Payneland one-shots I was writing in my early days of the fandom, which just isn't my specialty anymore! But it was a fun little trip down memory lane 🥰 So, what's next for Mr. Bees in DBDA fandom year 2? Well, obviously I have some fics to finish -- Lonely Bones got backburner'd but I WILL get my head down and get the last chapter out eventually (and thank you so much if you've left a comment there I haven't replied to, I'm at the stage now where I find myself saving comments for when I actually have something new to add to the story 😅). Ditto with Somewhere Beyond the Sea, although there's a fair bit more of that to go yet! Chapter two is almost there but needs One more quite big scene because I moved the chapter break. Apologies for the long hiatuses on both of these, but as usual, I've bitten off more than I can chew and I find myself really only able to focus on a max of two big projects at a time! Two things you may see first: -the Ghostcat Howl's Moving Castle AU, which I have been working on for months with dear_monday and two_ravens (and idliketobeatree who is doing the most INCREDIBLE art!!) and is now in the edit stage: it's long, it's FUN, it's magical and romantic and playful, and we have had such an UNBELIEVABLY fun time writing it and can't wait to share it! Even if poly ships aren't normally your thing, if you have any enjoyment whatsoever for Catwin/Catland/Payneland I hope you'll take a crack at it, because it's gonna be a blast! -my Big Bang fic! Which, actually, will not be posted on this account, because it WILL contain explicit scenes! It's long, it's Payneland, it's tender and sensual and also the most tragic and bittersweet thing I have ever written, and if you want to read that when it comes out and you don't already know my secret-not-secret smut side handle, feel free to DM me for it! (but only if you're 18+, please and thank you!) I also may, for the sake of ease of finding because stuff does get lost on tumblr, think about making a work on here to post some of my DBDA art from the last year and into the future, because turns out I've made a LOT of it! I have other fics, long and short, that I really wanna get to at some point, but we're very much out of the initially hyper-productivity stage and into the slow, simmering-the-idea-on-the-stovetop phase of my fandom experience. I look calm and quiet but my little legs are working under the surface! I may post less frequently now but I certainly hope to be posting for a long time to come 💛 Well, that's all I can think to say for now so once again, thank you, everyone's who's read along, everyone's who's talked to me either here or on tumblr or in the groupchats, everyone's who's also created such wonderful stuff and made this fandom such a thriving creative hub, I love and appreciate all of you and I hope we'll all be sat on this porch for a long, long time together 💛💛💛 Until next time!

[problematic-aroace]

I think I figured out why I just don’t like StephCass that much(I don’t hate it I’m just not a big fan of it)

It’s because my first association with StephCass was in the Batgirls comic and I really dislike how Steph was characterised there, and it seems to be where most people started shipping it. So to me I’m just seeing a someone who’s Steph in name only X Cass. Which annoys me already. Which is made worse by when I see a mischaracterised version of Steph in fandom dating Cass. So that’s one thing that hinders me from considering the ship.

Second thing is- I’m tryna be real nice but… this ship doesn’t really have anything interesting to me. Like no angst, no stumbling blocks they have to get through together it’s just… boring. Like I don’t won’t them to have a toxic relationship at all, but their relationship just doesn’t have anything interesting(in the way the fandom portrays it at least.) I love myself a messy relationship(JayRoy is my prime example), so when it’s just… sunshine lollipops and rainbows it’s just way too boring. I definitely wouldn’t like it if it was like StephTim… god I’m gonna make a whole post on that… but I need both of them to have struggles to work though and not just be two characters kissing in the background(literally every AO3 ship in existence.) And it’s not that hard to find something for them to work through, like bring back Stephanie’s disdain for the no kill rule, make Cassandra struggle with her social life, make Stephanie struggle with accepting love(I can make a whole post about why that would be fitting to her character), make Cassandra struggle to show her love thus making it harder for Steph to receive it or even question her love

Actually another point, I fully believe StephCass should be a messy relationship that somehow works based on their character flaws and how they would clash. So most StephCass posts make it look like a shell of the two characters and makes it way too boring for my while there’s ships like StephKara(in the batgirl comic Steph is sorta a asshole to Kara at times and it looks like she’s sorta jealous of her while Kara still shows Steph the love she needs which makes it so much more interesting to me) and then StephRose(do I need to explain?). I guess I like those a lot more than StephCass because in fics I read of them, Steph tends to be characterised a lot better.

Last and final thing is well… I’m a pre52 Steph stan(specifically before war games) and well- I just never really saw the two as a couple there- they’ve always been best friends++ to me and later on in the comics: big sister, little brother. And I can’t really forget how Cass was like ‘well go home then’ to Steph when Steph told her she was fired, I know it was because Cass wanted to protect Steph, but so did Bruce so it wasn’t too much different in my eyes because they all told Steph to go home, they all discouraged her and it all had a very, very negative effect on Steph(however out of her 3 discouragers I only believe 2 should be forgiven but I know damn well Steph would still forgive 3.)

So yeah what are you guy’s ideal version of Stephanie & Cass?