#i usually like to watch it before i read it but i pick up a lot of plays at op shops and book fairs

[muntitled]

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

[valalice]

ᥫ᭡ slice of life or a look into moments of your relationship, and this is the one where you bake cait a cake for her birthday.

cw. pure tooth rooting fluff. smidge of angst. fem!reader. established relationship. cait turns 24 in this. reader is said to be shorter than cait. mentions of cassandra. cait calls reader darling. it gets gushy mushy.

“those eyes better be closed, kiramman!” you hollard, from deep within the kitchen, lighter in hand as you light the candle shaped two then the one shaped four. you’d thought to put twenty-four individual stick candles on the cake just to simply amuse (annoy) cait, but decided against it for her special day; you thought of something far better anyway.

“they are!” cait assured. the fluctuation in her accent when her voice raises anything above its usual silky smoothing tone tickles you. you’re so entertained by her accent even now as you giggle, fixing and turning the cake to make sure it’s perfect, it has to be perfect, for her.

cautiously you pick up the cake stand with both hands, feeling confident enough you balance it in one hand, so you're able to shut off the kitchen light. “alright, i’m coming out. no peeking.” feet carefully shuffling out of the kitchen to the dining room where cait resides, a hand covering the candles from any mystery gust of wind that may feel mischievous enough to attempt to blow out the candles.

“still closed.” the blue haired woman huffs. you lift your gaze from straining your eyes to focus on the cake, making sure that it’s okay, and you’re not disappointed when you do. because there sits caitlyn kiramman, head of house kiramman sitting in the head dining chair looking like a small child with her hands covering her eyes, it’s a sight cute sight to behold and cherish it, eternally grateful that you’re able to witness this of your girlfriend.

reaching the table, the cake stand hits the wooden surface with a soft click, twisting the stand so it’s facing the right way at her. “don’t open yet.” you muttered, standing up straight to rush back to the kitchen to grab the lighter off the counter, deciding to ignore cait’s obvious groans of complaints for the wait; she’s never been, and never will be, a patient person. hopping from area to area where you have various candles littered around to light them, content when they all lit. flicking off the light switch, the soft candle lights turning the room to amber, you’re absorbed by the home-y atmosphere of the room, or as home-y as a generationally passed down mansion can be, but in this moment all you can feel is the whimsey swirl of love flowing through the room.

“can i open my eyes now?” cait questions, you smile at her, the question held an air of light optimism and eagerness. you take post next to her again, bending down and fixing the cake once more, so when she opens her eyes she’s met with the desert you slaved over all yesterday. “darling? i know you’re there, i can smell your perfume.” cautious hands reach out to feel for your body, a little "hmph" coming from caitlyn when she’s confirmed her words, hands ghosting over your waist. a breathy laugh leaves you, she’s caught you, you suppose.

swiftly standing up, the hands on your waist readjust around you, pulling you closer to her seated form, the meat of your thigh closest to the chair pressing against the armrest; and you allow her to manipulate your body, a hand moving from your side to hand her shoulders before smoothing down her back, comforting act you know too well to do.

“you can open your eyes now.” you instruct, there’s a ball lodged in your throat waiting to drop to the pit of your stomach as you fix your attention to watch caitlyn’s expression. your free hand subconsciously wiping down your leg, waiting, not used to be taller than her in most scenarios, so now as you hover above her it's hard to read her. but what you do know is that she's remained unmoved.

there's a jerk in her body before she shifts her body to face you, head peering up at you, her face contorted. "you did this for me?" she chokes out, tears prickling to fall from her eye.

the ball drops and it hits your stomach, hard. you start to feel sick, physically pained to hear the strained emphasis on "me" talking down on herself as if she's unworthy, sinking to your knees, now you're the one looking up to caitlyn; like normally. "oh, cait. what do you mean, for you?" your brows furrow, a hand reaching to soothe and caress cait's cheek. had you done something to upset her?

she turns back to eye the cake, it's the most precious gift you've given to her all day she thinks, all of its homemade imperfections and quirks included. "the cake—" turning back back to you, taking in your worried expression that never left your face even when she turned away from you, she looks down at the hand that had fallen in her lap when she did so, taking it in her embrace. "it's so stupidly hard to make. and you made it for me." she explains, a small laugh of disbelief and awe coming from her lips.

your eyes widen, a smile curling your lips upward. she's right, the cake you made her was hard. spending weeks testing out different recipes, ultimately mashing them all to together to create the perfect balance of airy white cake layers, sweet but not too sweet icing, the right consistency of custard, and the best strawberries from the market to sprinkle throughout the layers and decorate with; a fairly simple cake, but each separate component needed to cohesively work together to create an explosion of delicate flavors in your mouth, too much of one would throw it off, and you know cait's refined taste for less sweet lighter desserts. but even when you dedicated much of your time to her cake you kept telling yourself, she deserves this over in your head, and now, you still stand true to that.

"it's your favorite." tilting your head to the side, raising a hand to tuck some of caitlyn's cascading dark blue hair curtaining around her face behind an ear, you want to see more of her, all of her. her cerulean eyes bore down at you, the candle light that illuminates the room softens them. "you didn't need to, i would've gratefully taken a box cake."

you're smile grows, because you know her words are true, she appreciates everything you do, small or big. and you're confident you were capable of turning a box cake into something just as good as the cake in front of cait, but it was the want, the desire to give something that you knew cait loved, even if it was just a cake. with everything that's happened; the loss of her mother and the loss of her eye, you wanted her to indulge in her childhood favorite dessert.

“i wanted to wanted to make you this cake, you deserve this cake.” you muse, squeezing the hand holding yours to affirm your reassurance of your actions.

cait squeezes your hand in return, her gaze fixed on watching her thumb rub circles on the back of your hand, the depth of your words seem to sink in, the true reason on why you’ve poured your all into her birthday, accounting for every down to the little minuscule details; this is far more than just a cake. she doesn’t even remember telling you her favorite cake, and she prides herself on her sharp memory; it must’ve been her father, or perhaps her mother who had said it in passing, and you remembered it. of course you did. when she gazes back to you, you’re already looking at her, she feels warm. maybe it’s all the candles you lit, maybe it’s the way you look at her the same way, always adoringly, like she herself had been the one to paint the night sky with all the stars, you always manage to cross all her bounds and break all her strategically placed bricks that's supposed to make her indestructible and make her all flustered, even if you’re unaware to your effect. but, now? she’s positive she’s the one admiring you, from where you’re sat, legs kicked underneath on the wood floor (she’s sure your legs numb, but she also knows you wouldn’t complain nor move from your spot next to her) there’s a long cabinet dressed with running and decorated with flowing candle flames, creating a warm aura around you that made you look like her own angel sent to her. in this moment she’s able to fall in love with you all over again, and hopes, knows that she’ll keep doing so.

gripping the hand in her grasp one last time before pulling you into her, the hand following up your arm to yank you even closer till her free hand settles on your cheek and your lips touch in a passionate kiss. your own hands coming to grasp at her face, body lifting off your heels to kneel into the kiss, her hand falling from your arm to wrap around your waist. when you two disconnect you still embrace caitlyn, “blow out your candles.” you whisper, so close still your lips touch when you talk.

“as you wish, darling.” barely leaning into you to give you another kiss. “but,”

“but?” you question, quirking an eyebrow.

a cheeky grin sneaks its way onto her lips. “i would like you in my lap.”

“cait—”

“it’s my birthday. for the birthday girl?” she quipped, the fingers around your waist prods at it, waiting for your response, although she already knows the answer with the way her grin grew and her gap is now on full display. you sigh, and the arm around your waist frees you, standing up you stand, hands on your hips staring at cait’s proud expression.

“alright birthday girl, make room.” she’s got you beat using that excuse on you.

she scoots her chair out, the screech that would’ve been loud from the wood chair legs on the wood floor is muffled from the persian rug beneath the table, her hands working quick to pull you into your lap. allowing you to settle, perching her head on your shoulder. “better.” she muses.

“now can you?”

“i can.” she shuffles just a bit, gathering enough air to blow out her candles.

and with a big huff. . . the candles don’t go out? 

caitlyn sucks in more air, attempting again just for the same thing to happen, the flames still burn.

“what did you do?” caitlyn quizzed, more confused than ever on why her candles won’t flatter.

“i didn’t do anything.” you respond cooley, shrugging your shoulders, but it takes everything in you to not burst in a fit of laughter.

“you did.” her fingers press into your sides. “i’ll tickle you.” she threatens, and it holds weight.

you fit your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing. turning your head over your shoulder to face her, contemplating if your should tell her flat out or keep the act up. you release your lip, “they’re joke candles.”

“joke candles?” cait repeats, her voice pitching, taking in the absurd concept of joke candles. “i’ll show you a joke.” nimble fingers move across your sides.

“no, please. mercy.” you beg, wheezing out a laugh in the process.

“not a chance. should’ve thought before you placed these silly candles on my cake.” not letting up on the attack of tickles she’s giving to you.

[d-z20]

One Last Drink (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're out for casual drinks with your friend Agatha, who you may or may not find extremely attractive—it's too bad she doesn't like you like that. She convinces you to stay for another round but this drink sends you over the edge and Agatha has to help you home

- OR -

Agatha spikes your drink and then fucks you in your bed like the good friend she is

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dub/non-con, smut, Dark Agatha, alcohol, drugging/drink spiking, thigh riding (A doing), fingering (R recv),

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains drink-spiking and non-con smut so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, mingling with the faint melody of a piano drifting from a corner of the dimly lit bar. You and Agatha have claimed your usual spot—a small, worn booth tucked away near the back, where the shadows seem to linger longer than they should. It always feels a little darker here, but it doesn’t matter when you’re with her. Agatha’s presence has a way of consuming everything else.

She sits across from you, an effortless vision of elegance. The soft glow from the overhead lamp catches the curve of her cheekbone and illuminates the knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She nurses a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily in her hand as her eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. Agatha always has this way of looking at you—like she knows more than she lets on. Like she knows you inside and out.

“You’re quiet tonight, doll,” she says, her voice a velvety thread winding its way around your mind. “You alright over there?”

You tear your gaze from the half-empty cocktail in your hand, giving her a crooked smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. You always make me pick my poison, and somehow I still end up blacking out by the end of the night.”

Her smirk widens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she takes a slow sip of her wine. “You’ve got the tolerance of a baby bunny, darling. Not my fault you can’t keep up.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling as you lean back in the booth. “You’re probably right. But it’s weird—it only happens when we come here. What do they put in these drinks?”

The comment is light, a joke meant to tease, but Agatha’s smile sharpens at the edges. She tilts her head, her gaze slipping down to your drink and lingering there for just a beat too long. “Oh, honey,” she teases, leaning closer, allowing you to see down her top. “They’re just making sure you have a good time.”

Your breath hitches, the heat of her proximity sending a shiver down your spine. You’ve always found Agatha attractive, but it’s a secret you keep buried deep. There’s no way she feels the same; her flirty nature is just who she is. It’s not real. It can’t be.

You laugh, shaking your head as you lift your glass for another sip. “Well, here’s to waking up in one piece tomorrow.”

Agatha’s lips quirk as she raises her glass in a mock toast, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll drink to that,” she says smoothly, her tone carrying an edge of amusement. But as you glance away to scan the bar, her gaze darkens ever so slightly, her smile fading as she mutters something low under her breath—something just out of earshot.

—

“Alright,” you say, setting your glass down with a thud. “I think I’m done for the night. I should head back.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a sly smile, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not so fast, doll. Just one more round—my treat. What do you say?”

You hesitate, your resolve already wavering under the weight of her gaze. It’s those eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to strip you bare every time they meet yours.

“Fine,” you relent, trying to sound casual. “But just one more.”

Agatha’s smile widens, and she gives your cheek a playful pat. “That’s my girl. Sit tight.”

You watch her glide to the bar, her movements unhurried, deliberate, and far too mesmerising. The way her hips sway under the dim lights makes your breath hitch, and you curse yourself silently for the hundredth time that night. This is agony. Agatha isn’t just beautiful; she’s magnetic, commanding the attention of anyone with the misfortune to look her way—including you.

You drag a hand through your hair, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. What are you even doing? Agatha is your friend. Your friend. The idea of being anything more is a fantasy you let linger too long after nights like these. She couldn’t possibly know how she makes your pulse race or how the heat of her gaze seems to settle between your thighs. And even if she did know, why would it matter? Women like her don’t look at you like that.

By the time she returns, her signature smirk is firmly in place, two glasses in hand. She sets one down in front of you with a deliberate slowness that has your heart skipping a beat. As the amber liquid swirls in the glass, you think you catch the faint remnants of something dissolving at the bottom, but the hazy glow of the bar lights and the alcohol coursing through you make it easy to dismiss.

Agatha slides into the booth beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing against yours and staying there. “Cheers, sweetheart,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. She raises her glass, her piercing gaze locking with yours as the corners of her mouth curl into a devilish smile.

“Cheers,” you manage, clinking your glass against hers. You take a sip, the liquor’s burn sliding down your throat and pooling in your stomach like molten heat. You lean into her just a little, the warmth of her body grounding you as the room begins to feel a bit fuzzier from the alcohol.

“Y/N,” Agatha drawls, her voice thick with a teasing edge. “Are you getting tipsy on me now?” She reaches up, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingers longer than it should, her dark eyes gleaming with something you can’t name. “Poor thing. You really can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

You laugh weakly, the sound catching in your throat as the warmth in your chest grows into a pleasant haze. “I can handle it,” you protest, though your slurred words betray you. You slump slightly against her, your cheek brushing her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on your arm, steadying you.

She mock-coos at you, her voice dripping with a patronising sweetness that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, honey,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re so cute like this. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in her tone sends a thrill through you, but you quickly bury it beneath another sip of your drink, hoping more alcohol will drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to. She could never.

—

When you finally leave the bar, the cool night air is a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Agatha’s arm is around your waist, steadying you as you stumble slightly on the uneven sidewalk. You can feel the strength in her grip, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your hip where your shirt has ridden up.

“I’ve got you,” she teases, her breath warm against your temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

Agatha chuckles, a dark, velvety sound that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I insist. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this state—there are some real creeps in the world.”

Her tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it, something darker that you can’t quite place. You glance up at her, but her expression is unreadable; her eyes are fixed ahead as she half-carries you toward your apartment.

When you reach your door, Agatha helps you inside, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she steadies you against the wall. You watch her through half-lidded eyes as she moves around your small living room, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains.

“Alright, darling,” she says, turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips. She guides you toward your bedroom, her touch firm yet gentle, and you can’t help but lean into her.

“You’re too good to me,” you utter, your words slurring slightly.

Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “You deserve it, doll.”

She helps you sit on the edge of your bed, her hands lingering on your arms as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the air between you thick and heavy.

When you sway slightly, still perched on the edge of your bed, Agatha’s hands steady you again, her touch warm but searing, her fingers curling gently around your arms. Her smile softens into something almost tender, her sharp eyes roaming over your flushed face.

“Let’s get you comfortable, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice low, dripping with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond—as if you even have the strength—her hands are already at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers brush your bare skin as she lifts it over your head, the cool air against your torso making you shiver. You blink sluggishly, caught in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol, watching her through heavy eyes as she kneels in front of you, utterly unhurried.

“I can do it myself," you protest weakly, barely able to form words.

She silences you with a chuckle, her dark curls brushing against your thighs as she leans forward slightly. “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

Her hands work deftly, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down your legs, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver again. She hums softly, a pleased sound in the back of her throat, as she folds your clothes neatly and sets them aside. You start to question why she always seems so at ease, so practiced, but the thought slips away like water through your fingers when her gaze meets yours again—steady and smouldering.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she murmurs, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. But there’s something darker behind it now, something that sends a tingle racing down your spine.

Heat rises to your face as you try to look away, but her hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her. The room feels impossibly warm as she leans closer, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first. But then she presses harder, her tongue slipping past your lips with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You can’t think, can’t do anything but let her guide you as she kisses her way down your neck, her lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. “I’ll make you feel so good, doll,” she whispers against your collarbone, her voice a dark promise that makes your pulse quicken. “I always do.”

The words don’t quite register—blurred and hazy—but you can’t focus on anything except the way her lips trail lower, her hands bracing your thighs to part them slightly. She presses you back against the bed, her weight a gentle but undeniable force as she crawls over you.

Agatha straddles your thigh, and you can feel the heat of her arousal even through the thick fabric of her pants. You gasp softly, the sound catching in your throat when her lips close around your nipple. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper, your body arching instinctively into her touch.

“Shh, that’s it, darling,” her voice vibrates against your skin as her fingers trail lower. Her hand slides over your stomach, then further, her touch maddeningly slow as she brushes against the edge of your underwear. “Let me take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

Her words melt into you, warm and liquid, as her fingers slip beneath the fabric, her touch firm but teasing. She drags her lips from your chest, her gaze catching yours as she smirks again, her expression dark and knowing. 

You couldn’t stop her even if you wanted to.

And somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you feel the faintest flicker of familiarity—of déjà vu, as if you’ve been here before, like this, with her. But before you can grasp the thought, it disappears, swallowed by the sensations overtaking you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, her hand moving in deliberate, measured strokes as she leans in to kiss you again, her lips claiming yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Always have been.”

Agatha’s fingers dip lower, teasing for a moment before sliding inside you with a deliberate push. You gasp, your body tensing briefly before melting into her touch. Her other hand grips your thigh, urging you to press up against her as she grinds herself down on your leg. The raw desperation in her movements sends shivers through you; her rhythm measured but insistent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” she groans, her voice dripping with amusement and hunger. Her hips roll against your thigh, breath hitching as she finds her rhythm. The friction between her and your skin sends a flood of heat pooling in your stomach, the coil tightening with every slow, deliberate movement.

You whimper as her fingers thrust inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath catch. “A-Agatha…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Hm?” she hums, her lips quirking into a smirk as her pace quickens. She presses her forehead to yours, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “You gonna come for me, sweet girl? I can feel how close you are.”

You nod helplessly, your nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure build higher and higher, your thighs trembling beneath her. The noises spilling from your lips are shameless, needy, and only seem to spur her on.

Agatha’s own moans fill the air, low and breathy, her hips grinding harder against your thigh as her fingers work you with precision. “You make it so damn difficult,” she huffs through her moans, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you’d just make a goddamn move when you’re sober, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to make you feel good.”

Her words barely register in your haze, too intoxicated to make sense of anything, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the push and pull of pleasure that threatens to undo you. Her hand grips your thigh harder, anchoring herself as her movements grow more frantic and desperate.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as the climax crashes over you in waves. Agatha follows moments later, her hips jerking as a guttural moan escapes her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She doesn’t stop right away, her fingers and hips moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re both breathless and spent. Slowly, she stills, her lips brushing over your damp skin as she catches her breath.

Agatha climbs off you with a satisfied smirk, the weight of her absence both a relief and a strange ache. “Stay put, darling,” she mocks softly; you’re too drugged up to move anyway. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

You barely register the sound of water running before she returns, a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water and some aspirin in the other. She cleans you with practiced care, her touch gentle but efficient, before setting the glass and aspirin on the bedside table.

“Agatha…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words catch in your throat as she cups your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Hush, darling,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Just rest.”

You nod, your head still feeling floaty, letting her pull the comforter over you. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel her fingers brush against your hair, her touch gentle yet possessive.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” she purrs, her voice carrying a dark undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

And then she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Outside your apartment, Agatha adjusts her coat, her smirk widening as she descends the stairs. She knows you won’t remember a thing by morning—you never do; she always makes sure of that.

-----

Yes, reader wants to be fucked by Agatha but drunk (and drugged) people cannot consent. That is why I marked it as non-con rather than just dub-con

Not that you needed reminding but please don't do this in the real world, folks it is very much illegal and just a dick move in general

-----

Taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART SEVEN

paige x azzi

warnings: mention of drug use, sexual content

word count: 8.3k

A/N: This chapter has a few different time jumps so don’t skip over the dates lmao or you might think things are moving a little fast. Everyone’s been asking for this so here it is 🫣. I know emotions are going to be all over the place reading this one so please humor me with some live reactions 😭

—————————————————————————

February 2022

It had been about a month of the same awkward, unspoken limbo between Paige and Azzi. To anyone with eyes, it was painfully obvious the two of them liked each other—more than liked each other—but neither had made an outward move. They didn’t need to say it out loud to know why. Things between them would be complicated, and complications weren’t something either of them could afford right now.

Azzi was back on the court, fully cleared and playing with the same intensity she had before she got injured. Paige, meanwhile, was still stuck on the sidelines, a couple of weeks away from her own return. She hadn’t let that stop her from being Azzi’s biggest supporter, though. If anything, she threw herself into it even more—watching film with Azzi late into the night, breaking down plays for her, doing anything she could to make her job easier on the court. They had also gotten back into the habit of going to the gym together all the time at all hours of the night.

Overall their routine hadn’t changed much, but something beneath it had. The soft flirting they used to do had picked up and Paige quickly learned just how handsy Azzi was, how affectionate she was, how she would purposefully bite her lip while looking up at Paige. For Paige, it was becoming almost physically painful to be around Azzi without saying something—without telling her just how much she liked her. It was there in the way her heart raced when Azzi laughed, in the way her chest ached when their hands brushed accidentally. But every time the words hovered on the tip of her tongue, she swallowed them back down, convincing herself it wasn’t the right time. Knowing they had a silent agreement.

Azzi, for her part, seemed oblivious to how much Paige was feeling—or maybe she was just better at hiding it. Hiding just how much she felt too. She was her usual steady self, focused and unflappable, though there were moments when her gaze lingered on Paige just a little too long, or her smile softened in a way that felt almost too tender.

Now, as they sat in Paige’s dorm, that same quiet tension hung between them. The TV played in the background, but neither of them was paying attention. Azzi’s fingers absentmindedly played with Paige’s, a habit that had started sometime over the past few months and somehow became a comfort for both of them. Paige’s gaze dropped to their hands, watching the way Azzi’s fingertips traced the curves of hers.

Something about it—about her—felt so intimate, so significant in Paige’s life—that made Paige’s heart race and ache all at once. Her eyes hesitantly drifted to Azzi’s face, taking in the way her soft smile lit up the room. It was the kind of smile Azzi always gave her, warm and easy, but this time Paige’s stomach flipped, her heart pounding harder.

Azzi noticed the shift in her demeanor immediately, her smile faltering slightly as her brows knitted together. “What’s up, P?” she asked gently, tilting her head to study Paige’s expression.

Paige’s lips parted as if to answer, but no words came out. She turned her gaze away, her heart hammering too loudly in her chest for her to think straight. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Azzi’s fingers stilled against hers, and she shifted closer, her tone soft but persistent. “Hey… talk to me. What’s going on?”

Paige hesitated, glancing down at their hands again. She exhaled a shaky breath before finally lifting her eyes to meet Azzi’s. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Az, do you like me?”

Azzi froze, her breath catching at the unexpected question they had been dancing around. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, completely caught off guard by the fragile, hesitant way Paige had asked. Her heart stuttered as she processed the weight behind the words.

“Of course I like you, Paige,” she finally said, her voice soft but steady.

Paige bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a moment before she looked back at Azzi, her eyes searching. “Then why don’t we ever talk about it?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Azzi blinked, struggling to find the right words. She glanced away, running her thumb over Paige’s knuckles before meeting her gaze again. “Because I’m scared,” she admitted quietly.

Paige’s brow furrowed, her chest tightening. “Scared of what?”

Azzi hesitated, her own heart racing now. She could feel the vulnerability in her chest, raw and exposed, but something about the way Paige looked at her—so open, so unsure—made her want to be completely honest.

“I’m scared of how you make me feel,” Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m 19 and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. It’s like… it’s like I’ve known you my entire life. Like everything before UConn, me not being able to stand the sight of you, you being the rudest person I’d met didn’t happen. And that scares me, P. It scares me that all I remember about you now is this charming, sweet, beautiful version of you that I just got to know.”

Paige’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching as Azzi’s words washed over her.

Azzi looked down at their hands, her voice trembling slightly. “But I’m also scared that if I admit why I feel this way… if something goes wrong… I’ll lose you. And you’re not just… this person I like, Paige. You're not just one of my teammates. You’re my best friend and I can’t mess that up.”

The confession hung in the air, making the air heavy. Paige’s heart clenched, her throat tightening as she processed Azzi’s words. Paige’s lips curved into a small, nervous smile, her cheeks faintly flushed as she tightened her grip on Azzi’s fingers. Her voice was soft, almost timid, as she said, “I like you too, Az.”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a smile, the corners quirking up slightly. She tilted her head, a playful yet knowing glint in her eyes. “I know you do,” she whispered, her tone light but her gaze warm, almost tender.

Paige let out a soft, breathy laugh, but it quickly faded as her mind went elsewhere. Her gaze flickered to Azzi’s lips for the briefest moment before her eyes found hers again. “I really want to kiss you. I always want to kiss you,” she admitted, her voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the delicate moment between them.

Azzi’s fingers stilled against Paige’s. For a second, the idea tempted her, pulling at her heartstrings, imagining how soft Paige’s lips would be against hers, but she exhaled slowly and shook her head gently. “We can’t, P,” she said softly, her tone firm but kind.

Paige’s brows furrowed slightly, and Azzi didn’t miss the flicker of hurt that flashed in her eyes. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, but it lingered enough to twist something in Azzi’s chest.

Paige looked down at their hands, her voice quiet but insistent as she voiced the real reason neither of them ever mentioned their feelings. “Teammates date all the time, Az. It’s not like it would be a big deal.”

Azzi gave her a sad smile, squeezing her hand lightly. “But they also break up all the time,” she said softly. “And then things get weird all the time. And someone ends up having to leave, most of the time.”

Azzi paused, glancing away as if gathering her thoughts. When she looked back at Paige, her gaze was steady, though her voice remained gentle. “I like it here, P. I like it here with you. With the team. And…” She hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I’ve wanted this—playing at UConn—since I was a kid. It was all I dreamed of and I don’t want to lose that.”

Paige’s lips parted as if to respond, but Azzi beat her to it.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Azzi said, her voice quiet but earnest.

Paige’s chest ached at the sincerity in Azzi’s words, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, her lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “Who said it would be you that left?” she asked softly.

Azzi’s expression softened even further, her eyes locking with Paige’s. She shook her head slightly, her voice calm and sure. “You’re Paige Bueckers,” she murmured. “It’s gonna be me.”

The words hung in the air between them, the few words saying everything Azzi didn’t need to explain. Paige hummed quietly, her lips pressing into a thin line before she leaned forward, resting her cheek gently on Azzi’s head.

That was all Azzi needed to say as their conversation tapered off, the silence that followed filled with unspoken understanding. Both of them knew what was at stake, and though it hurt, there was a quiet agreement between them—a fragile truce between their hearts and their reality.

Azzi’s hand returned to Paige’s, her fingers resuming their slow, absent-minded play. Paige’s gaze flickered toward the TV, though she wasn’t really watching the movie anymore as her mind wandered. She sighed softly, letting herself relax against Azzi as she kissed the top of her head.

April 2022

It was April now, and the season had officially come to an end. They lost in the championship, though no one talks about that. They’re all just trying to move on and enjoy the time they have left with the seniors. The two of them had barely spoken about their feelings for one another since the night in Paige’s dorm. Nothing had changed between them, but at the same time, everything felt different. The way Paige looked at Azzi with her blue eyes made her breath catch in her throat everytime and every time she would play it off by pushing Paige’s face away mumbling something she would never clarify. Paige was basically whipped and would do anything Azzi asked without hesitation and everyone noticed.

Now, they were lying in Azzi’s room, the faint hum of Paige’s playlist filling the quiet space. Paige was stretched out on her stomach, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, while Azzi sat cross-legged at the head of the bed, twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers.

Paige glanced up, her brows furrowing as she caught the nervous energy radiating from Azzi. The girl was unusually quiet, her eyes flickering toward Paige every few seconds before darting away again.

Setting her phone aside, Paige shifted to sit up. “Okay, what’s going on? Seriously, Azzi, why are you being so weird today?”

Azzi froze, her fingers stilling in her hair. Her jaw tightened as if she were trying to hold something back, but after a long pause, she exhaled sharply and blurted, “I have a date.”

For a moment, Paige didn’t react. She couldn’t have heard her correctly as the words hung in the air between them, and then, slowly, she processed them and the impact hit. Her body stiffened, and she immediately sat up straighter, instinctively leaning back a little to stand up.

“Oh,” Paige said softly, her voice clipped. She tried to mask the hurt, but her expression betrayed her. The usual flicker of pain in her eyes was brief, but this time it lingered and it twisted something deep in Azzi’s stomach as she looked at her..

“Wait.” Azzi reached out quickly, her hand wrapping around Paige’s wrist before she could pull away completely. “Please don’t do that. Sit back down and just listen.”

Paige hesitated, her gaze hardening slightly as she stared at Azzi’s hand on her wrist. “Do what?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

Azzi softened her grip, but she didn’t let go. “You know what I mean,” she said quietly. “Don’t pull away from me.”

Reluctantly, Paige let herself sink back onto the bed, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “So...you have a date,” she said, forcing the words out as if testing how they sounded in her mouth. “That’s great, Az. Really. Good for you.”

Azzi sighed, sensing the sarcasm, but she ignored it. “Paige,” she said, her voice quieter now. She shifted closer, still holding Paige’s wrist as if afraid she might bolt. “I just need you to be my best friend and support me in this just for tonight. No matter how much neither of us wants this.”

Paige’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Why are you even going, then?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Azzi’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Her gaze dropped to their hands, where her thumb traced absent patterns on Paige’s skin. “Because I need to at least try,” she admitted finally, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “I need to at least try to figure out if anyone else can make me feel the way you do. Feel even a fraction of what you make me feel.”

Paige inhaled sharply at this, her chest feeling almost painful as she listened to Azzi. She turned her face away, but Azzi wasn’t having it. Her free hand came up, gently cupping Paige’s cheek and guiding her back. Their eyes met, and Azzi’s own gaze softened.

“These silent feelings between us hurt too much, P,” Azzi whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “So I need to at least try. So I know what I need to do.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at the simple thought of Azzi being with someone else. At the thought of Azzi still needing to figure things out when Paige knew exactly how she felt. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she nodded and said, “Fine.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hand dropping back to Paige’s. “So tonight you’re just going to be my best friend. You’re going to help me get ready,” she continued, her tone firm but gentle. “You’re going to tell me if I look nice enough before I leave. And when I come back, you’re going to let me tell you about it. Good or bad.”

A tear slipped down Paige’s cheek and she felt so damn dramatic, but Azzi didn’t mind as she caught it, her touch lingering. “Can I meet them?” Paige asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Azzi’s smile softened as she nodded. “Of course.”

For a moment, they simply sat there, the silence between them louder than the music playing softly in the background. Paige’s shoulders sagged slightly as she leaned back, letting Azzi hold her hand for a little longer.

…

Azzi stood in front of her closet, two shirts in hand, her nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. She wasn’t even nervous about the date. She was nervous she would hate it, nervous what it meant for her and Paige. The knock at the door hadn’t come yet, but she knew it was only a matter of minutes. She turned to Paige, who sat quietly on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap as her gaze lingered somewhere near Azzi’s shoes lost in her own thoughts.

Holding up both shirts, Azzi cleared her throat. “Which one?” she asked softly, her voice laced with hesitation. “The red or the white?”

Paige blinked, her head lifting as she regarded the options. She pointed to the red shirt after a moment, her voice steady but quieter than usual. “Red. It makes your eyes look...brighter.”

The comment hit Azzi harder than Paige intended. Her heart ached, but she swallowed it down, nodding as she turned back toward the closet. “Red it is,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Paige’s eyes followed Azzi as she changed into the chosen shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. She tried not to let her emotions show, but the faint furrow of her brows and the way she pressed her lips together betrayed her.

When Azzi finally turned around, fully dressed, Paige’s breath caught for a moment. She offered a soft, sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Azzi hesitated before stepping closer, the space between them narrowing until she was standing between Paige’s legs. She placed her hands gently on Paige’s shoulders, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of Paige’s sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry, P,” Azzi whispered, her voice cracking slightly. Her dark eyes searched Paige’s face, pleading for understanding.

Paige looked up at her, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of Azzi’s shirt. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “You look beautiful, Az.”

The sincerity in her tone made Azzi’s chest tighten. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

The sound was jarring, cutting through the moment like a blade. Azzi flinched slightly, her hands still resting on Paige’s shoulders as her gaze darted toward the door.

Paige’s hand fell back into her lap, and she looked down, her expression unreadable. Azzi hesitated, torn between the pull of the person waiting on the other side of the door and the weight of the person sitting in front of her.

Paige and Azzi knew it was only one day. They knew it was just a few hours. But they also knew that the outcome of these few hours could change a lot for them so it felt much heavier than it needed to.

After a beat, she took a deep breath and squeezed Paige’s shoulders gently before stepping away. “I...should get that,” Azzi said.

Paige nodded, her eyes never leaving the floor. “Yeah. You should.”

Azzi lingered for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy, before turning toward the door.

A few moments later Azzi walked back into the room, her keys in hand and her purse slung over her shoulder. Paige hadn’t moved an inch from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her gaze stayed fixed on the floor.

Azzi paused, watching her for a moment before breaking the silence. “Do you still want to meet him?”

Paige’s head lifted slightly, her brows furrowing. “Him?” she repeated, her voice tinged with surprise.

Azzi nodded, noticing the surprise in Paige’s voice. “Yeah... him.”

Paige blinked, the answer catching her off guard. For some reason, she had assumed Azzi’s date was a girl. She wanted to stay put, to ignore the question and let Azzi walk out the door, but the subtle look in Azzi’s eyes—uncertain, almost pleading—made her sigh.

Without a word, Paige pushed herself off the bed, her movements stiff and reluctant. She followed Azzi down the hall and into the living room, her stomach twisting the closer they got.

When they stepped into the room, Paige’s eyes landed on a guy sitting on the couch. He stood up as Azzi approached, a friendly but slightly awkward smile on his face.

“Derrick,” Azzi said, her voice a little hesitant as she gestured between them. “This is my best friend, Paige.”

Derrick looked between the two of them, his confusion evident, though he masked it quickly. “Uh, nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.

Paige stared at him for a moment before sticking out her own hand, her grip firm as they shook. “Paige,” she said simply, her tone polite but distant.

“Derrick,” he replied, his smile still in place, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Why the hell was he meeting a best friend?

Azzi’s gaze flickered between them, her discomfort evident. Paige released Derrick’s hand and took a small step back, tightening her jaw as she glanced at Azzi. “Well,” she said, her voice clipped, “have fun.”

Azzi nodded, but as she turned toward the door with Derrick, she glanced back over her shoulder. “You’ll be here when I get back, right?”

Her voice was soft, almost pleading, as she looked at Paige with eyes she could never say no to. So she swallowed hard, her expression unreadable at the thought of just sitting here waiting for Azzi to get back from a fucking date, but still, she gave a small nod. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

Azzi lingered for a moment, her eyes searching Paige’s face as if she wanted to say something more. But then Derrick shifted beside her, and the moment was gone. She turned back toward the door, leading Derrick out with a quiet goodbye.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Paige exhaled, sinking back onto the edge of the couch. The silence in the apartment felt deafening, and all she could do was sit there and wait for Azzi to come back with a decision.

…

Paige lay sprawled on Azzi’s bed, her arm resting over her eyes, but when the door creaked open, she shifted slightly, glancing up to see Azzi walking in. She didn’t say anything, and neither did Azzi at first. The room felt still, with unspoken words.

Azzi took a hesitant step forward, her voice soft as she broke the silence. “Thank you for staying.”

Paige gave her a small, tired smile, but her lips remained sealed. Azzi studied her for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. She slipped off her shoes and dropped her bag near the door, walking over to sit on the edge of her bed.

The movement made Paige sit up, her legs crossed as she now faced Azzi. The quiet stretching between them until Paige finally asked, “So... how was it?”

Azzi laughed, though the sound carried more exasperation than amusement. “It was... exhausting.” She shook her head and reached for Paige’s hand, running her fingers lightly over the soft skin. “His hands were really hard.”

Paige chuckled, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Hard hands, huh? What a dealbreaker.”

Azzi laughed again, this time more genuine. “Yeah, and he talked too much. Like, nonstop. It was giving me a headache. And he had so much energy.” She glanced up at Paige, a teasing glint in her eye. “Kinda like you, but... I didn’t like it when he was doing it.”

Paige laughed softly, though there was still tension in her frame. “So, hard hands and a chatterbox. What else?”

Azzi paused, her fingers tightening slightly around Paige’s. Her voice dropped a little as she continued. “He tried to kiss me.”

Paige froze, her jaw tightening, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Did he?” she asked, her voice carefully even.

Azzi shook her head, squeezing Paige’s hand to ground her. “No. I didn’t let him.”

Paige’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though her eyes still searched Azzi’s face. “You didn’t want to?”

Azzi shook her head again, her gaze soft but steady. “No... I didn’t want to kiss him.”

The words hung between them, heavy and loaded with everything unsaid. Paige swallowed hard, her free hand playing with the comforter beneath them. “Why not?”

Azzi looked at her then, her eyes brimming with an emotion Paige couldn’t quite place. “Because he’s not you. I don’t want anybody but you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s chest felt tight at the words, her heart pounding as she held Azzi’s gaze. After a beat, she murmured, “I’m going to kiss you now Az.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly. “No, you’re not, Paige. We talked about this,” she said, her voice trembling. But there was no conviction behind her words, only a faint tremor of fear.

“Yes, I am,” Paige replied, her voice firmer this time, her gaze unwavering.

Azzi swallowed hard, her eyes darting between Paige’s eyes and her lips. “Paige...”

Paige leaned in just a fraction, her voice softer now but still resolute. “Azzi.”

Azzi’s breathing quickened, her pulse racing as her name fell from Paige’s lips. She didn’t say anything else, her silence speaking louder than words.

Paige hesitated for a moment longer, searching Azzi’s face for any sign of hesitation, any sign showing she didn’t want this. When all she saw was a mixture of nervousness and longing that was all the confirmation she needed.

Slowly, she leaned in, her movements deliberate and careful. When their lips finally met, it was as if the world around them fell away. Paige’s lips were soft, warm, and hesitant, testing the waters as if afraid to break the fragile moment.

Azzi sighed into the kiss, her hand coming up to cradle Paige’s face immediately as their lips moved together in perfect rhythm. Paige’s lips were impossibly soft which didn’t surprise her and Paige swore she could taste the faintest hint of the pineapple lip gloss Azzi always wore.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or messy. It was tender, filled with every unspoken word they’d held back for months. Paige’s hand slid up to cup Azzi’s cheek, her thumb brushing against her skin as if trying to memorize the feeling.

As they continued to kiss Azzi felt something shift deep within her, like she’d discovered a missing piece of herself in this kiss. Her fingers curled into Paige’s hair, pulling her closer as if she didn’t want her to ever let go.

After their lips finally part, they stay close, foreheads resting together as they catch their breath. Neither of them says anything at first, the silence filled with the weight of what just happened. Paige finally whispers, “That felt… right.”

Azzi lets out a shaky laugh. “It did. That’s the problem.”

Paige pulls back slightly, searching Azzi’s face. “Why does it have to be a problem? We can figure it out Az, teammates really do date all the time.”

Azzi sighs, running a hand through her hair. “They do, but it’s never simple. It changes things, P. And I don’t want us to get... messy.”

Paige frowns, her voice softer now. “It doesn’t feel messy. It feels... easy.”

Azzi smiles at her, almost wistfully. “Until it’s not. And I like us a little too much, Paige. I don’t want to lose us.”

Despite her words, Azzi doesn’t pull away completely. Instead, she stays close, her fingers tracing soft patterns along Paige’s wrist. “I’m not saying we stop, though.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Azzi bites her lip, looking a little shy as she speaks. “I don’t want to stop kissing you. Or touching you. I just... we need to figure this out without rushing into something we can’t handle.”

Paige hesitates, then nods. “So... no labels.... this?”

Azzi smiles, leaning her forehead against Paige’s again. “Just this. For now.”

July 2022

Those two words—“just this”—became the foundation of what they shared for the next few months. They didn’t need a label to define the intensity of what they felt for each other. It was in the stolen glances and whispers during events, the playful nudges when they just wanted to touch each other in public without drawing too much attention, and the way their hands would linger just a moment too long when ‘helping’ the other with something.

When they weren’t surrounded by teammates, they were all over each other, sneaking away for stolen moments whenever they could. Any excuse to feel the press of their lips, the warmth of the other’s skin, was enough. It was like they craved one another in a way neither of them had ever experienced before.

A few of their teammates had definitely caught on—walking in on them tangled up on the couch looking a little too disoriented or catching them whispering a little too closely in the locker room. But no one said anything, at least not directly. Paige and Azzi kept it to just kissing, though, never crossing the boundary they both silently agreed to respect.

Late one night, in the comfort of Azzi’s room after another heated make-out session, they found themselves lying side by side, breathless and grinning. Azzi, her cheeks flushed, tilted her head toward Paige and asked with curiosity, “How did you not have sex before I got here? You were at UConn a whole year without me. I’ve seen people throw themselves at you.”

Paige laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she propped herself up on her elbow. “I used to be a robot, remember?” she teased, grinning. “No time for distractions when I was locked in..”

Azzi chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, but even robots can have moments.”

Paige smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to Azzi���s forehead. “Hm, guess I was just waiting for the right person then.”

Their connection had grown deeper with every passing day, and though they’d never said the words out loud again, both knew it was more than just physical. But that’s all they chalked it up to being for now.

Now they were back home in the DMV, where the familiarity and privacy of their hometown gave them a sense of freedom they didn’t have anywhere else.

Paige’s car was parked in their usual spot near a waterfall, the soft hum of Steve Lacy’s new album filling the quiet night air. They found it by accident once when they were looking for the parking lot of a kicking trail. It had become their place—a quiet escape from everything else. The faint rush of water mixed with the lingering scent of smoke from them smoking, something Olivia had introduced them to before she graduated. They didn’t do it often, but tonight felt right.

Paige was relaxed in the driver’s seat, her posture lazy, exuding effortless confidence. She was kind of manspreading, her grey sweats riding low on her hips, and her tank top pushed up just enough to reveal the band of her boxers. Her wavy hair was undone from the braids she’d taken out earlier, and her blue eyes were low and rimmed with a little red from smoking. Her gaze was locked on Azzi. The stupid, lopsided grin she always wore only made her look better.

Azzi sat leaning against the passenger door, her head resting on the cool glass as she tried to focus on what Paige was saying. Or at least, she thought Paige had been talking. Truthfully, Azzi hadn’t been listening for a while. Her gaze kept drifting, tracing the way Paige’s exposed skin looked and how the tank top clung to her, how casual she looked yet somehow so put together. She noticed every detail—the rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the way her fingers tapped idly against her knee, the curve of her lips when she smiled.

She was startled out of her thoughts when Paige’s voice cut through the haze, soft and teasing. “Why you all the way over there?”

“Huh?” Azzi blinked, her cheeks warming as she realized Paige was smirking at her.

Paige leaned back even more, spreading her arms over the top of the seat like she owned the world. “I said, why you all the way over there?” she repeated, gesturing lazily toward Azzi’s position against the door. “I been tryna talk to you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered, trying to sound unaffected, but Paige’s smirk only grew.

“Yeah ok” Paige said back, her voice dropping just enough to make Azzi’s stomach flip. “Why you here with me then? Wassup with that?”

Azzi shrugged, turning her gaze toward the windshield to avoid Paige’s lingering eyes. “Maybe I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she teased, her voice steady despite the heat rising in her cheeks.

Paige let out a soft laugh, low and warm, the sound wrapping around Azzi like a blanket. “Oh, you’re doing me a favor now huh? That’s cute.” She tilted her head, studying Azzi with a playful intensity. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why you sitting all the way over there like I’m some stranger?”

Azzi hesitated, shifting in her seat. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Paige interrupted, her grin turning mischievous. She patted the console beside her. “C’mon. What, you scared of me now or something?”

Azzi scoffed, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing. “Scared of you? Please,” she said, forcing her tone to stay light.

Paige raised an eyebrow, her expression daring. “Then come here ma,” she said simply, her voice soft but commanding.

Azzi glanced at her, debating whether to give in or keep playing it cool. “You’re annoying, you know that?” she muttered as she slid across the console, settling closer to Paige.

Paige leaned slightly toward her, the distance between them now almost nonexistent. “You came over here didn’t you,” she teased, her voice dropping into a whisper.

Azzi rolled her eyes again, though it was more out of nervousness than annoyance. “Only because you wouldn’t shut up about it,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Sure,” Paige said, drawing out the word as her lips curved into a smirk. “You definitely didn’t just want to be closer to me. Totally makes sense.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, leaning back slightly to create some space. “You’re so full of yourself Paige.”

Paige laughed, the sound low and teasing. “Am I wrong, though?” she asked, her blue eyes locking onto Azzi’s. “You’ve been staring at me all night. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Azzi froze for a moment before recovering, her voice sharp with mock indignation. “I was not staring!”

Paige tilted her head, her grin widening. “Mhm. Sure you weren’t.” She leaned in just a little closer, her voice dropping lower. “It’s okay, Azzi. I get it. You can just tell me you want me.”

Azzi opened her mouth to protest, but Paige’s hand moved, brushing against Azzi’s chin and tilting her face up. The playful glint in Paige’s eyes softened, replaced by something deeper, something that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

“See? Not so scary,” Paige murmured, her thumb lightly grazing Azzi’s jaw.

Azzi swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as the teasing tension between them shifted into something heavier. “I hate you,” she whispered, though her voice betrayed her, trembling just enough to make Paige’s grin return.

“And you’re blushing,” Paige countered, her voice soft and teasing as her face moved even closer.

Azzi could feel Paige’s breath now, warm and tantalizing. “Shut up,” she managed to say, though her words held no weight.

“Make me,” Paige whispered, her lips hovering just above Azzi’s.

And then, before Azzi could respond, Paige closed the gap, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly deepened. Azzi melted into it, her hand instinctively reaching for Paige’s arm, anchoring herself as the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them and the sound of the waterfall in the background.

The kiss was slow but deep, each movement deliberate, the effects of them smoking clear in the way their lips brushed languidly against each other, their tongues tangling slowly. It was intoxicating, neither of them wanting to pull away, but when they finally did, Azzi leaned back against the passenger door, her breathing uneven.

Paige didn’t say anything, but her smirk said it all. Her lips were slightly swollen, glistening in the dim light, and Azzi couldn’t help but think about how annoyingly good she looked. Paige leaned back against the driver’s side door now, her posture relaxed as she let her eyes rake over Azzi without any attempt to hide it.

Azzi shifted under the weight of Paige’s gaze, finally breaking the silence. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Paige chuckled, the sound low and lazy. “Like what?” she asked, though the mischievous tilt of her head made it clear she knew exactly what Azzi meant.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re eye-fucking me, Paige.”

Paige’s grin widened as she shrugged, entirely unbothered. “And?” she replied, her tone dripping with nonchalance, her eyes locked on Azzi.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, struggling to maintain her composure. “And you need to stop,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt.

Paige tilted her head back against the driver’s seat, her smirk deliberate. “No, I don’t,” she shot back smoothly, her confidence filling the small space between them like a slow burn.

The weight of Paige’s gaze made Azzi shift, her thighs pressing together as she crossed her legs in an attempt to quell the heat rising in her. Paige noticed immediately, of course. She always noticed the effect she had on Azzi. Her smirk deepened, and her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

They stared at each other, the tension palpable. Then Paige broke the silence, her voice dropping lower, softer, almost like a confession. “You’re sexy.”

Azzi froze, her breath catching as the words warmed her entire body. The sincerity and heat in Paige’s tone made her heart pound, leaving her momentarily speechless.

Paige leaned forward slightly, the intensity in her gaze almost unbearable. “You have no idea what I wanna do to you all the time,” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe.

Azzi didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she found herself leaning forward too, drawn in by the gravity between them. Her hand moved almost on its own, resting against Paige’s thigh as her eyes dropped to Paige’s lips.

Paige noticed the hesitation and closed the distance herself, capturing Azzi’s lips in a kiss that was slower but hungrier this time. It was as if the compliment had ignited something in both of them, and they poured all of it into the kiss.

Azzi sighed softly against Paige’s mouth, her hand sliding up from Paige’s thigh to her hip, her fingers curling into the fabric of Paige’s tank top. Paige groaned quietly, a sound Azzi always loved to hear. Paige’s hand found Azzi’s jaw as she deepened the kiss, tilting her head to taste more.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were shallow, their foreheads resting against each other. Paige’s lips were swollen again, glistening in the dim light, but this time, Azzi didn’t look away. Her dark eyes stayed locked on Paige’s, and there was no mistaking the spark of something deeper in her gaze.

Azzi swallowed hard, her voice soft but steady when she finally spoke. “Let’s get in the back.”

Paige’s eyes widened slightly, tracing every detail of Azzi’s face as if searching for any hesitation. She knew exactly what Azzi meant by that, and the weight of the moment settled between them. “You sure?” Paige asked quietly, her voice careful and almost reverent.

Azzi nodded, her lips twitching into a small, confident smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It took all of two seconds for Paige to push her seat forward and climb in the backseat, her movements quick but measured. Azzi followed without hesitation, and before Paige could even settle fully, Azzi was there. She straddled Paige’s lap with ease, her legs on either side of the older girl as her hands rested on Paige’s shoulders.

Paige leaned back slightly against the seat, her hands instinctively finding Azzi’s hips to steady her. She looked up at Azzi, her blue eyes soft yet filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Paige murmured, her voice low and teasing, though the sincerity beneath it was undeniable.

Azzi smirked, her hands sliding down Paige’s arms until her fingers laced with hers. “Guess we’re even, then,” she whispered, leaning down just enough for their noses to brush.

Paige chuckled softly, her grip on Azzi’s hips tightening as she let her eyes drift over Azzi’s face, soaking in every detail. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

Azzi didn’t hesitate, closing the small gap between them as their lips met again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper now, fueled by the intimacy of their new position. Paige’s hands slid to Azzi’s ass, pulling her closer as if the small space between them was unbearable.

Azzi shifted slightly, her body fitting perfectly against Paige’s as the kiss grew hungrier, more consuming. It wasn’t just about the physical connection anymore—it was the unspoken understanding between them, the trust and care they had built over months finally coming to the surface.

Paige pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips brushing against Azzi’s as she whispered, “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Azzi smiled softly, her forehead resting against Paige’s as she replied, “You make me feel like I am.”

Paige’s heart swelled at the confession, and she tightened her hold on Azzi, leaning up to kiss her again, slow and deliberate, savoring every moment.

They continued to kiss, the rhythm of their lips synchronized as Azzi gently moved her hips, trying to get closer to Paige, to feel her more. Every shift brought them that much nearer, the heat between them escalating with each subtle motion. Paige’s hands stayed on Azzi’s butt, pulling her even tighter as she squeezed, if that was even possible. Their kiss deepened, more frantic now, their shared breaths mingling between the fervent exchanges.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were gasping for air, their chests rising and falling in unison. Paige’s gaze swept over Azzi, her heart racing. She wished she could freeze this exact moment in time—this version of Azzi. The long goddess braids she had gotten over the summer were tilted to one side, a few strands loose, framing her face. Her lips were swollen, a telltale sign of their heated kiss, and her eyes—those deep, warm brown eyes—were low with desire, the slight speckles of red still lingering from earlier.

Azzi smiled down at Paige, her expression soft yet knowing, as if she could read the thoughts running through Paige’s mind. Before Paige could even respond, Azzi’s lips found her neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin there, making Paige’s breath hitch.

The sensation was electric. Paige’s head instinctively rolled back against the seat, her hands tightening on Azzi, a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaping her lips. Azzi’s kisses grew more insistent, trailing up to the sensitive spot just below Paige’s ear, making Paige’s eyes flutter shut. She couldn’t help but moan softly as Azzi’s lips worked their magic.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s hips, pulling her closer as if trying to bring her even further into the moment. “Azzi…” Paige breathed out, her voice barely a whisper, laced with both desire and disbelief. “God, you’re so…”

Azzi chuckled softly against her skin, her hands resting on either side of Paige’s face, gently guiding her chin back so their eyes could meet. She looked at Paige, her brown eyes dark with unspoken affection, a hint of a smirk on her lips as she whispered, “I know.”

The warmth from her words hit Paige harder than any kiss. It was a feeling that went deeper than desire. It was comfort, understanding, and the raw honesty between them. Paige smiled, her heart swelling, as her hands cupped Azzi’s face, pulling her into another kiss, this one slower, but no less intense.

Azzi eventually pulls away from the kiss, her lips brushing softly down Paige’s jaw before she grabs Paige’s hand, guiding it easily toward her. The look on Paige’s face is pure awe as Azzi slides Paige’s hands into her shorts and puts Paige’s fingers inside her herself—her eyes heavy with desire, a subtle tension in her jaw, and a hint of something deeper that makes Paige lose her mind. Azzi’s expression shifts her eyebrows furrowing at the new feeling as she leans back slightly, letting out a soft, breathy sigh that carries the weight of her unspoken thoughts.

Paige watches, completely entranced, as Azzi’s jaw drops just slightly. After she’s acclimated to the feeling her hips begin to move in slow, deliberate circles, drawing out a soft whimper from her lips—an involuntary sound that makes Paige’s chest tighten. The noise is so intimate, so raw, it echoes in the car, mixing with the steady rhythm of Azzi’s breath.

Paige’s breath hitches as Azzi leans back more, the motion drawing a deep, almost melodic groan from her, her hips still moving in a steady rhythm against Paige. "God..." Azzi whispers, the sound escaping her like it’s the only word she can form. Her hands grip the seat, fingers digging in as her breath comes out faster, warmer, the pace of her movements increasing just enough to make Paige’s heart race. Another sound slips from her—low and needy, a soft gasp as her hips shift again, making the air feel thick with anticipation.

Paige watches, mesmerized, not even realizing she’s supposed to be participating anymore. She’s completely lost in Azzi—her gaze trailing over her face, watching her lips part as another small moan escapes. Azzi’s eyes lock onto hers, dark and heated, as she continues to move her hips, her breath quickening. The faintest trail of a whimper follows, rising in pitch, but it’s quickly stifled by a soft, desperate sigh as Azzi shifts her body closer to Paige, creating a tension that wraps around them both.

The sounds continue—Azzi’s hips grinding slowly, her breath coming out in shaky, needy gasps. She exhales sharply, a soft, pleading sound leaving her mouth as she leans back just enough to deepen the way Paige’s fingers feel, creating a slow, undeniable pressure in the air. Her sounds—soft whines, quiet groans, and breathy sighs—are so intoxicating, so raw, that Paige can hardly breathe, let alone move.

"Azzi..." Paige’s voice trembles with desire, barely audible over the intensity of what she’s witnessing. Her eyes stay glued to Azzi, transfixed by the way she’s moving, her body begging for something more as the heat in the car rises with every sound, every shift of Azzi’s hips.

Azzi looks down at her with a knowing, intense gaze, and Paige can feel her heart racing in time with Azzi’s movements. She’s lost in the rawness of it all—the sound, the look, the feeling—as Azzi’s body moves against hers with a quiet desperation, each sound marking the space between them like a rhythm that only the two of them understand.

Azzi’s gaze locks with Paige’s, her breath shaky as she leans in closer, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear as she whispers, her voice breathy and laced with anticipation, “What exactly did you want to do to me?”

Paige’s breath catches in her throat, the sound of Azzi’s voice making everything inside her feel warm. It’s as though the spell that had been cast over her is broken. Her body reacts instinctively, and with a sharp intake of breath, Paige takes control. She slides her free hand to the back of Azzi’s neck, pulling her closer, crashing their lips together in a more urgent kiss than before. The kiss is deep and slow, laced with the power of the question Azzi had just asked.

Azzi's breath quickens as Paige starts moving inside of her, the balance of power shifting as Paige’s fingers move with more confidence, pushing Azzi’s body closer to hers. The energy in the car shifts as their kiss intensifies, moving beyond just desire.

The album continues to play softly in the background, the mellow tones of Steve Lacy’s voice creating a calm, almost hypnotic atmosphere as they lose themselves in one another. The windows of Paige’s Jeep fog up from the heat building between them, the condensation on the glass becoming a blur of the world outside, leaving only the two of them in their own space, their own universe. The world beyond the car doesn’t matter anymore.

For hours, they drift in and out of each other’s embrace, neither one of them paying attention to time. The soft, steady rhythm of the music plays on as they explore every inch of the moment, every whisper and touch, the sensations of being so close to each other for the first time pulling them deeper.

The hours slip by unnoticed, the tension between them never quite breaking, just ebbing and flowing with each kiss, each gentle caress as they explore one another completely.

…

The air in the car is sticky with the aftermath of what just transpired, the faint sound of Steve Lacy finally being turned off as Paige sits back in the driver’s seat, her lips curling into a smirk as she glances over at Azzi, who’s adjusting her clothes, her body language still completely relaxed from their time in the backseat. Paige lets out a slow breath, clearly pleased with herself.

“So…” Paige begins, her voice low and teasing. “How was that?”

Azzi, still catching her breath, looks at her with a knowing grin. “You tell me.” Her tone is just as confident now, the playful challenge in her eyes matching the sharpness of her words. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’ that many times before.”

Paige chuckles, her smirk widening. “I didn’t know you could scream that loud,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief.

Azzi rolls her eyes, unbothered by the teasing, though a faint blush creeps up her neck. She doesn’t say anything back, the silence settling between them in a comfortable way.

But when Azzi looks back at Paige she finds the blonde looking at her the same way she was before—undeniably intense, eyes filled with that same hunger as if they didn’t just go for hours. It’s the same gaze that got Azzi in the back seat in the first place.

Azzi arches an eyebrow, lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “You can’t look at me like that all the time now,” she says, her voice teasing yet laced with a hint of warning.

Paige just grins, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “I’ll try my best,” she replies, her voice low but full of promise. As she says this, she reaches over to fasten Azzi’s seatbelt, her fingers brushing lightly against her exposed skin. As the belt clicks into place, Paige leans in and presses a lingering, soft kiss to Azzi’s lips before she fastens her own seatbelt.

The car pulls out of the spot, the engine humming softly as they start the drive back to Azzi’s place.

[na0koz]

can you pls write more toxic vi🤤

yes i Can!

the moment vi realised she actually likes you, your relationship instantly became impossibly more difficult. she avoids you even more and if you do hang out, she tries her best to keep your interactions to a minimum (fucking then leaving your apartment while you’re asleep).

after a couple of weeks of her acting up - somehow even more than she already had been - you called her about a thousand times until she picked up.

“the fuck do you want? christ…” she practically barked, running her hands through her hair as she leant on the front door of her apartment.

“i want you to hang out with me, violet! you’re acting even more like you hate me than usual recently, and i do not like it. if you want this to be over, just say it ‘cus i’ve had enough of you honestly,” you gush, sitting up in your bed and waving your hands around as if she was really in front of you.

there was a beat of silence, and you briefly thought she hung up on you when you brought your phone away from your ear. surprisingly, her contact was still displayed on the screen with the call still running.

“don’t call me violet,” her voice sounded softer than when she first answered your call. she sounded upset.

you scoffed loudly, “are you fucking kidding me? that’s all you have to say?”

more silence followed, and your patience was running thin.

“hello? i asked you a question.”

“don’t really know what you want me to say.”

you groaned at her tone of voice, bored and uninterested. “well for starters-“

vi was quick to interrupt you. “i don’t really have the energy for this. see you,” she hung up before you could even get a breath in.

in the following two weeks, you only saw vi once. even that was a result of her physically running into you by accident on a street near your apartment.

her eyes widened as she realised it was you who she’d bumped into, quickly changing her ‘watch where you’re fucking going’ to an ‘oh sorry’. she grimaced slightly at the way you gave her a horribly dirty look, clearly not too pleased to see her.

she swiftly made her way around you and hurried away. you could’ve sworn you heard her mumbling ‘fucking idiot’ to herself as she walked away.

about a week after that, you heard some loud knocking at your front door. groggily grabbing for your phone, you see that the time reads 4:23am. who the hell is at your door at this hour? you whine as you drag yourself up to answer.

swinging the door upon while rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re faced with a slightly drunk vi leaning on your door frame.

“um?” you rasp, sleep clouding your voice.

“hey…” vi mumbles. “i.. i need you, [name].”

she slumped forward into your shoulder as she babbled, you trying your absolute hardest to hold her muscular form upright, hearing her whining out a ‘please’ as you reluctantly shut the door behind her.

“you can’t just show up asking to fuck after barely speaking to me for three weeks, vi.”

“what-? no no. i’m not here to fuck you. i need you, please.” she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned at the sudden brightness as you flicked the light on.

you couldn’t even muster anything to say, pushing her to sit down while you stand opposite her. she squints up at you in return, looking completely helpless. sighing at her messed up state, you decide to join her on the sofa.

“what?” you question, trying your best not to get annoyed with her for showing up unannounced like this for the millionth time.

“just-“ she interrupted herself with a burp. “just like… hold me. please.”

before you can react, she leans herself onto you, resting her head in the space between your shoulder and chest. her weight pushed you to lie down on your sofa and she took the chance to make herself more comfortable.

her leg wrapped around you as she clutched your waist with one hand, using her free arm to push you to put your arms around her. she sighed shakily as your hand relaxed onto her back.

“sorry princess, i jus’ need this, okay?” she said quietly, her eyes drooping in time with the rise and fall of your chest.

you don’t say anything in return. you know she’s drunk, you can smell it on her, but a small part of yourself feels like she’s serious. drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

but of course, you wake up cold and with vi nowhere to be found. the only proof you have of her even being there was a faint smudge of her black eye makeup on your shirt.

she got scared and bailed in the middle of the night. again. she’s embarrassed, and toys between the ideas of either blocking you, changing her number or going back to your apartment and telling you how she really feels.

in the end, she doesn’t choose any of them. she can’t lose you completely, but she’s way too much of a coward to express her true feelings towards you. shocker.

[sxftmxlki]

Temporary Bliss; Albert Wesker

Pairing; S.T.A.R.S!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader

Genre; Smut

Word Count; 1.5k

Blurb; It's a slow day in the S.T.A.R.S. office and yet your captain is still overwhelmed with paperwork and like the diligent rookie you are, after catching him in the midst of his stress relief, who are you not to help him?

Warning(s); masturbation, voyeurism, blowjob, petnames ('sir', 'pet'), risk of being caught, office sex, Wesker being Wesker, possibly OOC, not proofread, porn w/ some plot.

AN; Probably the most self indulgent fic I have ever written, the Wesker brainworms are worming, lads. Also first ever actual fic on here and it's smut, because of course. F in chat for Chris.

Unfortunately for you and the rest of S.T.A.R.S, it had been a slow day in the RPD, nothing major happening besides a few phone calls and filing reports. The only other company your team gets is a spider scuttling across the floor. 

The unusual complete silence of Captain Wesker’s office soon catches attention, the captain usually at least being heard typing or muttering to himself but instead he was simply dead silent, like he wasn’t even there.

The team quickly began speculating what could cause the captain to be so silent, some suggested he was sleeping on the job, others guessing he was merely indulging in a hobby ��� like reading. 

But you, for some reason you couldn’t name, felt almost compelled to check Wesker’s office. You were a new recruit on the team, having joined barely two months ago, and in that time your captain never showed any tolerance towards you – always pushing you to do better or write more reports than the others. So, you couldn’t exactly decipher why you were now stood here during the late afternoon lunch break, planning to check on Wesker in his office. Perhaps you believed that if you showed some concern for his well-being, it’d earn you brownie points with him. 

As you stood there, debating whether or not to knock or simply leave, a faint sound caused you to pause. 

It was quiet, nearly imperceptible, you almost thought you had imagined it. But then you heard it again, louder this time. 

A thud, followed by a hissed curse.    You’re not sure what compelled you at that point but you suddenly found yourself pushing the captain’s door open to gaze into the office, and the sight that greeted you made you freeze. 

Wesker was leaning against the edge of his desk, the surface hidden under large piles of paperwork, his shirt and jacket laid haphazardly on the floor and his hand was slowly tracing up the expanse of his stomach towards his chest. 

You knew by that point, you should have just left, forgot you ever saw anything, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

And when you saw Wesker twist his nipple with a heavy breath, you couldn’t deny the hot flush of desire that pooled in your gut. 

Wesker’s hand continued its ministrations on his nipple, pulling and twisting the sensitive bud. He seemed entirely unaware of you watching him as his other hand slowly ran down his stomach, pausing at his belt buckle. 

With practised ease, Wesker undid his belt with a quick flick of his wrist. Making fast work of his pants buttons and pushing the fabric down his thighs, his cock springing free, the flared tip an angry shade of red and already leaking precum. 

Saliva pooled in your mouth as you watched Wesker wrap his hand around the base of his shaft, his head lolling back with a shuddering sigh at the contact. He stayed like that for a moment, simply relishing the feel of his hand wrapped around his thick girth before he slowly began to pump himself. 

Wesker’s breath turned heavier, tilting his head down to watch his hand work his shaft through half lidded eyes. His movements began to pick up, his hand now moving at a pace that made him have to stifle his gasps and moans. 

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been caught watching him until you pulled your gaze away from Wesker’s leaking cock to lock eyes with your captain, his normally icy blue eyes bore into yours with a dark hunger. 

Neither of you spoke for a long minute, Wesker’s hand still working himself as he just stared back at you, until... 

“Come here,” 

Wesker’s voice was low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the controlled, stoic demeanour he always protruded. 

Your legs moved before you could process it, walking into the captain's office, your mind a haze of your own arousal and anticipation. 

Wesker simply watched you for a moment, his face flushed as he fist-fucked himself in front of you. His lips were curled into a slight smirk, the captain not at all annoyed or angry by the revelation you were watching him. 

“I saw you watching,” he finally said, his voice a low growl. “You didn’t come in here just to stare, did you?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you were sure he’d gladly make a show of masturbating in front of you. 

“No, Sir.” The words left your mouth unbidden, fuelled by the arousal and desire building in your gut, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Wesker’s hand stroking his erection. 

Wesker’s fingers curled round your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He studied you a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your gaze kept darting downward. “Then what else are you here to do?” 

“Whatever you want.” Again, the words left you before you could stop them, you were acutely aware that the two of you were still technically in a public office, that someone could walk in at any moment and catch you but the thought only turned you on more. 

Wesker hummed, drinking in your words. Something about them made the coiling feeling in his gut tighten, the thought of you doing whatever he wanted fuelling his arousal. “Whatever I want?” He echoed, chuckling as he leaned closer to you, his breath hot on your face. “Are you sure?” 

For some unknown reason, all words failed you in that moment. You simply stared back at Wesker for a long second, you couldn’t articulate it but, you were sure. You wanted this. Wanted him. 

As you slowly nodded in response, Wesker hummed approvingly, leaning back against his desk and bracing his free hand on the surface. He ignored the few papers that fell to the floor at the sudden disturbance as his voice lowered to a deep, authoritative rumble. “Kneel for me.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice, sinking to your knees in front of him, the sight delighted Wesker more than he cared to admit. “Good pet.” He practically purred, his fingers carding through your hair before grabbing a handful of the soft strands and giving a light tug. 

“Since you’re already there,” he began, pushing your head forward slightly. “Might as well put your mouth to use.” You didn’t realise how close to his cock you were until his leaking tip was prodding at your lips, his precum smearing across your skin in a glistening sheen. You gulped at the sheer size of him, thick and long with a prominent vein running along the underside. 

Wesker notices your hesitance and lets out a disapproving growl, pushing your mouth closer to his cock. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He states simply, the words alone causing another spike of arousal within you as your mouth finally opens, wrapping your lips around the tip. 

Wesker’s head lolls back as you take him in your mouth, his breath leaving him in sharp gasps and his fingers tighten in your hair, only allowing you a few seconds to adjust to the stretch before he began moving your head up and down his shaft.  

The pace he set was firm, slightly uncomfortable but not unwelcome, and when your hands come up to fondle his balls, his stoic composure shattered. 

“Oh, fuck...just like that....you’re so good at this...” The words left him in a low mumble, but they rang out like a gunshot in the otherwise silent office, and you couldn’t deny the pride swelling up inside you. Your response was a hollowing of your cheeks, sucking him off firmly, which earned you a groan from Wesker as he glanced down to watch his cock disappear into the warm, wet confines of your mouth. 

His cock throbs in your throat, and you can tell he’s close. “Fuck...g-gonna-....gonna cum...m’close.....need to-” Wesker’s grip on your hair was borderline painful now but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, your mind a clouded haze dominated only by thoughts of Wesker and the way he’d began to thrust into your mouth at a brutal pace, his tip ramming the back of your throat and causing you to gag around him. 

“Oh, god....shit...I’m gonna....I’m-” Wesker was suddenly cut off by his own loud, sinful moan as he threw his head back in ecstasy. His hand in your hair forcing you down on his cock as his orgasm wracked through his body, your nose was practically flush with his pubic mound.  

Wesker’s moans echoed in his office as his cock shot thick ropes of warm cum down your throat, painting your insides white. He held you at the base of his cock for a long moment after his orgasm, giving a few lazy rolls of his hips as he rode out the last of his high before he eventually let go of your hair, allowing you to pull back off of his cock. 

His vision was hazy, the intensity of his orgasm leaving Wesker’s limbs heavy, but he still managed to gently pet the top of your head. Staring down at you with heavy breaths as he tried to at least compose himself, a few blonde strands of hair had been knocked loose from his pristine hairstyle and were now sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

Wesker was about to speak, his lips parting slightly, before the sound of the door opening caused both of your heads to whip round to see the stunned face of Chris Redfield in the doorway, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. 

[pricegouge]

I saw you were asking for horror prompts 😈 so here’s my scary perverted one:

Vampire!Nik who’s turned when his milaya is still a baby. Comes back 20+ years later to haunt and turn her so they can spend eternity together despite the fact that she doesn’t even remember him❤️🥀

-🗡️

okay, yeah. i had fun with this one, thank you!

cw: incest. age gap, but only kinda cause vampires. horror elements. vague vampire lore, including thralls. dubcon kissing/heavy petting. blood. unedited as usual, sorry. abrupt ending cause i ran out of steam. ~5k

he can't be bothered to watch over you for many years. life (death, rather) is just all so very exciting. he spread his wings. proverbial, maybe, though he's heard tell of something more ancient. more literal.

he doesn't forget you. how could he? you haunt his waking hours for what seems an eon, days and nights blurring until he has to rest for long years, wakes to a different time entirely and worries about how much he's missed.

much, as it turns out.

you're a proper woman when next he sees you, headstrong and borderline unrecognizable. he follows you for days, weeks. learns all your patterns, the quiet parts of yourself you seem to keep hidden behind locked doors he can only pass because he installed them, the bones of the house shaped by his own hands - an estate that's fallen to ruin, once-lavish halls picked apart by collectors, barren and drab with the dwindled staff. he tells himself it's a morbid type of curiosity but he knows better the second he lingers too long, sees you for the woman you've become when you undress before him, gazing upon yourself in a mirror that won't betray his presence, even if he wants it to. wants to see confusion cloud your face as recognition wars with your fear. you must have seen photos of him, your governess keeping you educated on the man who'd given you a name and a fortune and left in the night. he doesn't look quite look like himself anymore, but he more closely resembles you than he does his re-creator. and surely that in itself should sway you?

for you must be as lonely as him.

night fall is the worst for you, those lingering hours after the staff have retired where sleep eludes you, entices you to pick up hobbies which have not given you joy for many years. you'd been moved to the master suite some time back, the overlarge bed as tempting as a siren. you'd grown slovenly, your governess always said so. lax in your studies and far too melancholy to find a suitor.

but what could it matter, really? the estate had been searching tirelessly for a match since your first season, the only bachelors who'd made offers old and penniless. you still had a pretty enough dowry, but no one wanted to be saddled with the get of some wayward lord. not when there'd been no proper abdication. not when the specter of your father loomed over every inch of the estate, his fist still clutching at every gem. sometimes you imagined the sheets even still smelled like him, a faint trace that would linger some mornings and burn up with the sun when you finally let the maid in to draw the curtains.

but it was just a silly fantasy, some trace of comfort born from loneliness. in truth, the only possible clue you could have of your father's scent rests in the humidor tucked in the corner by the secretary - fine cigars turned stale, full-bodied notes now arid. hollow as the house itself.

you're sat with one, dry, peeling paper tickling your philtrum as you try to discern what flavors still linger. licorice, certainly; heavy and cloying. something earthier under it, a fine balance. leather, maybe. it's a distraction, a mindless way to pass the hours before you could feasibly fall into bed without your prying governess saying anything, shut your thoughts off for a time. you'd already written in your diary, another dull entry. brief with the monotony of your life. honestly, cataloging the notes you can pick out of these ancient, abandoned cigars would make for a more interesting read. this one still smells the strongest, though the paper has turned brittle with handling. sometimes you watch the gentlemen of the ton, carefully memorizing the precise way they snip the ends off, roll the cigar over the open flame of their lighters. you often imagine doing the same, like to picture yourself smoking the aged rolls expertly.

really, you know you'll end up in a coughing spell loud enough to wake the whole house, but the truth is you've never tried. it's a curiosity that's grown on you, the slow creep of moss over rotting trunks. you swap the cigar for something less flavorful, something that won't be missed, and rifle through the secretary until you find the little cigar kit you'd kept safely tucked away. maybe, like the rest of society, part of you expects it's owner to return someday, reclaim what's his.

the cigar falls apart a little, once clipped. flaky shreds of tobacco and other strong herb shake out at first, but you moisten the edges of it delicately, lick your fingers as daintily as possible and fuss about the paper until becomes slightly more malleable. lighting it is less of a chore than expected, the oils long dried. shake catching like tinder. you yelp and wave it out, stamp the little ashes that rain onto the carpet with a slippered toe. feel silly after. sillier still when you take your first drag and think for a moment you've managed to imbalance all your humors - immediate expectorant clogging your nose, inflaming the column of your neck. rough wool, still matted and nettled from the field fills your lungs and you cough, ragged and silent.

small blessing, no prying governess to heed your call.

light-headed, you wobble to the window, breathe deep of the frigid breeze you let in. winter steals in around you, rattles the pane on it's way past and sends the curtains fluttering. it makes your chest ache in a new way, but is a balm to your overheated skin, soothes your throat as you gasp for each breath. clutched in your fingers, the cigar glows brightly in the strong wind, crackling away happily. as your sinuses clear, you note the lingering heaviness of licorice, a black tar that seems to seep down your throat, gags you. you give it up for a bad job and smother it on the pane before tossing it onto the roof below. with any luck, a curious crow will snatch it away before spring melt off can dump it into the pasture, catch the attention of the gardeners. you've no clue how well-acquainted your governess is with the brands your father used to smoke and you've no plan to find out, resolving to leave the window open all night if you have to in order to clear the stench of your foolish endeavor.

the candles have guttered but it's no matter, the moon bright enough that you can disrobe and navigate to bed even without them. it's not a difficult endeavor anyway, the bed such a ridiculously oversized piece it dominated most of the room and called into question the size of the man who'd commissioned it. you drown in it most nights, restless, twisting yourself up in sheets that stretched on forever, wound around you until you'd wake gasping, clawing at your own belly as if to loosen the stays of a corset that wasn't there. the physician who'd come to see to you was unsympathetic to your claims that the bed was simply too large - had suggested sleeping in your corset instead, claiming it would soothe your nerves and prevent you trying to bind yourself in your sleep.

it did not work, but your maid, alice, was loyal to the governess. tied your stays in the back, much too tight for you to undo once she'd left you alone. even now the boning digs at you, chest still heaving from your foolish endeavor. you settle on your back, try to keep your shoulders set back to encourage deep breathing and watch the shadows play about the room, curtains billowing with each icy gust. there's still too much smoke in the room, lingering up near your ceiling where it swirls about, never quite low enough to escape when the curtains ebb in a back draft. you hope you won't be stuck with the window open all night. already, fine dustings of snow slip past, tip toe up your bed to catch your covers and set your legs shivering.

the blankets twist about you again when you turn to your side, but for once you don't mind, your own body weight keeping them tucked firmly in place so the wind can't steal your heat away again. your breath evens as you finally begin to relax, body forming to the mattress just as much as it forms to you. sleep finds you slowly, lulls you into it with deep sighs, your breath matching that of the house itself. you time idly, watching the curtains in the cloudy mirror of your vanity - the only concession to your residence in the whole room. a gift from some minor lady who'd once hoped to sway your favor toward her son - only to have him elope a month later with a merchant's daughter -, the piece stands out singularly in the dark, masculine room. gilded framework and ivory inlay, it catches the moonlight beautifully, pearlescent in the chill. you let yourself be entranced by the vision it makes, orpheus overtaking you, settling over you like a calming, physical weight which shifts, presses a knee between your own -

it feels like the chill has taken your blood when your eyes tear open, body frozen in place as you watch your reflection stir, pushed slightly further onto your belly while the blankets move seemingly of their own accord. you tell yourself it's the wind tugging at them again, but the way the flatten against the mattress makes no sense - and it's the not the wind that whispers your name in your ear.

still trapped in the bedding, you thrash uselessly before you're able to escape its clutches, only realizing you're screaming when the breath is knocked out of you as you thud to the floor. help comes to lift you to your feet before you are able to do it yourself, alice's hands surprisingly firm when they dig under your arms and lift. you can't even manage to thank her, breaths stuttering out high and thin as you stare at your bed in wide-eyed shock: two distinct impressions of bodies, one curled around the other, yet completely empty. smoke curls above it, oddly thinner than that what still lingers around your ceiling. it breaks up on the next gust of wind, shatters around you with a cloyingly sweet scent.

---

your governess is cross to say the least.

the next day is spent in the kitchens, working away your transgressions into a particularly hard dough batch. she is unsympathetic to the terror that had overtaken you just before they'd rushed in to help. says she's certain they'd only heard your fresh coughing, although you try to point out that the cigar was already gone by then.

"don't be clever," she warns, an adage you've heard many times over the years. What man wants a clever wife?

she has the humidor emptied, says it should have been done long ago. you say nothing because probably, she's right.

alice isn't your friend, but sometimes she can be friendly. unlike your governess, she at least seems to have noticed your distress from the night before, simply nods in agreement when you ask her to warm your bed after she's done helping you dress that evening. perhaps she still sees it, the fear. she hums at you like she thinks you need at, at least, and maybe you do because it works quickly, your body exhausted after so much hard work and such little sleep.

---

despite your exhaustion, you do not sleep soundly. the midnight hour finds you fretful, though you're careful to remain still so as not to wake alice. you breathe in sync with her in an attempt to soothe yourself until you realize it's not her that moves but the house itself, curtains billowing in a breeze that shouldn't exist, windows locked tight for the night. strangely, the realization does not frighten you - not even when you turn to find alice staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes glossed over and vacant. skin leeched pale in the moonlight. you roll over to her, curious, and her eyes track over you uncomprehendingly, focus on a point at the far side of the room.

there's no decision to sit up, you simply do - chest rising first as if an anchor knot is rooted in your sternum, woven between the hollows of your ribs. the world tilts for a moment, and then rights itself, as if alighting with you on this new level. you observe the room much as it had been the night before, cold light filtering through whorls of smoke, though there's more of it now - thin trails of oily residue curling all around the room. it seems to ebb about the edges. even with the window locked tight, the room still seems to contract and compress, pressure increasing rhythmically before expanding again, fresh smoke rushing to fill it. you track the trail back to its source, a pin point ember which builds and gutters with swell, bobbing along on a tide. it takes a minute for your eyes to adjust but you make out the hand that holds it first, long fingers painted warm in the low light. it's the only bit of skin you can make out, the body attached to it settled so far back into the shadow it appears only as one itself - darker, deeper. barely distinguishable.

by its immense stature, you reason it is a man sat at your secretary. like alice's composure, there is a part of you that knows this realization should frighten you, but you're much too tired and curious to care, crawling to the foot of the bed so you can get a better look, continuing on over the edge and onto the floor when you still can't make out his features. your palms scratch against the worn wood, bearing too much weight in your awkward crawl, and room stills when you feel blood on the heel of your hand, the heat of it almost shocking in the cold air.

you only make it another stretch closer before the man recovers, the ember of his cigar flaring and popping as he takes a long drag, leans forward in his seat until you can make out a broad, stubbled jaw, two perfect white streaks glowing in the moonlight revealed when he finally drops his hand. his lips are wine-dark when they part, reveal a neat row of pearly teeth. he's impolite, blows his smoke directly at you. cloyingly sweet licorice and heady tobacco. you do not cough this time, though it's a near-miss. it seems to please him, lips tugging into a cruel smile as the smoke grows denser, begins to pour from his mouth in a thick, black cloud. it stains his chin, his teeth a black tar-like oil that smells too pungent. rotted.

you startle when alice screams, overcorrecting when you turn to her because she's there beside you, not behind, both of you still lying in bed.

"alice?" you start, trying to wake her, but your hand slips across her chest, slick with something dark and hot, and you freeze, unable to do anything as she continues to sieze and shriek beside you.

the governess comes, and then a doctor. in the confusion, you're shuttled off to the chair across the room. you're already settled into it by the time you realize it's where the man had sat, and you briefly take inventory of it, as if perhaps you could feel the traces of his body heat lingering. but the only thing of note is the trace whisps of dark sweets, easily explained away by your own mishap the night before.

they clean alice's wound and find a neat ring of teeth marks, your own good name saved by virtue of the doctor recognizing that they'd had time to heal - must have happened some other night, that alice must have been picking at them in her sleep. your governess's obvious distaste stills your tongue, unwilling to face her wrath if she believes you sympathetic to some street hussy. so you say nothing, even as alice shrieks about a man, about being accosted. even as they call her hysteric and pack her off. instead you sit silently, picking off the blood the that had dried to your hand when you'd gone to wake her. never mentioning the scrape you find beneath it and the congealed line of your own blood; the cut from when you'd flopped out of bed to crawl to his feet. because you can still smell it, the stomach-turning sweetness, and the heavy scent it had given way to, and you know what it was now, staining his handsome chin just as much as alice's breast.

and it's not fear, or even pity that settles low in your belly, simmers hotter than that ember which had sparked to life, woken you to his call.

you follow them when they walk her out, a small team of men needed to keep her restrained. she fights to be heard, but a part of you worries she fights to stay as well, the claws she sinks into the door frame intended to keep herself put for him. you feel ugly and selfish when you traipse back to your room, but you do anyway, stopping only long enough to smell the beautiful bouquet of dark winter roses you pass on the sideboard. they're lovely and sweet, though you can't help noticing no one has bothered to cut the thorns off. careless. you wonder who got them.

---

it's not the only life taking root in the house.

despite the grueling winter, you notice sunshine in the halls, dust motes dancing in the pale light. sconces you've not seen lit in years keep the shadows of night at bay. spices find their way into your meals, a small luxury you've been missing greatly. you can see your governess watching the staff suspiciously, but don't dare ask if she has her theories.

---

there are cigars in the humidor. or maybe they aren't cigars, much thinner than the ones you're used to seeing. you've no idea how they got there, but neither do you know who to ask. who you can trust to believe you, even just long enough to look, see the proof for themselves.

but then, you're not sure you want anyone else to know.

they smell like his. dark and heavy, sickeningly sweet. it makes your stomach turn but you fish out the lighter anyway, throwing the windows open decisively. fresh air pours in around you, chases cobwebs from the corners. the sconses gutter before flaring back to life, leaving the room brighter than it's been in months, cleaner than it' felt in ages.

you hardly notice, too busy fighting the cough that builds in your throat as you take your first drag. you don't manage it, smoke sputtering sputtering from your mouth in fits and starts as you heave your way through a coughing fit, stomach turning with an unexpected wave of nausea. face turned to the cool relief of the window, you've got your cheek leaned up against the side of the pane when the smoke begins to waft away. it takes you a moment to make sense of the image revealed, inverted and near as it is. fear grips you before you even manage it, some fine-tuned instinct recognizing the viper at your feet and turning to run before you're even sure what you've seen.

but this is no viper, and the reaction warranted when faced with the immense silhouette of a man hanging inverted in your window, mere inches from your face, is to go still as a deer in the hunters' sights, evidently, and play the docile little pray.

he turns properly toward you, the shaggy hair dangling around his face catching in the wind. your cigar flares with it, wan light revealing pale skin and dark eyes which seem to glint in amusement when you stumble away, the whole of the picture revealed to you just as long fingers wrap over the top of the casement and pry it open, hinges groaning as they overextend to let his broad shoulders pass. he pours through the sill like butter from the pan, pools on your ceiling with a strong grip on your curtain rod. except, when he drops from it, he sinks from the rafters like a feather, none of the might his huge frame suggested anywhere to be found.

still reeling, your hip catches the edge of your wardrobe and you slip past it, put your back to the wall as quiet cries spill from your lips, pleas incomprehensible.

he greets you by name in a thick russian accent, and somehow, impossibly, you know, but you ask anyway, voice trembling. "who are you?"

a step closer, movements so fluid you can barely discern them. when did the candles go out? "your cleverer than that."

strange compulsion, you can't stop yourself before reciting, "men don't want clever wives."

"is that what you think i want? a wife?" amusement curls around the words, turns his accent lilting.

"i don't know what you want," you whisper, and he grunts - edging closer to irritation.

"and is that what you think i am, then? a man?"

"no…" the truth shocks you, has you casting about for an anchor. you only find confirmation when you catch sight of your vanity, the man in your room leaving no reflection. your cleverer than that. "you were here that night, weren't you? on the bed with me?"

"well, what's a man to do when he returns home to find a pretty young lady in his bed?"

"you're my father." it's not a question. you're not even certain you mean it as a chastisement. it is simple fact, roiling in your stomach like the nausea that lingers.

a fact he ignores, slipping closer and trailing cold digits over the inside of your wrist before taking the slim cigar from between your fingers. you weren't even aware you'd still had it. it glows back to life when he takes a deep drag, smoke spilling from his mouth when he speaks again, "do you like this one better than that other? they're very popular in paris."

you latch onto the wrong part of the question. "is that where you've been?"

"there," he shrugs. "everywhere."

more nausea, sinuses prickling with the added smoke. "anywhere but here?"

he doesn't seem to like this question, either, a stillness overtaking him. "i was… called away."

but if he can be angry, so can you. "for twenty four years?" you snap, voice ragged and sharp as it had been after your first inhale.

his stillness snaps, exasperation turning him away from you. he paces to the window and finally you can see more of his features - the high peaks of his hairline, the heavy brow and the broad nose. he's an older man, you know, and yet - he doesn't really look it, fine lines of his forehead no worse than a man ten, twenty years his younger. his voice is gruff when he speaks again. quiet. "a man can't help being needed -."

"you were needed hear!" you shriek, a reservoir of emotion you didn't know you'd kept dammed breaking free.

when he turns on his heel the candles flare again, and you gasp, shocked to find him suddenly before you, the wool of his overcoat scratchy even through your shift. he waits for you to settle, for your chest to stop heaving against his and your pulse to stop hammering so loud in your ears that you can't hear what he says when his lips move, tongue darting out to wet them. "am i no longer needed, then?" he finally asks, and you wilt against him.

"of course you are," you sob, trying not to notice his own breaths never come.

---

there's no precedent telling you what to call him. his name is improper, but 'father' leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. you plead of him 'my lord!' when his kisses linger too long and he groans, pleased.

you're not sure if you like him when he's pleased.

he frightens you, takes too much. he's a man of appetite as you should have known by the marks he'd left on alice, but you'd foolishly thought yourself untouchable, too gently borne to suffer such indignities. of course, the station of your birth matters little to your own father - if it indeed ever would have mattered to anyone at all.

but it's hard to refuse him when he's your father, and so huge, besides. his broad frame corrals you easily back toward the bed. he doesn't let you sink onto it until his kisses have trailed to the hinge of your jaw, cold nose nuzzling behind your ear. when he does breathe, his chest eclipses your own, tries to turn you concave, carve a space within you. his exhale stinks like his cigar, pressed into the corner of your lip.

it's improper. leaves you teetering between disgust and a guilty sort of pleasure, which only serves to repulse you further. your stomach turns, guilt eating its way up your throat. acrid with smoke.

the hand splayed over the column of your throat tightens minutely, long fingers threatening to pluck the tendons which flex when you gag. he misunderstands. "not supposed to inhale, you know?"

your head spins, the only relief from your mounting sickness found in the the cold relief of his hands against your cheek. "i didn't… i don't..?"

"shh. that's alright. papa will teach you. take this, it will help you feel better."

and your mouth when he does. wide, mimicking. eager for some tincture to help soothe your nerves. a strong dose to put you under, perhaps. he grins when you show him your teeth and a finger finds his own, long claw catching minutely on his lip when he drags the pad of his first two fingers over his canine. you're shocked when it comes away bloody - more so when he coos, eases them into your own mouth to stroke against your tongue. for a moment you're too shocked to respond, but then the heavy taste of blood coats your mouth and you thrash about under him, swatting and biting.

it only seems to encourage him, voice too thick with hunger and approval to be as soothing as he intends it when he tries to gentle you beneath him.

he gives up trying when his blood overflows your mouth, spilling over your cheeks as you continue trying to shake him off. he mutters something about a waste and then his other hand is pinching your nose, cutting off your air supply fully. you gurgle, trying to clear your mouth and he snarls, shoves his fingers deeper.

you're forced to swallow your mouthful when your vision begins to tunnel. he sighs in relief when you do, breath nearly as heavy as yours when you gasp and wheeze. he has the decency to drag his fingers down your chin as you struggle, staining all down your throat as he traces the path of the load you've swallowed.

"not so hard, was it?" he mutters, still painting your skin. you glare at him when you can finally manage it and he just chuckles, forces his fingers behind your bottom teeth again. even still the taste revolts you, tongue crowding to the back of you mouth to try and escape the cold copper, the thick licorice. if he notices, he is undeterred. makes you take even more when he pries your jaw open and spits in your mouth.

the vulgarity makes you heave, but his weight fights even that. keeps you in place when he shoves his fingers back until the webbing nestles against the corner of your mouth and his fingernails scrape against your throat. he feels when it constricts around him reflexively and his free hand smooths the hair back from your sweaty forehead, cold breath against your temple as he tells you to relax, voice fragmenting - somehow both soft, ethereal, and a very real rumble in your ear.

it's that quiet one that gets you, webs its way through your nerves until you're limp with it, energy sapped along with your will to disobey. his fingers pull back minutely, give you enough space to swallow the blood that's gathered at the back of your throat. when they push back in, he bids you suckle them in that same distorted voice and you do. easily, gratefully, and this time, the blood pools in your belly like an antidote. it soothes your nausea, leaves you hungry for more. he doesn't hesitate to provide it, fingers pumping in and out of your mouth as you begin to suckle at them, entreating him to stay nestled in the heat of your mouth each time he starts to pull away.

you're unsure how long he feeds you. long enough you that you feel sated and sleepy when he withdraws entirely. a strand of saliva follows him, snaps back to fall down your chest when he licks his own fingers after, thick tongue wiping clean what mess remains. his skin comes back whole and healed, a prospect that should surely frighten you, but there is no fear when you grow bold, pull him closer by a strong grip on the long strands of hair at his nape. his tongue is slick when it slides against yours, chasing the taste of himself. he follows it down your chin, panting against the column of your neck as his hands work up your chest, the pressure of them on your waist having been having gone unnoticed through your corset. his nails scrape your skin when he catches the hem of your dressing gown and finally, some base instinct flares back to life, tries to stay his hands with your own, fingers scrabbling against his. he just hushes you again, voice echoing softly between your ears. this time, when your fingers wrap around his wrists, it is simply an anchor for you, body feeling as though you may simply drift away under his care.

when his mouth finds your breast, you arch into him, bucking hard enough that he groans, lays his body flat over you to keep you in place as he feasts. even his weight is decadent, a relief from the way you feel untethered. he pinches your nipple between too-sharp teeth, soaks the fabric of your shift in saliva just to soothe you after. his mouth offers no heat, no balm for the frigid breaths he ghosts over the wet material. you beg for it anyway, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. an instinct that will do you no good here, the man at your breast inhuman and cold.

it's a fact you can't escape from, not with his cold blood in your belly and his will in your head. not with his lupine teeth spreading wide over your heart, or the ecstatic relief when he finally bites down. your breath steams in the air as you pant beneath him, chest heaving into his mouth even as you try pulling him impossibly closer, and here, finally, is the heat - the bloom of blood that soaks your shift and warms your skin, even as you grow colder with the loss of it. he's insatiable, a man of appetite as you knew, and yet you give yourself freely, even as your breath grows stilted and shallow and your fingers twitch in his hair. he only surfaces when your vision grows cloudy, looms above you in a grisly mask of death turned two-tone with the moonlight and your fading vision. jaw stained dark, it appears an endless maw from which he speaks, demands to know if you'll join him in eternity.

and what girl could ever live without her papa?

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/adornedwithlight

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Could you write anything about Dan Heng's S/O making him laugh and/or smile brightly? Like, not his usual quiet chuckle and a small smile but full on laugh and a wide smile, almost a grin. (I hope it makes sense) And the reader is in awe because they've never seen Dan Heng like that and it feels almost like they're falling in love all over again.

Please and thank you.

“You make me feel like I’m falling in love again”

Summary: While aboard the Astral Express, you attempt to make Dan Heng laugh by introducing a silly plush toy into the mix. To your surprise, you manage to get a full-on laugh and a wide, rare smile from him—something you’ve never seen before. In that moment, you’re reminded of the side of him that is soft and open, and you feel like you’re falling in love with him all over again.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Lighthearted, Character Development, Soft Dan Heng, Rare Smile, Falling in Love over again (I love this trope or whatever it is called 🥺🫶), Established Relationship.

The Astral Express was quiet as it usually was, with the faint hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of paper filling the otherwise calm air. The crew had settled into their usual places, each person wrapped in their own thoughts. You were in the small lounge area, leaning against the table, watching Dan Heng out of the corner of your eye as he sat nearby, quietly reading a book.

You couldn’t help but notice how serene he looked, his usual calm expression ever-present as he read, the only movement being the occasional flick of his page. Despite his calm exterior, there was always something slightly distant about him—a wall he kept firmly up between himself and the rest of the world. It was rare to see him genuinely smile, let alone laugh.

You smiled to yourself, thinking of how long you’d been by his side. You'd seen glimpses of the softer sides of him: the fleeting smiles, the small chuckles that escaped him from time to time, but never anything too intense. He was always so composed, so controlled.

That thought lingered in your mind, and suddenly, an idea struck. You'd seen him smile during small, quiet moments, so what if you could bring out something a little more? You glanced around the room, eyes darting over the pile of old, strange items that had been accumulating near the engine, the odd trinkets that the crew had picked up on their travels. One in particular caught your attention—a small, colorful plush toy that someone (read: March 7th) had left on a nearby shelf.

It wasn’t the most elegant thing, but it was silly and bright, a stark contrast to the usual serious air Dan Heng carried with him. You took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

You quietly reached for the plush toy, sneaking up behind Dan Heng, who was still engrossed in his book. You held the toy up in front of your face, and with a dramatic voice, you declared, “What do you think of my new companion, Sir Cloud-Piercer?”

Dan Heng didn’t respond immediately, his focus still on the book in front of him. But you didn’t give up. You tilted the toy in different directions, trying your best to make the little creature appear as absurdly serious as possible. "It’s very well-behaved, but its skills in battle are questionable," you added, your voice adopting a mock-serious tone.

The silence in the room stretched for a beat, and then, without warning, Dan Heng’s eyes flicked toward you. He blinked, and then—almost imperceptibly—a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. But you didn’t stop. You held the plush higher, waggling it a little. “I’m thinking of naming it ‘Sir Fluffington,’ what do you think?”

And then, to your complete surprise, Dan Heng let out a laugh.

It was loud—louder than you had ever heard him, a sound so unexpected that it caught you off guard. His laugh wasn’t quiet, the usual chuckle he gave when something amused him. This was different. This was genuine, almost free, the kind of laugh you only hear when someone truly feels at ease. His eyes sparkled in that rare way, and his usual controlled demeanor seemed to soften, even for just a moment.

And then came the smile. Not the reserved, small smile you were used to, but a wide, unguarded grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, a rare display of warmth you hadn't quite witnessed before. His eyes crinkled with amusement, and for a split second, you felt like you were seeing him for the first time—truly seeing him.

You were frozen for a second, taking in the sight of him. The way his expression was so open, so unburdened, it made your heart flutter in your chest. It was like you were falling in love with him all over again. This side of him, so raw and real, was something you didn’t see every day, and it made your stomach twist with happiness.

Dan Heng noticed your expression, his grin faltering slightly as he saw the awe in your eyes. “I didn’t realize you could be so... ridiculous,” he said, his voice still holding the remnants of laughter.

You could only shake your head, a wide smile breaking across your own face. “I’m just glad I could make you laugh like that,” you admitted, your voice a little softer now. “It’s rare to see you so... carefree.”

Dan Heng hesitated for a moment, his expression softening again. “I suppose it’s because I’m with you.” His voice was quieter, and though his smile was more subdued now, the sincerity in it made your heart skip a beat.

You walked over and sat beside him, the plush toy still clutched in your hands. “I never thought I’d get to see you like this,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Dan Heng didn’t say anything for a moment, but his arm brushed against yours as he leaned a little closer, a quiet acknowledgment of your words. The air between you was calm, but it held something deeper now—a connection that was more open than it had been before.

And for once, in this small, quiet moment, you knew that no matter the past or the shadows that haunted him, there was a light in Dan Heng, a warmth he only shared with those he trusted. And you, right now, were one of those people.

You smiled to yourself, watching him as he turned his attention back to the book, but you knew something had shifted, and it made your heart swell.

No, you weren’t just falling in love again. You had already fallen, deeper than before.

[bbgghost]

forwards beckon rebound

“i’m not afraid of you now…” 

summary: coriolanus and you are put in an arranged marriage, despite your significant age difference. you have to learn to become more comfortable with him. 

a.n. reader is pregnant!!! angst to fluff, sad reader - hope you guys like these! i sometimes forget i have followers… anyways hope this is what you want to read if there is anything you want to read more of send me a request!!!

you rubbed your hands under your round belly, attempted to warm the stretched part of your body. the soft material of your dress pressed against your hand became a nice grounding tool as you took deep breaths. the tears that had been falling from your eyes steadily slowed and you finally managed to get your emotions under way. without your choked sobs and wet hiccups you were finally able to here the sound of footsteps approaching your door. 

you turned to your vanity and quickly wiped any visible tears from under your eyes. “madam?” you heard from the door. “yes.” you replied, trying to present your voice as clear and sweet. “the president wishes to see you.” the peace keeper said politely. “of course.” you said in agreement before standing to walk from your room. you followed the maid down the hall and into coriolanus’ large room.

when you entered you saw him sat at his lounge space, papers in his lap and a mug in his hand. “darling…” he called softly as his eyes traced over your figure. you had stopped at the door of his room, but with his greeting you made your way into his space. “president snow.” you said politely and stood in front of him. he rolled his eyes before grabbing your hand to guide you to sit next to him. “that’s way too formal, i’m your husband.”

you swallowed at the comment and looked down at your manicured nails. you traced the paint that encompassed the nail bed and listened as coriolanus placed the papers on the table before turning his body towards yours. “tell me about your day.” you looked up at him through your lashes.” “i…nothing much really happened. i…picked some roses and…well besides bathing and doing my hair i didn’t do anything interesting.” you said before giggling quietly. 

“sounds exhilarating.” he joked. you gave him a small smile and he returned it. “well, per usual, i was busy as ever. so nothing interesting there.” you smiled and looked away. he hit his lip in thought. he wanted your attention desperately, he craved it, he deserved it - he’d been working hard all day this was all he wanted. “i missed you.” he said simply. your eyes snapped to him, and in the confusing and longing, that’s where he saw it. 

“…you’ve been crying.” he spoke softly. your eyes widened and you looked down and rubbed your eyes profusely, in a stupid attempt to rid your eyes of the pain. “no.” you croaked, broken attempt at speaking through the oncoming tears. “baby, why?” he asked, his arms coming up to encompass you. 

“i don’t…i just…ugh.” you sighed and sat straighter as you looked at him helplessly. “i don’t know, it’s probably just pregnancy hormones.” you laughed through tears. “are you sure? i mean…you were acting strange even before the pregnancy?” you looked to the side, contemplating what he said. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

He let what you said hang in the air. His body stiffened, any moment immediately ceased. He swallowed harshly, and suddenly you felt even worse. Different, but worse. “I’m sorry I said that.” Your tears still fell, but there was a silence with the absence of your sobs. “I’m sorry that you ever felt like it was what you needed to say.”

He wanted to say so much more; I’m sorry you were forced into this marriage, I’m sorry you were so young when it happened, I’m sorry you have the burden of the country’s opinions on your shoulder, I’m sorry I wouldn’t do anything but watch it all happen to you. “You didn’t. I swear.” You pleaded.

“C’mon baby. Don’t lie.” You quieted down. Your tears had finally stopped falling, and where instead replaced with the defeated look was plastered on your face. Like a child who finally realised they weren’t getting their parents attention. “I swear I love you. I care about you.” You pleaded. Why were you pleading this? This was the man you were married to, he didn’t expect your love or care. It was all part of being official. It was all part of benefitting the man that ran his soft thumb over the back of your hand.

“If you care, then tell me what’s wrong. And tell me the truth.” And he had said it with so much force and determination it sounded like he already knew. But even as you turned your head to make eye contact, you could see that boyish look. The one that told you he was desperate to find the problem, and to help you get to the solution. “I’m just overwhelmed. There’s this baby growing within me… and I feel like I barely know you. I’m finally comfortable around you, and I finally love you. But do you love me? I mean I don’t even know your family, I haven’t seen your childhood home, I don’t even know what you look like when you sleep. And I’m carrying your child?”

His expression had turned stone cold. You were afraid now. Had you said too much? You should’ve kept your mouth shut, but for some reason you had told him. You told him what he wanted though, and that was the whole and complete truth. After many moments of silence his eyes tore from yours and he hopelessly looked towards your conjoined hands. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. He portrayed the look of somebody with little thoughts, like he was speechless. But within his head his thoughts were speeding around. You feel like you barely know him? You don’t know if he loves you?

Then he’s reminded you’re only 20. And he’s reminded that he’s 27. And suddenly he remembers how emotional and full of passion he was at your age. He was pushing thirty, and growing cold just like he was old, and he was only projecting this on you. No matter how many chaste kisses, or late nights of talking, or eating together daily - you needed one thing, and that was passion. 

“I’m so sorry.” He said, and his eyes finally looked back up to find yours. You didn’t say anything, too overwhelmed to even form thoughts of your own. His hands lifted away from yours, and he encompassed your jaw with them instead. You felt light fingertips brush against your cheeks and pull you softly towards him. He closed his eyes, and you reciprocated the action before your lips met. And it was the most affectionate kiss you had ever felt in your life. He was soft, but leaned into you so much you knew that he was trying to tell you something. That he hadn’t meant to, and that he had only wanted to provide for you, even if he had made mistakes while doing so. 

When he finally broke from it, your eyelids took a moment to flutter open. He pulled you towards him again, once your eyes had finally been revealed and he held you against him. Your head tucked under his chin, and his lips pressed against your hair. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you…” 

[sillygoose067]

A Masked Promise

Ch.18

Dick Grayson(Nightwing) x Reader

Author's note: Things are starting to get heated hehe ;) No smut yet, but lots of making out and as usual, fluffiness. Also, some people were having concerns about where the smut and fluff are-- BISH-- hold your horses! This is a slowburn, dragged-out romance bruh. Not some kind of wham bam thank you maam nonsense. Let me live out my fantasies. The smut will come, and it's in the tags BECAUSE it's to come.

The faint knock on your window made you glance up from the book you’d been reading. You weren’t startled this time—it was becoming something of a habit. You got up and crossed the room, pulling back the curtains to see him perched on the fire escape, the blue of his Nightwing suit catching the light from the streetlamp below.

Sliding the window open, you stepped aside to let him in. “Nightwing,” you greeted with a teasing smile. “What brings you to my humble abode at this hour?”

“Figured I’d drop by,” he replied, climbing inside with practiced ease. He set down a small overnight bag and straightened up, his sharp silhouette softening as he stepped into the cozy light of your apartment. “Hope I’m not crashing your night.”

“You mean besides literally crashing it?” you teased, shutting the window behind him. “What’s in the bag?”

He glanced at it, then back at you. “I was hoping I could stay the night. Bed at the Tower isn’t exactly calling my name.”

“You brought an overnight bag to ask if you could stay the night?” You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “That’s bold.”

“Planning ahead,” he said with a crooked smile, his voice warm despite the fatigue it carried. “So… can I?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But only because I like you.” You gestured toward the bathroom. “Go freshen up. You look like you’ve been through it.”

He nodded, picking up his bag. “I’ll be quick.”

As he disappeared into the bathroom, you moved to the kitchen. Simple comfort food felt right tonight. You began chopping onions and prepping for dal, rice, boiled eggs, and caramelized eggplants. The familiar rhythm of cooking grounded you, filling your small apartment with the soothing aroma of home.

By the time he emerged, his suit replaced with sweatpants and a loose shirt, his damp hair curling slightly at the ends, the food was nearly ready. He leaned against the doorway, watching you with an easy smile.

“What’s on the menu tonight, chef?” he asked, his voice softer now, the edge of Nightwing gone.

“Dal, rice, eggs, and eggplants,” you replied, looking over your shoulder at him. “Simple but filling.”

“It smells incredible,” he said, stepping closer to peer into the pot.

You smirked. “Wait until you try it.”

Minutes later, you set the dishes down on the low coffee table in your living room. He sat cross-legged across from you, eyeing the food appreciatively.

“Where are the utensils?” he asked, glancing around.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No utensils. We eat with our hands.”

“Seriously?” His brows lifted in surprise.

“Seriously.” You reached for some rice, mixing it with the dal before scooping it up with practiced ease. “Like this. It’s the best way to eat. More personal.”

He hesitated, watching you for a moment. “I’m going to make a mess.”

“You’re already a mess,” you teased, scooping up another bite and holding it out to him. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “You’re going to feed me?”

“Do you trust me or not?” you challenged, your tone light.

He leaned forward, letting you place the bite into his mouth. His eyes widened slightly as he chewed. “Okay, that’s really good.”

“I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to baby me,” he teased, though he leaned in again for the next bite.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Trust me, you’re impossible to baby.”

As the meal continued, he grew more confident, mimicking your movements. It wasn’t long before his initial awkwardness gave way to laughter, both of you teasing each other between bites.

“Okay, I take it back,” he said at one point, licking a stray bit of dal from his finger. “This is kind of fun.”

“Told you,” you said, smirking.

When the meal was done, you leaned back against the couch, your heart light. Nights like this—simple and unguarded—were rare but precious.

He stretched out beside you, one arm resting along the back of the couch as he looked at you. “Thanks for dinner,” he said softly.

“Anytime,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

…

As the evening wound down, the air in your apartment grew quiet and soft, punctuated only by the hum of the city outside. After clearing the dinner plates and ensuring everything was tidied up, you both retired to your room, the space now feeling unusually small with him in it. Dick stood by the edge of the bed, casually folding his clothes into his overnight bag, while you fussed with the pillowcases, trying to distract yourself from the way your pulse quickened every time he glanced your way.

“You sure you’re okay with me crashing here tonight?” he asked, his voice tinged with a soft uncertainty as he moved to sit on the bed.

You turned to him, tossing a spare blanket onto the chair by the window. “Of course. Where else would you go? You’re welcome here anytime.”

A quiet smile played on his lips as he leaned back on his hands. “Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your cheeks warm.

...

When you finally slid into bed, you found yourself immediately enveloped in the comforting warmth of his presence. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and calm, served as a rhythm that lulled you into a state of quiet contentment.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled, your fingers absently tracing circles on the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

“You always say that,” he teased, his hand trailing lazily and down your back.

“Well, it’s true,” you countered, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was filled with unspoken emotions, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood. His hand continued its slow journey across your back, and your fingers stilled against his chest, simply feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

When you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, you found him already watching you. His blue eyes, illuminated by the faint city light filtering through the window, held a softness that made your heart ache.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing. I’m just… happy to be here.”

The sincerity in his tone made your breath hitch, and before you could overthink it, you leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. The simple gesture was meant to be light, fleeting, but when you started to pull away, he turned his head, catching your lips with his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though testing the waters. His lips moved slowly against yours, coaxing you into relaxing. You responded just as gently, your hand coming up to rest against his shoulder. The warmth of his mouth was intoxicating, and you leaned into him, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

As the moments passed, the kiss deepened, the initial hesitancy giving way to something more raw, more demanding. His hand slid from your back to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the quickening of his heartbeat, matching the rapid rhythm of your own.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as he tilted his head, angling the kiss to deepen further. The air between you grew charged, the soft hum of the city outside forgotten as you lost yourselves in each other. His lips moved with a fervor that mirrored your own, both of you giving in to the months of restraint that had built up.

When you gasped softly, his hand slid up to cradle your cheek, grounding you as his thumb brushed against your skin. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the heated intensity of his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you, and his response—a low, quiet hum—only spurred you on.

Your bodies shifted, your leg draping over his as he pressed you closer, the space between you all but nonexistent. The kiss grew hungrier, more desperate, each movement conveying the unspoken longing that had simmered between you for so long.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, your foreheads rested together, the room spinning around you. His eyes searched yours, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He smiled, a soft, breathless chuckle escaping him. “Yeah… wow.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment, simply soaking in the closeness, the lingering warmth of the kiss still buzzing in the air. His hand remained on your waist, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side, while your fingers stayed tangled in his hair.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with a rare uncertainty.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small smile. “Mhm.”

His smile widened, and he pressed another quick kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into his arms. The intensity of the moment ebbed, replaced by a quiet intimacy as you nestled against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back once more.

As you both held each other, the world outside fading into the background, there was a softness between you, something that felt comforting, intimate, and entirely new. His lips brushed your forehead in the quietest of kisses, a gentle reassurance that melted away any lingering doubts.

When he pulled back just slightly, his breath was warm against your skin, and his gaze was soft, tender, full of something you couldn’t quite put into words. His lips hovered over yours, just a whisper away. There was no rush now.

Without a word, he leaned in again, pressing his lips softly to yours in a lingering kiss, one that wasn’t filled with urgency but with sweetness—an affirmation of everything you’d just shared. The kiss deepened ever so slightly, the pressure of his lips building just enough to leave you breathless, but not enough to pull you away from the intimacy of the moment.

He pulled back again, his forehead resting against yours. “I never thought I’d feel like this,” he murmured, and you could feel the honesty in his voice as it lingered in the air between you both.

Your heart swelled, and before you could say anything, you found yourself closing the small gap between you, kissing him once more, this time with a gentleness that made the world outside seem far away, as if it was only the two of you in that small space. His lips were warm and comforting, and every kiss made you feel more at home, more connected to him.

Each kiss was a promise. Each touch a reassurance. Your fingers gently brushed through his hair as you kissed him again, this time with a little more urgency, a little more need, but still with the same tenderness. His hands moved to your back, pulling you in closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if he wanted to savor every moment.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, you were both left with the lingering taste of each other, your lips swollen from the soft bombardment of affection. You both sat there in the quiet, your faces inches apart, breathing in each other’s air, hearts thudding in sync.

“Promise me,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, “that you’ll never stop kissing me like that.”

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing your cheek as he leaned in again, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a kiss full of promises, full of the vulnerability you both had found in each other.

“I’ll never stop,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt his words settle deep in your chest, comforting you in ways you hadn’t even known you needed.

Another small kiss, sweet and slow, and then his lips moved to your forehead, placing one more lingering kiss there, as if sealing the promise with tenderness.———————————————————————————-

TAGLIST:

@mybones537 @thereeallink @ziziriaa-blog

[eyneyke]

Love?!

Pairing: Max Verstappen x PewDiePie!sibling Summary: What if Felix had a genius brother who works as a RedBull's engineer and is also secretly dating Max part 35 of A Calm to my Storm Masterlist

[Felix’s stream starts as he bursts into Sam’s flat again the day after the last one]

Felix (laughing): “Alright, guys, we’re back again. It’s early morning, and of course, I’m here to annoy Sam before he even gets a chance to wake up properly.”

[He films himself as he quietly unlocks Sam's apartment doors. Camera pans to Sam, standing in the kitchen, wearing pajama pants and a loose Red Bull T-shirt that’s clearly a bit too big. He’s cooking breakfast, focused on the stove, as Felix gets closer.]

Felix: teasingly “Good morning, sleepyhead! Look at you, all domestic and in Red Bull gear. What. a. surprise.”

[Sam doesn’t even turn around, holding his phone to his ear, and the stream picks up his voice.]

Sam: “Okay, babe, I have to go now. As if paparazzi are not enough, filming me around the paddock, now I've got one filming me in my own apartment. Yeah, no, I won't say that, love you, byeee.” hangs up the phone and slides it into his pocket, then continues cooking, completely unbothered by Felix's presence.

Felix (grinning like a cat that’s about to pounce): “Hold up, hold up—‘babe’? Excuse me? Babe?? Is there something you want to share with the class?”

Sam (sighing, turning his head slightly): “Oh, you’re here. I did not even notice. Next I'll build you a watch, because apparently, you can't read time on your phone. I thought we said 9 at your place, not 8 at mine.”, he finishes of the breakfast and turns off the stove. "Can you even read time on a normal watch?"

Felix (laughing): “Stop deflecting! I heard ‘babe.’ Who’s the mystery boyfriend? Girlfriend? Other? Don’t leave me hanging, Sam. I need to know. It's my brotherly duty.”

Sam (smirking, he now started making more breakfast and flipping pancakes): “Your brotherly duty, ay? And your subscribers also need to know?" Felix nods, "Well, Felix, you are not gonna find out because I like torturing you back, and your subscribers are not gonna know because, well, my private life is exactly that—private.”

Felix: “Pffft, not when you’re live on my stream! C’mon, who’s the lucky person? Is it someone I know?”

Sam (mock seriously): “If I tell you, you’ll just make fun of me or embarrass me on stream, and because of my newfound popularity, we are trying to keep it on the down-low, so no, you don’t get to know.”

Felix: “Oh, so it is someone I know! Now we’re getting somewhere! Is it Jack? Is it Max? Wait—is it Lana from highschool?!” laughing loudly

Sam (rolling his eyes, deadpan): “You’re hilarious, really. I’m falling over laughing here.”

Felix (leaning on the kitchen counter, grinning): “Don’t dodge the question! Who were you talking to? C’mon, give me something.”

Sam (pausing, turning to look at Felix with a teasing smile): “Okay, fine. It’s someone I met through work.”

Felix (raising his eyebrows): “Ohhhh, we’re getting spicy now! So it’s a racing driver?!”

Sam (turning back to his cooking): “Mhmm, sure.”

Felix (laughing): “You’re the worst, you know that, right?”

Sam (smirking again): “You should know by now that I never give anything away for free. Now sit down, your pancakes are ready.”

[Comments on the stream start flooding in]

@FanGirl101: “OMG, WHO IS SAM DATING?! WE NEED TO KNOW!”

@F1Obsessed: “He said ‘babe’ and 'love you' so casually, like, no, we weren’t going to freak out about it 😂”

@PewdsNation: “Felix being nosy as usual, but Sam is too smooth. Love it.”

@ThirstyForSam: “Okay, but can we talk about how hot Sam looks even in pyjamas? 😍”

@DetectiveMode: “Someone in a fast car? Is it Max? Or someone else in F1? THEORIES, PEOPLE!”

---

Felix (laughing, leaning back): “Alright, I’ll let you keep your secrets—for now. But seriously, next time, don’t hang up before I get here. I could’ve said hi to your mysterious bae.”

Sam (grinning, as he eyes him): “Yeah, I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation.”

Felix (mock offended): “Excuse me? I’m PewDiePie, I’m ready for anything.”

Sam (teasingly): “Sure you are big boy. Sit down!.”

[More comments flood the stream]

@ShipItAllDay: “The way Sam is so casual about dating and not telling Felix is KILLING me.”

@F1Gossip: “This just makes me want to know more. Sam is a vault!”

@PewdsFan: “Felix literally barges in, and Sam’s like, ‘I’m not telling you anything.’ 😂”

@ThirstySamCrew: “Why is this guy always so mysterious and hot at the same time??”

---

Felix: laughing as he finally sits down “Well, mystery beau aside—what’s for breakfast?”

Sam (handing him a plate): “Pancakes. Eggs. Something else if you don't feel like this. Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll even make you some coffee.”

Felix (grinning): “Pancakes and mystery to solve? Best day ever.”

Sam (laughing): “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

[cw-coffeeandice]

ESPN The Magazine

Author: @cw-coffeeandice

Title: ESPN The Magazine

Summary: When the family is featured in an ESPN article, Hannah feels a certain way after reading it. Based on the ESPN article published under the same name.

Comment: I wrote this while watching Team USA make history at the World Juniors after watching an incredible PWHL game between Boston and Montreal. In general, today was a great day to be a hockey fan.

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to let me know through an ask, like, comment, or reblog. I’m always open to prompts, suggestions, and feedback!

Please note this writing is unedited.

Keep reading

ESPN The Magazine - 2018

Five copies of the magazine arrived in the mailbox in a sealed envelope—one for each child, plus one for Jim and Ellen. Unofficially, Jim had started collecting articles, photos, and special moments featuring his kids, which he liked to keep in his office.

After a long week of school, practices, and ice time, the three younger kids were finally home, having been chauffeured around by Ellen for yet another round of practices. With Jack in the NTDP program, spending his days online for school, he was on the ice more than ever. Watching their older brothers excel at such a high level was tough for Jack and Hannah. Their natural instinct was to be jealous of all the extra ice time Jack had now. Seeing that now, multiple times each week while they sat in a classroom, room Jack was playing Hockey without them.

Later that evening, after dinner, a mini sticks game, and their usual nighttime routines, Hannah sat in bed, eager to read the article. Each sibling had been interviewed, and she couldn’t wait to hear what her brothers had said. As she flipped through the pages, she smiled at the photos of all of them together, laughing at something Luke had said. It was thrilling to see herself and her brothers featured,

Meet the Hughes brothers, America's future first family of hockey. ESPN The Magazine

The cover photo captures the entire family in their living room. Mom wears her college sweater, Dad proudly displays his Providence jersey, Quinn sports his university gear, Luke is decked out in his U-17 US national team kit, and Jack and Hannah are in their Batman gear.

The article introduced the family, opening with Jack’s viral video from November. While it focused mainly on the eldest siblings, highlighting Jack’s potential as the top pick in the 2019 draft and Quinn’s record-breaking college career, the piece also mentioned how all three boys were poised to become the future of hockey. There was even a nod to Hannah’s impressive performance as the lead scorer on her team, though she was still in the shadow of her brothers’ growing fame.

Raised by a mother like Ellen, who supported and encouraged her children’s passions with unwavering love, none of them had ever seriously questioned their dreams. However, as Hannah read about her older brothers' success and predicted futures in the article, she couldn’t help but feel the sting of being overlooked. There was no mention of her potential hockey success, no mention of her goal to play in college. It stung in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and before she could stop herself, tears welled up in her eyes.

She wiped them away quickly and threw the magazine on the floor as she settled into bed, letting herself cry, feeling a mix of frustration and self-doubt.

The next morning, Jack was practically buzzing with excitement over the article, not even a little grumpy as he devoured his breakfast, a pre-practice meal made by Dad. Luke was similarly energized by the piece, eager to show it off to his friends at school that Monday.

As usual, Hannah joined her brothers on the ice that morning. Her team had night practices, so she often tagged along to skate with them. Today, Jim had organized small group skating drills with other students and instructors to help hone the skills of his elite skaters. By the time Hannah made it downstairs, Jim had to guard her plate from her older brothers, who were ready to inhale everything in sight.

The boys spent breakfast dissecting the article: “Did you see how they described my goal?” Jack asked. “I knew I was the funniest in the family,” Luke added. “Maybe the funniest-looking,” Jack teased back. Jim noticed Hannah was quieter than usual—she didn’t even fight them for the front seat of the car.

At the rink, the kids warmed up and stretched before diving into dryland exercises. These were followed by nearly two hours of intense drills, culminating in a three-on-three scrimmage with the other skaters invited out.

Jim watched all three of his kids on the ice but kept his eye on Hannah. As she skated, he could see her carefully applying the coaches' feedback. By the time they moved into the scrimmage, Jim saw a spark in her he hadn’t noticed before. She was just as competitive as her brothers, but something was different.

Hannah wanted it all. She wanted to be seen like her brothers—she wanted to break records like Quinn, be a top draft pick like Jack, and earn the same opportunities that Luke has. She was determined to prove that she belonged. The article had stoked something in her. She was mad about how it made her feel—angry and hurt—and she used that emotion to push herself harder on the ice.

During the scrimmage, Jack broke away, skating toward the net. Hannah, now defending, pushed herself harder, determined to stop him. As Jack pulled for a shot, she tracked his movement, timed her back-check, and successfully knocked the puck out of his possession. Luke was closing in, but Hannah beat him to it, spinning around the net and pushing toward center ice. She felt her brothers' pressure behind her but didn’t back down. Jack, trying to catch up, checked her using the same move she just did to him.

It was a clean check , but Hannah did fall to the ice, so she let herself slide to a stop. Breathing hard, she got up to her feet, knowing she wasn’t hurt that bad, but she would be sore later.

"You good?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Yeah," she said, brushing herself off.

“Next time, stay on your feet,” Jack joked, grinning.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Sure, next time,” she muttered. She assisted on two goals, helping her team beat Jack and Luke’s team.

That evening, many of the girls on Hannah’s team had read the article and were gushing over how cute they thought Jack and Quinn were. Hannah found it strange and couldn’t help but roll her eyes. They clearly didn’t know her brothers like she did—they were just stinky, annoying boys.

That night, as she lay in bed, Hannah couldn’t stop thinking about the article. Was it because she was adjusting to playing on an all-girls team, was it because she felt distanced from her brothers, or was it the first time she truly felt like she wasn’t given the same chances as them? It didn’t seem fair, and she was going to prove them all wrong.

[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

(Request)

Headcannons for:

Going over to the Cullens’ house for the first time:

Carlisle Cullen:

Firstly, he would absolutely be making sure everyone is acting right

Secondly, he had that house cleaned spotless

I think he would trust you to find your way there, but he did offer to pick you up

He would make sure that everything would keep you comfortable; the heater is on, blankets are out, he got food, etc etc

He would probably show you around but then have the two of you sit in the living room as he made the rest of his family introduce themselves and talk with the two of you

I think he would be someone who genuinely has so much pride in the people he’s around, so he would probably brag about/explain all his family’s achievements even if it’s something simple and silly

The pride goes for you, too, and he’s for sure talking about your achievements and accomplishments in a way that makes his family relate to them so there’s more conversation

I think he would also probably show you around outside, and he’d probably tell stories about certain things like the trails or why there’s this or that in the house

I don’t think he would talk about vampirism that much unless you asked, but he would be explaining things around it if you didn’t know or he thought you would want to

Esme Cullen:

Being the most motherly of the Cullen-Hale family, I think that if she invited you over (as human), she would do a similar thing like in Twilight and likely try to prepare something to make you feel comfortable

Whether it’s food, TV, or games (that she forces everyone to play), I think that she would pay a lot of attention to your comfort and reactions

Whether or not you’re capable of doing things on your own, she would be there to assist you by either fetching things for you (“like a good host”) or directing you to things

She definitely pointed out where everything is as soon as you stepped inside

Definitely started telling stories about the trinkets she has around the house

“Do you see the driftwood boat I have on the wall, with the succulents? Edward threw a tree at Emmett the last time we were in town, and that’s all that was left! I keep it to remind them to be aware of their strength:))”

She would also be the sort of attentive host that would be asking you questions about yourself and relating whatever you say to her family, so that you can make conversation later

She would also be very careful about talking about the vampire stuff, so they don’t sound even more weird to you

Made sure everyone ate before you came over

Edward Cullen:

He’s driving with you, and he’s monitoring everyone’s thoughts so they don’t make you uncomfortable

He would begrudgingly let Esme talk to you about your life, but like in the actual series, I think he would quickly get you away from the rest of his family

Most likely, the two of you would be hanging out in his room and he would talk about the things in there

He’s very proud of his music collection, and I think he probably would have put something on that he thinks you would like

Definitely thought to keep the house warm for you, because the rest of his family isn’t bothered by the temperatures and the house is usually cold asf

He would probably be trying to read you/watch you closely for any signs that you need something

I think he’d be like Esme or Rosalie in this regard, and make sure that you are provided anything you need while over there

If, like in the actual saga, you two go out, he wouldn’t be opposed to showing off. Definitely would pull you around to show off his speed or strength, but I think he would also be overly conscious that he’s actually freezing

Would make sure to meet your parents before actually taking you over to his house, since he does try to be a gentleman (he also wants to make sure they get a good impression of him)

Also made everyone sweat to act normal

Rosalie Hale:

(She’s my favorite, I love her)

If she invites you over to her house, be honored because even if she did like you, I think she would keep you away because she wants to pretend to be normal for a while

Getting her to invite you over was like pulling teeth for Alice and Esme

She also would pick you up, and I think she would probably warn you about her family and apologize in advance

When you get to the house, she definitely tried to hustle you into her room but Alice and Esme stopped her to introduce themselves and such

She would likely keep the two of you in her room the most, but I think she would allow others to be in there with you for brief periods of time also, as long as they swore to her not to be weird or rude

She would be another one that would be mostly worried about running you off, so she would probably not talk about the vampire stuff unless you asked really nicely

She was born in the early twentieth century, so I think she would be a really good host since it was a really big part of the culture on the time

She probably cleaned her room very well, laid out some blankets or a robe nicely across the bed (she has one, idc if she doesn’t sleep), got some flowers for the desk, etc

She also probably fends off Esme and her questions, but is later bullied into answering for you if you didn’t get the chance

Jasper Hale:

Like Rosalie, I think he would also be borderline unwilling to invite you over (for different reasons though)

I think that while he has pride in his family, and trusts them greatly, he would be more afraid of something happening and him reacting to it (like Bella’s birthday party)

When he does eventually invite you over, he probably has you drive yourself but waits for you outside so he can open your door for you

He’s also from a time period where manners were extremely important, especially in the way women were treated and how you presented yourself, so I think he would probably have his spaces very tidy and everyone in good moods

He would probably be glad that Esme and Carlisle were engaging you in conversations, so I think he would be happy to sit with them in the living room and talk

Probably is also worried about you being uncomfortable, so he would make sure to pay attention to any of your cues or mood shifts

Probably wouldn’t take you anywhere that it would be only you two, at least not at first, because he does have a fear of hurting you (in a similar way that Edward does in the series, but they go about it very differently)

Would probably like to sit outside with you and talk

Emmett Cullen:

I think he would pick you up, but not in a car

He’s running

I think that he wouldn’t be bothered showing off his vampiric qualities since you already know, but he wouldn’t probably keep it on the more minimal (for him) side because he doesn’t want to actually scare you

If had medical equipment that he couldn’t run with, he would instead take his Jeep and have all the windows down to feel like he’s running still

He would probably show you around the house (per Esme’s instruction), but tell you any embarrassing story behind anything

“That corner’s where Jasper ate shit because he didn’t see a table! Put his head through the wall and everything!”

Probably would not have thought to bring food for you, but Esme took care of it when he said you were coming over

Isn’t bothered by anyone’s bad attitude, but also doesn’t let it come that close

Shows you his room and explains all the stuff he has in there, like trophies or trinkets

He definitely collects things like a crow, so there’s a lot of interesting things

Tbh his room would have no cohesion to it but he did pick it up so it looked nice for you

Probably would also gift you something if you liked it enough (you’re leaving with a license plate he stole from Edward thirty years ago that got Edward arrested)

Alice Cullen:

She had a vision about you coming over, so when she asked it was more of a statement

She also knew almost anything you would need, so she went to the store for snacks (and blankets, and house shoes, and pajamas. It was really just an excuse to get you things and to spend her money)

I think she would pick you up from your house and drive to hers, but I also think she would probably take the most scenic route there to talk to you

She probably saw how her family reacted, and explained their personalities to you (if you weren’t all that close to them) and threatened them to play nice (if they weren’t on their best behavior in her vision)

She for sure would drag you around the house and explain any stories

Would definitely tell you something embarrassing as shit about Edward (which she knows he hears)

Would probably not take you to hang out in her room, but instead somewhere like the roof, or the porch

Would probably tell you about any visitors she’s had (but only the light hearted ones, because she really doesn’t want to frighten you)

Would also probably show you all the clothes she’s accumulated and gift you anything she’s seen you like or bought to give you

Over all, you’re leaving with stuff she’s given you and if you try not to take it, it ends up in your house somewhere, somehow

————

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it 💕

[fullcatkryptonite]

My favourite fics of 2024 I've never done this before but I believe that anyone who produces joy and jubilation and makes the days better for a lot of people, including me, deserves recognition. For what it's worth, these are the stories that I absolutely adored and made my 2024 a better year. Cherik Although I sometimes enjoy reading rare pairing and different pairings, I have to say that Cherik has always contained excellent authors and absolutely wonderful stories like few other fandoms. Rapprochement by @populuxe.

‘Hank peered at the newspaper over his shoulder and said haltingly, “Do you think...Erik might be trying to send a message...to you specifically?”’

When Charles stands Erik up for their annual winter holiday getaway, Erik spends the following twelve months expressing his displeasure in increasingly creative ways. With this year's winter break approaching, Charles makes plans to head to the cabin alone-or without contacting Erik in advance, anyway...

Forget Me Not by Hirami.

Charles meets Erik during their holidays, and invites him back to his secluded house. Erik joins him and they have a good time. But Charles is not quite who he seems to be...

(vague ‘Speak No Evil’ AU)

Shaw good to Whump you Erik by @redring91. I couldn't pick just one story here since I loved them all.

A series of Erik Lehnsherr appreciation for Whumptober2024.

(Guest starring his Herr Doktor of Whump - Sebastian Shaw makes an appearance, in one form or another, throughout each of these stories.)

Works within this series are independent of each other, except where otherwise specified.

The Whumptober2024 event themes/prompts are listed in each work.

we recognize each other and call this love. by @mapofyourstars

The nine times that Erik and Charles' souls met each other; and the final time their souls vowed to never be apart.

A Reincarnation AU with a happy ending.

where's your head at? by nemesisFactory

You recall those first few months in solitary, when you thought there was still a chance that someone would come to save you. And then something happened-- you don't know when. You stopped raging and you let the light die.

(for Aphxia's prompt in Secret Mutant Madness ‘24: an elaboration on the effects of a decade without human contact).

Are You Working? by cherikdogfood.

Charles and Erik are at a bar. When Erik gets drinks, he returns only to find a man who mistakenly assumes Charles is a rentboy. Erik is not amused.

Below are the ones with different pairing. Except for one, the main character is always Erik Lehnsheer, because I love him, so much.

Vipers In Our Midst by @gerec

Pregnant and newly married to the much older Kurt Marko, Erik finds himself adjusting to life as a rich man's spouse. A wedding reception with Kurt's society friends gives Erik a glimpse of what's to come.

burning gin by kremas. This is the only xavierine on the list, because I'm not usually very fond of this pairing. But this fanfic is wonderful and absolutely a must read.

Logan clenches his jaw. He takes one last drag of his cigar, and Charles watches nervously, his heart beating rampantly in his chest, anticipating rejection.

Please don't say no. Please don't say no. Please don't say no.

Logan slowly blows the smoke out of his mouth, the cloud trickling out and down, dissipating just before it can reach Charles' face.

He shakes his head, briefly shutting his eyes.

‘God, I'm gonna fuckin' kill Magneto.’

Or, after Erik leaves him, again, Charles just needs to feel something. Logan can help.

Caught in between by raccoonslittlehands How much I love CHERIGAN.

‘You're the one who agreed to do this.’

Metal Man and the Magnet by Groot_the_tree.

I love you all.

[aladyofthecanyon]

i love watching movies

[scopophobia-polaris]

The fact I have to boot up totk AGAIN, honest to God yall after I make this one fuckass post it is au only I am not doing zelda discourse no more