#is this what having a crush feels like???

[ordinary-barbie]

warm enough for you outside, baby (tell me if it's warm enough here for you)

summary: Rafe is sick of watching you hopelessly pine for another guy, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.

word count: 2.2k

tags: mean!rafe, rafe is lowkey jealous, unrequited love, enemies (sort of) to lovers, pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart), au where jj is a kook, jj x kiara mentions, everyone is about 21 here, unprotected p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mention of reader having periods, insecure!reader, creampie

note: title comes from Drew Barrymore by SZA!

Smut incoming under the cut—18+ only! Minors DNI!

You honestly made Rafe sick.

Every party, it was the same shit: you'd follow Jackson Generette like a puppy, lapping up any crumbs of attention he gave you. Rafe thought things would be different once JJ started dating Kiara Carrera, but somehow, you got even worse. You'd show up to parties with friends but send him longing looks the entire time, as if Generette could read your mind and run into your arms.

Rafe clenched his jaw as he watched you watching JJ and Kiara. The two of them were cuddled on the couch, Kiara's head thrown back in laughter as JJ whispered something into her ear. Did you seriously not see how pathetic it was to pine over someone interested in somebody else?

Rafe got up, ignoring the eager looks other Kook girls were sending him, and sidled up to you. You had absconded to an abandoned living room corner, gripping a cup of punch in your hand as you stared longingly at your crush and his girlfriend.

"You know he's never gonna look at you like that, right?" Rafe blurted, startling you. You turned to Rafe, frowning.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, trying to keep your composure.

Rafe snorted. "Princess, come on. You've been giving him the same 'fuck me' puppy dog eyes since high school. Just face it—he's not into you."

You huffed, scowling at Rafe. "You're such an asshole."

"So I've been told," Rafe replied, smirking at you.

"I honestly don't know why I can't get over him," you admitted, your lip wobbling. "He's just so...nice. And funny. It hurts that he only sees me as a friend."

Rafe couldn't help but feel a little bad for you, but a bigger part of him was so done with the moping over fucking Generette of all people. Not like he was doing the same towards you, yearning from afar. That was totally different, obviously.

"Well, you know what they say—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," Rafe casually replied, his grin turning downright lecherous. You gulped, that smile sending a bolt of lightning straight to your core.

You rolled your eyes. "What are you even talking about, Cameron?"

Rafe chuckled. "I mean, why waste your time simping over Generette when you have other options?"

You froze, not knowing what to say. Was Rafe Cameron, of all people, offering to hook up with you?

"If this is some weird pity fuck, you can forget it," you snapped. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

Rafe's smile grew lopsided. "Is it really that unbelievable that I would want to hook up with you, princess?"

You shrugged, fixing Rafe with a deadpan stare. "A little bit, yeah."

Rafe tsked at you, shaking his head. "You've been spending so much time making goo-goo eyes at him that you can't even see what's right in front of you, huh?"

He moved closer to you, brushing his lips against your ear. "Let me make you feel good," he murmured.

Your heart was racing. You got a whiff of his scent—an earthy, musky scent that made you want to bury your head in the side of his neck and inhale. You thought Rafe was cute—he may be a bit of a prick, but you had eyes, after all—but never would've imagined talking to him, let alone being with him in that way.

Fuck it. The boy you'd been crushing on since ninth grade would never return your affections, and at least Rafe was showing you some interest. You quickly downed your punch, letting the red solo cup drop to the ground with a thud.

"Make me feel good then," you said breathily, staring deeply into Rafe's eyes.

Rafe let out a low groan. "You're fuckin' killing me, sweetheart," he mumbled, before grabbing your hand and quickly leading you up the stairs of whatever Kook's house this was.

-

Rafe found a random room and kicked the door open before quickly locking it behind you. You wanted to look at the decor, but Rafe's lips were on yours before you could scope out the place. You supposed it didn't matter anyway, since Rafe would have you buried into the mattress soon enough.

You looped your arms around Rafe's neck, timidly kissing him back. You hadn't had much kissing experience besides the odd game of Truth or Dare or Seven Minutes in Heaven at a party, so you were a tad nervous. But then Rafe lightly bit your lip, enjoying your soft moan before sliding his tongue inside, and you found yourself passionately kissing him back.

"Take this off. Now," Rafe commanded, tugging at the hem of your blue sundress. You readily obliged, stripping down to just your underwear.

Rafe looked at you hungrily, eyeing your chest. "Fuckin perfect," he rasped. "Can't believe you've been hiding these tits from me."

He easily picked you up and threw you on the bed, shedding himself of his clothes save for his Calvin Klein boxers. Rafe climbed on top of you, burying his face in your chest and nipping at your breasts. You whimpered, which seemed to spur him on more as he soothed the bites with kisses.

He continued leaving a trail of kisses down your body until he reached your thighs. "Open up for me, princess," he murmured, running his fingers down your legs.

You tried to protest. "Rafe, I haven't shaved—"

"I don't give a shit. Lemme eat you out," Rafe demanded, his pupils blown out with lust.

You complied, spreading your legs open for Rafe. He pushed your panties to the side easily settled into his new position between your thighs, diving into your cunt like a starved man. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it with a fervor that made you loudly gasp, bucking your hips.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart—you taste too fuckin good," Rafe mumbled, pinning your hips down with both hands. He flattened his tongue, lapping at your folds before lazily licking your clit. You whined, feeling a white-hot pressure down in your gut.

You felt Rafe's smirk against your inner thighs. "Gonna cum for me already?"

"Uh huh," you mumbled, too caught up in your pleasure to form a coherent response.

Rafe slid one of his hands down to your clit, pressing down on it and rubbing circles on it with your thumb. You moaned, arching your back off the bed and clenching your thighs around Rafe's head as you came undone for him.

Rafe removed himself from your cunt and sat back, licking his lips. "Goddamn, baby. Generette is a fucking moron to miss out on this."

You looked up at Rafe, your eyes instantly drawn to the straining erection in his black briefs. "See something you like?" he asked cockily.

Your cheeks grew warm. "I mean—I guess so," you bashfully replied

Rafe chuckled lowly. "You're so shy, princess. It's adorable."

You rolled your eyes. "Just—are you gonna fuck me or what?" you grumbled, your core throbbing with pent-up frustration.

Rafe's grin was devilish. "All you had to do was ask, baby."

He tossed his briefs to the side, revealing his thick, throbbing cock, its tip flushed an angry red. Your mouth went dry as you gaped at Rafe, just in awe of how a dick could be so...pretty.

"Fuck, I gotta see where Chase keeps the condoms," Rafe said, dragging a hand over his face.

"No need—I'm on the pill," you said, smiling shyly.

"Oh shit, are you actually getting some? Maybe you're more of a freak than I thought," Rafe teased, his dick twitching at your confession.

"It's to help regulate my periods, you perv," you said sharply. "Unfortunately, I'm still a sad little virgin."

Rafe's cheeks turned pink. "'m sorry, I didn't mean to come off like an asshole," he mumbled, sounding contrite.

"I just always imagined he'd be my first. That's pathetic, I know," you admitted, laughing bitterly. "When we were, like, fifteen, he and I made this dumb pact that if we were both still virgins by the time we graduated, then we'd sleep together. Obviously, that didn't happen."

Rafe's jaw ticked. He'd never been Generette's biggest fan, but you'd given him even more reasons to dislike the guy. You were sweet and sarcastic and beautiful—how could he not see this? How could he casually offer to take your virginity, not realizing that you'd given your entire heart to him?

"Gonna fuck you so good, you forget his name," Rafe growled, pushing himself inside of you. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of his cock inside you, stretching you out.

Rafe began thrusting into you, brushing up against your clit with his tip and setting every nerve in your body alight. "Fuck, Rafe—feels so good," you gasped.

Rafe lifted up one of your legs and put it atop his shoulder, allowing himself to plow even deeper into you. You mewled, feeling his tip all the way in your cervix. Your body tingled, legs trembling, and you came apart for Rafe again, creaming all over his cock.

Rafe pulled out, panting, his eyes fiery with desire. "Turn around for me and show me that ass," he ordered. You rolled over on your stomach and he hummed appreciatively, smacking your butt. "Fuck. You're like a work of art."

Your cheeks grew warm again; you were still unused to being desired like this. In the past, JJ had told you you looked nice, and you'd held on to those casual comments like they were love letters. But Rafe? He gazed at you as if you were Aphrodite, ready and willing to worship at the goddess's altar. You knew you didn't need a guy's validation, but damn if Rafe didn't make you feel beautiful right now.

Rafe slid back into you, fucking you faster, and grunted when your pussy tightened around him. "You're so fuckin tight and wet for me, princess. i love this sweet little pussy."

Rafe gripped your hips, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Gonna cum," he warned. "You ready for me to fill you up, baby?"

You clenched around him again, and Rafe chuckled. "Oh, you like that, yeah? Such a good girl for me."

Rafe let out another grunt as he released inside of you, ropes of his hot cum filling your pussy. Rafe pulled out slowly, admiring the way his creampie was leaking out of you.

You and Rafe lay next to each other, your chests heaving as you recovered. "Hey—thanks," you shyly said to him.

"For what?" Rafe asked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

"For the sex, of course," you joked, causing Rafe to snort. "But also for breaking that spell over me. I wasted so much time pining over someone who never saw me as more than someone to play Mario Kart with."

Rafe kissed your collarbone. "He's an idiot," he mumbled. "But I'm actually glad. Because it meant I finally got to do this."

You laughed, beaming at Rafe. "Rafe Cameron. Do you have a crush on me?"

Rafe lifted his head up, his ears flushing bright red. "Shut up. Maybe I do, alright? It's not a big deal."

You looked at Rafe fondly. "You're kinda cute. I guess I'll keep you around."

Rafe lazily smirked at you. "I'm all yours, baby."

You got up to clean yourself, but Rafe grabbed you by the waist. "Where d'ya think you're going, huh?"

"Gonna clean off all this cum, thanks to you," you quipped.

Rafe’s mouth curled into a smug grin. “Nah, put on your panties and keep it inside of you for the rest of the night. Want you to remember who you belong to.”

You shivered, weirdly loving his possessiveness right now. You got off the bed and pulled your underwear back on, moaning a little at his sticky cum in your panties. The thought of walking around all night, still stuffed with his load, made your pussy throb.

“Now, cmon,” Rafe said, jumping to his feet and putting his clothes back on. “Get dressed—there’s a whole party out there that we’re missing.”

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The walls of your shared apartment seemed to close in, the air thick with unspoken resentments that had been building for weeks. What had begun as a minor disagreement about household chores had somehow torn open wounds neither of you knew were still bleeding. Xavier stood across from you, his brows furrowed, the only visible sign of his distress.

“You weren’t listening to what I’m actually saying!” you shouted, frustration bubbling over like a pot left too long on the stove. “It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Maybe we should just get divorced since you clearly don’t care enough to even hear me!”

The words hung in the air like smoke, poisonous and suffocating. Xavier went completely still, the color draining from his face as if you’d physically struck him. His carefully maintained composure shattered completely. For a terrible moment, he looked like a lost child, confusion and raw hurt etched across features that rarely betrayed emotion, as if trying to process whether he’d heard you correctly.

“What?” His voice came out as barely a whisper, the single syllable laden with disbelief. The tremor in his hands was visible now as he took a halting step toward you. “You want to leave me?”

The question hung between you, fragile and devastating. His eyes—usually so guarded—were wide with a naked vulnerability that made your chest ache. You’d never seen him like this, stripped of his careful control, looking at you as though his entire world was crumbling beneath his feet.

“No,” he finally said, the word coming out stronger than you expected, though his voice still wavered. “No, I don’t accept that.”

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours intently. “Is that truly what you want? To end everything we have…?” Xavier was stumbling over his words, fear making his movements uncertain.

The raw pain in his expression doused your anger like ice water. You felt a crushing wave of regret as you realized what you’d done.

You felt your anger dissolve, replaced by immediate regret. “I... I don’t know what came over me,” you admitted, your voice softening as you reached for his hand. “I’m just... I’m drowning here, Xavier. I feel so alone sometimes, even when you’re right beside me.”

Relief washed over his face in stages, as if he didn’t quite trust it yet. The tension in his shoulders unwound gradually, his breathing becoming less ragged. He closed the remaining distance between you, his hands tentatively framing your face as if you might disappear at his touch.

“You scared me,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought—” His throat worked as he swallowed hard, then shook his head as if dismissing the painful thought. “I know arguments are normal, but please don’t say things like that unless you truly mean them.”

In a surprising move, Xavier pulled you gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He rested his chin atop your head, his heartbeat gradually slowing from its accelerated pace. You could feel the subtle tremor in his body, still racing from the terror your words had inflicted.

“I know I’m not...” he struggled, pressing his face into your hair. “I know I don’t show it like others might. I know I’m... difficult to read sometimes.”

His arms tightened, as if afraid you might slip away. “But please understand,” he whispered against your temple, “never, never think that means I don’t care.”

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the sound of your mingled breathing slowly synchronizing. His hand moved in gentle circles against your back, a gesture so tender it brought tears to your eyes.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own still haunted by the echo of fear your words had planted. “Let’s talk about what’s really bothering you,” he said softly. “The real issue—not threats we don’t mean.” His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. “I need you to know that I’m listening. Really listening.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The kitchen lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across Zayne’s tired face as another late night unfolded into another argument. The takeout containers sat cold and forgotten on the counter, another dinner you’d planned to share, ruined by the hospital’s relentless demands.

“This is the third time this week, Zayne!” Your voice echoed off the pristine tiles, resentment burning in your chest. “I’m tired of coming second to your patients. I’m tired of planning my entire life around a husband who’s never actually here!”

Zayne’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. “What do you want me to say? That patient would have died if I’d left mid-surgery. You know that.”

“What I know is that our marriage is dying while you’re saving everyone else!” The words spilled out like blood from a wound. “If your work is so much more important than what we have, maybe we shouldn’t be married at all!”

Zayne went completely rigid, as if someone had just flatlined on his operating table. His eyes widened with an unmistakable flash of terror that transformed his features into something you barely recognized.

“What did you just say?” His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper, so unlike his usual tone that it startled you both. The mug he’d been holding slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor with a crash that neither of you acknowledged.

His hand instinctively reached for the counter edge, gripping it with such force his knuckles turned bloodless white. “Do you—” He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to regain his composed detachment but failing completely. “Do you understand what you’re suggesting?”

His other hand pushed through his hair, a gesture so uncharacteristically vulnerable it startled you. Zayne—always controlled, always collected—looked like he was coming apart at the seams.

“This isn’t—” he began, his voice unsteady. “This isn’t something to throw around in an argument.” His gaze locked onto yours, desperate and searching. “Do you genuinely want to end our marriage? Is that... is that what I’ve driven you to?”

The raw fear in his eyes struck you like a physical blow. Regret washed over you immediately, dousing the flames of your anger.

“No,” you whispered, moving toward him as if drawn by gravity. “No, Zayne, no. I don’t want that at all.” You stepped carefully over the broken ceramic, reaching for him. “I just... I miss you so much it physically hurts. Sometimes I feel like I’m competing with ghosts for your attention, and I’m always losing.”

The tension in his body didn’t immediately dissolve, but something in his expression shifted—a cautious relief mingled with lingering dread.

“You can’t—” he started, then cleared his throat, struggling to steady his voice. “You can’t say things like that. Not when you don’t mean them.” His eyes held a wounded vulnerability that made your heart ache. “Not even in anger.”

He reached for your hands, holding them between his own—hands that were always steady, now trembling slightly as they enveloped yours. His touch was gentle but desperate, like someone clutching a lifeline.

“I’ve lost patients before,” he murmured, his voice low. “Despite doing everything right, despite fighting with everything I had. It’s an inevitable part of what I do.” His eyes met yours, stripped of their usual protective distance. “But losing you... there’s no protocol for that. No training that could prepare me for a world without you in it.”

He pulled you closer, one hand moving to the small of your back while the other cradled your face. “We need to talk about this—really talk,” he said, his voice regaining some of its steadiness. “About my hours at the hospital and how they’re affecting you. About better ways to communicate when you’re feeling abandoned.” His thumb brushed gently over your cheekbone. “But threatening what we have... that can’t be your way of getting my attention. I can’t accept that.”

His forehead came to rest against yours, his breath warm on your skin. “I chose you,” he whispered. “Not just once at the altar, but every day since. The hospital gets my skills and my time, but you...” His voice caught. “You have everything else. My heart. My future. Everything that matters.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“You promised, Rafayel. You promised you’d be there tonight.” Your voice trembled with hurt and frustration. “And you just... didn’t show up.”

Rafayel’s expression cycled through confusion, realization, and then dismay as he glanced at the clock. Paint smeared across his forearms, flecks of blue and gold caught in his disheveled hair. “The dinner... was tonight?” His voice was small, stunned. “I thought—I was sure it was tomorrow. I just—”

“Of course you did,” you cut him off, tears burning your eyes. “Of course you probably got distracted by a pretty sky while I sat there making excuses for you!” The shame and embarrassment of the evening washed over you afresh. “You never take anything seriously! Not my feelings, not my situation—nothing!”

You knocked over an empty paint cup, sending it clattering across the floor. “Maybe we should just get divorced if I’m so easy to forget!”

The words seemed to physically strike Rafayel. The ever-present light in his eyes extinguished instantly, as if someone had snuffed out a flame. His expression crumpled in stages—shock, horror, then a devastating anguish that transformed his features into something almost unrecognizable.

“No,” he whispered. Then louder, more desperate, “No, no, no—you can’t mean that. Please tell me you don’t mean that.”

He moved toward you with frantic urgency, nearly knocking over his easel in his haste. His hands reached for yours, fingers trembling visibly. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please don’t say that. Don’t even think about it.”

Tears welled in his eyes, catching the light like a fractured crystal. His hands clutched yours with desperate intensity.

“I’ll do better,” he promised frantically, words tumbling over each other. “I’ll be better. I’ll set alarms. I’ll never miss another dinner. I’ll—” His voice broke. “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t leave me.” His breath hitched on a suppressed sob. “Please don’t leave me alone in a world without you in it.”

The raw panic in his eyes made your heart ache. You squeezed his hands, shaking your head quickly. “Rafayel, I didn’t mean it,” you said softly, reaching up to brush away a tear tracking down his cheek. “I would never leave you—I love you too much. I was just hurt and embarrassed, but I spoke without thinking. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost painful to witness—like watching someone being pulled back from the edge of a cliff. His shoulders sagged as if a crushing weight had been lifted, and a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped him. Without warning, he pulled you into an embrace so tight it nearly stole your breath, his body trembling against yours.

“You scared me,” he whispered against your hair, his voice unsteady. “The world without you in it... it wouldn’t even be a world anymore.” His arms tightened around you, as if he could somehow merge you into himself, keep you from ever leaving. “The ocean would lose its blue. The sunset would mean nothing. Everything would be wrong.”

For a moment, you glimpsed the true depth of his feelings. Rafayel clung to you as if you were his only tether to sanity.

“You’re the only one,” he murmured brokenly, his fingers tangling in your hair. “The only one who’s ever truly seen me. The only one I’ve ever truly loved.” His voice caught on the words. “Others... they’re just shadows. Background noise. But you—” His breathing hitched. “You’re the melody I can’t stop hearing.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “I know I’m not... I know I’m difficult,” he admitted, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “I get distracted. I get lost in my head. I disappear when something catches my attention. But none of that means I don’t care.” He rested his forehead against yours.

Rafayel pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally a feather-light touch to your lips. “I’m sorry about tonight,” he whispered. “I saw the sunset reflecting on the water, and it reminded me of the way your eyes catch the light when you laugh, and I just... got lost in trying to capture it. A moment that reminded me of you.” He shook his head slightly. “But that’s no excuse. I should have been with you.”

His arms wrapped around you once more, holding you as if you were something infinitely precious and terrifyingly fragile. “Tell me how to make it right,” he pleaded softly. “Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll give it to you. Anything. Just... just promise you won’t say those words again. Not even in anger. I couldn’t bear it.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

“You’re being reckless again,” he said, his voice cool in a way that only stoked your anger further. “You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment.”

Weeks of feeling second-guessed and undermined by the very person who should have been your greatest ally finally erupted. “Not everything needs your perfect, polished approval, Sylus! Sometimes instinct trumps your precious spreadsheets!”

His eyes narrowed slightly—the only outward sign that your words had struck a nerve. “Instinct without strategy leads to disaster. You know that.”

The argument echoed through the room. What had started as a disagreement about your latest ambitious ideas had escalated beyond reason when he questioned your methods.

“What I know is that you don’t trust me anymore,” you said, voice rising with each word. “If you think so little of my ideas and my capabilities, then maybe we should just get divorced and you can find someone who meets your impossible standards!”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Sylus went completely, unnaturally still. Surprise and disbelief appeared on his features. He regarded you with an unfathomable stare, his jaw tightening visibly as a muscle worked in his cheek. You’d never seen him look so... shaken. The silence stretched between you, heavy with implications neither of you was prepared to face.

“Is that what you want?” he finally asked, his voice unnervingly quiet. There was steel underneath his words, but also something else—a carefully concealed pain that threaded through the syllables. His eyes never left yours, studying every micro-expression with devastating intensity.

He moved toward you in a few steps. “Very well,” he said softly, the words carrying a finality that sent ice through your veins. “If that is truly your desire, I won’t stand in your way.”

His hand reached out, hovering near your face but not quite touching, as if memorizing your features from a distance. The gesture held such unexpected tenderness that it made your throat tighten. “Though I would ask you to consider carefully if that is what you genuinely want,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “Some decisions can’t be undone.”

The subtle vulnerability in his controlled demeanor broke through your anger. You could see it now—the carefully masked fear behind his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders that betrayed how deeply your words had cut him.

You reached for his hovering hand, pulling it to your cheek. “No—please, don’t agree to that,” you said, your voice softening with immediate regret. “I spoke without thinking. I was hurt and angry and I lashed out in the worst possible way.” Your fingers tightened around his. “I value what we’ve built—what we have—more than anything in the world. I would never want to throw it away, especially not over a disagreement.”

Relief flickered across Sylus’s face, though so carefully guarded that you might have missed it had you not known every minute shift of his expression.

“I suspected as much,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. His hand, which had been hovering near you, finally made full contact, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Still, you should be more careful with your threats. I might have taken you at your word.”

He pulled you against him then, arms wrapping firmly around your waist. The embrace held a desperate quality that belied his controlled exterior, as if he was trying to reassure himself that you were still there, still his.

“You are...” he began, then paused, choosing his words with characteristic precision. “You are irreplaceable to me.” Coming from Sylus—a man who measured every word as carefully as he measured risk—the simple statement carried more weight than flowery declarations might from others. “What we have built together is not something I would surrender without a fight.” His arms tightened infinitesimally. “But I would never force you to remain if you truly wished to leave.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“We disagree. We argue. That is the nature of two ambitious minds existing in the same orbit.” His thumb traced your lower lip, the gesture surprisingly intimate. “But don’t threaten what we have unless you genuinely wish to end it.” Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. “I respect you too much to assume your words are empty.”

For a moment, you glimpsed behind the mask of the strategic leader who planned several steps ahead in every situation—seeing instead a man momentarily confronted with a possibility he hadn’t fully prepared for: your departure from his life.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The argument had been building for weeks, pressure accumulating like a storm system. What started as a seemingly minor issue—Caleb canceling dinner plans again due to a last-minute work emergency—had erupted into something far more devastating. The living room felt too small for the tension between you.

“That’s the fifth time this month,” you said, voice tight with hurt as you paced the living room. “I understand your work is important, but am I even a consideration anymore?”

Caleb ran a hand over his face, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. “It’s not like I had a choice. When—”

“You always have a choice!” The words burst from you, weeks of loneliness and frustration finding their target. “You choose your career over me, and I’m tired of making excuses for why my husband is never home, never present, never here when I need him!”

“That’s not fair,” he countered, his own frustration rising to meet yours. “You knew what my life was when you married me. The Fleet doesn’t care about our dinner reservations.”

“And clearly, neither do you!” You grabbed your keys from the counter, the metal biting into your palm. “Maybe we should just get divorced if your career is always going to come first! At least then I wouldn’t be waiting for someone who’s never coming home!”

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Caleb, who had been pacing, stopped dead in his tracks. His entire body went rigid, eyes widening with a look of such raw horror that it made your heart stutter.

“No,” he said after a long, terrible pause, his voice dangerously quiet. “No, you don’t mean that.”

He closed the distance between you in two swift strides, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in his movement, a barely contained desperation, that made your breath hitch.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument despite the slight tremor underneath the words. “You’re upset, and you have every right to be. But that—” he shook his head sharply, “—that’s not an option. Not now, not ever.”

His hands found your shoulders, grip firm but gentle. The look in his eyes was a volatile mixture of hurt, fear, and something possessively fierce that sent a shiver down your spine. “We’re not doing that,” he said, each word emphasizing. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That doesn’t change because we’re fighting.”

The intensity of his reaction cut through your anger like a blade, leaving only regret in its wake. You felt the fight drain out of you as you leaned into his touch, reaching up to cover his hands with yours.

“You’re right,” you whispered, tears finally spilling over. “I don’t mean it at all. I would never—” Your voice broke. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. I was trying to hurt you because I felt hurt, but that was cruel and unfair. I would never want to lose you. I just feel so alone sometimes, like I’m competing with the entire Fleet for scraps of your attention.”

The iron grip of tension in Caleb’s shoulders eased slightly, though the intensity in his eyes remained. He exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he’d been holding since your outburst. One hand moved from your shoulder to cup your face, his touch gentler than his words had been.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying a dangerous undercurrent. “Not even in anger. Not even as a weapon. Not ever.” The hand against your cheek trembled slightly. “I couldn’t bear it.”

He pulled you against his chest, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while his other hand cradled the back of your head. You could feel his heart hammering against your cheek, his breathing uneven.

“The thought of losing you...” he murmured against your hair. “It’s not something I can bear. Not something I would ever accept.” His arms tightened around you, as if he could physically prevent you from leaving by holding you close enough. “You’re the only thing that keeps me human out there. The only reason I fight so hard to come back.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “I know I’ve been distant,” he acknowledged, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. “The Fleet demands so much, but it’s no excuse. Nothing—” his grip tightened slightly, “—nothing is more important to me than you. Not my career, not my duty, not anything.”

“We’ll figure this out,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours. “Whatever it takes. More time together. Better communication.” His lips brushed yours. 

“Just don’t ever threaten to leave me again. I need you to promise me that.” His voice softened, revealing a vulnerability you rarely glimpsed. “Because I don’t think I’d survive it.”

Phew, finally. This turned out to be one of my longest scenarios yet. I’m honestly pretty proud of it, and yeah, I got emotional—tears were shed, lol. I really hope it’s enough to repay all the love and enthusiasm you’ve shown. I’m so grateful you’re here to read it. Thank you!

[luna-azzurra]

Story Starters #1

Yearning for Belonging Starters (for characters who feel like they’re always outside the frame, even when they’re in the picture)

✧ I laugh when they laugh. I nod in the right places. And still, somehow, I always feel like I’m one beat off. ✧ I watch how easily they fit with each other. And I wonder what it’s like to not have to earn your place. ✧ I keep my voice soft and my presence smaller, like maybe if I take up less space, no one will notice I don’t belong. ✧ Sometimes I imagine someone turning to me and saying, I’m glad you’re here. And I try not to cry just thinking about it. ✧ I hear inside jokes like echoes of a language I never learned. ✧ There’s an ache in me that no one else seems to notice. Like I’m a missing puzzle piece for a box I’ve never seen. ✧ I try to match the energy in the room, but my smile always feels like a costume. ✧ I wish someone would choose me first. Just once. Without hesitation. Without backup plans. ✧ Being alone isn’t the hardest part. It’s being with people and still feeling like you’re standing outside a window, watching the warmth from the cold. ✧ I’m tired of pretending that not being invited doesn’t hurt.

Grief Without Closure Starters (for when what’s lost never got to finish its sentence)

✧ I keep thinking I’ll wake up and remember this is just a long, cruel dream. But the world keeps moving. And they’re still gone. ✧ There are so many things I didn’t say. And now they sit in my throat like stones. ✧ I walk through the places they used to be and pretend the air still remembers them. ✧ It’s not that I expect them to walk through the door. I just… never really stopped hoping they might. ✧ I want to scream. But I know even if I did, it wouldn’t bring them back. ✧ They left too soon. And now everything that follows feels unfairly loud. ✧ I still check my phone sometimes, as if a message might slip through from wherever they went. ✧ Everyone else moved on like it was a phase. Like grief has an expiration date. ✧ I smile when I talk about them. But it feels like I’m covering a wound with a sticker. ✧ I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I still don’t think I have.

Quiet Crush Starters (for characters who are absolutely not in love, definitely not, shut up, no I’m not blushing)

✧ I don’t like them. I just notice their laugh before I notice anything else in the room. That’s normal. ✧ I know what color their eyes are in every kind of light. I wish I didn’t. ✧ I find myself looking for them before I even realize I’m scanning the crowd. ✧ Every time they say my name, I feel like I’ve just been handed a secret. ✧ I told myself I didn’t care. But when they sat next to someone else, my chest got tight in a way I couldn’t explain. ✧ I remember their little details. Not because I try. Just because I do. ✧ I thought it was a one-time thing. A passing thought. But here I am, three weeks later, still wondering if they meant that smile. ✧ I can’t tell if they like me too. And I’m scared to find out, either way. ✧ They said something kind, and I’ve been replaying it like it’s a song only I heard. ✧ I don’t even know if I want them. I just know I want to be near them. And that’s probably worse.

[luvergirl-535]

meet cute, but, like, wayyy worse

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 8.3k

c/w - smut (iktr), paige is a loser in the streets and a freak in the sheets (lol), horrifically unedited to the point where idek if it’s legible so bear w me 🥀

a/n - writing this made me realize i’ve literally forgotten how to write smut 😔 bc why’d i keep trying to make it funny. i’m actually a little concerned that ive been doing too much unserious stuff i won’t be able to go back to normal writing anymore lmao maybe i’m the problem…

paige has had an absolute shitshow of a night. actually, scratch that—the entire year has been a shitshow. maybe even the past two years. she doesn’t like to dwell on it.

she hates the way her friends look at her these days, with cautious smiles and sympathetic eyes, like all they ever do anymore is feel bad for her. she hates the way they speak to her when she starts drinking, like she’s an unpredictable, wild thing. like they’re afraid of what she’s doing to herself.

honestly, she’s fine. they just don’t get it. the fame, the work, it’s a lot. she’s in shape. her basketball has never been better. she’s bringing girls home every night.

it’s not like she’s addicted to coke or anything. since when is it a crime to need a few beers every now and then?

(it’s every night. and some mornings, too.)

(she finds herself forgetting—birthdays, anniversaries, names—more than ever.)

(she used to fucking hate alcohol.)

(she is a little afraid of herself, too.)

anyway.

the cruise has been fun. a team-bonding experience, meant to build their chemistry off the court, to take their minds off the upcoming season for a little while. a week of relaxation. a week to destress. for paige, it’s been hard. she cannot justify sneaking off to day drink to her teammates, and they’ve been steering clear of alcohol like their lives depend on it. she only gets to drink at night, after the rest of the girls have gotten too drunk to care about what she does. the rest of the time, she’s forced to be painfully sober.

it all goes from ‘difficult’ to ‘burning gates of hell’ when she throws up on the love of her life—who does not know she’s the love of paige’s life—azzi fudd. an angel on earth, the most beautiful girl paige has ever seen. like, better than zendaya. for real.

after that, she wants nothing more than to jump off ship and be lost at sea forever. when kk offers to take azzi back to paige’s room, she swears she could kill her.

and then, almost consecutively: her stupid little crush is exposed, she’s forced to cut a dress off azzi’s body, and then—this.

her first thought, after the phone call, is mental image of her fist pumping, because, duh. and then comes the, oh my god, i get to fuck azzi fudd, followed by a brief moment of panic, followed then by the realization that of course she is not going to fuck azzi tonight. or ever.

she is both relieved and disappointed by this knowledge.

“i’m…” azzi says, staring at her phone as if she could magically make chad call her back again. paige expects something, like maybe an explanation on why the fuck she’s telling her ex-boyfriend they are going to fuck tonight, but instead, azzi just tosses the phone onto the bed as if she’s been burned and says, “i’m going to change.”

paige has half a mind to leap in front of the door and barricade azzi in the room with her until she gets an explanation. she doesn’t, because she can barely act like a normal person around azzi, let alone confront her like that.

azzi disappears into the restroom. paige sits. and waits—not so patiently.

she pulls at a fray in the comforter until it comes loose. taps her foot against the bedframe. thinks about how azzi’s voice changed on the call—quieter, but not exactly embarrassed. maybe satisfied? there was something in it that didn’t sound like regret. that’s the part that’s screwing with her the most.

she gets up from the bed to pace, the back-and-forth a feeble attempt at wrapping her mind around what just happened. when that doesn’t work, she drops to the floor and does some sit-ups, because when she was a kid her dad told her if she let the anxiety build in her body she’d explode and that the only way to get rid of it was to do sit-ups. he’s a bitch for that, but she’s also spent a lifetime with nice abs, so she can’t really be too mad. but not even the magical sit-ups really work, so she does the last thing she can think of:

she pounds on the bathroom door.

“jesus!” azzi’s voice is high-pitched, nervous. “you tryna knock the door down?”

“uh, no,” paige says, a little unsure of what she’s going to say now that she’s here. “you’ve just been in there for awhile so…”

“don’t worry about it.”

oh, she’s worried. though not particularly about azzi. “can you just come out?”

“why?”

at this point, azzi is just playing in her face. because what does she mean, ‘why?’. is it not a normal thing to come out of the bathroom once you’re done?

the most alarming thing about all this is that paige has yet to question her undying crush, even as azzi is turning out to be a possible psycho. actually, even worse—it might be turning paige on?

now she is doubly worried. perhaps she should focus on one thing at a time.

paige’s silence must have stretched long enough to spark concern, because azzi speaks again, a hesitant, “paige?”

paige sighs, a hand on her hip and the other pinching the bridge of her nose, a pose she might have adopted from her coach. “you know you owe me an explanation, azzi.”

another sigh, as equally annoyed as paige’s, from the other side of the door. and then, its opening, and azzi’s standing there in paige’s clothes, looking altogether too soft and sweet for the diabolical things she did ten minutes prior. “i know, i just…i don’t really have one.”

paige’s eyes flick down azzi’s body without permission. the loose uconn t-shirt hangs too long on her—paige knows that shirt, it’s the one she used to let her ex borrow. something about azzi in it makes her stomach twist. not in a bad way. in the worst possible way.

paige steps back, allowing azzi back into the bedroom. “you mean you don’t have an explanation for telling your boyfriend we’d…” paige isn’t usually shy about sex, she’s a grown adult, for god’s sake, but this is azzi fudd and she can’t really find her words in normal conversation, and certainly not this one, “you know…” she trails off awkwardly.

azzi bites her lip, half-sheepish, half-trying to charm her way out of it. and, yeah, maybe it’s working a little.

paige realizes with a little bit of a start that she’s staring at azzi’s lips. she glances up and away quickly, turning around to give herself something to do before motioning to the phone on the bed. “you should…call him back.”

“hell no,” azzi sneers.

“well it’s either that or we fuck,” paige retorts before she can think. she’s glad she’s faced away so azzi can’t see the way blood flushes her cheeks.

azzi’s silent for a moment. almost long enough that paige turns around, but then she speaks. “maybe there’s another option,” she says.

paige senses trouble.

❀❀❀

kk’s jaw is on the floor.

she looks between a guilty-looking azzi and a tomato-red paige before letting out a shocked laugh. “now why would you tell him that?”

kk asking all the most important questions.

“it was the first thing that came to mind!” azzi says, voice high and defensive. paige can’t help but think it’s adorable.

“why, though?” kk asks, a small, suspect grin spreading over her face.

azzi gives her a look, something that clearly says cut it out, and paige doesn’t doubt that kk spilled all the beans about her crush to azzi earlier.

“uh-huh,” kk responds, making a small ‘mcht’ sound.

azzi gives that warning look again. “shut up, kk.”

“that isn’t even the main thing,” paige points out, jumping between their tense interaction. “what we came to tell you is azzi had an idea.” an outlandish, admittedly odd one, but an idea nonetheless.

“an idea,” kk repeats.

azzi nods. she’s hesitant, clearly, but paige has already assured her kk will be on board. she’ll laugh in their faces first, sure, but then she will help them go through with azzi’s little…plan.

“okay,” she says doubtfully. “tell me this lil’ idea.”

azzi glances nervously at paige. “well, i can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right,” she explains.

kk nods. “obviously.”

“and i can’t go back to my room tonight.”

“okay…”

“so i’m going to stay here,” she continues, taking a deep breath as in gathering courage for the teasing about to come. “and i’m going to take…suggestive pictures with paige, in paige’s bed. and we’re just hoping you can help.”

before azzi’s finished, kk’s eyebrows have already raised to her hairline. she lets out a half-shocked, half-ifuckingknewit scoff. it’s enough to have paige jumping in to try and make it look better. “her boyfriend’s really an ass, kk, like, she needs to get him back.”

azzi nods. “paige heard him on the phone. she knows.”

“i know,” paige agrees.

kk looks between the two of them, both so earnest and oh-so oblivious, and just laughs. “i believe you. oh, i believe you.”

“so are you going to help us?” azzi asks.

“help with what, exactly? do i need to ref? do i need to make sure it stays pg in there?”

paige immediately blushes, squeaking an awkward “what? no!” before azzi can even react. when she does, it’s a much more nonchalant, normal person answer: “don’t be weird, kk. answer the question.”

kk gives paige a pointed look. “for the record, this is stupud. y’all are stupid. and i don’t condone such behavior.”

“oh, shut up, kk,” paige says.

“but i will help,” kk finishes, getting up from her kitchen stool. “i’ll make sure y’all look as, what’d you say? suggestive, as possible,” she grins.

azzi, bravely, doesn’t so much as redden. “cool. thanks.”

“what friends are for,” kk replies easily. she walks toward them, slinging an arm around both their shoulders and pulling their heads close. “and after tonight, we are definitely friends,” she tells azzi.

“except on the court,” azzi points out.

“unless you come to uconn.”

“you tryna recruit me? to a team that always loses against us?” azzi laughs, pushing away. “you’re funny.”

“trust, we wouldn’t lose with you on our team,” kk says.

paige rolls her eyes. “can we just get this over with?”

“aight, cranky pants. let’s get it.” kk motions toward the bedroom. “go start taking y’all’s clothes off. i’ll get the camera ready.”

“oh, brother,” azzi sighs, at the same time paige mutters, “worst fuckin’ idea,” under her breath.

❀❀❀

azzi looks—fucked out, to be perfectly honest. more specifically, like a scene straight from one of paige’s many azzi-centered wet dreams. not that she has azzi-centered wet dreams or anything. but if she did, like hypothetically, azzi would look exactly like this.

lips plumped with oil. braids pulled back messily. mascara re-applied and then carefully smeared. she studies herself in the mirror as she adds the final touch: a dark bruise above her collarbone, created with deft fingers and dark blush courtesy of kk. paige sits on the toilet seat, watching azzi work. she’s been staring for the past thirty minutes. azzi has yet to notice. kk, on the other hand, has spent the entire time sending her not-so-subtle signals, such as disguising a ‘talktoher’ with a cough, and whispering ‘go offer to do that for her,’ when azzi started applying the hickeys.

paige has not taken this advice. she’s still a little tipsy and azzi looks too enticing and she’s awkward enough that she’d much rather observe than try to interact at the moment.

before azzi finishes applying the final fake hickey, kk is fiddling with angles, mumbling about “golden hour lighting” even though they’re inside and it’s past midnight. paige’s gaze is caught in the mirror—not on herself, but the reflection of azzi in front of her. she imagines reaching over. just touching azzi’s wrist. she doesn’t. she clenches her hands together in her lap instead.

“you know,” azzi says idly, still dabbing at her collarbone, “you’re not nervous enough.”

paige blinks. “about what?”

“pretending to fuck me. in pictures. that we’re going to send to a real person.” azzi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s something layered beneath it.

“what, you want me to panic?”

“a little. would make me feel better.”

paige laughs—quiet and dry. “i’m panicking plenty. just…internally.”

“uh-huh.” azzi licks her thumb before dabbing at her neck, turning her chin this way and that in the mirror. “do i look good?”

“you look bad,” kk says, nodding appreciatively. “as hell.”

azzi smiles a little shyly. “thanks.”

she knows it’s stupid, but a pang of jealously hits paige. she wishes she had kk’s natural instinct to flirt with girls. and it’s true paige has this instinct sometimes, but with a girl she really likes? with azzi fucking fudd? it’s best for everyone if she just keeps quiet and lets kk charm her instead. after this whole thing, she’ll go back to her indulgent bedtime fantasies of she and azzi in domestic situations and wet dreams.

“okay,” azzi says, pulling her phone out of her pocket and snapping a quick selfie in the mirror before turning to the two of them. “we ready?”

“i been practicing my photography skills,” kk says (she got a new camera app last week and has been taking candid, objectively bad photos of the team ever since). “never been readier.”

“don’t think that’s a word,” azzi points out, then looks at paige. “paige?”

“yup,” paige says, slapping her thighs before standing up in an attempt to get rid of the chalant written all over her face right now. “super ready.”

“now why you sound all excited to cozy up in bed with fudd?” kk quips. paige gets warm all over, glancing furtively at azzi to see her reaction—seriously, kk’s going to make azzi think paige is weird or something—but she just gives a little laugh before leading the way into the bedroom. “okay, let’s do this then.”

paige is maybe beginning to reconsider the this in question—their great plan. nothing’s even been done yet, for god’s sakes, with phase one—making azzi look as fucked out as possible—barely being finished. yet still paige is already uncomfortably damp between her legs: hence, the reconsidering. but, lord save her, azzi is already crawling into paige’s bed much too seductively, and it would look downright suspicious of her to pussy out now. no, she’s going to go through with this faux-sex photoshoot like a man, goddamit.

“get in there, twin,” kk says, pulling her phone out from her back pocket.

paige gingerly sits on the edge of the bed while azzi lays back, propped up on her elbows as they watch kk navigate around the device. “you know,” azzi says, “i wasn’t thinking you’d actually take the pictures for us. i thought you’d just, like, tell us what looks good.”

paige is a little surprised to hear this, and at the offended expression on kk’s face, she panics—her friend has a liking for dramatic storm-outs, and paige cannot have her leaving right now. “but this works too,” she jumps in, shooting azzi a warning look. “right?”

azzi places her palms upright, surrendering. “i mean, yeah, i guess. i was just sayin’.”

“well i ain’t here to be a third opinion or nothing,” kk says haughtily.

“you’re not,” paige says quickly. “you’re our creative director.”

“yeah,” azzi adds, already settling deeper into the pillows like this is just another thursday night. “we trust your vision.”

kk narrows her eyes at them like she’s sniffing out sarcasm, but apparently decides she accepts it. “creative director,” she repeats, pleased. “i like that. okay. azzi, scoot a little more to the left. paige, behind her. lean in like you just got done doing something y’all shouldn’t have been doing.”

“we haven’t even started yet,” paige mutters.

“don’t kill the vibe,” kk says. she gestures wildly. “go on. get close. more. closer.”

paige shifts behind azzi on the bed, legs folding automatically. azzi leans back slightly to rest against her, and the contact sends a shock through her skin like she’s short-circuiting. this is fine. totally fine. normal behavior for two near-strangers in a definitely-not-suggestive photoshoot.

“hand on her waist,” kk calls, adjusting her phone. “and azzi, tilt your head back, like you’re worn out.”

paige’s hand finds azzi’s hip, fingers splaying across the soft cotton of her borrowed t-shirt. azzi does as told, and for a second paige’s vision blurs. the curve of her neck, the flushed heat of her skin from alcohol or earlier makeup efforts—it’s all a little too real.

“jesus,” kk mutters, half to herself. “this looks…kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

paige groans. “can we not—comment on that?”

“okay, okay,” kk says, still snapping. “let’s switch it up. azzi, crawl into her lap. yeah, like that. lean back a little, like you’re laughing at something she said. paige, smile. not like you’re being tortured.”

“so, you are taking the pictures for us, then?”

“i’m close enough he won’t be able to tell it was taken by someone else,” kk huffs. “now, go. c’mon.”

“i’m not a model,” paige mutters, but she does her best to grin.

azzi wiggles into place, her thigh slotting between paige’s legs. “sorry,” she whispers.

“don’t apologize,” paige says automatically, which is a mistake, because then azzi looks at her, and they’re way too close for that.

“aaaand pause,” kk says, not looking up from the phone. “i think i need y’all to look a little messier. paige, mess up your hair. azzi, can you tug the shirt off your shoulder a little? you look too put together.”

paige drags a hand through her hair, trying not to stare as azzi obliges, the shirt slipping just enough to expose the faux-hickey she’d applied earlier. kk catches it in the next snap and lets out a sharp whistle.

“he’s gonna cry when he sees these,” she says gleefully.

azzi’s lips twitch. “that’s the goal.”

more posing. more directions. at some point paige gets bolder, draping an arm around azzi’s stomach. azzi leans back into her without hesitation, as if it’s natural, like they do this every day.

kk crouches to get a shot from below and then pauses, frowning at her screen. “hold up,” she says. “jana’s calling. gimme a sec.”

she stands and walks out, phone already at her ear, voice lowering as she steps into the other room.

the silence she leaves behind is heavy.

paige shifts slightly. azzi doesn’t move off her lap.

“so…” paige starts, voice low. “this is probably the weirdest way i’ve ever spent a night.”

azzi chuckles softly. “same. but kind of… weirdly fun?”

“yeah,” paige admits. “yeah, it kinda is.”

they lapse into another pause. paige thinks she should move, but azzi hasn’t, and she’s scared that if she does, she’ll mess up whatever weird little truce they’re holding onto.

“hey,” azzi says suddenly, voice softer now. “can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

“do you hang out with your team very often?” she asks. “because, i mean, i see y’all on tv and at social events and stuff but—i dunno. you’re never in any of their tiktoks or anything.” azzi winces. “not that i’ve been paying attention.”

paige stiffens slightly. “uh. i dunno. just—trying to focus. this year’s important.”

“yeah,” azzi says quietly. “it is.”

azzi looks down, to gather her thoughts, maybe, and seems to realize that she’s still on top of paige because her breath hitches and then she moves, rolling off so she’s sitting beside her. “sorry,” she murmurs.

“you’re good.”

the quiet stretches again, heavier this time.

“truth?” paige says suddenly.

azzi turns toward her a little more, her thigh still between paige’s, their knees brushing. “truth.”

“i’ve been drinking too much,” paige blurts. “i’m not like an alcoholic or anything,” she’s quick to defend, because alcoholism is for deadbeat dads and stuff, right? not for celebrity college athletes. “it just, lately, it got kind of bad, and people started noticing, and it’s hard to be around them now. they all look at me like they think i’m gonna…i dunno. fall apart or something.”

azzi’s eyes soften. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i mean—it’s not,” paige shrugs. “but it’s…i had this breakup a few months ago. really bad. i thought it was going to be forever, you know? and when it wasn’t, i guess, and it was kinda my fault, and i—the team took me to parties, to get my mind off it. i learned pretty quick that drinking helped me forget. and now, i mean, i’m mostly over it, i guess, but it helps with other things, too. like when i’m stressed about an exam, or worried for a game, or something. it helps.”

she stares off into space, then catches herself, glancing over at azzi, who’s staring her with an imperceptible look on her face. “damn, my bad. didn’t mean to overshare with a stranger like that.”

“you’re not a stranger,” azzi says, her voice quiet. “not to me.”

paige blinks. “i didn’t think you knew anything about me.”

“i do,” azzi says. “we’re not close, but…i’ve kept up with you, since usa. i’m a people-watcher. very perceptive.” she elbows paige, raising a smug, teasing eyebrow. “and i think i’ve got you all figured out.”

paige exhales, glad for the mood lightener. “oh yeah? and who am i?”

“you’re…a twenty-two year old college student,” azzi starts.

paige laughs. “wow, super perceptive. how’d you figure that one out?”

“shut up, smart-ass, i’m not finished,” azzi snips, and paige is almost surprised at the sass, at the teasing that she herself loves so much. “lemme continue. i think you’re someone who likes to think you’ve got your life together. you walk around like you’re so sure of everything, like your whole future is planned out, and you know it’s all gonna end well for you. so you act like you don’t worry, like you don’t…care.”

paige raises an eyebrow. “but…?”

“but,” azzi says, “you’re a twenty-two year old college student. of course you don’t have your life figured out. you get stressed out trying to decide what you’re gonna eat for your next meal. your shoulders are constantly tense. you’re always wringing your hands before games, did you know that? during time-outs, too.”

paige looks over, startled, to find azzi looking just as surprised. “you watch me play?”

azzi fumbles for something. “i’m a basketball player. you didn’t expect me to watch basketball?”

“i didn’t expect you to watch me,” paige says.

azzi opens her mouth. closes it. looks away, at the wall ahead. “i guess i didn’t realize i was doing it.”

paige doesn’t know what to say to that. she feels seen and it’s terrifying.

“truth?” azzi says after a moment.

“truth.”

“chad’s been cheating on me,” she says. “i haven’t caught him, but i know. it’s been obvious for weeks.”

paige looks at her, waiting.

“and he’s mean,” azzi continues. “not, like…evil. just sharp. cold. the kind of mean that makes you feel stupid for crying or asking to be treated better. tonight was just—my last straw, i think. i didn’t want to go back to that room and feel like shit again. so i came here.”

“you didn’t have to come with us,” paige says. “i would’ve just, like, venmoed you for the shoes.”

azzi meets her eyes. “i think…i think i wanted to come here.”

paige’s breath catches.

before she can figure out what that means—what to say—kk’s voice cuts in from the hall. “yo! i gotta bounce for a sec, emergency meeting. jana’s constipated for real, imma bring over some laxatives. i’ll be back in like twenty.”

they hear the cabin door open and then click shut.

“you think we should keep going?” azzi asks after a beat.

paige nods, voice suddenly thick. “yeah. okay.”

wordlessly, they rearrange, moving closer. azzi sits with her knees up now, leaning into paige’s shoulder, one hand splayed across her thigh.

they take a few selfies this time. azzi guides her hand behind the camera, adjusting the angle to catch just enough skin, just enough closeness. their shoulders press. their cheeks touch. at some point, paige’s hand finds azzi’s knee, and azzi doesn’t move it.

by the time kk returns, azzi is in paige’s lap again, one hand hooked around the back of her neck.

kk pauses in the doorway. “well damn.”

“we figured we’d keep going,” paige says, eyes wide.

“uh-huh,” kk says knowingly. “y’all definitely got the shots now.”

she walks around, checking a few pictures. “these are good. like…y’all could win a grammy for best fake situationship or something.”

paige laughs, a little too loudly. “we just wanted to sell it.”

“mission accomplished.” kk pockets her phone. “i’ll edit mine and get them to you, azzi.”

“thanks,” azzi says. “seriously. for everything.”

kk just grins. “get some sleep, y’all. and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”

when she’s gone, paige and azzi look at each other.

“that was—” paige starts.

“insane,” azzi finishes.

they laugh, even though nothing’s really funny.

❀❀❀

the clock on the stove reads 4:36 a.m. the suite is dark and quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. paige is sitting at the counter, a half-empty glass of water in her hand, the condensation dripping slowly down to form a ring beneath it.

she can’t sleep. her skin’s still buzzing, brain too full. not from alcohol—for once—but from azzi. from the way her voice had gone soft. from the weight of her in paige’s lap. from the echo of that not-quite-confession: i think i wanted to come here.

the room creaks. faint footsteps pad across the floor.

paige looks up.

azzi appears in the doorway, her braids wrapped in kk’s spare bonnet, bundled in one of paige’s old huskies sweatshirts that’s big enough to swallow her whole. she looks warm. sleepy. somehow both tentative and certain.

“couldn’t sleep,” azzi says, voice scratchy.

paige offers a quiet smile. “same.”

azzi shuffles forward, hugging her arms around herself. “can i hang with you?”

“uh-huh.”

azzi climbs onto the stool next to her. their knees knock under the counter and neither moves to pull away. azzi steals a sip from paige’s water without asking, and something about that—something about the easy familiarity of it—sends a warm, unsteady ache through paige’s chest.

they sit in silence for a while. the kind of silence that settles between people who are too tired to lie but too uncertain to speak first.

finally, azzi says, “i didn’t think today would end like this.”

paige snorts quietly. “me either.”

“i thought i’d be crying to some emo playlist and wondering why i ever trusted him.”

“and i thought i’d be drinking alone in my room, again,” paige admits. “so…silver linings, i guess?”

azzi turns slightly to look at her, and the light from the fridge reflects in her eyes, soft and shimmering. “i meant what i said earlier. about wanting to come here.”

paige looks at her. “yeah?”

azzi nods, then smiles softly to herself. “it’s been a lot of fun, despite…everything.” she gestures at their surroundings. “i don’t think i’ve laughed like that in months, to be honest.”

“i don’t think i’ve felt…wanted like that in months,” paige says, quieter now, fully aware that what she’s saying is pathetic and induced by the last dregs of alcohol in her system. “even if it was fake.”

azzi’s voice is even softer. “it didn’t feel fake.”

that—that does it.

paige’s breath catches, heart thudding loud in her chest. she glances at azzi, who’s already looking at her, mouth parted, gaze open in a way that makes something deep inside paige tremble.

“can i—?” paige starts, voice hoarse.

“yes,” azzi breathes.

paige leans in slowly, giving azzi every chance to pull away. but she doesn’t. she leans in too, and when their lips meet, it’s soft. hesitant. careful, like they’re both afraid of shattering something delicate.

azzi’s hand finds paige’s hoodie, clutching at the fabric. paige cups her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. the kiss deepens in quiet pulses, not rushed, but heavy with the weight of something new.

when they finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, paige whispers, “sorry. i didn’t—i wasn’t trying to make this weird.”

“it’s not weird,” azzi says, eyes still closed. “it’s…good. i think it’s really good.”

they sit like that for a long beat, breathing the same air.

then azzi whispers, “can i stay with you? i just…don’t want to be alone tonight.”

paige nods immediately. “yeah. of course.”

azzi takes her hand. her fingers are cold, but her grip is sure.

they walk quietly through the dark apartment. it’s a short walk, but it feels like it takes years. the lights are all off, but paige’s room glows faintly with the soft blue light of the tv she’d left on, a 2000s sitcom playing on mute.

paige opens the door and lets azzi step inside first. she watches her for a second, silhouetted against the light—still in the oversized hoodie, bare legs, face bare and soft. she’s never looked more unreal.

paige swallows hard, her pulse thudding in her ears.

azzi turns to face her. “you coming?”

paige steps in and closes the door behind her. something buzzes under her skin, in both a turned-on way and a bug-crawly way.

it’s dawning on her, now, with azzi standing there giving her bedroom eyes in her bedroom—she just kissed azzi fudd. she threw up on her then proceeded to be incredibly awkward for the entire tonight before trauma-dumping and has now pulled her.

azzi fudd. the fucking—love of her life. the celebrity crush of her goddamn dreams. is standing before her like some kind of bisexual goddess waiting to receive the best head of her life. and oh, will paige make sure it actually is the best head of her life. much better than chad’s, that’s for certain. if he even gave her head. he seems the type of guy to say it’s ’too gross’.

“paige?”

oh god. she’s been staring.

“hey,” azzi frowns, stepping towards her. “you okay? i can leave, or…”

“no,” paige says vehemently, also stepping forward, closing the gap between them. she wants to reach out, to pull azzi in, but she’s not sure if that’s what azzi really wants. maybe she just wants to sleep? not that paige isn’t down for snuggling, but she’s already hyped herself up for that whole head thing, and she’s not super willing to back down now. “i just…”

azzi looks at her, eyes searching her face before she looks down. her lips quirk up, and when she looks back at paige, she’s clearly amused. “i clocked you so hard earlier.”

“i…what?” paige asks.

azzi points. “your hands.”

paige looks down, and sure enough—she’s wringing her hands. like a nervous little wimp. she scoffs, pulling them apart and wiping them on her sweats before making a split-second decision, pulling azzi in by the waist. “you didn’t clock shit.”

“no?” azzi asks, smile growing a little. her hands are soft as they roam up paige’s arms before circling around the back of her neck. “so you’re not super nervous right now?”

“i’m not nervous,” paige is quick to correct. “just wondering what you want.”

azzi’s eyebrows rise, just a little. “oh?”

paige hadn’t really meant to say it, but what the hell. “uh-huh. you wanna tell me?”

“hm.” azzi looks up at her like she’s deliberating something, then smiles, coy and dimply, before stepping back slowly, taking paige with her. “i think…” she whispers, walking them back as if the room were her’s, until her thighs hit the edge of the bed. “i think i want you to give me some real pictures.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, sitting azzi down before kneeling in front of her, playing into the game. “for chad?” she wrinkles her nose as she says it. even his name is a turn-off. paige has no clue how azzi managed to have sex with that man. she imagines azzi saying something like, “oh, chad, yes!” and it turns her teasing smirk into something more like a barely-contained laugh.

azzi’s expression breaks, and it looks a little like she’s fighting a smile of her own. “ew, don’t say his name.”

unable to help it, paige chuckles, leaning her forehead against azzi’s thigh. “what do we call him, then?”

“nothing,” azzi says firmly, lifting paige’s chin and bending down so their nose-to-nose, biting her lip slightly as she studies her face. “i want you to give me those pictures,” she mutters, “let me prove him wrong. and then i want you to make me forget him.”

oh, paige can definitely do that.

without another word, paige surges forward and kisses her. it’s surer this time, steadier, now with the knowledge of what’s to come, not just tonight but tomorrow, and maybe—if paige lets herself dream—maybe even longer than that. based off the way azzi presses her tongue against the seam of her lips, paige thinks she might feel it, too.

paige opens up for her, pliant and willing, ready to do whatever azzi asks of her. azzi’s tongue is warm, wet, slippery against paige’s own and she groans at the feel of it, at the minty freshness of her own toothpaste that azzi had used.

“paige,” azzi breathes against her lips. paige hums, leaning forward again to close the small amount of distance. but azzi pulls back, just slightly, and when paige blinks her eyes open azzi’s looking at her urgently, pulling her up by the shoulders. “paige,” she repeats.

paige swears, she usually has so much more finesse in the bedroom. she once made a girl come in under sixty seconds. she convinced her ex to call her daddy, for god’s sakes. but this—this is azzi. and thus, she just stares blankly at her, mind trying desperately to figure out what azzi’s saying while her cunt pulses desperately in her boxers. “…huh?” she says after a moment.

azzi sighs, but there’s something in her eyes, and when paige looks hard enough she thinks maybe it’s fondness? but she doesn’t have time to discern that properly because then azzi is hooking her arms under paige’s armpits and all but hoisting her up into her lap, and that’s just…really fucking hot. paige doesn’t think she’s ever been hoisted before.

hands finding their ways to azzi’s shoulders, paige exhales, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to regain some of her rizz. “you’re really strong,” she says instead.

azzi presses her lips to the hinge of paige’s jaw, mumbling against her skin, “good observation.” her arms are steady around paige’s waist, holding her close, allowing for the best access, and paige shifts, hips moving subtly against azzi’s thighs.

azzi’s lips trail higher until she’s nipping at paige’s earlobe, and paige can so clearly hear the little noises coming from her now; soft pants and exhales like she’s trying hard to contain herself. and that just—that does it.

wordlessly, paige presses against azzi’s shoulders, urging her to lay down. azzi looks at her quizzically but goes willingly, getting comfortable against the pillows as paige crawls on top of her. she leans down for another kiss but azzi presses a hand to her chest, stopping her.

“want this off, first,” she says, tugging at the hem of paige’s shirt. “wanna feel you.”

paige is quick to oblige, reaching behind her head to pull the neckline, azzi helping her until the shirt’s off, discarded somewhere to the side. azzi’s eyes roam shamelessly, but not as shamelessly as her hands, which trail over her abs, her ribs, the taut muscles in her back.

“you’re—” she swallows hard, “you’re pretty strong too.”

paige mentally fist-pumps. “good observation, baby.”

shivering against the cool air of the room, paige presses one last kiss to azzi’s lips, lingering there and thinking she could stay like that forever before remembering her job. photos. head. make azzi forget chad.

she shifts down, dipping her head into azzi’s neck to kiss the warm skin there. she smells good, like hair products and perfume. her hands wander of their own accord, lifting azzi’s shirt just enough to reveal a small sliver of skin, a glinting belly piercing. god, she doesn’t think she’ll get enough of this girl.

“want this off you, too,” paige instructs quietly, searching azzi’s eyes for any hesitation, but there’s only heat as she pulls her shirt off in one swift motion. it take’s paige’s brain a few seconds to catch up with what her eyes are seeing—azzi, topless, skin dark against the white bedding, nipples pebbled from the temperature change.

paige makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat, completely aware she’s staring but unable to do anything about it, because she’s surely not going to look away. not when azzi is staring up at her like—like that, with hooded eyes and a small, teasing smile. she knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly what it’d do to paige by letting her find out for herself she isn’t wearing a bra, and it’s going to drive her fucking insane.

“paige,” azzi says.

paige’s eyes snap up from azzi’s chest, somewhat guiltily. “yeah?”

“you have me really fucking worked up right now,” azzi says bluntly. “and as much as i love watching you stare at me, i need you to actually come here and do something about it.”

that gets paige moving.

it’s instinctual, the way she dips her head down, nuzzles into the valley between azzi’s breasts. the way her tongue darts out to taste her skin, the way her palms cup the underside of azzi’s tits and push them up before she takes the stiff peak of one into her mouth.

azzi sighs, this small, satisfied sound which only serves to encourage paige further. she relaxes a little, allowing herself to get out of her own head because she knows this. she’s good at it. she knows without a doubt she can make azzi feel good and if she dies tomorrow, then she’ll die happy knowing she at least got to have this first. got to flick her tongue over azzi’s nipple and revel in the soft moan it elicits from her.

the sound sends a jolt of heat through paige’s stomach, straight to the apex of her thighs. she’s acutely aware of the way she and azzi’s legs are slotted together, the sinewy muscle of azzi’s bare thigh between her own, hovering just beneath her. paige has to make a conscious effort not to bear down onto her, not to search for any of the friction she so desperately needs.

paige pulls off azzi’s tit with a slight pop, admiring the way it looks now, glistening with her saliva. she had planned on making her way down the length of azzi’s body, but now she’s stuck here, watching intently as she rolls azzi’s nipples between her fingertips, loving the way azzi arches up into her. she glances up to catch her expression, and what she finds—mouth slightly ajar, eyes fluttered shut—has her leaning back up to capture her lips in another searing kiss. azzi groans, surprised at the contact, and when paige licks confidently into her mouth, she groans again, this time sounding a little strangled.

paige chuckles against her lips, trailing away to nose against her cheekbone. “what, you need sum’?”

azzi huffs, arms around paige’s neck pulling her insistently closer. “you’re teasing me.”

“well, i’on know what you want,” paige says, pressing soft kisses against azzi’s jaw.

azzi’s nails scratch a little punishingly into paige’s back. “i told you what i want.”

paige shudders at the pain, the starkness of it, the shivers it sends down her back. “yeah,” paige agrees, leaning up on her elbows to look into azzi’s eyes, “but you ain’t told me how you want it.”

azzi’s eyebrows furrow, a slight pout forming on her lips, and the expression is so cute compared to the compromising situation they’re in that paige almost gives in then and there. but she’s a spent the entire night making an absolute fool of herself in front of azzi, and this feels like her only opportunity to show her just what she can do, what she can be, when she wants to.

and, shit, does she want to.

“gotta use your words, mami,” paige tells her, looking down at her with something like sympathy even as her tone is commanding, and it has the desired effect: azzi’s breath hitches, cheeks flushing, eyes squeezing shut like she’s collecting herself before she meets paige’s again.

“want your mouth, paige,” she whispers, almost like she’s embarrassed to be saying it out loud. “your tongue.”

somewhere in her aroused haze, paige registers that this must mean they’re soulmates or something, that they both want the same thing. she tucks that little thought away for later (she knows kk will agree when she tells her about it) and then nods, pressing a kiss to azzi’s forehead, just below her bonnet. “good girl,” she murmurs, testing the waters, and based off the way azzi exhales this shaky little whimper, she figures she’s probably into it. also good to know.

paige takes azzi’s forearms in her hands and withdraws them from around her neck, sitting back on her knees in between azzi’s legs. she hooks her fingers around her own basketball shorts, which sit tantalizingly on azzi’s hips—she doesn’t think she’s ever described basketball shorts as tantalizing before—and raises her eyebrows at azzi. azzi nods, lifting her hips off the bed, just enough that paige is able to easily pull them over the swell of her ass. azzi lifts her feet up, allowing paige to pull the fabric completely off and toss them away before she presses a kiss to each of her ankles. azzi watches her closely, hands fondling her own breasts in a way that makes paige want to put her mouth back on them, but then she’s glancing down at the exposed core between azzi’s thighs and there is nothing else that could possibly be more important than that, ever.

she sets azzi’s legs on the bed before shifting, laying herself flat on her stomach with her arms propped up beneath her until she’s hovering over azzi’s pelvis, admiring the smooth skin there and the belly ring that sits a few inches higher. she bends down, nuzzling her nose against the soft, curly hair she finds there, pressing a kiss and then many more along the expanse of skin until she reaches a hipbone. she bites, just roughly enough to make a mark, and azzi hisses above her.

paige’s eyes flick up, double-checking, but azzi looks more than okay—in fact, she looks downright impatient. when their eyes meet, she nods urgently at her. “get on with it.”

paige raises an eyebrow at the attitude but doesn’t comment on it just yet, instead pressing a kiss to the other hipbone before saying, “oh, you want more?”

azzi sighs at the coy tone in paige’s voice. “paige.”

“mm,” paige hums. “you sound frustrated, baby.”

“yeah, well,” azzi shifts uncomfortably, “it’s frustrating when you tease me like this.”

“yeah?” paige asks. she rests her cheek against azzi’s thigh, allowing her fingers to trail up and down the inside of her other one, getting close to where she needs her but never close enough. “you’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?” she muses.

“fuck you,” azzi says, no real venom there as annoyance mixes with amusement in her eyes.

“i will,” paige promises, kissing her thigh, “princess.”

azzi opens her mouth to speak again. paige cuts her off with a harsh bite to the place she just kissed, turning her almost-sentence into a high-pitched whine instead.

“fuck,” azzi mutters.

paige inspects the bite—that will definitely be a mark tomorrow—and then shushes her gently, brushing her lips over the spot. “if you catch an attitude with me again,” she murmurs, almost sweet, “you’ll find how much worse i can be.”

azzi’s hips lift, surprise etching itself slowly into the lines of her face as she registers the words, but paige doesn’t take the time to look too close. azzi is spread before her, enticing, dripping, caramel brown giving way to soft pink, and she finally lets herself do what she’s dreamed of doing since she was in high school—she buries her fucking face in it.

azzi’s reaction is immediate and more intense than paige expected it would be, her back and hips arching off the bed as she groans, loud. paige doesn’t even care that arousal has just been smeared all over her forehead. she’s far too busy committing the way azzi tastes, sweet and salty, to memory.

the build-up paid off, as it always does, and azzi’s soaked. paige’s tongue laves wet heat from her entrance to her clit, building her up to a slow rhythm. she lingers a little each time at her entrance, where the taste is the strongest, unable to conceal her own choked sounds as azzi grinds against her face. she glances up to where azzi is playing with her nipples, propped up on her elbows to get a better look at what paige is doing, and the knowledge that she’s being watched so intently has her doubling down on her efforts.

when paige’s movements speed up, azzi’s head tips back, rolling against her shoulders. “oh, paige,” she breathes, sensual and dirty, “oh, baby. feels…”

paige presses her own thighs together at the pet name before flicking her tongue back and forth against azzi’s clit, applying pressure until azzi falls back completely, head thumping against the pillows as she whines. distantly, paige thinks kk could almost definitely hear them if she were to listen for it. she finds she doesn’t really care at the moment.

“feels good?” paige asks, pressing a few soft kisses to azzi’s cunt.

“mm-hmm,” azzi hums, eyes closed as she focuses on the feeling. her hands travel south until they’re gripping the back of paige’s head, and then she’s tugging her closer, back into her heat. “keep going, baby. please.”

“since you asked so nice,” paige teases, letting azzi’s hands guide her forward. she opens her mouth a little wider, sucking hard against azzi’s hole as if trying to draw more precum out of her before she kisses sloppily against it. azzi’s legs fall further open at the feeling, but paige quickly misses the feeling of thighs pressed against her head and loops her arm under the brunette’s legs, surrounding herself with soft brown skin.

the new angle brings her impossibly closer to azzi’s center, and paige sticks her tongue out, seeking azzi’s entrance before pressing inside as far as she can.

“oh my fuck,” azzi groans, gripping paige’s head tighter, almost possessive. “keep doing that, right—“ she chokes on her own words as paige begins a slow thrust, “right there.”

paige nods, unsure whether azzi can feel the acknowledgment, but it has her nose bumping up against azzi’s swollen clit and azzi cries out. she moves her tongue, feeling around the spongy inner walls of azzi’s cunt, a new wave of arousal pumping out until it’s dripping down paige’s chin onto the bedsheets below.

the room isn’t quiet, but it sounds like sex, azzi’s breathy moans and the filthy wet sounds of her cunt filling the room. she sounds so good, tastes so good, smells so good—paige is only vaguely aware that she has her own pelvis pressed into the mattress, absentmindedly searching for friction as she gets off on pleasing azzi.

she’s so focused on tonguing her that she doesn’t notice the way azzi’s breathing changes, becomes more rapid, or the way her fingers fist up paige’s hair in a way that’s almost painful. in fact, it’s not until she presses her thumb to azzi’s swollen clit while she tongue-fucks her that azzi manages a broken, “oh my god, i’m fucking—!“ that paige realizes she’s going to come.

azzi’s orgasm hits her in waves, it seems, with her hips pressing into paige’s mouth so intensely she can’t breathe for a solid thirty seconds before she’s abruptly pulling away, thighs shaking with the effort. paige watches in something like amazement as her stomach tenses, her cunt pulsing and clenching around nothing, clit twitching almost imperceptibly. it is—fucking beautiful, actually. a work of goddamn art. an image that belongs in the louvre right next to the mona lisa and the venus de milo.

she’s about to dive back in and get another taste of it when azzi uses her grip on her hair to urge her up. reluctantly, paige lets herself be pulled, kissing a gentle path up azzi’s stomach before coming face-to-face with her, thumbs brushing her cheeks as she comes down. eyes still closed, azzi pulls her closer, bumping their foreheads together.

“so pretty,” paige can’t help but mutter, watching azzi’s lashes flutter against her cheeks, lips plump and shiny and parted. “so good for me, baby. did so good.”

after another few moments, azzi opens her eyes, looking at paige like she hung the stars in the sky or something.

“i think i just fell in love with you,” she croaks, and paige laughs, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “heard that one before.”

azzi smacks her lightly, then pulls her head down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before urging her to lay on her chest. paige presses her cheek to azzi’s heartbeat, their breathing gradually syncing up as they lay together. azzi’s nails scratch light patterns against paige’s back, nearly lulling her to sleep, before she abruptly stops and says, “oh, shit.”

“what?” paige asks sleepily.

“we forgot to get pictures.”

paige swears her ears perk up, and she thinks she might be just a little insatiable because she doesn’t feel so tired anymore as she lifts her head with a wicked grin. “damn,” she says. “guess we’ll have to go again.”

the next day, kk gives them hell for keeping her up all night, and gives azzi many earfuls about how she ‘told her so.’ paige offers up their room for the rest of the trip, even though they ultimately proved chad wrong with some certain photos, and azzi is all too quick to take her up on it.

and when, a year later, azzi transfers to uconn? let’s just say kk will swear up and down that she’s the reason they never lose another game to ucla.

[unrequi]

It is indeed an ache, indeed was one of the words she used and we talked about her use of words and what it meant about her history, there was a shared history, her use of words felt familiar to me. She felt familiar to me yet she was a stranger. The feelings of recognition were confusing, because I didn't know what it was. Was it a crush, did I want to be her friend, was it some Queer middle ground. Any form of communication to her about it was strongly lacking and murky.

Every part of the Earth remembers her name, I see a field of grass and I think of her, I see something beautiful and I wonder what she might think of it, I watch a film and I wonder if she has watched it, I constantly strived to find what she enjoyed, and it was hard since she was experiencing burnout. I am biting down on my memory of her, and it is painful, it is blissful, I indulge in it yet I feel the pain knowing it is no more. My whole being wished I could have told her this, but we text no more. I have never felt this way, I have never been drawn so much to another person in this manner from the very first moment of conversing. When she laughed, it is like everything paused to listen, when she chuckled the hairs on my arm stood erect with joy and fascination. What does this marvelous human like, what gets her attention, what consumes her time besides everyday academics, yet I didn't know, I did not find out, and I will not find out. I will never make a home of her hands, of her nails that extend medium length, no color no decorations, a plain simplicity. I wondered if she ever painted her nails, is that something she is interested in. I know she wears make up from time to time, she once wondered if I knew the difference between different lip gloss shades, and I looked it up. She once put blush on her hand and showed it to me, marveling in how it blended in. I once walked in on her putting lip gloss on, and I thought to myself how fascinating. I am gladly ruined by my knowing of her, my knowing of her presence, my knowing of her stillness. While the presence will be no more, our interactions will never take the same shade again, I bathe in the splendor of my memories of her. May she be cherished by those she finds herself around, she deserves it to the highest standard. I don't know what to call this drawing towards her. It is a love that doesn't desire partnership, it is a love that doesn't desire commitment or a formal label, I simply desired to know, to find out, and to experience presence. I don't know what to name this Queer thing, all I know is how she made me feel, and that is the truth of the matter.

the lover’s almanac : part one.

[izzih22]

you should write the first time Paige and Azzi held hands like awk first crush things

First Touch

Note: idek this was tough ngl

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees on the quiet Minneapolis street. Paige and Azzi were walking side by side, their shoes scraping against the sidewalk in rhythmic steps. It wasn’t that they had planned this, but neither of them had rushed to go back home. It was one of the rare times when they were together, not just at a Team USA camp or a visit here and there, but just… together.

They were both a little quiet as they walked, talking every now and then about something random. Paige asked about Azzi’s latest workout routine, and Azzi commented on the food Paige’s mom had made earlier, but both of them were thinking about something else. They weren’t quite dating yet. There had been no official labels, no talk about the “what are we” conversation. But there was an undeniable energy between them now, a tension that neither of them had really been able to put into words.

Paige’s heart was beating a little faster than usual, and the warm evening air felt a little too close as they walked together. Every time she glanced at Azzi, she caught her stealing a glance back at her. There was something about the way Azzi smiled or how her eyes lingered that made Paige feel like something was about to shift.

Azzi, on the other hand, was just as aware of Paige’s presence. She tried to keep things light, joking here and there, but she could feel her stomach flutter whenever their eyes met. It was like that feeling when you first realized you had a crush that kind of nervous excitement, but neither of them knew how to address it. They both kept pretending like everything was normal, like this was just another hangout.

But it wasn’t. It was… something more.

There was a quiet moment when neither of them spoke, just walking in sync, when Azzi’s hand brushed against Paige’s. The touch was light, accidental even, but it was enough to make both of them freeze for just a second. Azzi’s heart skipped. Paige’s breath hitched.

They both stared ahead, not acknowledging it immediately, as if pretending it hadn’t happened could somehow make it go away. But it didn’t. It lingered.

A few more steps, and then, without really thinking about it, Paige reached out. Her hand hovered for just a moment before she gently, carefully, let her fingers brush against Azzi’s again.

Azzi’s heart thudded in her chest. Her breath caught, and she looked down at their hands. Paige’s fingers just a little bit longer, a little bit warmer than hers. There was a softness in the air now, something more intimate that hadn’t been there before. Her fingers twitched for a second before she slowly, cautiously, let them settle into Paige’s hand.

It wasn’t a bold move, no declaration of feelings, just a quiet admission in the simplest form. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to. They both felt the quiet intensity of the moment. The way their hands seemed to fit together as if they had always belonged there.

Paige’s pulse quickened. She glanced at Azzi out of the corner of her eye, hoping Azzi wouldn’t notice the way her fingers were trembling, but Azzi was looking down too, her fingers lightly curling around Paige’s, just as unsure but just as willing.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. They kept walking, their steps falling into rhythm, but now there was an undeniable warmth between them. It wasn’t anything too dramatic, no heart stopping confession, just the two of them, feeling like something was changing. They could both sense it, but neither knew how to articulate it.

Azzi’s lips twitched into a small, shy smile, and she couldn’t help but look over at Paige. Paige’s face was flushed, her lips pressed into a barely contained grin. She tried to act cool, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

“This is… weird,” Paige said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her grip on Azzi’s hand tightening just a little. But there was no discomfort in her tone. Just the reality of the situation.

Azzi laughed lightly, her own hand now holding Paige’s just a bit more confidently. “Yeah, a little,” she admitted. “But also… kind of nice?”

Paige’s heart fluttered, and she squeezed Azzi’s hand in return, the warmth of it making everything else around them fade into the background. It wasn’t anything grand. Just two people walking down a quiet street, holding hands for the first time.

But it felt like everything. It felt like the start of something new, something neither of them had fully understood yet.

“I think I could get used to this,” Azzi said quietly, her voice soft, a teasing edge to it.

Paige grinned, the kind of grin that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yeah, me too.”

And for the rest of the walk, neither of them let go.

[dollbrbie]

cw dubcon

thinking about being cuddled up with bsf!bachira while watching a movie - a movie that bachira has absolutely no interest in when the curve of your ass keeps rubbing on his dick.

he knows you probably didn’t mean to, but it doesn’t help his growing erection or the neediness he feels right now. what made everything so much worse was his pathetic crush on you that he’s been trying to keep to himself - like you’d ever give him a chance when you friendzone him everyday.

but bachira doesn’t have the self control to stop himself from grinding on your ass, a small whimper coming from his lips, causing you to whip your head around with furrowed brows.

“what the hell are you doing?”

your words send bachira’s heart pounding, looking at you while biting his bottom lip, “don’t get mad..”, he mumbles before lifting up your oversized t shirt and playing with them hem of your panties.

“bachira-”, your alarmed voice is cut off by your best friend attaching your lips with his, your body tense as you try to process what was happening in front of you.

“you’ll let me, right? it’s your fault i’m like this anyway..”

maybe it was because of the shock, but you didn’t stop bachira as he slid your panties to the side, rubbing his digits along your folds - unexpectedly wet for him for a reason you couldn’t explain. and you didn’t have any defence with your core hot and throbbing like this. maybe it was the way you had been feeling his semi the whole night, but decided not to say anything - or the unexpected way bachira took control.

he was quick to pull down his pants along with his boxers, the spring of his cock hitting your thigh, “i’m gonna put it in, kay?”

he wasn’t asking for permission, but rather a warning before abruptly shoving his cock into your pussy - your gasps ignored as his tip stretches you out with a quiet moan. you were so wet and warm, like a fantasy dream bachira had been dying to experience. he’s waited so long for something like this.

he moves in and out, gently biting on your shoulder from behind as his cock throbs from the unfamiliar feeling of your sloppy pussy sucking him in. your little whines motivated him further - you were liking this too, the way he moves in and out of your pussy with his tip kissing you g-spot.

the pleasure you felt didn’t give you brain to process the mixed feelings of having your best friend unexpectedly fuck you. his whines in your ear alongside the sloppy thrusts of his cock made your eyes roll back.

you could tell he was close with the way his cock throbs against your gummy walls, his moans needier and whinier. your hand finds its way to your untouched clit, rubbing tight circles. with the feeling of you walls stretch and the stimulation to your clit, your own climax wouldn’t be far off.

he whines, “m’gonna cum.. inside.. can i?”

your reply comes out as a moan, something bachira takes as affirmation before rutting into you so desperately, his tip abusing your sweet spot that causes you to gasp out - hot white pleasure increasingly filling your core until you reach a tipping point. the way your pussy tightens around bachira’s cock was enough for his own climax to erupt, biting on your shoulder harshly as his cock leaks out against your walls.

he couldn’t hold back the pathetic whine that left his lips, glancing at your exhausted form before slowly pulling out and watching the way his cum dripped down your thigh. he breathes out with a smile, watching you in pure fascination and adoration.

he giggles as he cuddles back up to you, “so.. what was this movie about, again?”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[delicatebarness]

My first request! What if an ex Widow with dirty history with the Winter Soldier (wink, wink) comes face to face with modern day Bucky.

"You can't hurt me, Barnes. You don't have his eyes"

his eyes | bucky barnes

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI | Explicit Smut | DubCon | Past Trauma | Flashback | Captivity Themes | Weaponization | The Winter Soldier and Widow!Reader

Word Count: 1191

A/N: So, I don't feel like this is where you wanted this request to go. However, this is where my mind went. I hope you like it!

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

Present:

You hadn’t been here in a little over a decade, but your mind and body remembered the layout. Like muscle memory—you could move around here with your eyes closed. Once upon a time, you had. 

The warehouse smelled like dust and old sweat—it was the place where you sparred, bled, where you gave yourself to the Winter Soldier just to survive. 

A pair of heavy boots echoed on the concrete. It wasn’t a surprise when you felt his presence. You didn’t need to see him to know he was standing in the doorway. 

“You,” his voice was different. A little rough around the edges, but softer.

You turned around to face him, your arms crossed tight over your chest. “You took your time,” I said—dryly, guarded.

You shouldn’t have come here; you should have walked away. Fled the country the moment you heard his name—Bucky Barnes. That’s what they call him now, you were told. And although he’s wearing the name like a second skin, you could still see him underneath. You try not to, but he’s right there. The Soldier. 

Bucky stared at you like you were a ghost. A mission he failed to bury.

“You changed your hair.” 

He remembers. You smirk.

“You didn’t. You’re still broody. Quiet.”

“I’m not him anymore,” he retorted, expression darkening. 

“No,” you said, taking a step toward him, deliberate and slow. “You’re not.” 

You stop just close enough, just out of reach. 

He still towered over you, and your eyes flickered over his remade metal arm. The silver was gone. Along with his red star. Now, it gleamed black and gold. More monumental, less of a weapon.

Did he still dream in Russian? Was your name like blood in his mouth when he woke?

Then you look up at him—too-human eyes locking with yours.

“You can’t hurt me, Barnes. You don’t have his eyes.” 

His jaw ticked. He hates that you said that. But it was true. You thought maybe it was because a part of him wished he could take it all back. His cold hands against your skin, the bruising kisses, and the way he took you like you were nothing but orders. 

Then:

His hands were always clean. Even when they shouldn’t be. They locked you in here with him after every mission. And he barely looked at you. At first, anyway. He just sat. Silent. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, and eyes fixed onto the floor like it had all the answers.

You were there to keep him calm. 

You were the only one who could.

“Are you cold?” you asked.

His knuckles flex, and his jaw tightens.

Keeping your posture fluid, you walked over to him slowly. You weren’t a threat to him. He could crush your windpipe with only his flesh hand, never mind the metal one. The one that always found its way around your thigh. 

He still didn’t look up at you. Not when you crouched in front of him, trying to ignore the sharp stabbing pain in your side. 

“Soldat,” you whispered, using the name they gave him. The name etched into your mind, along with command, override phrases, and the touch of his skin. 

His ice blue eyes snapped at you—sharp, dangerous, unreadable. He was a predator. And he looked at you like he recognised you as another weapon. Or prey. 

Without hesitation, you reach for the zipper of your suit. Slowly dragging it down, revealing the skin of your chest to him. His gaze darts towards the swell of your breasts.

He moves the second your suit slips off your shoulders. Surging from the cot, he grabs you. Muscle and metal blurring together in the dim light. Before you know it, your body is slammed against the cold wall, one of his arms braced beside your head. The other hand gripping your waist. 

He swallowed your gasp, crashing his lips into yours. He was hungry, all teeth. His kisses were brutal, like how he fights. A moan escapes your throat, parting your lips for him. His tongue claimed you, sliding in deep, tasting you. 

His metal hand slid down your waist, toward your thigh. Your knees nearly give up before he hauls your leg over his hip. He pressed the hardness in his tac pants into your centre. 

“Mine,” he growls in Russian against your mouth. His voice was harsh, low—not human.

“Yours,” you whispered. 

This was the routine.

You didn’t flinch when you heard the tear in your suit. His hands ripping it from your body before tracing, pinching, and bruising your flushed skin. He lacked tenderness, but not purpose. He knew your body, and he was focused. 

His mouth trailed down your neck, bites stinging, leaving his mark. Further and further down. Before you cried out for him. He sank to his knees. Bit. Licked. The softest part, between your thighs.

Your fingers tangled in his hair. 

“Fuck—” you cry, hips thrusting when his tongue finds your clit. He didn’t tease. He wasn’t slow. He was a starving man—devouring you, memorizing the way you taste for him. 

He knew you were close. His fingers slid inside you, thick, cold, metal curling just right. Your legs are beginning to shake. 

He didn’t stop. Not when you cried out. Not when your body clenched around him. Not when your release rushed through your body. He never stopped. 

He rose, locking his eyes with yours once again. Now, they were burning with a dark intent. Freeing himself from his tac pants, his cock was thick, flushed… leaking. His hands spread your legs further, enough for him to fit between them.

He didn’t ask for permission. He never did.

You didn’t know what asking even looked like.

Present:

“You think I want to be him?” he bit.

“No,” you stayed calm, measured. “But I think he wanted me.” 

A ripple of guilt passed over his face. You reached out, your fingers brushing his metal arm. Barely brushing it. He flinched like you’d struck him. There is a part of you—a part that broke for him—which ached. 

“You shake now,” your voice barely above a whisper, tracing the gold vein like trails. 

“I live now,” he answered quietly, more to himself than you.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat. Something inside you is cracking with understanding.

You looked up at him, a small smile spread over your lips. Your gaze is softer this time. “I could’ve loved the man you were.” 

“But that’s not who I was,” he sighed.

You nodded.

You wanted to walk away. You should have walked away. But your legs betrayed you, not letting you leave without asking the question. 

“If I said I missed him… would that make me sick?” 

He took a breath, collecting his thoughts before answering. “No,” he answered, eventually. “Just human.” 

There’s a moment that passes between you. A moment where you believe he’s about to step back into that old shell. Press you against the wall. Devour you one last time.

But he doesn’t.

You turn away.

And this time, he let you walk away. 

No orders. Just silence.

---

Thank you!

[persephinae]

i need people to understand two things or more can be true

100k-500k is middle class

the above is STILL a lot of fucking money, more so when you're in abject poverty. that IS rich compared to when you're in poverty

The middle class has actually shrunk down and is smaller than what you think

Those in abject poverty is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy bigger than what you think

there are more people in poverty than people living comfortably

and i see it every day in my notes - people working 2-3 jobs and exhausted, people who don't have a savings because their jobs suck ass, people who can't afford good food because they have to make their dollar stretch

i've been in poverty and people who have never been poor do not fucking understand how mentally, soul crushing, awful and exhausting it is.

I was LUCKY and able to claw my way out of poverty into lower lower middle class, save money while I lived with my parents, and now I'm able to help my family if they need anything, but a lot of people never get that lucky break

i need you to understand that when you're poor you wear clothes and shoes until there's holes in them. You buy clothes and shoes at garage sales and ebay. You make the cheapest, crappiest food known to mankind because that's all you can afford - IF you can afford it. A lot of people work at jobs and still go fucking hungry. I had to work at a catholic charity one year and I answered the phone. It broke my fucking heart and had me crying to hear men calling us thinking we were the United Way, their voices breaking and crying as they tried to find food for their families.

When you're in poverty you juggle which utilities you can afford or not, but you never want your water to be shut off because then you can't bathe or have drinking water or toilets. I used to go to school with a girl who was in poverty worse than my family, the school laughed at her and called her "cat litter" because she smelled so bad. <- she had her water shut off and couldn't bathe or wash her clothes properly. (I hope she's doing better in life)

YOU. DON'T. UNDERSTAND. POVERTY.

and shame on that commenter above who claimed they had been poor. When you're that fucking poor you fucking REMEMBER where you came from and you do everything you can to make sure no one else suffered like you did. Also rich people will never accept you or let you escape the fact that you were poor. I've lived this.

I'm not rich but if I was ripped apart by people working 3 jobs and starving I'd be like "that's fair. I get it."

Everyone above sounds like they've never been poor and I'll tell you what you sound like - rich people. Rich people say the exact same thing because they don't want anyone to disrupt their money.

Yes, the middle class is not Billionaire rich, but I need people to really fucking understand poverty and WHY poverty stricken people feel that way. Income disparity is THAT fucking bad.

and when the revolution comes it won't be from middle class people wasting time with leftist infighting who never actually go out and support their community - it will be from the people with nothing left to lose because everything was already taken.

trying to explain to tumblr that the Middle Class in not their enemy

[cabotinheels]

— HANDLING EMILY — e.prentiss x female reader

PREMISE: You’ve always teased Emily Prentiss about being older. About how you could handle a woman like her—experienced, commanding, devastating. But when she finally calls your bluff and takes you home, you learn exactly what it means to be at her mercy.

WARNINGS: legal age gap, oral, mentions of spit and swallowing spit, choking, scissoring, pussy slapping (once), dom!Emily, sub!reader, older!Emily, face riding, degradation, possessive behaviour, breast biting/marking, slight aftercare.

WORD COUNT: 3K

𓏲𝄢 find my masterlists

You said you could handle an older woman. Emily’s about to make you prove it.

You never meant for it to actually happen—not at first. The teasing started as harmless flirting, the kind of half-sarcastic sass you knew you could get away with when Emily would sit across from you in the bullpen, sipping her coffee, legs crossed, eyes sharp. You’d always toss something her way. A cheeky smile. A cocked eyebrow. “Sure you’re not too old to keep up with me?” Or, your personal favorite: “Bet you were a wild one in the ‘90s.”

She always gave it back just as hard. “Keep dreaming, rookie.” Or, more recently: “You wouldn’t last a minute with me.”

But god, what she didn’t know—what she probably knew, honestly—was that you weren’t just playing around. You had it bad. Hopeless crush, heart-racing-in-elevators bad. She was everything: the streak of silver in her hair, the worn leather jackets, that unreadable gaze she had when she was pissed off and trying not to show it. You’d lie awake some nights thinking about what it would feel like to belong to someone like her. To have her ruin you, command you. Praise you—or not.

So when she invited you over for “a drink” after the team closed a case, and you said yes with a grin too wide to be innocent… you kind of knew. You both did.

Her house smells like sandalwood and dark wine and something faintly smoky—like old books and danger. You pretend to admire the furniture, all dark woods and soft fabrics, while she watches you over the rim of her glass. Still in her work slacks and button-down, sleeves rolled to her forearms. Hair tied back, but loose enough to say I’ve been thinking about this too.

“You know,” you say, walking your fingers along the edge of her bookshelf, “I always figured you’d taste like scotch and sin.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what do you taste like?”

You smile. “Come find out.”

That’s what does it.

In two strides she’s in front of you, her glass abandoned. She doesn’t kiss you yet—just presses you against the bookshelf with her body, one hand coming to rest lightly on your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just there.

Her voice is low and rough. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who blushes when I so much as look at you.”

Your heart is hammering. Your whole body is heat. “Maybe I blush because I like when you look at me.”

Emily chuckles—dark and amused, like she’s already decided how this night ends. “Is that right?”

Then her hand tightens—not painfully, but with purpose. Her palm wraps around your throat just firm enough that your breath hitches. Her thumb traces up under your jawline. Your knees go weak instantly. She tilts her head, eyes glittering. “You said you could handle an older woman,” she whispers, voice right against your lips. “Prove it.”

She pulls you in by the throat and kisses you like she’s claiming you—slow, deliberate, devastating. Her tongue invades your mouth with the kind of confidence only time and power can give a woman. You melt against her, moaning softly, already undone and still fully clothed.

When she steps back, her hand still holding you, she nods toward the living room.

“Strip for me.”

You hesitate for half a second—more out of awe than fear. Then, you start to move.

The fire’s burning low in the background, casting flickering gold across the walls. You make a show of it for her, because you want to. Because she’s watching you with that amused, unreadable expression like she’s deciding whether to ruin you slowly or all at once. You slide your shirt over your head, letting your fingertips trace your own stomach before unhooking your bra. You peel off your jeans, slow and sensual, keeping your eyes locked on hers.

She licks her bottom lip. “You’ve done this before.”

“Not for anyone like you,” you breathe.

Her smile darkens. “Damn right you haven’t.”

She comes to you again—pressing you down onto the couch, climbing over you like a wolf cornering its prey. Her hands move over your body like she owns it, mapping every inch. She pauses when her fingers slip between your thighs and find you soaked.

“Jesus. Look at you.” She pulls your legs apart with one hand and settles between them, kneeling on the rug. “You’re dripping. Just from a little choking and dirty talk?”

You whimper, embarrassed and turned on beyond words.

She slaps your thigh, just once. “Answer me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She groans at that—whether it’s from the title or the mess between your legs, you can’t tell. “Fuck, you are a good girl,” she mutters. “Let’s see how good.”

Then her mouth is on you.

She licks you like she’s savoring something rare and expensive, tongue slow and flat and devastating. She keeps eye contact as long as she can, even as your hips buck and your fingers dig into the cushions. Her tongue flicks your clit with maddening precision, alternating with deep, slow strokes that make your stomach clench. She moans against you—like you taste like sin. Like she’s been hungry for this.

Your pussy is swollen, glistening, and fully exposed under the flickering light. She spreads you wider, her thumbs keeping you open so she can lap at every part of you. She spits once—deliberately—and drags her tongue through the mess she’s made.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” she says, voice wrecked, breath hot. “So wet and needy. This what you’ve been thinking about while you’re sitting at your desk? Humping your thighs like a needy slut, pretending it wasn’t for me?”

You sob. “Yes, yes—Emily, please—”

“Ma’am.” Her voice cuts through the haze like a blade.

“Yes, ma’am,” you gasp, thighs shaking. “Please, I—I’m gonna—”

She pulls away just before you fall.

Cruel.

You whine, reaching for her, but she grips your throat again, pushing you back into the couch cushions.

“You don’t come,” she snarls. “Not until I say. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you whimper, every nerve lit up.

Her fingers replace her tongue—two of them sliding in to the knuckle while her mouth goes back to your clit. She pumps slowly, curling, hitting a spot that has your hips jerking with every thrust.

You're gone. Undone. A mess beneath her.

And you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

Emily watches you squirm—your legs trembling, pussy soaked, your whole body aching for the release she just denied. You’re flushed, panting, lips parted, caught in that blissful place between desperate and obedient.

She doesn’t ease up. Her fingers stay inside you, thrusting slow and deep, curling exactly where you need them, while her mouth toys with your clit in lazy, taunting licks. She knows what she’s doing. She’s watching the way your stomach tightens, the way your eyes flutter, how your hips fight to meet every thrust even though you're not allowed to come.

"You close again?" she asks, even though she already knows.

You nod frantically, mouth barely forming words. “Please, please—I can’t—I need to—”

Emily lifts her mouth, licks her lips, and gives you a low, almost mocking smile.

“Then come for me. Now.”

Her voice is like a spell. Your body obeys instantly.

It hits like a wave—sharp and hot and all-consuming. Your back arches off the couch, legs clenching around her shoulders, the pleasure wracking through you in relentless, shuddering pulses. You cry out, a broken, needy sound that makes her groan into you.

She doesn’t stop.

She fucks you through it, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, dragging out your orgasm until it blurs into something even messier, your body twitching from oversensitivity. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Your hands are gripping at nothing.

Finally—finally—she pulls back.

You’re left panting, dripping, thighs still twitching. Your pussy’s pink, puffy, still clenching from the aftershocks.

Emily brings her fingers to her mouth—slick and shiny—and licks them clean, one at a time. She moans at the taste, slow and deliberate.

“God,” she mutters, “you taste even better than I imagined.”

Then, without warning, she leans in and pinches your clit—sharp and fast.

You jolt. “F-fuck—Emily!”

Before you can recover, her palm slaps your pussy once—a wet, loud sting that makes your hips jerk and your eyes go wide.

She grins darkly. “Just making sure you remember who made you come like that.”

You’re still catching your breath when she moves up your body, climbing on top of you with the same effortless power that’s been driving you wild all night. Her mouth latches onto your breast without warning—hot, open-mouthed kisses that turn into biting. Her teeth graze your nipple, then she sucks hard, making you arch in a sharp mix of pain and pleasure.

“Sensitive?” she murmurs, eyes flicking up to watch your reaction. “Too fucking bad.”

She does it again. And again. Alternating sides, biting, sucking, marking you as thoroughly as she claimed your cunt. Your nipples throb, swollen and red, but you never ask her to stop. You don’t want her to.

You’re already shaking again when she finally pulls back.

Then she stands up.

And slowly—so slowly—she starts to undress.

The way she peels off her button-down is obscene. Her eyes never leave yours as she slides it from her shoulders, revealing toned arms, a black lace bra, and the kind of quiet confidence that makes your stomach flip. She undoes her belt next, tugging her slacks down over her hips—no underwear beneath.

Her body is stunning. Real. Experienced. Power and sex wrapped in one devastating package.

She unhooks her bra last, letting it fall to the floor, and tosses it aside like she already knows she won’t be needing it again tonight.

“Lie back,” she commands. “And keep your mouth open.”

You do.

She straddles the couch again, but this time it’s your face she’s hovering over.

You don’t even get a warning.

She grinds down onto you—wet, hot, already soaked—and grabs the back of your head, holding you in place. Her scent is intoxicating. You moan into her, tongue immediately finding her clit, licking her like you were born for it.

Emily groans—deep and raw—as she starts to move. Her hips roll against your face, using you like her own personal toy. You flick your tongue faster, sucking her clit when she rocks forward, flattening it when she tilts her hips back.

“Just like that,” she pants. “Fucking god, baby. Don’t stop.”

She leans back slightly, one hand in your hair, the other gripping the armrest for balance. Her thighs are tight around your head. Her moans grow louder, sharper, filthier.

“You love this, don’t you? Love being used like this—face full of my pussy, tongue fucking me like a desperate little whore.”

You moan in response, tongue plunging deeper, licking up every drop she gives you. She tastes incredible—musky, sweet, intense. You press your hands to her ass, pulling her down harder, letting her grind against your tongue however she wants.

Her movements get rougher, more erratic. She’s close.

“So fucking good,” she growls. “Gonna come all over your face, baby. Gonna soak you.”

And then she does.

Emily cries out, voice cracking, thighs trembling. She grinds down hard, riding your mouth through her orgasm, hips jerking with each wave. You drink her in, moaning into her cunt, loving every second of being her personal plaything.

She finally goes still—shaky, flushed, breathless—and looks down at you with a wicked smile.

“Now that’s how you prove you can handle an older woman.”

Emily’s still above you, her body glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling fast as she catches her breath. Her thighs are still slightly trembling where they straddled your face, but there’s a grin on her lips—feral, proud. You made her come. Hard. But she’s far from done.

She leans down, kissing you deeply, not caring that her own slick is still wet on your chin. If anything, it turns her on more. Her tongue pushes past your lips with purpose, tasting herself on you, groaning when you moan into her mouth. The kiss is messy, needy—more animal than anything else. It’s tongues and teeth and heat.

Then, without a word, she pulls you up into her lap—managing to keep control of the moment even as your legs wrap around her waist. Her hands are firm at your hips, guiding you as she lowers both of you onto the rug in front of the fireplace, the flames throwing flickering amber light across your skin.

She shifts, and suddenly her thigh presses between yours—and you realize what she’s doing. You gasp.

“Oh my god—Emily…”

She hushes you with a kiss to your throat. “You said you could take me,” she murmurs. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

She positions her legs, and yours, until your pussies align—slick, sensitive, bare skin pressed to bare skin. You both inhale sharply at the first touch—hot, swollen, aching.

You grind forward first. Tentative. Exploring.

Emily exhales, slow and low. “There you go. That’s it, baby.”

You keep moving—rubbing yourself against her, your soaked folds sliding against hers, clits brushing and catching, slick noises mixing with your broken gasps. Emily grabs your waist, meeting every grind with one of her own, panting, her eyes locked on yours.

You’re nose to nose. Chest to chest. Wet and wild and completely, deliciously lost in it.

She kisses you again—sloppier now, desperate—and as your moans tangle in each other's mouths, she reaches up and grabs your jaw, tilting your head back.

“Open your mouth.”

You do, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

She leans in, tongue barely out—and lets a thick strand of spit drip from her mouth into yours.

You swallow it without hesitation, moaning like it’s the filthiest, hottest thing in the world.

Emily’s eyes go dark.

“You really are my perfect little slut,” she breathes, before her hand wraps tight around your throat again. This time firmer. Possessive.

The pressure makes your vision blur around the edges, makes every rub of your body against hers so much more intense. She’s grinding up harder now—her hips relentless, chasing that edge again. And you’re right there with her, every nerve ending on fire, soaked and shaking and completely hers.

“Come with me,” she growls, tightening her hand just slightly as her pace quickens. “Let me feel you.”

Your body gives in first—heat rushing through you like a lightning strike, thighs trembling, pussy pulsing, mouth wide open but no sound coming out as you collapse into her. But Emily doesn’t stop. She thrusts against you one more time, lets out a choked groan, and her whole body stiffens beneath you as she comes with a low, breathless moan right into your neck.

You both stay there, tangled, gasping, foreheads pressed together.

Chest to chest.

Pussy to pussy.

Still pulsing.

Still connected.

Eventually, she loosens her grip on your throat and strokes your cheek instead, her thumb brushing gently across your lips.

“That,” she says, still catching her breath, “was only round one.”

And judging by the look in her eyes?

You believe her.

Even though her voice was still rough with dominance—“That was only round one”—her touch changes almost immediately afterward.

You’re still straddling her, still tangled up in heat and heartbeat and sweat, your body soft and pliant against hers, when she lets out a long breath. Her hand slips from your throat to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone with surprising gentleness.

“You okay?” she murmurs.

You nod, still dazed. “More than okay…”

Emily kisses your temple, slow and grounding. Then she lifts you carefully off her lap, guiding you down onto the rug beside her. You watch her body move as she stands—graceful, still naked, still so stunning it makes your throat tighten.

But this time, she’s not stalking. She’s not commanding.

She disappears down the hall for a minute. You hear a faucet running. When she comes back, she’s got a warm, damp towel in one hand and a softer look in her eyes.

“Don’t move.”

You don’t.

She kneels between your legs and begins to gently clean you up—slow strokes between your thighs, catching the mess of both your orgasms with careful precision. It should feel embarrassing, being spread out and wiped down like this—but somehow, with her, it doesn’t. It feels intimate. Reverent, even.

“You were incredible,” she says softly, pressing the towel against your inner thigh one last time. “You took everything I gave you.”

You look up at her, eyes hazy, lips parted. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

She smirks, but there’s warmth behind it now. “I know.”

She rises again and tosses the towel into a nearby hamper, then offers you her hand. You take it, and she pulls you up into her arms. She doesn’t bother redressing yet—just walks with you, skin to skin, back to the bedroom, where she peels back the covers and lets you climb in first.

Then she slips in beside you, spooning behind you, her arm wrapped firm and protective around your waist.

You’re sore. Spent. Blissed out. And entirely, completely hers.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you feel her mouth brush against the back of your shoulder, and you hear her whisper:

“Next time, I’m tying you up.”

And god help you—your exhausted body still shivers at the thought.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

marigold crush

gardener ellie!au. what you thought would kick off a petty neighborhood feud ends up turning into something a whole lot hotter than the summer sun above. the reason? it starts with ellie, the cute employee at the garden center—who knows a thing or two about getting her hands dirty. thank you to my @meganegatari for providing input and proofing as always <3

wc 3.1k minors dni - making out, dirty talk, fingering (r!receiving)

with summer rapidly creeping up, you set your sights on a new project—upgrading your gardening skills. it sounded simple enough at first. plant a few things, water them, watch them grow. oh, how wrong you were. you realized, much too late, how surprisingly demanding it all was. soil types, lawn maintenance, what plants thrived where, which ones were perennials, how to keep them alive with proper care like watering, pruning, and mulching. before long, you were making an embarrassing number of trips to the nearby garden center.

not that it had anything to do with the pretty employee who was always ready with a new tip just when you needed one.

miss ellie—as per her name tag—carried herself professionally, politely enough. always eager to explain answers, she sometimes skipped over beginners’ tricks, then circled back to catch you up. everything she suggested, though, ended up helping immensely. you liked that. she was sweet.

you told yourself it was a coincidence, how often your visits lined up with her shift. you weren’t memorizing her schedule—god, no. you just… noticed a pattern. for advice purposes. obviously. she had the best advice.

while the trial and error of gardening took up most of your time, another thorn lodged itself in your side—this one not literal. your newish neighbor had apparently taken up the same hobby, and, enragingly, their results far outshone yours. how was everything so lively? why were their perennials already blooming? their yard looked freshly trimmed and popping with color every single day. yours, a work in progress, wilted a little more every time you glanced at the progress next door. you couldn’t help but sulk from time to time. it was starting to feel personal.

a part of you really wanted to give your neighbor a piece of your mind. in your opinion, there was absolutely no way they weren’t doing this on purpose. ever since they moved in just under a year ago, it had been the same infuriating pattern—everything you did, they somehow managed to do ten times better. halloween decorations, holiday lights, even their progressive political flags had wittier slogans than yours. and the worst part? you’d never even seen them. not once. this silent gardening supremacy—that you weren’t even sure they knew was a competition—was the final straw. how they pulled it off while staying completely out of sight was beyond you.

granted, your competitive streak might’ve been clouding your better judgment, and you were, admittedly, acting a little unhinged—but you had to know their secret. you had to meet them, to understand the method behind the madness of their picture-perfect flower beds.

so, in a move wholly unlike you, you got up early one sunny morning and baked cookies. warm from the oven, stacked neatly in a sewing tin—just a friendly, xenial gesture. no ulterior motives. none at all.

you step out your front door, ready to march up their porch and put an end to the mystery once and for all—only to freeze in place.

imagine the shock when there, in the garden next door, kneeling in the dirt with gloved hands and a quiet hum under her breath, was the very same ginger woman who had been giving you advice all summer.

ellie.

suddenly, it felt really personal.

she must have witnessed you struggling in your yard at least a dozen times by now. the tips. the encouragement. her uncanny ability to know exactly what should go where. the conveniently timed suggestions that always hit just right. and not once had she mentioned she lived next door?

diabolical, honestly. ellie was gradually unfurling under the strain of the heat and her work, of course. her white tank top, drenched in sweat, clung to her like a second skin. she tugged at the fabric to fan herself off. her flushed, freckled skin glistened under the early morning rays, and her auburn hair was plastered to the back of her neck. your gaze shifted to her arms—tense, fit, and tattooed—then to her hands skillfully handling the tools.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you huffed, louder than intended, managing to reach her ears. 

ellie looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. and then—she grinned. of course she grinned, like she hadn’t just upended your entire understanding of reality. like you weren’t standing there, tin of cookies in hand, suddenly feeling ridiculous, and very underprepared for whatever this was.

“well, hey there, neighbor.” she greets you far too warm, too chipper. 

you stared at her. “you live next door?”

“mm-hmm,” she said, standing up slowly to stretch out her legs and dusting her earth-covered hands off on her thighs. “for, like, ten months now. give or take.”

you glance down at the sewing box of cookies in your hand. despite ellie’s state—sweating, smudged with dirt—you hold it out for her.

“a welcome gift,” you offer. “just… ten months late. give or take.”

ellie breaths a laugh and takes the box, peeking inside, nodding in approval.

“damn. look at you. thanks,” she mutters, setting it down on a nearby plastic chair cluttered with gardening tools. your eyes flicker between your sad little yard and her perfectly maintained one.

“did… did you know? all this time? when i came in to ask questions?”

“yep,” ellie says, totally unfazed, hands settling on her hips. “it was kinda cute, watching you take my advice and, y’know… try it out.” she pauses, then adds to soften the blow, “i thought about coming over a few times. offering a hand. but you looked so determined, hacking away at weeds, replanting flowers i suggested, i didn’t want to interrupt...” she trailed off. 

you blinked, trying to recalibrate. “that’s okay, i just… wow.”

ellie notices your stupor and an idea comes to mind. “well. since you’re already here—i was about to head to the shed. wanna stick around? i could show you a few things. if you’re cool with that.” then, teasing, “no charge. this time. cookies count though.”

you find yourself trailing after her into the backyard—just as immaculate as the front—to a small shed tucked in the far corner of the lot. it doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside, it’s packed chock-full with every gardening item you could imagine, from seed packets, terracotta pots, and shelves lined with tools. half of them, you didn’t even recognize, which only made the sting of your amateurity more potent. 

thankfully, ellie’s easygoing explanations help ease the mood. she’s showing off her tools, fertilizers, and offering tips, and you’re taken aback by seeing her in this new light. she was always cute, which is why you’d kept timing your visits to the garden center a little too well. but this? watching her work in the summer heat, flushed and confident, completely in her element—it ignited something new in you. here you were, ready to start a petty squabble with your new neighbor, but instead, your stomach was full of butterflies. ellie added a few well-loved, indiscernible tools to a bag, slung it over her freckled shoulder, and ushered you outside before closing the shed door behind her.

“alright, so. show me the damage,” she said, jerking her chin toward your yard.

“my what?” “your flower bed,” she called over her shoulder, already walking ahead. “gotta check if you actually listened to me.” before you can say anything, ellie’s already knee-deep in your garden, pulling up the weeds you missed and fixing the patches where your mulch is spread too thin. you’re not sure what hits harder—the embarrassment from the sheer number of mistakes she’s quietly correcting, or the way her initiative turns you on.

your role is mainly reduced to handing her tools and keeping her hydrated. water swiftly proves to be necessary as ellie worked diligently, showing off her mastery, the early morning sun rises to a brighter, more oppressive, sweltering heat. you try stepping in to help a few times, but the firm swats from ellie’s palm—quick, pointed, and slightly amused—make it clear she’s not about to let you much of the heavy lifting.

still, she doesn’t treat you like a helpless maiden. eventually, she has you kneeling beside her, guiding your hands, her calloused fingers splayed atop of your own, instructing you through the same techniques she’s spent the season explaining in passing. her voice is low, sure, and steady beside you, her skin warm where it brushes yours under the sun. 

she starts with the marigolds, helping you replant them first—their vibrant yellows and oranges thriving in this full-sun corner. from there, it’s onto the petunias, where she fusses over spacing, then the dusty miller and the salvia. her encouragement is doing the opposite of helping. you try to stay focused, to press the soil like she showed you, but your thoughts keep drifting to the feel of her hand on yours.

"no—don’t just pat it down like that, you need to press a little firmer with the trowel. yeah, like this." she shifts closer, her hand curling over yours, both of you bent low over the bed of marigolds. you can feel her breath at your temple, her voice gone a little quieter, more raspy now. "there you go. knew you had it in you."

her sheer determination shouldn’t affect you the way it does, but damn. the moment your thoughts start lingering on the idea of licking the brine off her neck, you know you desperately need to cool off—literally and figuratively. it only gets worse when her hand holds the small of your back for half a moment too long, steadying you as you dug further into the soil. the simple touch sent a shiver through you, making your pulse race. it wasn’t just the heat anymore. did she know what she was doing? there was no way ellie wasn’t this self-aware. given she had let you try and fail at this garden all summer, she was probably more aware of her actions than you could easily wrap your brain around.

the rest of the adjustments come together quickly after that, both of you worn out and damp with sweat, but working in sync. at long last, ellie straightens up with a groan, wiping her glossy brow, appraising your now vastly-improved flower bed with lazy pride. “muchhhh better,” her eyes glint with approval, tossing the trowel practically molded to her hand aside. then she stretches, slow and unbothered, muscled arms rising overhead until they’re drawn taut, her off-white tank lifting just enough to entice your most lewd thoughts into wanting to see more. then she runs a hand through her damp, disheveled auburnette hair, leaving it even more a mess. “may i ask the lady for a drink? and a chance to wash up a bit?” your yes is obvious. you leave your tools just as they are on the ground and motion for ellie to follow you inside. of course she needs a rest, probably dying of thirst—though you’re probably the thirstier one in that moment.

the space is filled with the sound of the rush of crisp water and the clink of glasses as you both scrub dirt off and pour drinks. ellie mutters a soft thanks, taking hers after drying her hands on a dish towel.

she looks hot here. out of place, certainly—sun-streaked and a perspiry mess in your nearly spotless kitchen. but it only makes you want the cute gardener turned hot nuisance of a neighbor-turned... whatever this is... even more.

you swallow your nerves, chasing them with another sip of water.

“you know, i always thought you were cute,” you tease, eyes flicking to hers. “ever since you helped me pick out my first supplies.” you reflect like you’re feeling nostalgic, though you’re definitely up to something.

“yeah?” ellie quirks a brow. she’s smart, knowing exactly what you’re doing. the cute, tentative girl from the garden shop was gone- this was someone confident in every move. her voice dips low, eyes narrowing with a flirtsome gleam. “you still think i’m just cute now?”

“well,” you murmur, voice low, a little shaky, trying to match her coy pitch, “i wouldn’t say just cute.”

she tilts her head, flashing a zealous, lopsided grin. “i’ve got a lot more i could show you. with my hands. can i?”

when she then takes a step closer—your heart seizes.

was this really happening? were you about to get fucked into next week by the cute gardener turned next-door neighbor? your mind races a million miles a minute, the whole scenario unraveling like a scene straight from fanfiction.

well, you were right! just like that, ellie closes the space between you, her hand sliding around your waist as she nudges you back against the cool, angular side of the kitchen island.

the marble presses against your lower back, forcing a half-giggle, half-stunned, shaky exhale from your lungs. you realize you’re probably not hiding the gleeful expression on your face as well as you thought, especially given the cheesy grin the hot dork returns.

her roughened hands trail along your jawline, the juxtaposition of her tough-feeling skin with the most gentle gesture makes you feel woozy. “you know,” she murmurs, voice low and almost amused, “i thought about you a lot. the clueless girl always showing up on my shift, asking the kinda questions you knew i’d love answering.”

your face warms, and ellie clicks her tongue, clearly satisfied. “and here's the thing. i didn’t mind. kinda liked knowing you’d come find me.” she pauses, smirking as a vexing fire ignites behind her eyes. then she adds, “figured you’d eventually need help with the yard. saw you out there, all hot and frustrated trying to figure it out on your own. guess i was right, huh?”

the reminiscent teasing is cut short when her lips connect with your own, tossing the last of your inhibitions aside and letting blind instinct take over. all nerves melt, and your mind goes blank as her teeth catch your bottom lip and tug. you grab at her waist, hands sliding up to her ribcage — one curling into a fistful of her auburn hair, the other slipping beneath her dirtied tank top to caress the warm skin at her side.

time ceases to matter. all you feel is her hands, fervid and searching, and her hot, wet mouth moving against yours — heaven. the soft, immodest moans she lets slip only pull you deeper in. ellie traces your lips with her tongue, coaxing them open, chasing breathless sounds from you. the kiss is messy, to say the least. your front teeth collide with hers, noses bumping, spit dribbling down both your chins— it was clear she wanted you just as much as you wanted her. the waiting paid off. 

but, you feel a pause, and then loss of contact.“fuck i—” ellie huffs. she's breathless, her voice scratchy with need. the voracity at which she pulls away, breaking the fragile strands of spit that webbed across your mouths— it concerns you. 

you open your mouth to inquire, but she cuts you off by grabbing your hips with her muscled hands, and fleetly turns you around so you're facing away from her, and are bent over the counter. its hard surface is chill to the touch- your only reprieve from the heat between you two. 

your mind practically short-circuits. even though she isn't too forceful, the motion still makes you yelp. you want this, no— you crave it, and ellie’s animalistic side takes over, leaning over you with her front pressed flush against your back, one hand perfecting the arch of your back and then finding purchase at your waist. she starts shamelessly sucking purpled marks into the side of your neck and rutting her pelvis against the swell of your ass. pushing your hair further to the side, she bites down on your skin and soothes with her tongue, the acts sending goosebumps all over you.

you were completely at her mercy, no thoughts occupying your head other than everything about her: her voice, her touch— you couldn't get enough.  “ellie,” you moan her name, and she damn near purrs into your ear. you brace yourself against the cool surface, clinging onto it for respite, grounding yourself to keep steady as your legs grow weak. 

her right hand is pawing all over you, stopping to fondle your clothed breast, then snaking down your stomach and into your pants. hooking your panties aside, ellie lets out an unholy sigh at how wet you already are. 

her greedy fingers graze your slit, then begin steadily circling your clit as you mewl. ellie groans like she can feel it herself. her voice breaks, but she mutters against the nape of your neck, “fuck, damn baby. all this f'me?”

you weren't going to last, all the build up was about to bubble over momentarily. but you had to try, because it was all too good to end so soon.

descending further, she pushes her two middle digits inside your eager, sopping hole, curling as she fucked into you, your body gradually rising like a crescendo to a dizzying peak. “come on, cum for me,” ellie encourages, her free hand reaching out and landing on top of yours to share in your pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. she soothes you with a placid squeeze, a silent reminder she's got you. the pressure in your lower abdomen builds, until one last thrust sends you spilling ecstasy all over her fingers. she helps you ride it out, lightly rubbing your twitching clit and mumbling praises all the while. as your body shudders, ellie’s rutting against your ass slows, mirroring your panting and humming some encouragement.

upon coming down from the buzz, you rest your forehead on the counter's surface, trembling whimpers leaving your fucked-out form. the fingers just inside you meet ellie’s lips, tasting you on her like you’re something ambrosial, already addicted to your essence. her hands then run over your form in calming passes as you fully return to reality. “you know…” after some comfortable silence she starts, voice smug, “this could’ve happened a lot sooner—if you’d just said something instead of memorizing my whole damn work schedule.”

“oh, shut up,” you manage, still catching your breath, but content nonetheless.

ellie grins, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “what? i mean it. you're sweeter than anything i’ve ever grown.”

[nejiverse]

‘FLYING OBJECTS’ AND THEIR BIG MOUTHS..

Kinich, Ifa

In which Ajaw and Cacucu reveal all their partners’ hidden feelings. Fem! Reader

cw: kissing, hope they arent ooc🥹

1104 words

Y/n was walking a good few steps ahead of Kinich and Ajaw, humming a tune Kinich couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he would soon find out that was the least of his worries.

Ajaw, who was always looking for something to pester Kinich about, noticed how the male threw multiple side glances at Y/n's retreating figure.

At this, a sly grin spread across his face.

"Oho what's this?", Ajaw echoed suddenly, loud enough to make a few qucusauri frantically scatter.

"Is our proud warrior tripping over his own feet just watching her walk?!".

Kinich rolled his eyes and swatted ajaw away but to no surprise he came right back.

What he said wasnt completely off the mark, but it wasnt just her walk. It was her posture, the way she carried herself, and most especially the way she would quickly glance back to make sure they werent too far behind, accompanied with that small smile that if interpreted into words would say 'im glad youre still there'.

Kinich would find himself counting down the minutes until she would give him another quick glance.

"I'm not, now stop annoying me", he scoffed.

"You so are! I'm telling Y/n~", he sang as he made his way to her side before Kinich could even attempt to grab him.

Kinich swore to himself that after today, Ajaw would never see the light of day again as he hurried to catch up to the two, now only a few steps behind the girl.

"I will end you", he mouthed as to not attract Y/n's attention but Ajaw was unfazed.

Being by Y/n's side gave Ajaw confidence to say whatever he wanted. After all, Kinich would never do anything rash in front of her.

"Honestly, it's adorable", the dragon lord mocked. "If you write Y/n a poem i'm absolutely reading that out loud!", he snickered.

Y/n laughed at Ajaw's antics. "A poem you say?", Y/n turned around now walking backwards. "If you write me one I expect a dramatic delivery! Bonus points if you pathetically cry halfway through", she teased.

Kinich folded his arms. "If I were to write a poem it’d be about someone who steals my food and calls it bonding".

He didnt miss a step, but inwardly he was pleading ajaw wouldnt take it further than he already had.

"See? he hates me!", Y/n frowned. “And it’s not stealing...its tactical aquiring..".

"Actually, lover boy over here has a huuuuge crush on you!".

"Quit it ajaw—", after he saw Kinich's hand coming out to grab him, he swiftly manoeuvred to Y/n's other shoulder.

"Like a trip-over-your-own-feet, cant-look-her-in-the-eye, i-hope-she-doesnt-think-im-being-too-cold kind of crush!".

Y/n stopped in her tracks and closed what little distance was between them, her eyes meeting his own. "Really?".

Kinich was quick to avert his gaze.

"You know how Ajaw can be—"

He was cut off when her hand combed back the hair at his ears, a red tint now coating them.

They two had known each other for a long time, she knew all his tells.

He grunted in embarrassment, eyebrow twitching involuntarily.

Y/n placed her hands at either side of his face ultimately forcing them to make eye contact.

"Is it true Kinich? Your answer will determine what I do next".

What should he do? Just say no and play it off as ajaw being a nuisance? Or maybe not answer at all? Or—

"..yes", he said at last, gritted and honest. "It’s true".

And without another word, she placed a kiss on his lips.

Ajaw huffed. "Bleh. so much for light teasing and tragic denial".

Y/n was helping out Ifa with the saurians when Cacucu blurted. "Yo, bro Ifa has a crush".

Ifa nearly choked on air, internally cursing Citlali.

It was only yesterday, after Citlali had figured him out that he went home muttering to himself and had no idea Cacucu could hear him. "I have a crush on Y/n? How could she even know that?”.

He noted to himself to keep his schizophrenia in his head.

Ifa ran a hand through his hair. "That was supposed to stay between me and the cold side of the clinic tent Cacucu..". And also Citlali but that part was against his will.

Y/n perked up like a tepetlisaurus. "Wait—hold on. Hold on. You have a crush? On who? I wanna know!".

Ifa pointed a finger at Cacucu. "Just so you know, you’re banned from talking until moulting season".

"Ifa has a crush on Y/n!". Why cacucu kept going was beyond Ifa, he felt simply betrayed.

"Cool, love that for me", he muttered with a dry voice.

"Wait..me?", she pointed at herself in disbelief.

Ifa had a lopsided grin. "Yeah its you. Obviously. I mean, you’re out here tending to saurians with me, laughing at my awful jokes, making the hatchlings fall asleep with your voice, and im just supposed to not feel something?".

The pair's conversation was cut short when Ororon bursted into the clinic blabbering about how he messed up and how Citlali was gonna kill him.

So a short while later when the noise had settled down and Ifa and Y/n had finished up for the day, the two sat down against a tree, the last stretch of Natlan’s sunlight making its final appearance.

"Sorry about earlier", Ifa rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just so used to fixing things, not feeling them", he admitted.

Y/n gave him a reassuring smile. "Well you're doing okay so far", she nodded. "And besides, it adds to your boyish charm", she teased.

Ifa chuckled softly. "Yeah?".

"Yeah".

There's a pause — soft, steady. The kind of silence that feels like it's holding its breath.

Ifa studied her face like he's still not sure he's allowed to want this. His fingers brushed up along her wrist, feather-light, as he leaned in just a little closer.

"...Can I?", he said with a low voice, almost unsure.

He raised up his hand, careful, fingers curling just under her chin to tilt her face up. His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips.

"You're really asking? After all that?".

She laughed softly, and the sound is so gentle it tugs something loose in his chest. Her hand moved to cover his, holding it in place under her chin. "You better."

And that's all he needs.

If only she knew how long he had been waiting to do that.

masterlist :)

[rainintheevening]

They called it the Shop, seeing as there was a small garage attached to the side, and a sweet black Chevy always parked in back. But the Bartender only worked cars for certain people, usually the lost ones, or the ones who spooked at ghosts in the hallway to the bathrooms.

He was tall, the Bartender was, and he always wore a flannel shirt and jeans. He always looked up with a smile when anyone walked in, but only with one side of his mouth. He had a quick draw, and a dead shot, and soft hands for the young ones and the ladies when they came in to forget the bad days.

There were bookcases in the Shop, tucked into corners, and all stuffed full of old books mostly nobody could make heads or tales of. Well, except for the shelf of car manuals—those were well thumbed.

There was a kid, no more than teenager, who came stumbling in one night, and his face was bruised, but his hands were covered in blood. His eyes were black as midnight, and the closest patrons clutched at their glasses and bottles as they started to float away. You could taste the fear that rolled ahead of that kid like a wave.

But the Bartender took one look at that kid, as the glasses started rattling on the counter, and said, "Leonard, drink some water and go wash your hands." And everyone heard how he drank his water, and the rattling stopped, and the kid went and washed his hands, and came back to sit at the bar, where the Bartender gave him a sandwich. When the kid left, his eyes were a blood-shot, faded green.

Yeah, everyone knows what the Bartender can do, though few have actually seen him do it.

He has a brother, the Bartender does. He comes around every week or so, and everyone finishes up their drinks quick when he walks in, because the OPEN sign goes off ten minutes later.

Few have actually seen the Bartender and his brother—somehow he always picks the quietest moments to walk in. But it always makes the ones who do get real quiet, and usually someone feels like needing to pee.

Because everyone knows the Bartender's brother—the one taller than him, with a book in his hand, and a wolf with a snake crushed in its jaws tattooed on his left bicep. Everyone knows he was right there beside the Bartender through all of it. Everyone knows the Advocate—the one who argued with the Devil for his brother's soul and won. Or so the story goes.

But the Bartender never seems to notice that, no. He always lights up like a Christmas tree when his brother walks in, and he smiles like a boy seeing a gift he's been wanting 'for forever', and they always hug, out in front of the bar, the Bartender meeting his brother halfway.

Usually by the time they've quit hugging, there are more bills on the tables than bodies in chairs, and there's Kansas playing on the speakers, and they go back to the bar to drink one round.

When they lock up, and they go down the side steps, anyone passing hears the clink of bottles dangling by their necks from the brother's hand, and the sound of the Bartender's warm laughter.

They climb into that classic black Chevy, and then the engine purrs away down the road, leaving behind the bar with the lights all off, except for the string of white bulbs above the door, just barely illuminating the sign that no one reads.

Everyone went home from the Shop on those nights, and the city was always quiet, whether the people slept or not. Nothing bad ever happened on those nights.

Because everyone knew: the only thing more dangerous than one Winchester, was two of them together.

The bar was the only place in the city where heroes and villains could both go to without fear of being attacked by their enemies. Not because they formed a truce or anything like that, but because they all feared the Bartender more than they hated each other.

[sacredsorceress]

lifeline / bob reynolds

PAIRING: bob reynolds x f!avenger!reader, enemy?void x reader SUMMARY: When you sleep, the Void visits you. This time, you can't hold your worries in and Bob is there to save the day. WORD COUNT: 3k A/N: originally based on this request, but I might have gotten a bit carried away with it! a lot angstier compared to my other bob fics so far but I hope you enjoy!! first time writing the void. WARNINGS: this one's a doozy! 18+, ANGST, violence, mentions of attempted murder, insecurity, general mental illness references, lack of self-worth, terror, anxiety- i probably missed something, but just anything that was in thunderbolts*

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

When anyone asked you about your relationship with Bob, you'd reply that he was everything you asked for and more. They'd laugh and tell you that they were happy for you two. That they had had their doubts at the start, but seeing you now, smiling, a vision of the lovesick girlfriend, they were relieved to know they had nothing to worry about.

And you wouldn't correct them. By all means, dating Bob was everything you asked for. But that more... that addition that you hadn't anticipated, hadn't calculated for when you wished on shooting stars at night begging for another half...

'that more,' you wanted to tell them, 'they should be worried about.'

The thing about dating Bob, was that sometimes when you closed your eyes, you weren’t sure if you were living through a memory or a nightmare. Some were obvious- your teeth falling out, zombies, chainsaw killers- those were dreams and you knew it. But others, like a rewound record spinning you back to dance to the same song over and over, you weren’t sure were concoctions of your own mind or his.

Now though… this one you were sure was him.

“Where’s Bob?”

Your voice reverberated against the sterile, linoleum walls of the lab. Discarded lab equipment had been strewn across the floor and you could hear the crunch of test tubes under your feet.

On the far end of the room on an abandoned examination table, sat a familiar silhouette.

“Asleep.” The Void said.

His shaggy hair hung in front of his face as he pushed himself to his feet.

Your hands formed fists at your sides to stop them from trembling.

"Why am I here?" You asked.

The void chuckled as he made his way towards you. Although it wasn't your first time seeing him, it was more haunting now than it had been before you had truly known Bob. The void was a shadow, a cutout of the man you loved with the parts you admired most replaced with... nothing.

As if he could pull back the curtains and peer into your mind, he spoke again.

"You can't save him y'know." He said, "you can't even save yourself."

It was difficult to maintain your composure as he stepped ever closer. You knew the Void was a plague in your boyfriend's mind, but you never considered that he would be able to infect himself into yours as well.

It was hard to fight a demon who could get inside your head.

"What do you-"

His frame towered over yours just the same as Bob's did, but rather than comforting, it was menacing.

"I know you're scared of us." He chuckled, circling around you like a shark after his wounded prey. "He sees the way you look at him."

With love.. worry... concern. It wasn't that you were scared of Bob, but of him. Of the slithering, conniving darkness that loomed behind his eyes and whispered in his ears when you weren't there. Of the power that coursed through his veins that one day, you feared, you wouldn't be able to stop. You feared that some day he wouldn't be Bob anymore.

You knew you weren't scared of Bob, but did he?

Your voice trembling, you spluttered out words.

"I- I don't-"

The void's eyes narrowed.

"You should be."

His hand crushed your windpipe as your own rushed to your throat to ease the burn. Your feet dangled in the air, feeling for some sort of surface to push yourself off of but you were met with nothing. Instead, you thrashed in his grasp.

"How? How? How?" He asked, bringing his face to yours. "How will you save yourself against a god? You make it easy, y'know. Sleeping next to him. You want so badly to save him that you'll kill yourself for it. You're even more pathetic than him."

You gasped for breath and remembered Bob's words.

Get used to the pain. It won't kill you. Struggling will only make it worse.

"You think he's the sick one, but you're worse." He tilted his head, brighten golden eyes boring into yours. "You're the one sleeping next to a ticking time bomb. One of these nights," he whispered, breath fanning your face. "You're going to wake up with my hands around your throat, just like this, and see me instead of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut

"And the worst part?" He said. "You'll have no one to blame but yourself."

When you opened your eyes, the tangible darkness was gone... and had been replaced with Bob's face.

Before you had time to react, everything faded to black.

With a gasp, you shot up from your sleep. The comforter felt as if it was suffocating you and you needed out, out, out. Eyes burned in the darkness as you rapidly kicked off your sheets, climbed out of bed, and reached for the lamp on your nightstand. With a click it doused the room in its glow.

Still in bed, Bob tossed in his sleep, groaning at the blinding light.

It was Bob. Perfectly pink cheeks, a crinkle between his brow at the inconvenience, and his same soft fingers, reaching up to rub sleep from his eyes.

Not him. Not the Void.

Your brain might have known it, but your body hadn’t caught on.

Your heart raced rapidly in your chest and you wheezed as your lungs chased to meet its pace. Your hands shot up to your chest to try to quell your racing heart as you paced around the room, the burning in your chest growing insatiable.

“Baby?”

His voice cracked from the lack of use as he pushed himself to sit up, eyes still closed as he adjusted to the lamp.

“I’m… I-I-I’m fine, Bob.” You stuttered. “Go back to sleep.”

Bob had heard that story before. Usually from his own lips.

Hearing those words fall from yours- frantic, uneven- he sobered up quickly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching his hand out for you. “What… what happened?”

You wanted to tell him. You did. A good girlfriend would be honest, wouldn’t they?

But would an even better girlfriend spare her boyfriend the grief of a monster he couldn’t control? What would telling him do? It would relieve your stresses at the price of his own, making him spiral knowing that the Void was just ever beneath the surface, waiting to make his mark on you.

Tears burned behind your eyes as you leaned against the dresser to catch your breath.

He was in your head. You knew its what he wanted: to get in your mind and make you second guess yourself, Bob, your relationship- but the knowledge didn't make silencing his eerie voice in your head, mixed with the smooth tones of the one you loved, any easier.

He wanted Bob and you were in the way.

But what was better? To tell Bob and only further upset him, giving the Void exactly what he wanted? Or to keep it to yourself and know that he was waiting, plotting on your demise while Bob was none the wiser?

You felt a warm hand touch your shoulder.

You flinched, and pulled away on instinct. As you did, you clamored into the dresser, knocking spare trinkets onto the floor.

Bob held his hands up in the air in surrender. The worry painted on his face made your heart plummet to your stomach.

"Bob..."

"Y/n," Bob said, ever so slowly lowering his hands. "Let me help. I can help."

You were never much of a crier. Neither of you were. It was a last resort- the water crashing against the dam, splintering its cracks over time until it could no longer hold and the floodgates were opened.

You felt it now: the concerns that you had tried so hard to repress for Bob's sake, shoved so far down that you yourself had almost forgotten that they existed. But it was a foundation with only more rooms built on top- rooms flooded with tangible memories, fears, worries. They had all built up, one upon the other until it felt like you had run out of room. Like one more thing would make its walls splinter and burst.

And he- that shadowy void that represented everything you hated about yourself- got in your head, took a look around and decided to torch the place. The smell of it all made your eyes water.

Unable to speak, you flung yourself into your boyfriend's arms with such a force that he let out an oof. And as you buried your face in his chest, a sob escaped your throat.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, cradling your head in his arms against his frame. "I want to help."

Although he had the untapped abilities of a god, after a year, Bob had finally learned to accept that he may never be the hero that he was promised. He may never be the guy that children keep posters of, or the man a bus full of people cheer on after he saves them from a cliff.

This knowledge hadn't come to him naturally from a budding self-confidence, but rather, the realization that he didn't need to be the hero of everyone if he could be one for you.

And you had enough of your own abilities that you didn't need his super strength or flying- or any of the other Sentry powers- all you needed was what God himself gave him: Bob.

"I can't." You cried, holding him tighter to you.

His hands that had been brushing back your hair stilled for a moment.

"Was it... was it him?" Bob asked.

The way you froze against him and your breath hitched told him everything that he needed to know.

Bob would be lying if he said a chill didn't run down his spine; it would have been a futile endeavor regardless because they all knew Bob was terrified of him. To know that he was there, lurking beneath the surface-

But this wasn't his turn to run. Bob had done that more times than he would be proud to admit. He had cried into your arms, screamed into the pillow, threw punches at dummies in the training room pretending they were him. Bob had been the victim.

Seeing you here, vulnerable than ever in his arms, he knew it was his time to be the hero.

"Hey, hey." Bob cooed, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "He can't hurt you."

Bob wasn't sure if that was true. What he was sure about, was that as much as he'd let the void consume his own life, he wouldn't let it touch yours.

"It feels like he can." You said, catching your breath. "And fuck, he knew it would get to me, so it would get to you and he could-"

He knew this spiral. It was as familiar to him as his own face.

It felt sick coming from your mouth. You believed you had to suffer in silence, bear it all with a grin so you could protect him. He didn't know whether to blush or cry.

Instead, he shut out the voice in the back of his head leading him right into the trap you told him about: that he was worthless, that he ruined your life, that made everything worse, that you were afraid of him, and brushed the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

"Do I look like him?"

You scrunched your eyebrows and shook your head.

"No."

And he could never. As much as he had Bob's shape, his voice... the Void could never be him. He could never be your sweet boy with the unruly hair who touched you like you were glass. The Void didn't sing along to songs on the radio to make you laugh or tuck you into bed. He didn't help you bake the team's birthday cakes or give you butterfly kisses when their backs were turned.

The Void may have been the monster in his head, but he was your Bob.

Bathed in the warm light of the lamp's glow, you could see the sweaty curls sticking to his forehead and the worry lines that had begun to etch themselves into his forehead. But mostly, you could see his pupils blown out from the love they held for you.

"Look I- I'm just some loser from Florida." Bob said. "With a girlfriend wayyyy out of my league. But that.. that other guy's a dick. And I'm... I'm gonna fix it." He nodded as if he was convincing himself moreso than you. "I don't want you to worry about me, okay?"

A snort escaped your throat as a barely-there smile graced your face.

"I'm always going to worry about you." You sniffled.

It was the most simple fact in the world. It didn't matter that he was physically impenetrable or that he had lived ten lives before you two even met: you were going to worry about him until your dying breath.

And he knew that. Every day when he woke up with you beside him, Bob could feel it in your love for him. It made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He would be remiss if he didn't make sure you felt it too.

"Just let me worry about you for once." Bob whispered, a crooked, exhausted smile on his lips. "Please?"

And as you looked up at him, his tired eyes gazing down at you as he blinked, the Void felt worlds away from the man standing in front of you.

"Okay." You nodded, nudging your cheek against the palm of his hand. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

Bob shook his head and reached down for one of your hands.

"Don't be." He said, leading you back to bed. "I want to be there for you."

Bob lifted up the sheet and ushed you underneath it.

"My hero." You playfully sighed, reaching up to brush his curls back.

Bob didn't say anything, but at your adoring compliment, he stood up a little taller and felt a heat rise to his cheeks. Your hero. He liked the sound of that. The hero's hero.

Without another word, he leaned down, kissed your cheek, and shut off the lamp.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

The next morning when you had left to grab a coffee with Ava, Bob hesitantly made his way to the kitchen where he knew Yelena would be sat for breakfast.

When he entered the room- robe haphazardly thrown on, hair a tangled mess from his tossing and turning, and dark circles forming under his eyes from the lack of sleep- Yelena drank him in.

"You look like shit." She said bluntly.

It was such a contrast to the night before that he couldn't help but chuckle awkwardly, running his hand up and down the back of his neck.

"Yeah, yeah," Bob laughed. "I feel like it."

Eyeing him carefully, Yelena pat the stool beside her.

"Let it out." She said.

And when he sat, the events of last night flew out of his mouth like word vomit. Bob went into minute detail on how you flinched when he touched you, how scared you were, but mostly, how worried he was about you.

Here he was that past year, rejoicing in the weight you took off of his shoulders, without considering that now the burden had fallen onto you- and you were being crushed under its weight. Bob knew you would never blame him: he had had enough therapy sessions and late night conversations with you to know that, but he still couldn't help but feel that he had failed you.

"I just, I don't want her to worry." Bob said, playing with the frayed ends of his robe. "I just... I want to take care of her, y'know? I don't want this... void... in me hurting her. You should've seen her, Yelena. Because of me-"

Yelena reached out her hand for Bob's.

"She is not scared of you, Bob-" Yelena said.

Bob squeezed his eyes shut.

"I- I don't want her to be scared at all."

And it's like he's a child all over again. All he wants is to protect the woman he loves, but just manages to make it worse.

The lights flicker above them dishes and silverware rattle in their cabinets.

"Bob..." Yelena warns.

"I should be able to protect her."

The frustration, the upset, the way that your eyes looked at him in fear last night. Bob couldn't do it again; he wouldn't.

But Yelena knew him beyond words. She could see that this wasn't the anger of a man who couldn't, but a man who hadn't- and he wanted to fix that.

"You can," she said. "You will. I'll talk with Bucky and we will figure something out. We've pushed it off for too long anyway. We will fix it, Bob."

The lights returned to normal as the glassware settled on its shelves. Finally being able to bring himself to look at Yelena, he nodded.

"Just... promise me you won't tell her?" Bob asked. "I mean, she's worried so much about me and I just wanna worry about her now. Promise, Yelena?"

She nodded.

"I promise." Yelena said, squeezing his hand. "And I promise he won't hurt her. We will not give him the chance."

She shook his hand in hers and shot him a playful smile.

"Now eat." She said. "Maybe the void is just hangry."

And so maybe from then on your coffees with Ava or John got even more frequent, the two methodologically taking you out whenever Bob worked with Yelena and Bucky as to evade your knowledge. And maybe Bob slept on the couch during his bad days, fearful that he might hurt you in the night, but return to bed before the sun rose so you'd never know.

And maybe he felt guilty, lying to you like he was. But for once in his life, Bob didn't want to be the victim. He wanted to be the hero who- with the help of his loved ones- could save the day for you.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

[rueclfer]

for the 6k job fair event ‼️

piercer!sero with coworker!reader who is getting a new piercing by him and reader has the BIGGEST crush on him

AAMMEEEENNNNNNNNNN oh yeah you get it. yoooouuuu absolutely get itttt

piercer!sero // job fair

event m.list

“stop looking at me like that,” he mutters.

you held your breath as sero inches in with your chin resting in between his gloved thumb and index finger, turning your head side to side and making sure his marking on your lip was properly aligned.

you bite back the instinct to suck in your bottom lip out of nerves as he inspects it. your hands have been unusually sweaty since the moment you’ve stepped in the studio, and you know your job. you’re good at your job. piercing and jewelry had been all that you’ve lived and breathed for the past few years, but at this moment, your mind went static.

“looking at you like what?” you squeak out.

“like you’re not a client,” he chuckles.

“i don’t know how to tell you this, hanta,” his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “but i work here.”

he scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking a step back to change out his gloves, “you know what i mean. keep your eyes on whatever’s behind me like everyone else.”

“what? a little eye contact makes you nervous?”

the corners of his mouth quirk up into a lopsided smile.

“something like that.”

you remind yourself to breathe once he holds the needle up to your bottom lip. you remind yourself that you’ve done this piercing a hundred times and that you know exactly what to expect.

there wasn’t a second in this swift motion when the needle came up through your lip where your eyes left sero. he was well aware of that.

“god,” he mutters, quickly pulling the needle through with the jewelry, “not even a fucking flinch, you badass.”

your stomach twists. in what world would a compliment do more damage to you than a needle going through your lip?

“what can i say? i’m a pro.” you let out a shaky chuckle as he meets the sore area with a q-tip.

“and i know i don’t need to give you the rundown on aftercare,” he peels the black gloves off his hands before tossing them in the bin, “but don’t go around kissing anyone until that’s healed alright?”

“bummer, i was really excited to see what kind of damage i can do to someone’s teeth with this.” you roll your eyes.

a knock came from behind the curtain. you both turn your heads to see a mass of purple hair peek through, throwing up a peace sign towards your way.

“your 12 o'clock is here. filling out the paperwork, but heads up anyways,” hitoshi says, leaving as quickly as he came in.

“that’s my cue then.” you awkwardly fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “i’ll see you this weekend then? think that’s when we work together next.”

“yeah this saturday.” he gestures for you to take the lead out the private room, “but keep me updated on the healing. maybe if it’s feeling good we can test your curiosities.”

reflexively, you turn around and land a punch on his arm as your face flares with heat.

“what's wrong with you?” you hissed with wide eyes.

“not in front of the clients, babe.” he grins, unphase by your reaction, “or else they’re gonna start thinking it’s okay to attack the piercer.”

“you’re gonna try and kiss all your clients or something?" you cock an eyebrow, the tips of your ears burning.

sero pauses for a moment and wets his lips before speaking again.

“maybe just one.”

[rainydayathogwarts]

a certain malfoy - bill weasley x malfoy!reader

summary: charlie can't wait to tell his mother about bill's encounter with you, and she reflects on you and bill's relationship when you were still students at hogwarts. wc: 1.6k+ pt.2 to "malfoy" "weasley"

Molly Weasley had been so busy worrying about her children and their friends after the Quidditch World Cup, that no one had even mentioned Bill’s romantic detour to their mother. Charlie Weasley, his older brother’s biggest pain in the ass, only mentioned it at breakfast one morning while Bill Weasley was still upstairs, barely awake.

With a mouth full of pancake, Charlie’s head snapped up, and he started chewing quicker so he could finally tell his mother “Mum, you won’t ever guess what happened to Bill at the cup!” Ginny almost laughed as a look of terror overtook the Weasley mother’s face, but Charlie shook his head as she asked “Is there an injury I’m not aware of?”

“No, no! Well, unless you consider hickeys injuries.” Ginny glanced to the side, lips quirking upwards as the twins cackled at Charlie’s comment. Molly flicked a kitchen towel towards her son as a threat, mumbling “Be nice. Wait! What did you say!?” Charlie wiped the corners of his mouth, enthralled in the attention the entire table was paying him.

“Bill had a little encounter with a certain Malfoy.” Ginny furrowed her eyebrows at her mother's gasp. It was award-winning. But Ginny didn't know what was so special about this certain Malfoy. Clearly, you'd slept with her oldest brother at the Quidditch world cup, but the history between you was a mystery to her. “They got together again!?” She whisper yelled, leaning in closer to Charlie. Ginny choked on her pancake. Again? Charlie nodded. “They were leaving the tent when we were going in. You should’ve seen the sight of them. It was like the old days.”

Ginny waited for her mother to reveal this new information, but it never came. Molly shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she remembered the days when you and Bill were unofficially dating, so much love and lust shared between you. Bill would come back home from ‘hang-outs’ with you, hickeys poorly concealed under his creased shirt, hair looking as though he had walked through a tornado. His lips would always be a darker shade of pink from the lipstick you wore that had stained his lips.

Charlie would tease Bill endlessly in front of their parents, who tried making up as many lies and excuses as he could to hide the fact that he had been having sex with someone. He never succeeded in convincing anyone. But neither Ginny or Ron knew this about their brother, shooting each other a confused look from across the table.

“Wait, so were they dating?” Asked Ron, words muffled as he chewed on a muffin. Ginny was grateful he asked before she would have to. “Oh yeah,” Started George, taking a sip of his juice. “For years.”

“Years!?” Ginny spat, feeling her eyes going wide with shock, bulging out of her face.

“Oh George, don’t spread rumours. No, sweetheart, they were never officially dating. But the signs were there. She came around often, and, well, a mother knows the signs.” Ginny's attention was caught by Harry's chuckle from where he sat next to Ron, shooting Hermione a pointed look. She turned red under his gaze. For some reason, Ginny turned red too. Her mother definitely knew about her crush on him, then.

Everyone’s heads snapped towards the stairs, where Bill’s loud footsteps were approaching. He was fixing the collar of his shirt to poke out of the top of his v-neck jumper he wore. “Does this look fine?” He panted, doing a spin in the dark jeans he wore, keeping his eyes trained on his family as he pulled his long coat over his outfit. Ginny grinned widely, putting her fork down and crossing her arms over her chest. Finally, she wouldn't be the one bugged by her brothers on relationship details.

“Where are you going dressed like that Billy boy?” Asked Charlie teasingly, leaning back in his chair. “Doesn’t matter.” He mumbled, and Ginny watched as he rushed to press a kiss on his mother’s cheek, then towards her. Ginny smiled proudly. “Have something to eat before you go, Bill.” Molly advised, a twinkle in her eye. She opted against adding ‘you’ll need the energy’.

She decided on acting clueless.

“I have breakfast plans.” He spoke, making it a point not to look at Charlie or the twins. Ginny scoffed, rolling her eyes, and she saw Bill's ears turn red when his eyes reached her. He looked away, meeting the knowing glances from his youngest brother and his friends. “And with whom might these plans be?” Pressed Ginny, finally speaking up. Bill groaned, looking at her in betrayal, turning around to face his mum again, but the question was answered for him.

The doorbell rang.

Bill’s eyes widened, and he rushed to the door, racing the three brothers who instantly hopped out of their chairs. Ginny's gaze followed the action, and she laughed quietly. Bill cursed Charlie for getting there first, swinging the door open. You stood with a bouquet of pink tulips in your hands, looking as classy as ever, and coincidentally, perfectly matching with Bill’s outfit. Ginny swallowed thickly. You were absolutely gorgeous. More so than on the night of the world cup. Perhaps it was because you weren't prancing around with your blood purist parents.

Charlie said your name slowly, leaning on the doorway. “Move out the way, Charlie!” Bill grumbled, pushing his younger brother aside. “You didn’t have to come.” He whispered, looking you up and down. God, you were beautiful.

“I know, but I wanted to give these to your mother.”

“My mo-no, it’s fine, we can-”

“Don’t be rude!” You scolded as you pushed past him and his three brothers. Ginny giggled, and her cheeks flushed as your eyes flitted over to hers briefly, a kind smile on your face.

“Have you even seen her since I’ve left?” You spun on your heels to look at the oldest Weasley, giving him your sassiest expression, eyebrows raised, an unimpressed gleam in your eyes. Your lips twitched up into a smirk.

“I had a conversation with her in a bookstore once, William. And it was lovely.”

You smiled a perfect grin when you turned back around, walking into the house and beelining straight to Mrs. Weasley, who was already making her way across the dining room to give you a big hug. “Oh, dear! It’s lovely to see you again!”

“You too, Molly. I remember you saying you liked tulips when we went to the farmer’s market together.” Ginny furrowed her eyebrows, picking up her fork again. She thought you hadn't seen Bill in years. But she had seen Bill’s eyes widen, so she assumed it was the case. You remembered that detail from when you went to the farmer’s market together in seventh year, Bill thought?

Ginny shot Ron an incredulous stare, and he returned it with a shrug of his shoulders, looking just as taken aback as her. Their mother never asked anyone to call her Molly, so the fact that you did was insane. How did you get her to like you so much?

“Have something to eat, dear.” Molly urged, gesturing to the table. “I’d love to, but Bill and I are having breakfast together.” Molly hummed, leaning on the wall. As you spun around, walking back towards Bill, the woman called your name. Your head snapped towards her, and you looked at her expectantly. Ginny's eyes travelled between the two women in the room, waiting for something to happen. “When Bill comes back home, I better not hear any of the ‘we’re just friends’ excuses, okay?”

And for the first time since they’d laid their eyes on you, Ginny Ron, Harry and Hermione all witnessed the embarrassed look on your face, mouth agape in shock at Mrs. Weasley’s words, blinking rapidly. Ron laughed and Ginny joined in, watching as Bill shot his mum a look, guiding you out the door by your shoulders. Ginny slumped down when the door had shut behind you, wanting to see more. On the other side of the wooden door, you cleared your throat uncomfortably. “I think that’s what we get for trying to be secretive before, huh?” Bill chuckled at your words, offering his hand for you to hold. You snaked your fingers into his, staring at where your skin touched.

“Yeah, maybe we can try again the proper way.”

“What, by having sex after seeing each other for the first time in, what, seven years?”

“No, by not trying to hide our relationship.”

“Let’s go on this ‘not-date’ before deciding if there is a relationship to begin with.”

“I’m moving back to England!” Bill’s words took you aback, and you froze on the Weasleys’ doorstep. The reason you two had broken up to begin with was because you knew long-distance would never work with you.

“You know, after this date, we can decide if we want to go on another one. And try again.” You swallowed thickly, pulling Bill closer to you by his jumper. Bill leaned down closer, connecting his lips to yours. You sighed in satisfaction, not letting him deepen the kiss before you pulled away.

“Well, my father will still never approve of you.”

Bill grinned. “What would our relationship even be if he did?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing in amusement. “Whatever, Weasley. Take me to breakfast, you’ll need the energy to keep up with me when we go shopping.” Bill’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He had a brief flashback to a Hogsmeade trip in your last year at Hogwarts, when he had insisted for you to go with him instead of your friends. He promised he wouldn’t complain and would go into every store you wanted.

His feet were wrecked by the end of the trip.

“Shopping?” He echoed in horror.

You shrugged your shoulders. “And if you’re good, I might just take you back to mine. You’ll need energy for that too.”

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