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bucketsorbueckers · 12 days ago

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Wishing you the best (in the worst ways) - 6

Paige X Azzi

Warning: langauge

a/n: were backkkkkkkkk <3 ive edited this to death and i hate it. lmao anways enjoy. if theres errors just know i am being rushed to lunch so i apologize! xoxo

Paige’s POV

The phone call, somehow, had wedged them even farther apart. Paige wasn’t sure that was possible.

She’d thought the distance between them had already stretched to its limit. But when she woke up the next morning—blanket kicked off, phone still clutched in her hand, Azzi’s soft breathing barely audible on the line—she hung up. Immediately.

Turned off her phone. Walked into the bathroom and took a cold shower. Long. Brutal. Like she could rinse the night off her skin. Like if she stood there long enough, she could wash Azzi out of her system.

That was two weeks ago. Paige hadn’t thought about it too much. Not really.

Because Paige was focused. On winning. On running shit. On sealing up any cracks left in the conversation between her name and basketball.

She didn’t have time to think about Azzi. Except—of course—Azzi had decided to get focused too. Because why wouldn’t she? And suddenly, it was like they were circling the same fire again.

Paige hadn’t even had time to wipe the sweat off her forehead post practice before the questions started.

“You play the Mystics again next week. A contentious matchup last time around—think we’ll see more of the same?”

Paige didn’t flinch. She gave the smallest shrug, that press-friendly smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mystics are a good team.” She let it sit there. Just long enough.Then: “But we handled it last time. I’m not too worried.”

The reporters nodded, leaning in closer.

“Azzi Fudd’s been heating up the last few games. You two have a history—college, Team USA. What’s it like facing off against someone who knows your game that well?”

Paige didn’t blink.

“I play to win. Doesn’t matter who’s on the other side.”

She saw faces falter. The press wanted more. They always did. A quote. A name. A slip. They wanted her to say it—Azzi—out loud.

But Paige wasn’t in the mood. Hadn’t been since her voice cracked on the phone, low and wrecked, the word you leaving her mouth so painfully honest it made her chest feel concave.

So she gave them just enough to print but nothing they could use.

Later, in the locker room, someone showed her a headline: “Paige Bueckers on Azzi Fudd: I’m Not Too Worried.”

She barely looked at it. Just shrugged and peeled the tape off her wrist. But later, alone, in her apartment, she opened it. Watched herself say it.

“I play to win. Doesn’t matter who’s on the other side.”

She stared at her own face. The calm. The posture. The half-lie. And something about it made her feel sick. Not regret. Not even guilt. Just...tired. Because it did matter. And they both fucking knew it.

—--

The gym was quiet when she got there. Too early for lights, for music, for anyone else who didn’t need to be there. Just her and the echo of her own footsteps. The sound of rubber soles on polished hardwood. The hum of nothing.

She used to love this.

Mornings like this—empty gym, no noise, just the sound of her breath and the ball and her shoes against the floor.

It used to feel like church. Like peace. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling sacred. Stopped feeling like hers.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was in a gym without someone watching. A coach. A camera. A teammate. Even now, alone, she kept expecting eyes on her. Kept bracing for the door to open. For someone to say her name.

And maybe that was the problem. Basketball stopped being quiet. Stopped being just hers. And she missed it.

She sank another shot from the corner and didn’t even watch it fall.

Somewhere along the way, it had shifted. Less about the feeling. Less about the joy. The breathless quiet of being in rhythm with something she loved.

And more about proving something. To reporters. To fans. To coaches.

To Azzi.

To herself.

Like every game was a defense. Like every bucket was a rebuttal.

Like if she kept scoring, kept winning, kept running up the numbers—she could outrun the questions. The doubt. The part of her that didn’t recognize who she’d turned into to survive all of it.

She didn’t remember when it stopped feeling like hers. Just that it had. And now she was here—early, alone, exhausted in a way she didn’t know how to name. Still chasing something she couldn’t touch anymore.

She was shooting free throws when the moment broke. The door creaked open. Voices spilled in—laughing, loud, too bright for how early it still was. Sneakers squeaked. A ball bounced. Someone called her name.

“Bueckers, damn. You sleep here now?”

She didn’t look up right away. Just kept her eyes on the line. Took the shot. Let it drop clean. Then turned. Pulled her expression back into something easy. Something practiced.

“Somebody’s gotta win us the game.”

They laughed. Slapped hands. The rhythm of routine slotting back into place. She moved toward them. Fell in line. Let the noise cover everything she didn’t say. Everything she’d realized she’d lost and wasn’t brave enough to admit she missed.

Azzi’s POV

KK: screaming from my couch tonight 😤

Aaliyah: same. i better see you drop 30 on my tv

KK: wearing my mystics/wings gear around the house. it’s called support

Nika: tell Paige I said good luck

Nika: kidding. tell her nothing. ruin her.

Azzi half-smiled. The kind that tugged at one corner of her mouth and didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Because Paige wasn't in this group chat. Not anymore.

She’d left months ago—silently, without fanfare—and no one had added her back. Maybe out of respect. Maybe out of fear. Maybe because no one knew what to say. And somehow that made the whole thread feel…off-kilter.

Like they were still trying to be what they were, but lopsided. Like one leg of the table had broken and everyone just agreed not to lean on it too hard.

And she knew, deep down, they were texting Paige too.

Separate threads. Different tone, maybe. But the same energy. The same hype. No one said it out loud. No one had to. This was how it was now.

They still loved both of them. They just didn’t know how to love them at the same time.

KK: Az you better drop 30 tonight. give the crowd what they want 😘

Nika: give Paige what she deserves.

Azzi stared at the messages. She loved her friends. That hadn’t changed. But even their teasing made something shift behind her ribs.

Because it felt like they’d been forced to choose. Like someone had drawn a line in the sand and everyone had quietly stepped to one side. And Azzi hated that she might’ve been the one to draw it.

She hadn’t meant for it to break the whole thing open. But fights like that—they don’t stay contained.

They seep into everything. Dinner tables. Group chats. The space between hugs. And when she’d shut the door, Paige hadn’t gone after her. Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

The texts slowed. The inside jokes got quieter. The group became parts instead of a whole. And now? Everything they used to be lived in the silence between messages. In who sat where. In who didn’t show up.

Azzi locked her phone. Tossed it onto the couch and caught her reflection in the hotel mirror. Jaw tight. Shoulders set. Eyes sharp. She couldn’t think about any of it now. Not the group chat. Not the silence. Not the way everything used to feel easy and soft and full.

She couldn’t think about Paige.

Except—

On the hotel TV, muted but still blaring in her mind, the pregame segment was looping.

Footage of Paige at shootaround. Her hand caught mid-spin on the ball, smirking like she had the whole league on a leash. And under it, the headline:

“I’m not worried.” – Paige Bueckers

Azzi stared. The quote didn't surprise her. Not really.

She was Paige. The chosen one. The headline. The highlight reel. The face people printed on t-shirts and taped to bedroom walls. Worry didn’t touch her. It parted around her like she was too golden to bruise.

Azzi’s throat went tight.

Because she remembered when that quote would’ve come with a smile. With a nudge. A shared secret between them.

Now it felt like a dare. One that she was going to accept.

Azzi dragged a hand down her face, forced herself to breathe. Locked eyes with reflection and reminded herself:

Today, she wasn’t playing to prove a point. She was the point. She was going to beat Paige. And she was going to make it look effortless. Like it had always been hers.

—-

The bus pulled up to the arena and the first thing she saw was Paige.

Not Paige Paige. Not the one she used to share rooms and playlists and late-night Dominos with. But the version of her they’d built. Ten feet tall on the side of the arena, arms folded, mid-crossover, the words BUECKERS IS BACK in all caps above her head

Azzi stared at it through the tinted glass. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just let it settle in.

The bus door opened and the sound hit her like static.

Not real sound—just that buzzing, high-pitched kind of awareness that came when your body decided to register everything at once: movement, light, the shape of someone pointing without knowing why.

She stepped off and it was like walking into a dream she wasn’t part of.

There were people—lots of people— near the gates but their faces didn’t make sense. Blurry. Phones held up. Maybe a few calling names. Maybe not hers. She couldn’t hear them anyway.

Her headphones weren’t even playing music. She just needed something to keep the world out. Something to make her feel less visible even though she’d never felt more seen.

Because Paige was everywhere.

There were banners and billboards. Her face in mid-laugh on a digital loop above the arena doors. Fans were already clustered along the barricades. A few held signs. A couple wore her jersey.

But most of them?

Wings blue. Number 5. BUECKERS across the back.

Azzi kept walking. Didn’t look up. Didn’t let her eyes flick to the left where someone was definitely snapping a photo. Because she felt it. The watching. Not just from the fans but from the walls. From the giant, glossy versions of Paige taped across every surface.

The kind of watching that made your skin too tight. That made you want to peel yourself out of your own body and disappear for a second.

She pressed her fingers to her ribcage. Just to check. Just to feel something. And for a second, she was sixteen again. Playing AAU. Beating Paige in practice. Outperforming. Outworking. And still, pretending she didn’t notice how everyone always turned their heads when she had the ball.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t.

It was just…

God, it was just loud.

Even now, walking through the tunnel, Paige wasn’t here but somehow still here. Her shadow stretching longer than Azzi’s own.

She adjusted her bag. Bit down on the inside of her cheek. She was fine. This was fine.

It didn’t matter that Paige’s face was everywhere. It didn’t matter that every teenager outside probably bought their ticket for her. Because Azzi was here too.

And tonight she didn’t need the spotlight. She just needed the ball.

—-

The locker room was loud in the way all locker rooms are: music thumping, shoes squeaking, someone shouting across the room about socks.

Azzi moved through it like she was underwater. She peeled off her jacket. Pulled her warmups on. Laced her shoes. Did everything right. In the right order. Like muscle memory was the only thing she could trust.

Someone tapped her shoulder. “Need tape?”

She blinked. Nodded. Held out her leg like she hadn’t been gripping her knee under the towel five seconds earlier, just to make sure it still bent the way it was supposed to. The trainer wrapped it tight. Secure. Familiar. Azzi exhaled.

She kept her headphones in even though she wasn’t listening to anything. Across the room, someone was dancing. Someone else was rapping along to the lyrics.

Azzi just sat. Then stood. Then sat. And then she stood up again before heading towards the court.

The hallway to the tunnel was colder than she remembered. She rolled her neck. Bounced on her toes. Pressed her fingertips to the wall for no reason at all just to feel something other than her heart hammering.

And then–

The arena unfolded in front of her.

Paige was already out there. Not warming up, exactly. Just existing. Tucking her hair into a loose ponytail. Laughing at something a teammate said.

Azzi jogged out. Kept her face blank. Slapped a few hands. But her blood was moving fast. She forced herself to breathe. And started her pre game ritual. She was mid-drill when Sonia slid up beside her.

“You good?” she asked, not looking at her. “You’ve missed the same shot three times. Felt like a choice.”

Azzi scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were counting.”

“Always am,” Sonia said, flipping the ball from one hand to the other.

Kiki jogged over, sweaty and grinning. “She’s mad because you look stressed and she doesn’t want to say she’s worried.”

“I’m not worried,” Sonia said immediately.

Azzi huffed out a laugh. “I’m fine.”

Soni gave a light elbow to Azzi’s side. “We got you, okay? Let Paige be Paige. You be you.”

“I am.”

“Then hit a damn shot,” Kiki grinned, backing toward the wing.

Azzi exhaled. Dribbled once. Shot. It fell through with a swish. Soni raised her brow like she’d called it. Kiki slapped her on the ass. Azzi rolled her eyes. But she had to admit, it helped.

Something about the motion. The contact. The rhythm made her feel a bit more like herself.

The noise faded a little. The lights settled. And the world shrank to the sound of sneakers squeaking, balls hitting the rim, the low murmur of teammates talking through drills.

She moved through warmups on autopilot—pass, cut, catch, release.

Let her body do the thing it knew how to do. Let it carry the part of her that still felt too full. Too raw. And when the buzzer sounded for the end of warmups, she didn’t look across the court. Didn’t need to.

She could feel Paige like weather. Coming.

They called for starting fives, and Azzi kept her eyes on the court. Focused on the hardwood. The tips of her shoes. Anything solid.

She didn’t look up.

Not even when the arena erupted at the sound of Paige’s name—louder than anyone else's, like they’d been holding their breath just to scream for her.

Azzi didn’t flinch. She adjusted her stance instead. Quiet. Mechanical. Like she hadn’t heard it. But she had.

The sound wrapped around her, pressed against her skin. The arena felt louder now. Or maybe just closer. Like the whole place had leaned in to watch her reaction.

She found her mark on the court. Bounced on her toes. And then she looked up. Paige was already there. Hair slicked back. Hands on her hips, head tilted just slightly.

Their eyes met, and everything else dropped out. The crowd, the noise, even the low chant building in the stands—it all blurred at the edges.

Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. She just looked at her like she was remembering something she hadn’t meant to. Something soft. Something that still ached when she touched it too long.

Azzi felt her breath leave her all at once. Clean. Sharp. Because she knew deep down, that this wasn’t just another game. It never had been. Not when the person standing across from her had once known every version of her. Had held them. Named them. Left them.

She held the stare, even as something in her chest folded in on itself. Because no matter how many times she told herself it didn’t matter anymore, it still did.

Then the ref stepped forward. Held the ball like a match about to be struck. And still, neither of them looked away. Not until the toss.

The ball went up. The Mystics got a fingertip on it. Just enough. The tap went clean to Sonia, and the game snapped into motion .Like it had been waiting for them to stop pretending this was just another night.

Azzi blinked. And then forced herself to move. To lock in. To shove everything else—Paige’s eyes, the sound of the crowd, the ache in her throat—into some far-off corner of her mind.

The game was here. Fast. Demanding. Unforgiving. And she needed it to be.

She cut left, then right. Lost her defender with a sharp plant and pivot. The ball came back to her. She caught it in rhythm. Pulled up from the elbow.

Swish.

The crowd erupted, but it barely registered. Just sound in the distance. Paige was already sprinting the other way.

Azzi followed. Fast break.

A cross-court pass sliced through the air. Paige caught it in stride, fluid as water. One dribble. Pull-up.

Her shot arced high, kissed the front rim, and rolled in.

Azzi didn’t flinch. She grabbed the inbound, pushed the tempo. She could feel Paige tracking her. Could sense her just behind, like a shadow she couldn’t outrun.

This was how it had always been. Back and forth. Push and pull. The world narrowing to just them.

Two women who knew each other’s tells. Each other’s weaknesses. Each other’s hearts.

—---

Second quarter. Score tied.

Azzi’s legs ached in that good way. The kind that said she was in it. They’d been trading buckets for five straight possessions. Paige had twelve. Azzi had fourteen.

And Azzi was feeling it.

But then came the defensive switch. She didn’t need to look. She knew.

Azzi caught the ball at the wing. And there she was. Paige.

Low stance. Quick feet. Waiting.

They moved at the same time. Azzi jabbed right, Paige mirrored. Azzi drove left, Paige slid with her—like they were tethered. Like they’d never stopped doing this.

It wasn’t defense. It was choreography. A dance they’d been perfecting since they were sixteen. Back when it was driveway games and half-empty gyms. Back when they still knew what the other was thinking without saying a word.

Azzi hesitated. Paige mirrored again. The space between them was tight and tense and humming with history.

Azzi pulled up. Fast, clean, instinct. Paige leapt. Just a breath behind.

The shot bounced off the rim. Azzi landed, teeth clenched, and turned—Paige was already gone, sprinting the break.

By the next possession, Azzi was on her. No switch this time. No help. Just them.

Paige caught it near the top of the key, and Azzi was already there, low and balanced. She knew the twitch of her left shoulder meant hesitation. Knew the slight shift in her plant foot meant she was going to spin.

Paige tried it anyway. Azzi didn’t bite. Cut her off clean. The crowd reacted but Azzi barely heard it. She was too focused on the sound of Paige breathing.

Too aware of the way their feet moved in tandem, like some echo they couldn’t shake.

Paige reset. They locked eyes, just for a flash. Not hostile. Not even heated. Just…known. Like looking in a mirror and remembering the version of yourself you used to be.

Paige made her move—crossover, sharp and low. Azzi stayed with her. Step for step. She didn’t need to guess. She knew.

Because they’d trained together. Played together. Broken down tape side by side at midnight with cold pizza and tangled legs.

She knew how Paige held the ball when she was about to pull up. Knew when the move was real, and when it was a lie. And Paige knew the same about her. Which made every possession a standoff. Every shot a gamble.

Still, Azzi wanted to beat her. Not outscore. Not outshine. Beat her. Strip something from her—control, memory, whatever it was Paige still held without asking.

And Paige, of course, was guarding her like she always had.

Paige didn’t play defense like it was a job. She played it like a dare. In-your-face. Breath-on-your-neck. Just shy of drawing a foul. She’d always known how to skate the line—never dirty, but just aggressive enough to get under your skin. To stay there.

Azzi hated how used to it she was. How her body still knew the shape of Paige pressed too close, how it had learned to move around her like instinct.

She caught the ball on the wing. Pivoted. Paige didn’t give an inch.

Her arm was at Azzi’s waist. Inches between them. It wasn’t a foul. But it wasn’t nothing.

It was Paige being Paige. And maybe Azzi was tired. Or maybe she was just done.

She spotted it. The opening. Small. Quick. Fleeting.

A sliver of space on the wing, just wide enough to pull up or drive through if she got there fast enough. But Paige was still there. Too close, as always.

Azzi could’ve backed off. Reset. Waited for the next possession. But she didn’t want to wait. She wanted it. The moment. The separation. The proof.

And yeah, maybe the idea had crossed her mind. A little contact. A bump. Nothing Paige hadn’t done to her a thousand times—practice, games, hallway shootarounds at UConn when no one was watching.

Nothing mean. Nothing reckless.

Just enough to say: Get off me.

But she didn’t plan it. Didn’t decide. It just happened.

She spun toward the gap, used her shoulder to seal it, and caught Paige clean. A crack of contact. A twist of limbs. Paige went down hard.

The sound of it—body to hardwood—echoed. The crowd gasped. That collective intake of breath, sharp and unfiltered.

A whistle blew late, almost like the ref had to shake off the shock before calling it.

And then, everything slowed. Paige wasn’t moving much. She was curled slightly, one hand clamped around her shoulder, her face tight with pain.

When Paige finally looked up—when their eyes caught, like they always had—it knocked the wind out of Azzi. Not because of the pain written across Paige’s face.

But because of what wasn’t there. No anger. No challenge. Just confusion. And underneath that…something quieter. Recognition, maybe.

Like Paige was still trying to make sense of it. Still trying to figure out when the rules changed.

Their eyes remained locked. And for one long, aching second, it was all there. Every version of them—sweet, sharp, ruined—stacked on top of each other until Azzi could hardly tell who she was supposed to be.

It wasn’t about the score anymore. Wasn’t about the play. It was about the line she hadn’t meant to cross. And the look that told her she already had. Clean. Quiet. Irrevocable. Like something that couldn’t be taken back, even if she’d wanted to.

She felt a hand wrap around her arm. Firm. Steady. Pulling her back. Azzi didn’t even realize she’d moved. Didn’t realize she’d dropped to one knee beside Paige like gravity had made the decision for her.

Didn’t realize she was still holding her gaze. Like maybe if she just looked long enough, she could take it back. Unwind the moment. Reverse the contact. Make Paige okay again.

Sonia’s grip tightened, tugging her upright. Grounding her. Trainers rushed in. Voices rose around them, sharp and urgent.

Azzi blinked. And just like that, the world snapped back into place. High definition. Painfully loud.

“Azzi.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept staring at Paige’s body on the floor.

“Azzi.” A hand on her cheek—firm, warm—tilted her face away. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did. Slowly. Met Sonia’s eyes like she didn’t recognize her at first. Blinking again, as if that might make sense of any of it.

“I didn’t mean to,” Azzi said, barely above a whisper.

It tasted wrong in her mouth. Thin. Fragile. Too late.

“I know you didn’t.” Sonia’s voice was even. “Trust me. It was just a bad break. For both of you.”

Azzi’s eyes darted back to Paige. She was on her feet now, but barely. Her shoulder didn’t look right. Not broken…just off.

Lower than it should’ve been. Like something inside had slipped, or shifted, or come undone without warning. The joint was already swelling. Color blooming beneath the skin. Paige’s hand was clamped tight over it, jaw locked.

“I didn’t mean to,” Azzi said again, but this time it caught in her throat.

Paige’s POV

The floor was cold. That was the first thing. Not the pain, that came next. Late, almost like her body was waiting to see if this was real.

Then it hit.

Sharp. Blinding. Hot at the joint and radiating outward like someone had struck a match beneath her skin.

Her hand flew to her shoulder on instinct, clutching hard. It didn’t feel right. Didn’t sit right.

The gym echoed around her—squeaks, gasps, a whistle somewhere—but it all came through thick and slow, like she was underwater.

Someone moved into her line of sight. Azzi. Her face pale, eyes wide and locked on hers like she couldn’t look away. Paige stared back. Her team was around her now—knees hitting the floor, voices rising—but she couldn’t make out the words.

Everything was too loud and too far away. Panic started to crawl up her spine, sharp and cold and fast. So she did the only thing that made sense.

She kept her eyes on Azzi. Like a lighthouse in a storm she hadn’t seen coming.

As if tugged by a string, Azzi moved closer. Paige’s teammates shifted, made room without being asked. And it shouldn’t have made sense. The person who knocked her down kneeling beside her. But it did. Because they were Paige and Azzi.

Paige held her gaze. She went to reach for Azzi’s hand, just out of instinct—something human, something familiar—But the pain caught her first.

Her shoulder seized up, sharp and final. No room for softness. No room for touch. She let her arm fall back.

God, she should be angry. But Azzi looked wrecked. Like the moment had hit her too. Like she couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten from love to impact. And Paige knew that look.

Knew how Azzi’s brain would fold the blame into itself, tuck it somewhere deep and let it rot there. Even if it was just basketball. Even if it was no one’s fault.

And despite everything…Despite the ache blooming down her arm and the pressure of a dozen eyes, Paige still wanted to reach her. To tell her it was okay. That she knew it wasn’t malice. That it never could’ve been.

But then Azzi was being tugged away. Someone’s hand on her arm.. The space she’d filled emptied, then filled again—trainers, movement, too much noise. And in her place stood John, arms crossed, frowning

“You had one task,” he said.

Paige rolled her eyes, sharp and tired.

“Yeah, well. I’m a fuck-up. We both know that.”

Hands reached for her, but Paige shook them off. Not harsh, just enough to say I’ve got it.

She pushed herself upright with her good arm, steady on her feet even if her stomach flipped at the shift. Her shoulder throbbed—low and deep—but she didn’t make a sound. Didn’t wince. Didn’t give them anything.

She walked off the court on her own, head high, even as the world blurred a little around the edges. The crowd was still murmuring. Trainers flanked her like they were waiting for her to collapse.

She didn’t.

She was almost to the tunnel when John stepped into her path, expression pinched like he was trying not to look as pissed as he clearly felt.

He waited until the trainers gave them a little space before he spoke.

“You know what it is,” he said.

Paige nodded once.

“AC joint,” she muttered.

John exhaled. Ran a hand down his face.

“Can you still move it?”

“A little,” she said, even though the answer was closer to not really.

“Go get it looked at. You’re done for tonight.”

Her face twisted.

“No,” she said flatly. “We can tape it up. Ice it later. I can play through it.”

“Paige—”

“I’m serious.”

Her voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened.

“I’ve played through worse. It’s a shoulder, not my leg. I can still move. Can still shoot.”

He looked at her. At the shoulder sitting wrong. At the tension in her jaw.

“You’re done,” he repeated. “I’m not putting you back in. Not like this.”

Paige exhaled, sharp through her nose. Looked away for the first time.

On the court, Arike stood alone at the line. The foul on Azzi had been upgraded. Flagrant 1.

“Please,” she said. Just that. Low. Barely audible. But she meant it.

John hesitated. Long enough for hope to flicker.

“You know I’d never pull you unless I had to.” He said. “There’s no use fucking up the rest of your career for one mid-season game, Paige. You’re done. At least for the night.”

And that was that. She didn’t nod. Didn’t argue again. Just glanced back at the court.

At Azzi. Still watching.

Their eyes met for a beat too long—just long enough to feel like something was still unsettled between them. Paige bit down on the inside of her cheek. Tilted her head. And then turned and kept walking. Because there was nothing left to say.

—-----

“No,” Paige said, flat. “I’m doing media. Put me on the sheet.”

Coach stared at her. Lips pressed tight in that way that meant he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

She didn’t blame him. They’d lost by eighteen. The game had unraveled the second she left the floor. Azzi had slowed after the collision—maybe from guilt, maybe not—but she’d still had a hell of a game.

And she’d beaten them. Fair and square. Sort of.

Paige knew she had no business doing media. She hadn’t even made it through the second quarter. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to have anyone else controlling the narrative and turn this into something it wasn’t.

Coach dragged a hand down his face, slow and tired. Then finally—he sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Go. You and Maddy.”

Paige didn’t thank him. Just walked past, shoulder burning, pride worse.

She caught up with Maddy halfway down the tunnel, not saying a word. And together, they headed toward the media room. Into the lights. Into the noise. Into whatever version of the story she was going to tell.

The media room lights were too bright. Not in a way that hurt, just in a way that made everything feel a little too real.

Paige sat down next to Maddy, shoulder taped beneath her warmup jacket, posture perfect. She kept her good hand resting casually on the table. Like nothing had shifted.

The reporters started in quick—predictable, eager, circling blood in the water.

“Paige, can you give us an update on your shoulder?”

She didn’t blink.

“AC joint sprain,” she said. “Nothing major. We’ll treat it, rehab it, I’ll be back soon.”

Clean. Direct. Nothing to dissect. Maddy didn’t speak. Just let her handle it.

“Did it feel like a flagrant to you?”

There it was. Paige looked up slowly, met the reporter’s eyes like she wanted them to flinch.

“It felt like basketball,” she said.

A few pens scribbled. A few people shifted.

“It looked like a hard fall.”

“It was,” she said. “Those happen.”

“Of course,” the reporter continued, and Paige felt it before he even said it. That cadence. That tone. She recognized him. The same one from the last press conference. The one who couldn’t get Azzi's name out of his mouth. “But given the last game you and Azzi Fudd played against each other, is it safe to assume this might have been more personal than most?”

The room stilled. Maddy shifted beside her. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t give him a blink. She just stared, shoulder aching beneath the tape, something colder settling under her ribs.

“I think it’s safer to assume,” she said evenly, “that you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

The room stilled for a beat. Not tense. Just…waiting. Like everyone was holding their breath to see what she’d do next.

But Paige didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. She just stared the reporter down, face unreadable, pain pulsing quietly beneath her jacket.

And then, finally, the media coordinator, who hadn’t been doing a very good fucking job all night, cleared her throat.

Awkward. Late.

“Uh—next question,” she said quickly, gesturing toward someone in the second row.

A reporter from the Dallas Star lifted his mic, but Paige hardly heard the question. The adrenaline had ebbed, leaving only the dull, throbbing ache in her shoulder and the sharp, quieter one somewhere deeper.

She kept her eyes fixed forward as Maddy answered a flurry of questions. Something about rebounding, adjustments, moving forward.

Paige didn’t catch most of it. Her shoulder pulsed in steady waves beneath the tape, and the edge of the table felt too close to her knees. She breathed through it. In through her nose, out slow. Like she’d been taught.

Keep your face neutral. Keep your voice even. Say just enough.

It was second nature by now. So when the coordinator finally said, “That’s all for tonight,” Paige was already rising from her seat.

Her chair scraped against the floor, too loud in the sudden silence.

The door to the media room swung open. Paige stepped out first. Maddy behind her, still mid-sentence, but Paige wasn’t listening.

Because there was Azzi. Standing in the hallway like she'd been waiting. Arms crossed. Eyes already up.

Paige didn’t look at her.

Not really.

But she felt her . Like the shift in air pressure before a storm. It lived somewhere under her skin, that awareness. Automatic. Inconvenient.

And for half a second, she thought about saying something. She probably should’ve. Just a glance. A nod, maybe.

It would’ve made sense.

Because in that moment—back on the court, shoulder screaming, Azzi looking at her like she’d shattered something fragile—there’d been a flicker of it.

That softness. That pull. The old instinct to reach for her.

But that feeling didn’t survive the locker room. It didn’t survive the diagnosis, the tape, the timeline. Didn’t survive the moment she realized she was going to be out. Again. That she’d spend the next however many games on the bench, answering questions about durability instead of playmaking.

That type of realization left no room for what once was but would never be again.

So no. She didn’t look. Didn’t break stride. Just walked past Azzi like she was no one in particular and headed back to the locker room.

Azzi’s POV

Paige didn’t even look at her as she walked by. Didn’t slow. Didn’t flinch. Just moved past like Azzi was part of the wall.

Like her body was catching up to something her heart had already figured out. And she hated it. The tightness in her throat. The heat behind her eyes.

Not enough to cry. Just enough to want to. The kind of want that lived quietly, the way regret did.

Like realizing too late that a door had closed, and she hadn’t made it through. Maybe that was fair.

Maybe this was the part where she didn’t get to look soft anymore. Where she had to carry it—on the replay, in the headline, in the way Paige hadn’t looked at her at all.

Yeah, maybe that was what she earned but it didn't make it hurt any less.

Azzi stood there a second longer. Watching until Paige disappeared around the corner. Kiki squeezed her arm.

"Ready?"

Azzi nodded, following her into the media room.

The lights were too bright. Or maybe just unforgiving. Azzi sat down at the mic, smoothed her palms once over her thighs, and looked out at the room like it wasn’t full of people waiting for her to say the wrong thing.

They started with the usual. Pace of play. Adjustments after halftime. Shooting percentage.

She answered clearly. Steady. And then—

“Azzi, can you talk about the play in the second quarter that led to Paige’s injury?”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t look down.

“I was trying to create space,” she said. “It was physical. We both know how to play that way."

The reporter didn’t nod. Just waited.

“Do you think it should’ve been called a flagrant?”

Azzi stared at the reporter for a moment. She could’ve said no. Could’ve said yes. Could’ve played the game.

Instead, she said, “I think she got hurt. And that’s enough.”

Silence again. The kind that stretches, then lingers.

“Did you two speak after the game?”

Azzi exhaled, just once, sharp through her nose.

“No.”

That came out quieter than she meant it to. A beat passed. Pens moving again.

Kiki had fielded most of it—stat talk, defensive switches, the expected. Azzi answered what she had to. Just enough to make it through. They were nearly out. The coordinator was already nodding, gathering her notes, ready to call it until…

The voice. Familiar in the worst way. Matt Kendall. Azzi closed her eyes for half a second. Steadying.

“Azzi,” he started, all faux-polite and sharp at the edges. “Congrats on the win. Just one more about the flagrant.”

Of course. Always one more.

“Do you feel,” he continued, tone syrupy, “like it was a way of getting even? For Bueckers’ own flagrant foul last game?”

Azzi blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her heart did that awful drop-and-thud thing—like it couldn’t decide whether to break or brace.

And for a second, she wasn’t sitting behind a mic.

She was back on the court, Paige on the ground, her shoulder wrong, her face unreadable. And then she was in the locker room, watching the replay. And now here.

Wearing the hit like it had been a choice.

Her voice, when it finally came, was flat.

“Are you asking me if I injured Paige on purpose?”

Matt held up his hands, mock-casual.

“I’m asking what people might be thinking.”

Azzi stared at him. Let the silence stretch. Let it go just long enough to make everyone uncomfortable. Let it say I heard you. And I’m not letting you twist this.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was steadier—but sharper now.

“I made the mistake. She paid for it. I know what that means. But don’t stand there pretending this is about accountability when all you want is a quote you can rip out of context.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t look at the media coordinator, who had gone pale beside her. Azzi stood. And without raising her voice or breaking her calm, she made it clear:

“We’re done.”

And she walked out.

Paige’s POV

Paige went home. Turned off the lights. Laid on the floor.

The mattress bothered her shoulder when it was like this. Like the softness didn’t agree with her body.

She stared at the ceiling until her eyes adjusted to the dark, the quiet throb of her shoulder matching the one behind her ribs.

She wasn’t mad at Azzi. She kept thinking that. Saying it in her head like a fact she could will into truth.

She wasn’t mad. She was just tired. And disappointed in a way that felt bigger than the game. Maybe in herself, too.

She’d probably be out two weeks. Maybe three. Daily rehab. Careful consideration. The language of people who didn’t have to sit through it. She knew the routine—ice, stim, stretching, all the little humiliations of letting someone else tell you how far you can move.

She was so fucking annoyed to be back there. Not devastated. Not heartbroken. Just empty. And maybe that was worse.

The ceiling blurred. Her good arm had gone a little numb under her head. She didn’t move. Didn’t want to.

Then, a knock.

Soft. Barely a sound. She thought she imagined it. Then it came again.

Not loud. Just enough to say someone's there.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. But if she had to guess, it was Nai. Showing up with takeout and that half-smile that said I’m not going to ask, but I’m here anyway. Or maybe it was someone else from the team, trying to lift her spirits.

People liked to do that when you were hurt. Like company could replace motion.

So she sighed. Dragged herself upright, the ache low and steady, and crossed to the door without turning on the light.

No urgency. Just bone-deep tired.

She pulled it open—And stopped.

Azzi was there. Oversized hoodie. Slides. Hands in her pockets like maybe if she kept them there, she couldn’t fuck anything else up.

She swallowed hard. Rocked once on her heels. But neither of them said anything.

Paige leaned against the doorframe, shoulder aching, eyes steady. Studying her. Waiting.

And then—like it physically cost her something—Azzi’s gaze dropped to Paige’s shoulder.

Just for a second. Then back up to her face.

Her throat bobbed like she was holding something back. Words. Tears. Maybe both.

The silence stretched between them, thick and humming. Paige didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept waiting.

And finally, quietly, like the sentence had splintered on its way out:

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Azzi said.

There was so much behind it. More than Paige could untangle. Not just the foul. Not just the fall. But everything that existed in the after.

The unraveling. The silence. The way they still looked at each other like nothing had changed and also like everything had.

She didn’t answer right away. Didn’t trust herself to. Her shoulder throbbed. Her throat felt too tight.

And the words Azzi had just said—I didn’t mean to hurt you—they settled somewhere deeper than she wanted them to. Because part of her wanted to believe them. And part of her already did.

But belief didn’t erase impact. It didn’t rewind time. And it didn’t make standing in front of her hurt any less.

Paige sighed.

She wanted to say I know.

She wanted to say It’s fine.

But both felt like lies, and she didn’t want to give Azzi something half-true. So, she just turned away. And left the door open. Not wide. But enough.

Enough to mean you can come in.

Enough to mean I’m not ready, but I’m not shutting you out either.

For Paige, that was something close to a miracle.

Behind her, Azzi hesitated. Just for a second. Then stepped inside.

#pazzi fics #azzi x paige #paige x azzi #pazzi fic

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joelsmochi · 2 years ago

Text

Dirty Lies

SUMMARY: Joel realized how much you matured since he last saw you 4 years ago and can’t resist you. WARNINGS: age gap [reader is 22, joel is 35], smut minors dni, no descriptions of reader aside from having shoulder length hair & having a girly sense of fashion, pervy!joel, shy-ish!joel, needy!joel, reader seduces joel. 18+ WARNINGS: infidelity if you squint (technicalities people), brief objectification, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, reader was a lying little shit in high school but it paid off WC: 7.3k [please read author's note]

A/N: this was originally going to be a 15k word long smut as part of my LDR series, but........ I figured the more parts I can make out of it the more content I can produce, so here is part one of Us Against The World. Enjoy :) Edit: I’m rereading this and noticing a few typos, I apologize about those! Grammarly isn’t so helpful sometimes…

series masterlist | main masterlist

There you were in your blue tank top and yoga pants laying with your father’s dog in the middle of the front yard. You had just returned from New York a few days earlier from college, which your father amicably told Joel about over a few beers the week before.

Joel was expecting to see your 18-year-old self: long hair, sparkly eyeshadow, dressed in your late mother’s hand-me-downs from the 80s. But that was no longer you.

You dressed more modern and age-appropriate. Your hair was shorter, looked curlier, and you had highlights. Your eyebrows were thinner and your face was free from the loud makeup your teenage self was accustomed to. Joel would make jokes from time to time about how he believed you were just born with glitter all over your eyes.

Joel felt a little silly thinking you wouldn’t have changed. Who doesn’t make a drastic change when they leave high school? He hadn’t found the time to stop by and say hello but he wasn’t necessarily rushing it.

He’d met your father when you guys moved in next door in 1993 and he remembered you introduced yourself the second you saw him and Sarah playing outside despite your father’s protests.

You told Joel about how your dad was only being grumpy because he’d just turned thirty-six. Something about getting old. You didn’t bother to retain that information.

But here you were: all grown up. It reminded Joel of the day he overheard you and your best friend talking about how handsome you thought he was. He wondered if you still felt that way.

You sat up, feeling the sense that someone was watching you; your eyes scanned around until instinct made you look to the same window Joel was standing in.

For some reason, he didn’t feel embarrassed about being caught staring. He offered you an energetic smile and you took in his appearance.

He hadn’t changed much — his hair was a little longer and he had a few more fine lines across his face, but he was still the handsome man you remembered and admired.

You stand up and walk over to the window prompting him to open it.

“Hey, creep,” you teased with a big grin, “how ya been?”

Even your voice sounded different with its blend of Texas and New York. It was sultry with a hint of confidence. He tried not to let his weaknesses show.

“I’m doing all right… Sorry for starin’. Could hardly tell that was you,” he responded.

You just barely saw his eyes glance down to your chest, and it made you smirk.

Had this been any other man you’d have your fist meeting their jaw, but it wasn’t any other man. It was Joel. You hadn’t forgotten that he was attractive, but you did forget just how attractive. Or maybe his sexiness came with his age.

Not like it mattered anyways. It wasn’t like you could make a move.

“I been gettin’ that a lot… Dad tells me you’re a contractor now with Tommy.”

Joel nodded and said, “Yep, hated workin’ for other people, so…”

You were unsure if you were being awkward or if it was just… Awkward.

“Cool. Yeah, no, I get that. How is Tommy, by the way? Is he still really cute?” You giggled.

This made Joel roll his eyes. “Not cuter than me,” he answered begrudgingly. You watched how his eyes faltered again, trailing from your lips to your belly ring. “Your dad let you get that?”

You scoffed and waved your hand lazily as if you were swatting his condescending tone away. “One, Dad can’t tell me what to do with my body. And two, Tommy was always the cuter one.”

“S’that so?” Joel grunted as if he were tempted to laugh.

You gave him a cunning look and nodded. “Yeah. But you were always more handsome.”

Joel found himself blushing at the compliment, trying to wipe the redness away with his calloused palm to no avail.

You let out a quiet teetering laugh and looked back to make sure your dog was okay for a moment. “He get that dog after I left?”

Joel focused on you again and confirmed it once he noticed the dog again. “Yeah. I think your dad likes having something to take care of.”

You looked back into Joel’s eyes and bathed in them for a moment. He seemed more like himself, more certain of who he was. It made you a little sad to know how much time has passed, but maybe it was better this way.

“He was always like that. I think it started after… Well, you know.” You took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. “How’s Sarah? She still my little rockstar?”

“She’s more of a pop star, now,” he said. “She still wears that bracelet you let her have, the… The silver one.”

Your chest swelled with joy and you couldn’t contain your excitement. “Really?! Aw, man, that’s so cool. I remember I would throw a fit if I didn’t have that damn thing on.” The dog barking grabbed your attention once again. He was just barking at the mailman but settled once the worker started petting him. “Sorry!” You shouted before returning your focus to Joel. “Well, Joel it was nice seeing you. We should… Catch up. I could use some… Life advice.”

“I’m free tomorrow night if that works?” He tried to contain his excitement.

You slowly backed away, giving him one more nod and smile. “Perfect. Just come over whenever like old times.”

Joel decided to be respectful enough to not ogle over your ass as you walked away. He turned away from the window wondering how the hell he was going to get over this… Crush?

Is that what this was? A crush?

He decided to not torture himself with his intrusive thoughts.

“Hey, kid,” Joel greeted. You rolled your eyes at the nickname but greeted him back. He entered the backyard slowly trying to get a feel for the mood. He sat next to you in the extra papasan chair and snatched your beer out of your hands. You glared at him, unable to hold it for long when he shot you that infamous smile. “Everything all right?”

He tasted your strawberry chapstick around the rim of the glass and let the taste linger on his tongue. His eyes fell to your lips as he thought about how the chapstick would taste coming straight from you. Raw and unfiltered.

You held your breath, wishing you had enough courage to ask your father these questions. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your father, you just wanted an opinion from an outside perspective. You were hoping Joel wasn’t as inclined to protect or embarrass you as much as your dad.

“There’s this guy I’ve been dating for a few months now… I…” You sigh frustratedly with the tension surrounding the question meanwhile Joel grew tense and jealous? He asked himself why that was the way he felt about you having a boyfriend.

You apprehensively said, “We had sex a few times before I left and it wasn’t…good.”

“Okay?” Joel asked as a way to tell you to keep going.

“How should I go about telling a guy that?”

He cleared his throat uncertain of how to answer your question. He didn’t want his newly discovered feelings to cloud his judgment as the chances of you two becoming a thing were slim to none. He wouldn’t want to sabotage you or your relationships. Especially when you trusted him enough to ask such a burdening question.

Joel accepted the awkwardness of the topic and put it aside. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed. “Well, have you tried suggesting things that he can do to make you—it feel good?” He asked.

“Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s me,” you admitted.

“Does he do the things you ask him to?”

“Kinda?” Your cheeks flushed and your eyebrows furrowed tightly.

He gave you a look that said come on now.

“He like… Does half of it?” You could just die of embarrassment right now.

“Wh—? How does he do half of it?”

You groaned obnoxiously and chugged some more beer. “I don’t know?! He does what I ask for like five minutes and then just does what he’s used to I guess.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out to pout as you stared into the glass bottle. “I really like him, Joel.”

“Does he like you?”

“Well, yeah,” you said as if it were obvious. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He inhaled sharply through his teeth and stole your beer bottle again. “All I will say is that a man that truly likes you would try harder, especially during sex, and especially if you’ve told him how he could make you feel good.”

“So… What do I do?”

“Do you think he likes you?” He asked again. “Think about it for a second. What does he do for you?”

“Well, he…” Your voice trailed off into silence as your mind went blank. Surely this guy did something for you to make you like him, right? But anything that did happen to come to mind was the bare minimum. You didn’t want to give Joel the satisfaction, so you said, “I think it could work.”

“Who’re trying to convince? Me or yourself?” He saw the frustration on your face and propped a finger below your chin to make you look at him. “If a guy really likes you, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have to ask more than once,” was all he said after he took a sip of your beer.

“What do you mean?”

Joel’s sigh almost sounded irritated. “I mean… A guy that truly likes you and deserves you won’t make you suffer through sex. A real man’ll take care a’you.”

“A real man, huh?” You bantered.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Do you like me?”

Why the fuck did I ask him that?! You thought as soon as the words left your mouth.

Joel didn’t couldn’t answer right away. His voice just stumbled over his tongue and out of his mouth.

“I think you’re a sweet girl,” he finally said, “and you’re smart enough to know who’s worthy of your time and attention. Doesn’t sound like it’s him.”

You couldn’t defeat the growing smirk on your face as he fought the urge to look over your body. He wasn’t so good at hiding it.

You turned your body in the chair slightly and dauntingly lifted your leg to touch your bare toes against his calf. You watched his breath get caught in his throat and your mouth fell open in awe at how easy it was to get him riled up.

He looked at the ground, not moving a single inch of his body. He was overwhelmed by your confidence.

The amount of attention Joel’s given you in the last ten minutes already seemed to surpass the attention your “boyfriend” (can you even call him that?) had given you.

Your foot trailed up Joel’s leg before you rested it upon his knee; Joel’s eyes screwed shut as if he were praying to not get caught like this, but your voice brought his gaze back to you.

“You didn’t answer my question, Joel,” you whispered seductively. Your foot left his leg and you got on your knees in the chair, then you leaned forward, hands around the rim of his own seat, and leaned in devilishly close to his face. “Do you like me?”

He swallowed hard, his fingertips turning white as they pressed into the bottle.

His lack of an answer caused an impatience to grow inside you. You leaned in even closer and strengthened your eye contact with him. Your fingers absentmindedly trailed over his knee to the midpoint of his clad thigh.

His spine shivered and his arms grew goosebumps. “Why don’t you have this attitude with your boyfriend?” He asked lowly in a poor attempt to further evade answering you.

You snickered and looked over his beer-covered lips, craving to taste them. “If I’m being honest he’s technically not my boyfriend… You’re tellin’ me things about men and how they should act. It’s making me feel like… He just can’t handle me.”

He smirked at you, fighting the way his body pleaded to touch yours. “If that’s the case then, sweetheart, I don’t think he’s the one for you.”

“Oh?” You got even closer, your nose touched his and you heard him choke on his breath. “Do you think you could handle me?”

He chuckled rashly and straightened his posture, now sensing you tense up. “I could,” he confidently confessed. “But this ain’t right, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you scoff, “you can’t keep your eyes off of me.”

“If you keep actin’ like a spoiled brat you won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” you retorted, a cocky essence in your eyes.

“That so?”

“Maybe you can show me how a real man should be taking care of me.”

Joel had to stop himself from speaking as it would have potentially led to consequences. His flustered cheeks and wide lustful eyes created a hunger you’d never felt before.

However, you wanted Joel to earn it. Push him to the point of begging for just a taste of you. You needed to know if he craved you. Something you longed for from other men that just could not deliver.

You hovered your agape lips over his so dangerously it tickled his nerves. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek then sat back in your original position.

Joel was both relieved and disappointed with the kiss. Relieved it didn’t end up with his head buried between your thighs, and at the same time disappointed that it didn’t.

For the next few days, you settled into your room as best as you could and got everything how you wanted it to be. Well, almost. You wanted a shelf to go over your closet so that you could display your most prized possessions.

When the idea sparked in your head you remembered that your dad said he was going to be gone for most of the day. You figured you could hold off for one more day. That was until you heard some power tools and heavy grunting from beyond your window.

Joel.

Joel had followed your lead as best as he could and you had to admit that the lack of physical contact was making it harder to resist him.

You felt a bit strange, however. After all, this is Joel. Sweet, caring, next-door neighbor Joel. You and your friends had a crush on him and his brother, Tommy, sure, but this wasn’t that. And you surely weren’t a child anymore. But still, you couldn’t help but think of how strange the dynamic is.

It wasn’t enough to stop you from taking your sweatpants off and changing out of your t-shirt into a stretchy tank top. You poked your head out of your window and shouted Joel’s name a few times until you successfully got his attention.

“Hey!” You said with a proud smile.

“Hey, kid!” He shouted back.

“Can you build a shelf for me? I wanted to get my room done today, but my old man’s gone!”

“Right now?” He tried to seem indifferent.

You just smiled harder and motioned for him to come over. “Please?!”

He huffed and looked at his half-done project, ultimately deciding to help you instead. The sooner he helps you the sooner he could create distance, he figured. Though deep down he knew that wasn’t the real reason.

You patter downstairs to unlock the door for him. He could see from the corners of his eyes that you were half naked, only in white panties and your top.

“Couldn’t a’put pants on?” He asked grumpily as he walked past you, not giving you the satisfaction of staring. You shut and lock the door before guiding him upstairs.

“Yeah, but I figured since you were doing the job for free I could at least give you something to look at,” you flirted. He didn’t even bother trying to stop you.

“What d’ya need done exactly?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I want those shelves to hang over my closet right… Here. I have a power drill here already, I just couldn’t figure out how to get it.”

He was doing a decent job at keeping his eyes anywhere but on your body, but in his mind he had already taken your clothes off and fucked you against the wall.

“S’alright, I can get it for ya,” he said while giving you an earnest look.

“What?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing,” he answered with a shrug and a smirk. You lightly smack his arm and plop down on your bed.

You lay on your stomach and flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally smelling some of the perfume samples. You snuck glances at Joel’s broad back as he made sure everything could be lined up, smiling to yourself at how efficiently he worked.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Joel randomly asked after about ten minutes. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he peaked over his shoulder.

You stifled your laugh and began looking at the magazine again before answering him. “He actually ended things with me two days ago. But like I said, he technically wasn’t my boyfriend. He never asked.”

“Oh… You doing okay? Seemed like you really liked him.”

“I like someone else more,” was all you said. Joel took a second, then just nodded even though you weren’t looking at him anymore.

“This someone have a name?” He asked after a few more moments of silence.

Joel’s internal conflict was teetering between giving in and giving up. He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to you, but that’s what fueled his filthy thoughts even more.

“Yep, he sure does.”

Your tone was the exact opposite of what you were feeling. You felt hot and desperate, but you (almost) fooled him by sounding bored. He didn’t want to give into your childish game of beating around the bush, so he kept his mouth shut and began hammering a nail into the wall.

Suddenly you had an idea. An awfully sinister one.

You tossed the magazine on your nightstand and sat up in the bed, leaning into a few pillows and angling yourself so that Joel could get the perfect view if he dared to look.

Your hands traced uneven lines and patterns over your clad breasts and you gasped softly at your nipples perking up quickly. He couldn’t hear you over his hammering.

You rid yourself of your wet panties, kicking them to the edge of the bed. You spread your legs and began working big and slow circles over your sensitive clit. You used your free hand to pinch your nipple over your shirt, the combination of stimuli making you give a more audible moan.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first — he figured you were moving around on the bed to get more comfortable. So when the next moan came and he stopped his work to look at you he was taken aback, to say the least.

He said your name, but you shook your head in protest. “Is this okay?” You asked, innocence spreading across your face.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.

“Joel?” You snapped him out of his daze. “S’this okay?”

He nodded and watched your trembling hands dip down into your glistening slit, collecting your wetness and coating it over your clit. Your body was stiff with anticipation, watching him watch you.

He took in all of your beauty like the way your eyes fluttered halfway shut and how you bit your plump lip to quiet your mewls. One hand cupped your breast so gently and the other rubbing steady, taunting circles over your sensitive bud. He watched the way you pleased yourself and let this picture of you engrave itself into his memory.

One day, Joel thought, I’d be able to make her feel as good as she makes herself feel.

He ignored the hardening of his cock pressing against his jeans, not caring enough to touch himself if it meant he didn’t get to feel you. He found the situation quite sexy and the lack of physical contact made him feel good.

You were showing him that he didn’t need to touch you or talk to you. He didn’t need to do a damn thing. All he needed to do was stand there and let you look at him.

Your moans were quiet and soft, barely heard by him. You squeezed your nipple harshly and jolted at the shock of electricity it sent throughout your body, your eyes screwing shut and your legs curling up into an almost fetal position at the feeling.

He saw you swallow the lump in your throat as you looked into his eyes again, soon scanning over his body and imagining how he would feel on top of you. The imagination was more than enough to get you going.

You imagined he felt strong and heavy above you, trapping you with his burly arms and using his lean thighs to keep your legs open for him as he rolled his hips to meet yours.

You absentmindedly curled your middle and ring finger into your creamy pussy, chasing after the feeling of being stretched out by Joel. Your pussy effortlessly squelched as your discharge poured out of you like a waterfall, coating your plump ass cheeks in your juices.

You got a bit louder but remained mindful of the open windows just a few feet away. You watched the movement in his jeans from his cock that twitched, longing for just some fucking relief. But he didn’t move, he didn’t even adjust his pants. He wanted you to know that you were the one in charge and that he was willing to suffer just for you.

“Joel,” you breathed out in between helpless murmurs.

He almost caved at how sweetly you said his name like you were asking for help. You reached even further into your sex, pressing into your sweet spot carefully. You pretended it was him.

Allowing your eyes to shut and your mouth to open, your mind dove deeper into the fantasies of Joel. You imagined him fucking you slowly, steady enough to not make your bed squeak too loud. Your fingers followed your mind, bumping against your g-spot the same way you wanted him to: carefully, yet forceful.

Joel felt awkward just standing there watching you, but you looked so beautiful. Sprawled out just for him with your fingers dipping into your sopping cunt as if you were made just for him. He saw your shoulders twitch and a hiss escaped your lips.

A ripple of ecstasy shocked your nerves, your walls tighten around your fingers, and your clit tensed up with a tickling sensation.

Your face twisted from the overwhelming feeling that began to encapsulate you from your core to your mind. Your moans became shallow and louder. Your clit throbbing beneath your palm motivated your to work your fingers faster. You fucked yourself with more desire than you had before, still twisting your perky nipple between your other fingers.

You were a lot more gentle with yourself than Joel would have expected. You took your time, didn’t overwhelm yourself.

He knew he loved it when the ever-growing pressure inside of you burst into a million flames throughout your trembling body. He saw that the slower you were with yourself the more intense the orgasm was.

He accidentally groaned at the sight of you: clinging to your bedsheet with the very hand that toyed with your breast, eyes refusing to open from the immense pleasure soaring through your veins, curling up into a ball because your body couldn’t comprehend just how good you were feeling.

He noticed how your cum gushed around and below your fingers creating a wet spot on your blanket. He carefully watched as you opened your eyes, still slowly fingering yourself. You continued to feel your orgasm, exploring how much of it you could endure.

You moved your free hand to your clit and rubbed tiny and fast circles around it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you refused to moan anything but his name.

You shoved your fingers deep inside of you to press against your g-spot relentlessly. Your toes curled at the mix of pleasure.

You knew your orgasm was coming back more powerful than before already, and you braced yourself when your walls flexed against your fingers basically forcing them out; you chewed hard on your lip and laid your stiff fingers flat against your clit to rub from side to side at the arrival of your squirt. You squealed behind your swollen lip and let your squirt splash everywhere.

Joel palmed his rock-hard cock for some relief as he watched in awe at how you came for him. You looked so fucking delicious soaking yourself in your juices. His heart punched against his chest and his mind nearly blank, only filled with you.

Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you eased up on your clit. You let out sweet hums of bliss and you opened your eyes again, carefully analyzing his body language.

He practically reeked of inferiority. He was your marionette, your toy, whatever you wanted him to be. He didn’t recognize you in the best way possible. You were an unwrapped present that he couldn’t wait to open and play with. Your confidence grew at his puppy eyes that were low and dark, filled with a need to serve you.

Your fingers collected some of the creamy nectar between your folds before you brought it to your mouth and darted your wet tongue out to taste it.

You never broke eye contact once, observing how his body shuddered at the filthy action. His breath was heavy, his chest heaved in anticipation. You stuck your fingers inside of your mouth moaning at the salty goodness coating every single taste bud.

It wasn’t until your fingers dropped back down to your side and you gave him a shit-eating grin that he finally looked away, sighing loudly.

He felt ashamed of himself.

He’d known you since you were a child.

How could he ever look you in the eye again?

How could he ever look your father in the eye again?

You slipped your panties on again while he wasn’t looking and just grabbed your magazine, flipping through the pages again like nothing ever happened though the wet spot on your bed clearly said otherwise.

When Joel saw you had returned to your previous activities he did the same. Drilling and hammering your shelves onto the wall like nothing fucking happened.

“Here you go sir, you have a lovely day,” you chirped at the customer as you handed him his food waiting until he left. You turned around to straighten up the counter behind you when the bell on the door jingled. “Hello, give me just one moment and I’ll be with you!”

You gave the counter a lazy wipe with the wet washcloth before tossing it into the sink nearby and turning around, being met with a smirking Joel.

“My, my, you working at a burger joint? Never thought I’d see the day,” he teased.

You made a face and told him to shut up. You tried not to notice the sheer layer of sweat that coated his partially exposed chest. “What can I get you, sir?”

His face contorted with arrogance and he placed a hand over his chest. “Sir? You callin’ me sir now? Oh, you are just too cute.”

With a roll of your eyes, you huffed out a stream of air, waiting for him to stop fucking with you.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, dropping the act. “Can I get a burger and some fries?”

“You don’t want a drink?” You asked before writing his order down quickly and sliding it through the kitchen window.

“Are you tryin’a make me tip you more?”

You shrugged. “Nah, it’s just that the cola here is really good.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as if he didn’t believe you.

“If you want a cola I’ll make it extra cold for you,” you whispered as if you were telling him a dirty secret.

“Mhm, okay. Fine, I’ll take your word for it. Gon’ and get it f’me then.”

“You can ask that a little nicer,” you scoffed. You walked off, breathing in a gust of smoke on your way to the soda machine. “F’here or to-go?!” You shouted.

“Mm, I was gonna get it to go, but I think I’ll stay and keep you company.”

You could just hear the smile in his voice.

“Awe, how thoughtful of you,” you bantered before rinsing out a clean cup and filling it with ice. The cook called out the order was ready and you thanked him before finishing up with Joel’s drink. You grabbed the tray and walked over to the end of the counter where the stools sat, setting the food in front of Joel with a weak smile.

He watched you closely as you leaned onto your elbows waiting for him to try his food.

“What r’ya doing workin’ in a restaurant? Didn’t you graduate for like… Fashion or some shit?” Joel asked, unable to keep his smile down at how pretty you looked in your uniform: a teal skirt and a mustard yellow shirt, but so, so tacky. You hated the fucking outfit, it was everything you would never wear, but Joel thought you made it look good.

“I did,” you confirmed, “but I wanted a humbling job before I truly entered the world of fashion.”

Joel’s thick and somewhat dirty fingers unraveled his greasy burger after he dumped the fries out chaotically. He took an unnecessarily big bite, not seeing how your eyes watched the trail of juice trickle down the corner of his mouth to his chin before he swept it set with his thumb.

“Humbling, hmm?” He questioned before swallowing his barely chewed bite. “You’re a wise girl, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smugly replied. You stole a fry off of his tray and smiled at his frowning face while eating it before washing it down with his fizzling soda. “Best drink that ‘fore it goes flat.”

You walked away momentarily to help a customer that just walked in; she only wanted a dollar milkshake so you told her not to worry about paying. You took a dollar and some change from your tip pocket and put it in the register before grabbing a styrofoam cup and packing her cup.

Joel noticed halfway through you making the shake that whenever you tapped the bottom of the cup against the counter your breast jiggled against your arm. He felt the lady nearby staring at him so he turned his head just enough to see the mix of disgust and concern on her face.

If only she knew how filthy you were for him just last week…

He didn’t care enough to stop though, he just went back to looking at how your clothes hugged your body.

You finished up her shake and popped a lid on it before grabbing a straw and walking back to give it to her.

Joel heard the lady ask if you were okay, and he promptly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and tried his best to not laugh. You were confused by her question, simply nodding your head and saying, “Yeah?”

She looked at Joel once more, choosing not to say another word before leaving.

“Fuck was that about?” You asked, watching her walk away.

“She saw me starin’ at your tits,” he said between obnoxious bites. “If only she saw—“

Your eyes widened. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Whatever you say, doll,” he teased before taking another bite.

You pretended to be grossed out by seeing the chewed-up food in his mouth as he spoke, swatting his hand gently. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me,” he quipped with a simper. He took a sip of his drink, humming at how refreshing it felt. “This is good,” he told you.

“Told ya.”

“What time are you out?”

You looked at the door when your manager came in, apologizing for taking longer than she expected.

“You’re fine, it’s a slow day,” you told her as she walked to her office. You looked at Joel and slammed your book and pen on the counter near the register. “I’m out now. Why?”

“Your dad asked me to pick you up.”

You felt a rush of worry. “Why? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, honey, everything’s fine. He forgot about pickin’ you up today and got drunk with his buddies and called me—well, he called Tommy. Said he wouldn’t be back home ‘til tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow at the mention of his brother’s name. “Oh? Well, why isn’t Tommy here?” You strutted around the counter and stood next to Joel as he inhaled the last of his food.

“Think you know why,” he grunted.

Anxiety pang inside of your chest, but you convinced yourself it was excitement. You were hoping that he wanted to get you alone somewhere and fuck you into the next week.

But you didn’t want to seem desperate. You kept a straight face, waiting for your boss to come back out before getting your things and punching out.

You followed Joel to his Chevy and thanked him when he opened the door for you. He huffed when by the time he got inside the car himself you were already flipping through his book of CDs.

“I got a good one in already—“

“Is it The Writing’s On the Wall by Destiny’s Child?” You interrupted after you found said CD.

“No, b—“

“Then it’s not what I want to listen to.”

Joel endured your (arguably bad) singing for the ten-minute ride back to your house. He thought about a few things in that ten minutes:

-Sarah wasn’t home, so he didn’t need to worry about food (or getting caught), so this time was optimal to make a move on you.

-If he were to make a move on you, then you two wouldn’t get caught.

-If he were to make a move on you, how exactly would he do it?

Once he arrived in his driveway, you both stepped out of the car and he walked over to your side.

“You not working tonight?” You asked.

“No, we finished early.”

You looked at him with lush eyes and bit the inside of your mouth, a flirty smile coaxing your lips. He looked hopeful for something, anything.

“I was just gonna watch TV all night,” you started, “and maybe make some dinner. I know you just ate, but you and Sarah are welcome to come over.”

“Sarah’s at a friend’s tonight, doing some studying,” he answered. His voice trailed off as if he weren’t finished speaking his thought aloud, but you picked up where he reluctantly left off.

“Do you want to come over, then? Just you?”

He looked around the quiet neighborhood as if he had to think about what he wanted. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

You lead him to your house, kicking your shoes off at the door and he followed. He felt unsure of his decision. He wondered if this night would play out platonically and just be filled with conversation and dinner, or if this was truly the beginning of a secret he’d have to keep forever.

“Spaghetti okay?” You asked him once you both entered the kitchen, decorated with oranges and reds, and yellows, reminiscent of your late mother. You tossed your half apron on the island before making your way to the refrigerator.

You heard his feet patter on the linoleum quickly but before you could turn around on your own Joel did it, pinning your back against the refrigerator and knocking down some of the bottles inside of it.

You gasped when his fingers peacock over the outsides of your thighs, gripping at the hem as a means to pace himself.

His eyes were bright yet lustful as his proximity alone sucked the air out of your lungs. Your chests heaving against each other’s created the only other physical contact you had with him.

He then dropped to his knees before you got the chance to speak; his calloused hands rose beneath your skirt, hiking it up enough for him to pull your wet panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them for him and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder before meeting his mouth to your clit tongue first.

You moaned at how he just dove into it, not bothering with kissing or easing you into it. Your digits laced through his messy curls while his tongue coated itself in your juices.

His tongue did crazy laps around your clit and he smacked a couple of firm kisses in between his licks. You tried to watch his work but your stupid fucking skirt was in the way. You settled, however when his eyes opened, the only visible part of him from your view.

You tasted so good to him, he tasted your day of work mixed in with your salty precum and he couldn’t get enough of it. He moaned when you tugged at his hair, burying his face as deep as he could and closing his eyes.

You let out a stream of obscenities while using your calf to push into his back, afraid that if you didn’t hold on tight enough he’d vanish.

He wrote out his full name over your clit like he was casting a spell that anything you or someone else touched you there you would only think about him.

You were amazed at how good he was eating you out — you didn’t think he’d be bad. You just didn’t know it could feel this good. It was like you felt him touching and kissing and licking all over your body, swimming in an endless pool of dissolution.

His touch was decadent through remembering how careful you were with yourself. He wanted to cater to you and to make you feel as good as you made yourself. And on top of that, he just really wanted to eat your pussy.

Savor it.

Taste it.

Drink you until you fucking ran dry and begged him to stop.

Nothing could have torn his lips away from your pussy. Hell, someone could have walked in and he’d still keep going.

“Joel,” you gasped, throwing your head back and grinding on his face.

He loudly moaned, tightening his grip around your thighs and wagging his head furiously from side to side to provide more stimulation.

Your hips bucked into his face roughly and you screeched, pulling even tighter on his hair.

“Joel, oh—fu-fuck!”

He smirked and pulled at the skirt to unveil his eyes again. His dick angered in his jeans, but he ignored it. He’d much rather focus on the way you writhed from his touch. Your panting growing heavier fueled his already intense movements. He began to suck while still shaking his head earning another screech from you.

You never felt out of control with how loud you were before. Every motion sent a million shockwaves throughout your body. You always did a good job at keeping quiet enough so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but fucking hell was Joel the one to break that evergreen streak.

You felt his hot breath collide with the fluids coating your sex and his nails leave indents on your flesh.

His tongue darted out to collect a stream of your cum, but his nose butted against your clit as he continued shaking his head making your hips buck once more. Then he realized… He got to stimulate your sensitive bud and lick between your folds.

He loved it.

Your moans became more distressed and uneven; he felt you chasing that high. He wanted you to cum so fucking badly. To let all of your pent-up cum pour over him.

You held the back of his head gently and he angled it just right enough for you to ride his face.

“Use my fucking face,” he moaned loud enough between your legs for you to hear. “Use my fucking face to cum.”

Your body gave in finally at his hoarse voice; your hops sped up, still using his nose and lips to overstimulate yourself. The orgasm was forceful, your moans strident.

Joel felt a pool of your cum leak out and drip down his chin onto his neck. He watched you crumble and curl into him and he was attentive enough to hold you steady while your balance dissipated.

Your head was dizzy and your vision blurred. You slowly halted your movements and just stood there being held by him while he placed light, but loving kisses along your dripping cunt.

He finally pulled his face out from underneath your skirt and carefully put your leg down before standing. He tucked some loose hairs back or behind your ears, then caressed your cheek and gave you a peck.

You wiped some of your cum off of his wet chin with your thumb and held it up to his mouth which he gladly sucked on. He grinned at you afterward and fixed your skirt for you.

The silence was soothing because frankly, neither of you knew what to say. It left you speechless, but that could just be the aftereffect of your climax.

The night was beginning to close in sooner than either of you wanted it to. You two just talked, truly catching up on the past four years. He was a lot funnier than you remembered, your cheeks were aching from how much he was making you laugh.

"You are a real gentleman, Joel Miller. What can I say? Dinner and an orgasm?!"

He lifted you up from your spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him. "I don't have to be," he murmured against your lips. His fingers flexed into your feverish skin, holding you upright and close by. He chased you with his lips until you finally let him kiss you. "Be honest with me... Did you really think I was handsome in high school?"

Your face grew warm and you hid behind your hands in embarrassment. "Oh, my God."

"Why are you actin' all shy now?"

"Because you weren’t supposed to know about that."

"Know about what exactly?"

You crossed your arms, deciding to let him win this time. "You want details?"

He smirked and leaned back to get more comfortable.

"Well... I used to lie and tell my friends that we fucked," you admitted.

"Really?" Despite his surprise the smirk never left his face. If anything it grew wider.

You sheepishly nodded. "I used to tell them how good you were. Everything you would do to me."

"What would I do to you?" His cock was already throbbing against his jeans, and just like every other time, he ignored it.

"You would fuck me up against the wall," you explained. "Sometimes, you would bend me over the edge of the bed and spank me for being naughty. Or just 'cause you felt like it. I'd even tell them about how you played with my ass so gently because you didn't want to hurt me."

Every word went straight to his dick, making it jerk and prod your thigh.

"Maybe I do need to bend you over and spank you for all that lyin' you were doin'. Your friends probably think I'm some creep now," he said; his tone wasn’t scolding or cold. He sounded thirsty for more of you. Like his throat had already run dry despite how much of you he drank earlier.

"I'd tell them the truth, but if I were to do that now then I'd be lying again," you whispered against his lips.

"We certainly cannot have you spreadin' no more dirty lies, now. Can we?"

Read Part 2 here.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller blurb #the last of us hbo #the last of us

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yuuhwa · 1 month ago

Text

Dark Game - Cap 3: Checkmate

Pairing: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader Genre: dark romance Context: After exchanging barbs and pranks, the unexpected (or expected) happened

a/n: I need your opinion. Do you prefer long or short chapters? I didn't know whether to write the meeting in this chapter or another one, so I wanted your opinion. Thanks in advance :))

It felt like the place had lost its charm since the last time Y/n had been there. But now she was back — not because of Seongje, of course not. She just needed a break, to clear her head, sit in front of the same old PC, play the same games. Relax.

Lies. The very first thing her eyes sought out was him.

There he was. Same machine. As always. Only this time, he wasn’t playing — he was watching. Her profile was pulled up on his screen, the mouse cursor hovering right over the game invite. As if he already knew she’d show up. As if he had been waiting.

“You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna challenge me already?” His voice cut through the hum of computers — a perfect echo of the line she had used the day before. He didn’t look away, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t yesterday’s beating enough for you?”

“I let you win a few rounds. I won’t go easy this time.” That arrogant smile widened across his face.

That damn smile. Y/n didn’t understand how something so simple could ignite something so... intense — maybe even warm — inside her.

“You better be ready to lose,” she shot back.

“I never play to lose.” He stood slowly, patting the seat beside him. “Let’s see if your mouth matches your skill.”

She muttered something under her breath as she sat down. They picked a fast-paced shooter — tense, chaotic. The rules were simple: loser does a dare. Nothing too extreme... or so she thought. But something in his eyes — a hunger, restrained and sharp — said otherwise.

Seongje was different today. More direct. More dangerous. The way he narrated each move, each ambush... it felt like he was playing two games at once. And in the second one, she was already caught.

“Running from me? That’s odd... thought you liked a little pressure,” he said, closing the gap between their chairs without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Pressure doesn’t scare me. Honestly, I think you’re the one sweating,” she snapped back, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The match ended. The big bold “Game Over” flashed before Y/n’s eyes. From the corner of her vision, she saw the smug smile spreading across Seongje’s face. Familiar — but today, it was different. There was something else behind the satisfaction of his win.

He had destroyed her. Completely.

She groaned. “Alright, what’s the dare?”

Without hesitation, he leaned in. Too close. His sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses, desperate to lock onto hers. Their breaths mingled. His voice came out low, hoarse.

“You’re going out with me. Tonight.”

She laughed — dry, sarcastic. “That’s not even a dare. I could do that if I wanted to.”

A strange cocktail of thrill and tension twisted inside her — even though she masked it perfectly.

“But you haven’t. Not yet,” he murmured, eyes locked. “Now you will... because you lost.”

Y/n hesitated. Something about the way he said it — it wasn’t just a date. It felt like a move. A calculated one.

And the worst part? She wanted to see where it would lead.

“Fine. But if you bore me, I vanish.”

“You won’t,” he said, with the certainty of someone who already had the game in his hands.

And for the first time, Y/n wondered if she was still playing... Or if she had already become the prize.

#geum seongje x reader #weak hero class 2 fics #geum seong je #weak hero class x reader #whc2 x reader #whc2 #weak hero class two #seongje x reader

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hoshigray · 1 year ago

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HOSHII MY LOVE this is gonna be my first ever request to you 😕 i usually refrain bc i get shy but im so touch deprived rn i NEED YOU TO (only if u want to no pressure pookie) MAKE A LIL MAKEOUT DRABBLE with literally any character plsplspls its carnal atp i love u

-🍓

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: the way i wanted to make this a multi-post, but i've been thinkng this exact scenario w/ toji for the past week, it needs to get out of my head!! i appreciate you entrusting you're first req w/ me awwww ;w;

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x afab/fem! reader - suggestive content; minors DNI - kissing/making out - dry humping/grinding - thigh riding - fluff yet...suggestive - grinding - thigh riding - fingering (f! receiving) - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - Toji and you being touch starved - implied reader is toji's partner who looks after Tsumiki and Megumi (yes, I'm feeling soft, shut up) - mention of spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

After swaddling Megumi to sleep, you slowly put him in his cradle. The year-old baby snores silently as he leaves your arms’ warmth and lies in the comforting chill of the sheets. You then move silently to tuck in Tsumiki, the toddler sleeping in her tiny bed. You kiss her forehead gently, making her smile unconsciously. After saying a hushed goodnight, you close the door.

The plan was to stay until the kids fell asleep, stopping by your boyfriend's place for a night since it's been a little while since you last saw each other. Work’s been keeping you away for a minute, and stopping by at his apartment was needed to happen before you crash out from stress. And seeing the little ones’ faces was the cherry on top, their wholesome beaming faces instantly fueling your social battery.

After silently walking out of the hall, you enter the living room, where your boyfriend stands by the chair with your bag. You smile pleasantly, teetering your way to him. And he, Toji, smirks at you, straightening a bit when you’re close enough. “Gotta go,” you say with a whisper. “Better catch some sleep before heading back to the office tomorrow. Megumi should be out till morning, so you should sleep easy tonight.”

“Thank Christ,” he makes you giggle, hushed not to wake the children.

The silence pushes you to look at him, your heart skipping at his forest green orbs already latched onto your frame. You cough faintly before grabbing for your purse. “Need anything before I go?”

A hand grabs your wrist to pull, and Toji impersonates thinking to himself while his hands snake to your waist to draw you closer. You roll your eyes – knowing what game he’s playing – but the smile on your face doesn’t falter. He then says, “Mmm, only one thing comes to mind.”

“And what would that be?” You quirk a brow, but your expression changes once he brings his face inches closer.

“I’m still waiting’ fr’ my kiss.” His gruff tone is dialed down, but his words affect a warmth to coarse through your chest.

It’s hard to say no when Toji’s nose brushes yours, lips hovering over yours, and your eyelids closing on their own. How long has it been since you’ve been close to him like this? You can’t even remember, work corrupting you for so long that this moment feels a little surreal.

“Hmm?” He teases you with a kiss on your cheek, and you shiver at the contact. “A guy can’t get a goodnight kiss before seein’ his baby off?”

You bastard… Holding back is futile when he kisses the corner of your lips, your hands cup his face, and bring him to your lips properly. He groans, the both of you sighing as your hands wrap around his neck.

You break the kiss, knowing it isn’t sufficient for you both. Toji licks your bottom lip, and you whimper as he kisses you again, a soft noise resulting from the withdrawal. “Toji—Mmm,” scarred lips claim yours once more, this time with more hunger. “I have to go…”

Your words aren’t acknowledged, not when he chews on your bottom lip — a signal for more access. Fuck, your resolve dwindles with the insertion of his tongue, almost going weak in the knees. But before that, Toji smoothly picks you up, and the sudden shift has you yelp.

“Stay with me,” Holy shit, the way he was looking at you caused your stomach to do flips. So entranced that you don’t realize he is walking to the couch to place you down on your back, crawling above you. “I missed you. Just tonight, sweetie.”

Liar, you know he wants you here for more precisely because that’s what you wish. But, “I…I can’t, I have to go—Mmmph…!”He slammed his mouth to yours again, nibbling on your lip until his tongue was let back inside your mouth. You moan, his leg propped in between yours, bumping his knee to your groin, which has you screaming silently. “Ahhnn! Toji, not there!”

“Shhh, relax, angel,” he coos, using a hand to massage your skull affectionately. He moves his knee, and you’re practically grinding on his thigh with a chewed lip.

“I can’t stay,” you’re hushed by his lips again, and your hips move on their own. “I have to go…Ohhh.”

“You say that, but look who’s ridin’ my thigh.” His chortle is low, and your stomach does knots. Toji moves your legs so he can be nestled between them, and kissing your neck melts you under him. “C’mon, princess, ya know I can’t let you go like this.”

Your brows scrunch together at him sucking your skin, legs coming around his waist as you hump into him. Toji does the same, rocking his hips to you perilously, the groin of his sweats grinding onto your bottoms, covering your throbbing chasm. God, it felt too good to stop now, your hands roaming inside his white wifebeater to purchase.

He kisses you again, spit covering your soft lips, and you whine as he teases and sucks on your tongue; your breath hitches while his free hand slithers down inside your bottoms, and a shaky shriek is prompted by his fingers pushing into your panties.

“That’s right,” he coaxes you between pecks, loving the way your hands scratch on him. “Gonna treat ya right t’night, angel—”

However, the fun stops once you two hear the sound of a door crying, sniffling, and cries getting louder as they approach closer. It was Tsumiki, the poor girl shedding tears through her drowsy state.

“Miki?” You call to the toddler; Toji quietly moves off you so the little brunette can come running into your arms. “Can’t sleep, sweetie?” She nods and burrows her face into your chest. You kiss her temple, “Must’ve been a nightmare.”

Her father hums and ruffles his daughter’s hair, chuckling when she swats his hand away. Toji then leans to your ear, “I’ll get the bed ready.” A mild glare meets a naughty grin before he gets up to his bedroom, leaving you on the couch to soothe the crying child back to sleep.

So much for sleeping easy tonight…

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

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you have written for both hsr and genshin. any plans for zzz? (also anything for yan!alhaitham pls...... NO PRESSURE BTW!!!!)

I played zzz during the time they release Harumasa and stopped after that. My poor phone couldn't handle Genshin either so I stopped at the beginning of Natlan. My poor laptop is holding on for its dear life since I abuse it w Hsr :)))) Maybe I'll watch people play for the story and characters. I don't want to ruin any character and write things without basic knowledge.

Also, here's a short fic for Alhaitham.

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The first letter arrives on a Monday.

You nearly miss it, slipping your textbooks into your bag as the final bell rings. A crisp white envelope sits neatly atop your desk, unmarked except for your name written in precise, elegant handwriting. The paper is thick, too formal for a casual note from a classmate.

Curiosity wins over caution. You unfold the letter, eyes skimming the words written in deep black ink.

You always prefer sitting by the window, even though the sunlight strains your eyes after a while. I wonder—do you realize how often you rub them when you think no one is looking?

You walked to class today with precisely seven minutes to spare, just like always. Routine is something you value, isn't it? It makes you predictable.

You are an anomaly among the ordinary, an equation I find myself drawn to solve. It is only natural for me to observe.

No signature. No indication of who wrote it. But the words feel… meticulous. Too structured to be a prank. Too detailed to be random.

You glance around the now-empty classroom, your pulse picking up speed.

Someone has been watching you.

You clutch the letter tighter, fingers pressing into the fine paper as a chill creeps up your spine. Who would write something like this? And more importantly—how long have they been watching you?

Shoving the letter into your bag, you push your way out of the classroom and down the hall, searching for something, or rather-someone grounding.

Your friends are waiting at your usual spot near the lockers, chatting about the latest test results. Their presence should be comforting, but the words in your bag linger like a shadow at the back of your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” One of them nudges your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you lied “Just tired.”

You’re about to forget it—convince yourself it was a one-time thing, a strange prank—when your eyes flicker across the hallway.

There, leaning against the far wall, flipping through a book like he’s indifferent to the world, is Alhaitham.

The school’s resident genius. Top of every class. Speaks as if the rest of you are equations to be solved rather than people.

You and your friends don’t interact with him much. He’s polite, but distant—aloof in a way that keeps most people at bay. It’s not that anyone dislikes him, but there’s something too precise about him, like he only engages when absolutely necessary.

Yet now… you can’t shake the feeling that his presence is off.

Because for someone so absorbed in his book, his gaze lifts at the exact moment you look at him.

And he holds your stare.

It lasts only a second before he turns the page, unreadable as ever.

You shake off the strange feeling and went home right after.

The second letter appears on Wednesday, slipped neatly into your locker between your notebooks.

You hesitated today before stepping into the classroom. As if something was weighing on your mind. I wonder, was it the letter? You can lie to your friends, but not to me.

After all, I know you better than you think.

This isn’t a joke.

The handwriting is the same, as if each word was chosen with purpose. The unsettling detail is there too, the kind that makes your skin prickle.

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. The hallway is full of students, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations, laughter echoing off the walls.

No one looks suspicious. No one is watching.

Still, you don’t mention it to your friends. Not yet. You tell yourself it’ll stop if you ignore it.

The Third Letter - Friday. This time, it’s waiting in your backpack when you reach for your notes.

You’ve stopped looking around as much. You’re trying to pretend this doesn’t bother you. Smart. But pointless. You will notice me soon.

Your hands are clammy as you shove it deep into your bag, heart hammering.

This is escalating.

Someone has been close enough to touch your things. Close enough to slip a letter into your backpack without you noticing.

You force yourself to act normal. Laugh at your friends’ jokes. Keep your routine. But the unease lingers, curling in your stomach.

---

It happens late on a Tuesday afternoon.

You’ve stayed behind to finish some work in the library, your friends already gone for the day. The school is quieter now, the usual buzz of voices replaced with the rustle of pages and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

You reach for a book from the shelf and—

Something slips out.

A letter.

Your breath catches as it flutters to the ground, face-up.

You recognize the handwriting immediately.

Your fingers shake as you pick it up. But before you can even read it, a shadow falls over you.

“I wouldn’t take that if I were you” a calm voice says.

Slowly, you turn.

Alhaitham stands there, hands in his pockets, unreadable as always. But this time, there’s something else in his gaze—something sharper.

It takes a second too long for you to find your voice. “...What?”

His eyes flicker to the letter in your grip. His expression remains impassive, but the air around him feels off.

“I was going to retrieve that later” he says simply, as if discussing the weather. “But I suppose this works too.”

No.

No way.

But the letter in your hands says otherwise. The handwriting. The way it just happened to be inside a book you grabbed.

It’s been him.

This entire time.

Alhaitham watches you carefully, as if calculating your next move.

“Well,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Now what will you do?”

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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m00njinnie · 2 months ago

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The softness they need - lads x reader

Just a couple of little ideas that were floating around in my head for the last week. Its been so long since I've actually put anything I've written online. Like...over a decade. So please be nice (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) Zayne x f!reader & Sylus x f!reader - mostly fluff, some suggestive tones too. No beta because life is short and the world is falling apart. We got no TIME for triple checking.

The those around the great Dr Zayne Li, everything about him was sharp.

The chill of his Evol, the steep slope of his cheekbones and his strong jaw line. The focus he gave to his craft and the genius of his mind that propelled him to his position at the hospital today.

So many people assumed that his edges rarely softened. Even his bedside manner, whilst pleasant, was always calm and precise.

But the world had a way of maintaining balance and for Zayne, you were his.

Where he was logical, you led with heart.

Where he was cautious, you followed your gut.

You were the sun, rising over frosted ground to melt his ice away.

Busy days at the hospital, the ones where all of his careful planning was pointless in the face of the world’s chaos, the days where he did everything right but things still went wrong, the days where…he didn’t win…they were always ended with softness and love.

He knew that no matter how awful things could be, when he returned home you would be waiting. Usually in his bed, all warmth and smooth skin, sleepy and docile as you fought sleep just for him. So you could ask him how his day was and soothe any frustration or cheer any successes.

On the rare occasion that his day ended at a semi-sociable hour, he would instead find you in the kitchen preparing food for you both. Wearing one of his t-shirts, you would sway and sing softly to the music playing as pans sizzled and water boiled. It was so domestic it always made his heart melt. Those after-work meals would always be his favourite. He would take a home cooked meal in casual clothes late at night with you over fancy restaurants any day. And always after those home cooked meals were shared showers that consisted of breathy moans and decadent and greedy touches.

When he had days of reprieve from work, though they were few, your exuberance for life led him away from his home where he would no doubt pour over medical reports and texts despite being off the clock, and instead out into the world to be something other than the decorated surgeon. Whether visiting your favourite arcade to try to take home whatever new plushie was in your favourite crane machine, stopping for sweet treats at his favourite cafe, or occasionally attending whatever fair or event Linkon had to offer, your hand was always in his. Comforting and warm.

You led him through the world when needed and he was content to follow you wherever. To the ends of the earth if required. As long as he could forever stay orbiting your sun.

Where the world treated Sylus with fearful respect, like a weapon ready to fire at any moment, your approach was so far away from that, it had taken Sylus time to get used to it. You treated him with such soft care, with gentle touches and reverent gazes, as if he were the most precious gemstone or work of art.

On the days where he came home dirtied by blood and dust, you would think wash the grime away with such tenderness that it felt as if the sins of his work were rinsed away too. When his energy was depleted and his Evol delayed in healing all of his wounds, you would bandage him up without comment, placing a kiss on every bruise.

When the twins were being too much, you would effortlessly distract them for him so he could get some work done. When Mephisto needed a tune up, you would dutifully set out all of his tools and watch with childlike fascination. He had asked once why you enjoyed watching him perform such a mundane task.

“I enjoy any time spent with you, Sylus.”

Your eyes had been so honest and wide, your words plain as if he were the fool to not understand.

And even in the more explicit moments of your relationship, every action was underlined by your quiet devotion.

Where his subordinates submitted to him from a place of fear or debt, your submission was from total trust and love.

When you let him lead your relationship, let him dote on you, make the decisions, take charge when necessary. And also in the private moments; when you were on your knees for him looking so pretty and obliging, when you would lie back with hazy eyes and flushed cheeks to let him take what he needed. The submission you yielded every day was given freely because you wanted to. Because it was another way to take care of him.

You were his good girl. His sweet little kitten. The sugar his coffee-bitter world needed and he couldn’t imagine life without your sweetness.

#lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #f!reader #fluff #lads fluff #hitting post now gave me the spooky feelings #terrified to send this out into the world #this is literally just some thoughts that would not leave me alone #moonie writes ✩

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lipglossanon · 7 months ago

Text

What If We Could

Best friend!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

A little more savory tier commission from @porcelainseashore and dedicated to AliBelleRosetta ✨

Word Count: 2404 (I’m not surprised at this point lmao)

Warnings: MDNI, neighbor Leon, crushes, jealous reader, light flirting, smoking, light voyeurism, teasing, half naked reader

proofread ✍️

↺ ◁◁͏͏ ll ▷▷ ⋮≡

Stepping out the back door, your breath mists in front of your face. The warmth of late summer has segued easily into the coolness of fall. You tug the sleeves of your overly big sweatshirt—one you stole from Leon although you can’t recall when—to make sure they don’t fall too low past your wrists. Thinking of your best friend brings a warmth—a tiny ember burning in your chest—and a soft smile to your face.

Looking over at his house, you're thankful for the millionth time that you guys ended up being neighbors. Stepping out into your backyard, you pick your way through the leaf-strewn path that runs between your yard and Leon’s. Glancing over, you take in the old oak tree with its tired rope swing that sits in the middle of both properties.

It’s been years since it’s been used; musing to yourself, you think you must’ve been about eight years old when you quit playing on it. And the last time the swing was even used had to have been when you and Leon dared each other to swing as high as possible, then jump off. Wood smoke pervades your senses, and you breathe deep. It drags you from your reminiscing, focus shifting back to Leon’s house and, more importantly, to the open garage.

Your fingers nervously rub across the mixtape in the front pocket of your hooded sweatshirt. Leon’s never had a bad word to say about your mixes, even letting you demo a few live in front of your home setup, but it always sends a frisson of nerves through you when giving him one—especially one you’ve made specifically for him.

Poking your head around the corner, you take in your best friend while he doesn’t realize you’re there. He’s frowning down at the engine, a smear of grease already staining the apple of one cheek. His fringe hangs low over his face, head tilted forward as he works on his Jeep. That low burning ember in your chest sparks to life.

His blue eyes dart from part to part, mentally assessing his next move. His toolbox lies at his feet, lid flipped open and tools organized. Pushing off the side of the garage makes enough noise to draw his attention. A smile lights up his face when he realizes it’s you.

“Hey! Didn’t think you were gonna come over today,” he steps away from the hood, grabbing up an old oil rag to start cleaning his hands.

You shrug, “Didn’t feel like beatmatching today.”

You fiddle with the mixtape in your sweater before pulling it out. “Made you a new one.”

His eyes are soft when he walks over to pluck it from your hands. “Thanks. I think my last one is about worn out.”

He chuckles, and you grin a little bashfully. Throwing his arm over your shoulders, he guides you into the garage and over onto the ratty couch that’s been here forever. While you flop down onto the faded green cushions, springs groaning at the motion, Leon slips the new mixtape into his stereo. A heavy beat fills the speakers as he walks back over to join you on the couch.

“This one's yours?”

You nod, “I’ve got a few new tracks I’ve been messing around with.”

“Cool,” he relaxes into the cushions, head resting on the back. “Man, I’m tired.”

“Long night?”

“Kinda. Had to finish that paper for biology.”

Humming, you slip your shoes off and kick your feet up onto the couch. “I hate that class.”

He snorts, “Tell me about it.”

“Hey, Leon, I hate that class.”

He shakes his head at your sly smile, “Smartass.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What’re you? Five?”

You laugh, and he huffs a breath that you know is covering his own amusement. He pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, smacking the bottom with his palm before working the last one out and slipping it into his mouth.

“Hey,” you perk up, stretching your legs out to prod a sock-covered foot at Leon’s leg. “I thought you quit.”

“I did,” he mumbles, lips pinched around the cigarette filter, hands patting at his jean pockets as he feels for his lighter.

Making a little hum at the discovery, he tugs it out of his left pocket, flipping the hinge of the zippo to spark the flint until a little gold flame appears. Cupping his hand, he takes a pull off the butt, snapping the Zippo shut with a flick of his wrist before blowing smoke from his nose.

“C’mon, share,” you poke him again, and he clamps a hand around your ankle bone. Butterflies take flight in your sternum, insides fizzing like carbonated soda.

It’s not the first time Leon’s caused this feeling. It’s something you’ve been avoiding by looking at too closely.

“Say please,” he smirks at you, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

You pout, and he runs his fingers underneath the hem of the leg of your jeans, calloused fingers brushing the skin. The fizzy excitement is back, bubbling in your sternum.

“Please, Leon,” you murmur.

His eyes shift, the blue now a shade darker, while he plucks the cigarette from his lips. “See? How hard was that?”

Leaning forward, you take the filtered end and pull a drag off the lit cig. You both fall into a charged silence—not only sharing smoke, but a secondhand kiss with each pass of the filter between you two. Every now and again, Leon ashes the cigarette onto an old glass tray sitting on the floor.

He keeps his hand loosely wrapped around your ankle the entire time, fingers mindlessly tracing across your skin. Feeling a little bold, you slip your other foot into his lap, and he hums. Giddiness at the action makes you a little lightheaded.

He offers the butt to you. “Last one?”

You shake your head, “All yours.”

He takes one last drag of what’s left of the cigarette, then stubs it out in the ashtray. He lounges back on the couch, running his free hand through his hair.

“Actually.. what time is it?” He rolls his head to look over at you.

Squinting up at the silly cat clock on the wall, you read out the time. “You got a plane to catch?”

He rolls his eyes with a smile and gently pushes your feet off his lap. “No, I got a date with Heidi, said I’d pick her up at about six or so.”

Jealousy rears its green-eyed gaze and lasers you in its sights. The bubbly feeling from earlier sours, leaving confusion in its wake.

“Oh.” The word slips from your lips quietly, softly. You thought they had broken up? Squishing down that nagging voice in your head, you clear your throat. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He stands up and holds his hand out to help you off the couch.

“Of course, we’ve got history together.” You clasp his hand and let him pull you alongside him. “Don’t stay out too late.”

He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow, “No promises.”

Pretending that doesn't slice into your heart as well as buoys the jealousy sitting like a stone in your chest, you nod and step around him. As you head for the opening of the garage, his fingers tangle with yours and tug you to a stop.

“Hey,” his voice is low and honeywarm when you turn to look at him. “Thanks for the music.”

He squeezes your hand gently, blue eyes searching your face. You can’t help but smile at him, squeezing his hand back.

“You’re welcome, Leon.”

He grins, boyish and happy, then drops your hand to grab up his lighter and empty pack of cigarettes to stash them back in his pocket.

“Later!” He calls out, and you watch him head into his house through the kitchen door.

Cradling your hand to your chest, you walk back to your house, deep in thought with your tangled feelings.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Leon pulls into his driveway before the clock even strikes ten. He sits behind the steering wheel, eyes unseeing as he looks out the windshield. The date went off without a hitch; Heidi and he got along perfectly. But he couldn’t stop thinking back to you this afternoon. How you looked with a haze of smoke in the air, eyes glittering at him from across the couch.

You brought him another of your mixtapes, so shy and sweet—it’s cute, but he’s too chicken to ever tell you that. His heart lurched in his chest at seeing your face fall when he admitted why he had to leave early; it was telling in that you didn’t even realize you had done it.

Climbing out of his Jeep, he digs out his new pack of cigarettes and decides to light one up before going inside. With his thoughts still on you, his feet take him around the side of the garage to the oak tree straddling the invisible line between your yards. He leans against the trunk, eyes flicking up to your bedroom window and almost choking on the smoke he blows out from his mouth on a sudden exhalation.

The soft glow of the lamp on your nightstand bathes your room in a golden hue, fitting for the warmth mounting in Leon’s body. His eyes can’t stop taking you in, clad only in a loose shirt and sweats. He steps closer out from under the shadow of the tree to take a better look. You’re moving around your room, headphones over your ears, lost in your own little world.

Coming to a stop, Leon takes a long drag from his cigarette, slowly blowing out the smoke while he watches you dance around your room. You slip your sweats down and off, now only in your shirt and plain cotton panties. His heart pumps harder, pulse jumping in his neck. Leon knows he shouldn’t be peeping on you like this—knows he should turn around and go back home so you won’t think he’s some kinda pervert, but the temptation of you is too tantalizing.

You bend forward to drop something onto your nightstand and glance up, locking eyes with him. Leon doesn’t move except to pull the filter away from his mouth to breathe out a smoke ring. You slowly stand tall, body language cautious. He’s close enough he can see you bite your lip, seeming to make up your mind as you tug on the bottom of your shirt.

He can’t stop the low groan from slipping from his lips; thankfully no one is around, when you slowly bring your shirt over your head and drop it into the floor. You stand there, like a vision, in just panties and a bra. He brings the cigarette back up to his lips to take a long drag. You tease your fingers underneath your bra straps, slipping them down one at a time. Leon’s heart is in his throat, eyes never leaving yours as you reach behind your back and undo the clasps.

Once you bring your arms forward to let your bra fall away from your body, his eyes drop to greedily take in your bare breasts. Arousal pools in his gut while he stares at your soft peaks, your nipples hardening under his gaze. Cupping your breasts in your hands, you rub your thumbs over the tight buds, making him groan and run a shaky hand through his hair.

He drops the cig and stubs it out under his boot. Running his other hand down his thigh, he cups himself through his jeans, groaning at the pressure on his chubbed cock. He watches you bite your lip again, eyes fluttering when you lightly run your fingers around your areola before grazing your nipples. His palm presses harder onto his bulge, hips jumping at the dull pleasure.

You smile at him, secretive and coquettish, bending forward again to pick up the shirt you dropped earlier. Leon bites back the disappointed groan when you pull your shirt back on, blowing him a saucy kiss before closing the curtains on your window.

Leon shakes his head, arousal making his thoughts feel thick and slow. In a daze, he makes his way back over to his house and up to his own room. Deciding to take a cold shower before falling into bed, Leon knows that a line may have been crossed, and he’s not sure that he really cares.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Apparently it’s something neither of you are going to bring up. You were already seated in your usual spot when Leon came rushing in, minutes from the lecture starting. He shoots you his usual smile and a quick hello before pulling out his laptop and textbook. You frown at him, a quizzical pull of your brows, and he just winks.

Shrugging a little, you turn back to the front of the class just as the teacher walks in, closing the door behind them. It’s silent between you two while the history lecture takes place. Once the lesson drags to a close, you wait for Leon to finish packing away his things.

“You wanna grab an early lunch? I slept through my alarm and missed breakfast,” he grouses, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand.

“Sure. Anywhere specific?” You fall into step with him as you leave the classroom, skin feeling warm when your arms brush.

“Where’s that place that you found last week?” He pushes the door open, letting you exit the building first.

“Oh, it’s just around the corner. They’ve got a decent selection, sandwiches, wraps, and the like,” you purse your lips in thought, and Leon slips his arm over your shoulders.

Butterflies swarm your stomach, and you give him a side eye. It’s not unusual for Leon to do it, but after last night, you’re unsure of where you stand with him.

“Sounds good to me,” he yawns. “Damn, I gotta start heading to bed earlier.”

Neither of you say anything about why he was up late, and by the end of the day, it’s like some weird shared dream that you may have had—distant, yet the feeling remains.

And except for the times when you catch him staring, it’s business as usual, so everything’s fine between you two… right?

#kofi commission #kofi #fic request #commissions #fic commissions #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #best friend!leon s kennedy #best friend!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #fem!reader

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bbina · 1 year ago

Text

it’s been a week since that night with wonbin and things between you and him have been a little weird.

these past recent days days wonbin has been facetiming more often, beginning to start petty arguments when you wouldn’t answer his calls and texts or when you’d blow him off to do something else you planned for the day. he’s been a lot clingier and you’re not too sure how to feel

in retrospect, you thought this whole fake dating thing with wonbin would only be until the trip ended just to cut some awkwardness between sungchan and his girlfriend, but after some unforeseen circumstances, you and wonbin had to keep playing pretend a bit longer. now everything has returned back to normal, you and sungchan finally patched up and you’ve gotten over him at this point. so you’re a bit confused on why wonbin is still keen on playing pretend

today wonbin asked again if you were free and if you wanted to go shopping with him since he feels bored and wanted to hang out but you responded that you were preoccupied with some family stuff with eunseok but in reality you didn’t have plans at all. you wanted to have some space between you guys for now especially after that night where he seemed to indirectly confess his feelings. this way you’ll have more time to think about how to break this arrangement you have with him as nice as possible without the possibility of hurting his feelings but you know otherwise that no matter how nice you put it, one way or another it will definitely strain whatever relationship you have with him right now

you could almost hear the frown on his face on the other line when you declined. the last thing he said was “oh okay. text me if anything happens, i’ll call you later” before he hung up the phone

you throw your phone on your bed as you flopped next to it, staring up at your ceiling just thinking about the past few months. how you’ve managed to convince all your friends that you and wonbin have been going out for a while and that you just decided to keep it a secret for god knows how long. you fear that your lies was gonna catch up with you soon but you shook away the thought

just as you could think more about the possible consequences of your actions, you hear someone knocking on your door.

you sat up in surprise. who could it be? could it be wonbin? did wonbin somehow find out that you lied that you were spending time with your family?

the door opens to reveal sungchan.

you let out a sigh in relief as you yelled at him for scaring you. sungchan simply just laughs and sits on the foot of your bed

“what do you want, jinsu?” you groan, lying back down on your bed, not even bothering to give him a glance

sungchan pokes your legs, “what’s with that reaction? aren’t you happy to see me come over?”

you rolled to your side, grabbing your phone as you scroll through wonbin’s updates. you begin to feel a little guilty for ignoring wonbin for the past few days. he deserves to know what you’re feeling

[1:27 PM] w ♥︎: just arrived in myeongdong baby [1:27 PM] w ♥︎: look at this hoodie. it’s such a vibe [1:28 PM] w ♥︎: y/nnnnnnn [1:32 PM] w ♥︎: ur taking too long to reply so i bought it. even if its new u can steal it if you'd like <3 [1:35 PM] w ♥︎: are u busy?? [1:43 PM] w ♥︎: baby this would look so good on u. do you want it? [1:47 PM] w ♥︎: passed by a jewelry store so i bought us matching necklaces [2:00 PM] w ♥︎: a reply might be nice..

instead of replying, you turned don’t disturb on and shut your phone off. sungchan notices your weird attitude and lays down next to you

“what’s wrong” sungchan asks as he pokes your cheek. you turn to face him and shrug,

“nothing”

“sure?”

“what do you want sungchan” you grumbled, rolling your eyes as you sit up. sungchan laughs, used to your mood swings. you wish he could just say it. you know he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to do something

“let’s hang out. i miss you” sungchan smiles, poking your sides making you jump. you hate how you’re so ticklish and sungchan knows that.

you grab your pillow and smack sungchan square in the face. sungchan lets out a low grunt of pain

“jesus christ when did you get so violent?” sungchan groans, “can’t i just ask to hang out with my best friend?”

“go bother eunseok instead” you groan, turning your back on him. you really didn’t want to deal with anyone today

“but eunseok doesn’t want to go out” sungchan whines, poking your shoulder endlessly but you still don’t budge.

“y/nnnnn” sungchan drawls, now laying next to you. with an irritated sigh, you sit up and shoo him out of the room as you get dressed. sungchan cheers as he heads out of your room. you rolled your eyes before chuckling. okay maybe there was no harm into this as it has been a while you hung out with sungchan one on one

—

wonbin stares at his phone for what seems like the nth time today. it’s been a couple hours since he texted you and not once did you sent a reply back nor did you even look at his messages. the big "Delivered" staring right back at wonbin

wonbin frowns as he stares at his lockscreen which was a picture of you. you asked him to change it when you saw it since it was a candid picture of you laughing but wonbin didn't listen and insisted he keeps it because to him you look so cute much to your dismay

“why isn’t she replying to me..” wonbin mumbles to himself, shutting his phone off as he pockets it. he sighs and continues on his day. pretending that your sudden change didn’t affect him at all.

wonbin was walking to the bus stop when he passes by the cafe he was raving to you about. he wanted to go with you but you kept declining his invites to hang out.

as he was passing by, he sees someone familiar with his peripheral vision.

he knows that physique anywhere. it looked like sungchan. he stops walking and stands closer at the window to take a closer look

and lo and behold, it was in fact sungchan!

wonbin was about to enter the cafe to greet sungchan but then he sees that he was with someone. that someone being you

his eyes widened in shock. is that why you weren’t replying to him all day? was it because you were with sungchan all along?

wonbin doesn’t understand what got to him. his heart feels heavy and feels like he shouldn’t have seen you two together. he watches as your head falls back as you laugh at sungchan’s dumb joke. he watches how you look so happy to be with sungchan when in fact it could’ve been with him

his chest tightens at the sickly sight. he scoffs before forcing himself to walk away but the image of you and sungchan who seem to be out on a date is imprinted in his mind

without thinking, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and sends you a quick message.

“can we meet later? i'm coming over"

—

your phone vibrates on the table.

sungchan was telling you about how all the accusations of his ex girlfriend in regards to you back then during the trip. to the point he himself was beginning to question the security of their relationship that ultimately ended up with him and her breaking up.

“i always had a thought that if she didn’t accept who you are in my life then i wouldn’t want them in mine. so i’m really sorry about her” sungchan shares as he recalls everything that happened.

“it was kinda my fault too for ignoring you back then. the way you were acting with me probably caused her to think that way so i’m sorry too” you say apologetically, being empathetic for your best friend. he didn’t deserve that although you were a bit smug that you were right all along for not really liking his ex girlfriend. though it did bother you a little that his girlfriend may have seen through your façade

your phone vibrates again. this time sungchan notices and points it out

“you should probably answer that” he says. you pick your phone up to see what was up.

it was a message from wonbin. you furrowed your brows as you read the message. it felt a little cold to be coming from wonbin

“who is it? is it eunseok?” sungchan asked, peering over to look at your screen. you shake your head no and said it was wonbin.

“wonbin? how are you guys? still going strong?” sungchan continues to ask, his eyes wide. still not accepting the thought of you dating one of his closest friends. to him it almost felt fake cause why would you suddenly announce a relationship that he didn’t know about

“uh yeah” you smile fakely, trying to come up with an excuse for his follow up question. “i guess..”

“hmm i’ve always wondered why you never told me that you liked him. or even the fact that you two were dating all along” sungchan suddenly says outloud

it almost scared you out of your wits with how much sungchan managed to see through your lies. he literally hit it right on the dot. talk about bullseye

“sungchan.. i have to tell you something” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes before looking at sungchan who had worry evident in his eyes.

“you can tell me anything”

“i-”

your conversation is cut off short when your phone starts to ring. it was eunseok who was calling.

“hello?” you picked up, seemingly a bit confused on why eunseok was calling you when knows where you were at and that you were with sungchan

“wonbin’s here” eunseok’s stone cold voice coming from the other end. you hear some talking in the background and you hear wonbin telling him to tell you that it’s urgent and that he needed to see you, “do you want me to tell him that you’re out with su–”

“no! that’s exactly what you don’t tell him” you cut him off abruptly. for all you know, wonbin thinks you were out with your family (that of which included eunseok)

“woah. chill, i won’t” eunseok says, “but you really need to come home now. it’s getting late”

you look at sungchan and mouthed it was time to go. he nods and grabs his car keys on the table. you both stand up as you walk out of the cafe, eunseok still on the line

“wonbin looks upset. what did you do?” you hear eunseok ask as you get into the passenger seat. you already wince at the thought that wonbin caught you lying to him. you hear him talk to wonbin in the background and you’re literally praying to the gods that something else made wonbin upset, “whatever. forget i asked. i’ll see you at home” with that eunseok hangs up

you didn’t even realize that you were holding in your breath til you let out a deep exhale. sungchan looks over for a moment before keeping his eyes back at the road

“what’s wrong?” sungchan asks, worried.

“just eunseok wanting me to go home” you say. technically it wasn’t a lie, it is true that he wanted you home.

“oh, i thought something happened. anyway what were you saying earlier before you got cut off?”

you suck in a deep breath. mentally preparing yourself on what you were gonna say to sungchan

“just promise me you won’t be weird right after?” you plead, looking at sungchan who kept his eyes on the road. you watch as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. as if like he would let anything between you would change

“me and wonbin….. aren’t really together” you admit, bracing yourself for his reaction. sungchan suddenly slams on the breaks, causing you to jolt forward. you were thankful you had the seatbelt on or else you would’ve ended up with a concussion

“what the fuck sungchan!” you yelped as the car halts to a stop. it was a good thing you were at an empty street when this shit happened. who knows maybe sungchan could’ve caused a traffic accident

“what do you mean you and wonbin aren’t together?!” sungchan whips his head around to face you. completely caught off guard. what did you mean by that?

“i’m really sorry sungchan but it was all a lie” you admit, looking down at your lap as you let sungchan process your words. “i-i was really hurt that you had a girlfriend at the time and in the heat of the moment i blurted out that wonbin and i were dating but it’s all not true. we were just pretending til the trip ended. i’m so sorry”

sungchan looks at you with wide eyes. what did you just say?

“so all this time.. you and wonbin… weren’t actually together? but just pretending to? what the fuck, y/n?” sungchan was completely at loss of words. so all this time?

you can only wince at his reaction. you expected this to happen. it was inevitable. it was only about time til your little white lie caught up with you somehow and that time is now

“i’m sorry sungchan i really don’t know what got to me at the time”

“why?”

“huh?”

“why did you do it?”

“it’s because i liked you, okay?!” you finally explode, tired of keeping all of this inside. it was eating you inside out knowing that you were just using his friend– your brother’s friend to get back at sungchan.

“what?” sungchan blurts out, did he hear you right?

“yes! i liked you, sungchan! for the longest time! i had a crush on you all this time and when you revealed that you had a girlfriend i was hurt! i wanted to get over you so that’s why i did it. god!” you bury your face into your hands, embarrassed beyond measure. you want nothing in this world but to swallow you whole. it was too late now

the car ride turns silent after that. sungchan stunned by your outburst. he doesn’t know what to say or how to feel, even. but the question in his head remains, why say that now?

“i don’t know what to say…” sungchan starts, trying to come up with something but eventually ends up with nothing.

“i know you don’t feel the same. you’ll always see me as your best friend’s little sister and i get that! but i just had to get this off my chest since it’s eating me alive. now please take me home” you feel tears prick the corner of your eyes. you harshly wipe away your tears as you wish that this car ride would end sooner

maybe you should've kept this one to the grave

sungchan stays quiet after that. not wanting to make things even weird than they already were. he needed a few days to process everything. to think about everything that went down

after what seems like forever you two finally arrive at your house. you and sungchan don’t say anything when he puts the car to park. not wanting to make wonbin wait much longer, you start to unbuckle your seatbelt

“wait!” sungchan calls, his arm extended out to prevent you from leaving just yet. “i just wanted to say that thank you for telling me your feelings” he starts

you internally groan, not wanting this kind of conversation with him. the secret is out so there’s nothing else left to say. all you wanted was a bit of dignity left in you but you know that’s a lie.

“i think you already know where this is going?” sungchan sheepishly smiles. of course you know. you know damn well he doesn’t see you like that and he never will. you accepted that fact a long time ago

“i know sungchan. i know” you smile faintly at the boy. “from the get go i can already tell but i just wanted to come clean and forget all this happened”

sungchan can only smile apologetically as he watches you compose yourself. he now understands why you were so harsh and brash around him during the trip. it was normal for you to react like that especially since he kept having a girlfriend from you for a while and the fact you had to find out unprovoked on a trip with friends, it was pretty normal for you to react that way

“friends?” sungchan prompts, opening his arms.

“you dumbass!” you cried, wiping a stray tear from your cheek, “friends” you invite yourself into his arms.

you think of it as closure for this chapter in your life. you were finally free from the chains of your stupid little crush on your brother’s best friend

your little moment with sungchan gets cut off with eunseok yanking the car door open.

“why the fuck are you guys taking so damn long to get out– oh” eunseok stops rambling when he catches you and sungchan hugging. you pull away from sungchan’s hold when you whip your head towards your brother to see him standing there with a shocked look on his face and wonbin behind him

you made eye contact with wonbin and his expression was something you don’t ever want to see. he looks like he just got betrayed. hurt washed all over his features. you watch him as he purses his lips shut as you scramble out of sungchan’s car

eunseok clears his throat to cut the dead silence. it was unbearable for him as it was to you. you hated how you found yourself in this tight situation.

you were caught red handed by wonbin himself.

“uh, wonbin’s been waiting for quite some time now so..” eunseok notes, looking around for a distraction.

“i’m gonna go home” wonbin says coldly. his jaw clenched, trying to calm himself down. your eyes widened as you look at wonbin, “wait!”

“save it, y/n” wonbin hisses, walking away from your house.

eunseok looks between you, sungchan and wonbin. wondering what the fuck is happening before you ran after wonbin.

sungchan can only sigh as he watches you run after his friend. he looks at eunseok apologetically before leaving

“i’ll tell you everything later but for now let them talk” was all sungchan said before getting into his car and driving away.

eunseok simply blinks and walks back inside the house. mumbling “what the fuck”

—

“wonbin wait!” you call out as you continue to run after him. wonbin scoffs, “go home, y/n”

as you catch up to him, panting for breath, you grab his arm, forcing him to look at you “wonbin it’s not what it looks like!” you cried out

wonbin turns around, his expression hardens,

“wonbin–”

“y/n, it’s exactly what it looks like” wonbin barks, yanking his arm back from your grip.

heart racing, you struggle to explain, “no i can explain–”

“blowing me off multiple times? ignoring my texts and calls for the past week? yeah i know where this is going. now go home” wonbin tries to shoo you off but the more he pushes you away the more his heart aches

frustration bubbles up inside you, “let me explain goddamn it!” you yelled, stopping your tracks to catch your breath. “you got the wrong idea. sungchan and i were just hanging out-”

“you lied to me. you said you were out with your family? don’t think i didn’t see you at that cafe because i definitely did” wonbin seethes, trying to contain his anger. he didn’t want to lash out on you but with the whole situation, it was hard not to.

your eyes widened at the fact all this time you were caught red handed by wonbin himself

“it’s still sungchan, huh” wonbin chuckles wryly, beginning to accept the fact that it’s always gonna be sungchan for you. you look at him confused. what?

you raise a brow, “what do you mean? sungchan was just telling me about how his ex girlfriend-”

wonbin stops in his tracks, slowly turning around to face you. did you just say ex girlfriend? oh right. sungchan and yujin broke up for a while now. so does that mean that whatever you have going on with him is now over? it’s done? just like that? after literally making you forget about sungchan, after all those heart to heart confessions here you go running back to him? it only took you a day to realize that you won’t need him anymore?

“ex girlfriend huh? i forgot he was single again. so i’m guessing you’re gonna go running back to him? i definitely got the right idea witnessing your little moment at his car back there now that his girlfriend is out of the picture. so are you two are finally together? is it a wish come true? huh, y/n?” wonbin presses on, taking a step towards you. he is in disbelief over the whole situation.

it can’t get any worse than this

his head is screaming at him to stop but he can’t. he’s so worked up that he couldn’t even process what he was saying.

with the way wonbin was talking to you right now, you know he was getting under your skin. you feel your eye twitch after hearing his accusations left and right when in reality he had no place in your life to be acting this way and saying such things about you like that. last time you checked, you two weren’t even a real thing!

“it’s like i’m the only one holding on to whatever we have going on, and it’s making me go fucking crazy.” wonbin fumes, his emotions getting the best of him

“we’re not even together! you’re not my real boyfriend so you don’t get to tell me shit! have you forgotten? we were just pretending to be in a relationship!” you finally snapped, feet stomped on the ground

at the same time you let go of these words, wonbin feels like his heart just broke into a million pieces. your words stinging. of course you two aren’t official. of course you two aren’t fucking real. of course. of fucking course. how could he forget? you were just using him to forget sungchan and he can’t believe how stupid he was to agree on such a thing or let alone even suggest that you use him to get over your best friend

there was a beat of silence after that. the realization of what you just said hits you not a moment later, you covered your mouth in shock. you were too engrossed in the moment to realize what you just said.

“wonbin i-”

“right,” wonbin begins. he starts to laugh hysterically that it’s scaring you. “i forgot”

wonbin finally looks at you. with a smile he says, “we’re not actually together. thank you for reminding me”

“wonbin no i didn’t mean it like that-'' you shakily reach out to him, hands trembling as you attempt to grab his hand but wonbin has already turned his back on you, shoulders tensed. right now he just wants to get out of here, away from you

“wonbin!” you call out, running after him again, desperate to make things right. but by the time you catch up with him, you realize that he’s crying.

wonbin is crying.

he is crying because of you. your heart aches at the sight. you definitely fucked up.

wonbin closes his eyes, letting his tears freely fall. he then looks at you, eyes filled with pain, betrayal and defeat. you opened your mouth to say something but wonbin beats you to it

“thank you for finally letting me realize who i really am to you because it's always gonna be him.. i honestly thought we’d become something after all those days and nights i’ve spent wiping your tears. i got to know you deep inside, i let you get to know me deep inside. i let you in only for you to let walk away with everything i had” wonbin pauses for a brief second,

“i let you break my heart, even if it meant i only get to have you when you needed it.”

wonbin suddenly cups your cheeks. his thumbs wiping the stray tears you didn’t even notice that were rolling down your cheeks

he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing but it’s shaky. he then presses his lips against your forehead. it almost felt like he was savoring the remaining moments of what you two could’ve been

“i’m sorry i can’t be sungchan”

you widened your eyes at his statement. why does it feel like he’s saying goodbye? your chest tightens. it hurts. it hurts so much seeing wonbin like this. the weight of his pain was almost too much to bear and to think everything was all your fault

wonbin pulls away and rests his forehead against yours as he stares deeply into your eyes

“but do me one last favor" wonbin tucks some stray hair behind your ear. "please never talk to me again” he croaks. wonbin pulls your head to his chest for what seems to be the last time. wonbin squeezes his eyes shut, savoring this moment. this moment with you in his arms for the the last time

”what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of both hearts breaking. you try to reach out again but he slowly pulls away. forcing himself to get away from you, from this mess, from everything. all he wanted was a breather

your tears are now fully rolling down your face as you continue to call out for him but to no avail, he does not turn back once. afraid that if he does, he would just come running back to you.

this time, wonbin chose himself. he always put you first ever since your fake relationship started. he had an internal debate with himself with the drawbacks of this entanglement.

wonbin knew what he was getting into but yet..

now all you can do is watch wonbin walk away from you and your life. your actions haunting you as you dwell in the fact that you did this to yourself. you caused this and now all you can do is watch your world crumble before you

between the lines ★ thank you

⤷ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

˗ˏˋ prev | next ˎˊ˗

★ notes .ᐟ probably my most favorite chapter... i wrote this a month ago even before btl was a thing it is now heh

★ taglist .ᐟ @callanton @annswwa @renjuneoo @pinkraindropsfell @lecheugo @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ahnneyong @haechansbbg @snowyseungs @sseastar-main @odxrilove @leeknowarchives @onlywonb @wonychu @leehanascent @jaeyunsb @au-ghosttype @revehosh @keilovr @kyusqult @dreamyyyz @ether-yeol @yangasm @qwonbani @starwonb1n @ffixtionista @daegale @scrumptiousloser @seunghancore @marksluvs @wonbinfiles @ohmykwonsoonyoung @reenfluffmarshmallow @bunni @artstaeh @yizhoutv @sie17136 @koeuh @07yujin @poollabug @vernonburger @dutifullyannoyingfox @000rpheus @wccycc @sunus-sun @highhjime @chweverni @toosspicy @heartlvrrss @s9nwoo @yoursyuno

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rosenclaws · 2 months ago

Note

possible au idea for you if you like it - fake dating trope with eddie alden? and he knows that you don’t really need him to pretend to date you to solve whatever problem it is you have but he plays along anyway 🫠

summary: You need someone to pretend to be your boyfriend and so you ask your hot but slightly annoying playboy neighbor Eddie.

a/n: Eee its been so long since I've written for Eddie I hope you like it!!!

wc: 1.4k

"So let me get this straight." Eddie takes a drag of his cigarette, his eyes twinkling with arrogance.

"You need me to pretend to be your boyfriend because you lied about having one?" He smushes his cigarette into the ash tray. Snuffing it out.

"Yes. Okay look I panicked alright!" You huff as you cross your arms.

It was a scene out of your nightmares. You got invited to a night out with some old friends and it has been a while since you've seen them so why not?

Until last night when they decided to drop that you're ex was going to be there with his brand new partner. Fucking great. They asked if you were bringing anyone and you just. Panicked! Saying that you'd bring your boyfriend tonight at dinner. You didn't know what to do so you ran right to Eddie and you just pray he'll take pity on you.

"So why me?" Eddie asks with a grin.

See Eddie can't believe that he's your first choice. In fact he knows you have a couple of friends who would happily take his place instead. The two of you weren't exactly close friends either. You were just neighbors who got off on the wrong foot.

Unfortunately for you, your bedroom and his share a wall meaning you got to hear every time Eddie decided to bring home a one night stand. You were sick of it. Banging on his wall every time you heard the slightest noise just hoping to shut him up.

Eventually he got tired of it and went over to your apartment. The two of you bickering over and over. He even had the audacity to say you were jealous. Of what? Having mediocre sex with the totally not hot guy next door.

Yeah really jealous.

"You're convenient." You say unconvincingly.

"Look it's one night okay? Just pretend to be my boyfriend and I'll buy you. I don't know a nice bottle of whiskey or something." Eddie thinks for a second. He just wants to watch you squirm.

"Alright babe, I'll help you." He teases, emphasizing the pet name that makes you roll your eyes.

"Don't make me regret this Eddie." He stands up and slings his arm around your shoulders, flashing that annoyingly pretty smile. He winks and you ignore the flutter in your stomach. This is nothing more than a convenient arrangement.

Right?

Eddie bombards you with questions on your way to dinner. How did you meet? How long have you been dating? What's your favorite food? Do you have an allergies?

"How is that one relevant?" You ask in disbelief as reach the restaurant. He shrugs, holding open the door for you.

"A good boyfriend should know their partners allergies."

"We met because you're neighbors, we've been dating for three months, my favorite food is pasta, and I'm allergic to shellfish." You list off the answers as you spot your friends. Taking a deep breath you start to walk over when Eddie grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

"Gotta look the part too babe," He grins as he drags you towards the table.

"Hey everyone, this is Eddie." You lock eyes with your ex and see him looking Eddie up and down, you swear he almost puffs his chest out seeing just how much the girls at the table are fawning over him.

Eddie has always been naturally charming so he easily starts the conversation with your old friends. He's having a blast, digging for old embarrassing stories about you or seemingly playing up how much he's in love with you. It was love at first sight for Eddie apparently.

Though as the night goes on you start to realize just how much you've all changed. Different interests, new lives, the closeness you once felt just wasn't there anymore. Eddie could see the way you slowly became disinterested, the far away look in your eyes. He grabs your hand and squeezes it, his smile much more sincere than before.

"So," You tense as your ex turns his attention to you. Eddie who's had his arm resting loosely on your shoulders could feel it. He keeps his smile but sits straighter in his chair.

"Are you still a bartender?" The tone of his voice is nothing but condescending. You clench your fist as you plaster on a fake smile.

"Yep." Your ex was never...supportive of you.

In fact he actively looked down on anything you did. He worked some mindless corporate job and for some reason he thought that made him better than you because you were just a bartender. He leans over and whispers something into the ear of his partner and they start laughing.

"Something funny?" Eddie asks, a bite in his voice that you've never heard before.

"No, not at all." Your ex smirks but Eddie remains unphased.

"You work for that fancy new tech company on 2nd street right?" Eddie leans back in his seat, a sense of coolness that one could only wish to replicate.

"Yeah so what?" Your ex says. Everyone is watching the two of them, wondering where this is going.

"Well you know since I work for Diane Sawyer," He throws a wink at a few of your friends who practically melted. They're big fans.

"I have some interesting friends and one of them let me in on a little secret that your company. Is about to go under." Eddie smirks seeing the way your ex starts to squirm.

"Something about...Fraud, money laundering, corruptions starting from the bottom and running all the way to the top." Eddie says popping the P in top.

You can't help but giggle as your ex starts to flounder for anything to say. He can't. Eddie takes a sip of his drink and pulls you closer to him.

"Say babe, how about we go home for some real fun." He makes a show of kissing your cheek, his hand wandering down a little farther than normal.

"It was great to meet most of you, but we have to be going." He grabs your hand and whisks you away from the table, not even sparing a goodbye.

"Eddie! That was amazing!" You laugh as you walk down the street. Your hands still interlocked as you recount how stupid he made your ex look.

"I can't believe you ever dated a guy like that. He's a total douchebag." Eddie says as he presses the elevator button for your floor.

"What and you aren't mister I bring a new hook up home every week?"

"Hey," He says in an offended tone.

"I make no promises with my consensual adult hook ups. I make what I want very clear. Besides I haven't done that in a while." He adds on. You think for a moment and realize that he really hasn't brought anyone over in a long time. Since you confronted him about it.

"Why is that?" Eddie shrugs, scratching the back of his head.

"You know you never answered why you picked me to be your fake date." He says, changing the subject.

"I told you, convenience." You say simply. You both stop at your door. Eddie doesn't want to leave you quite yet. That cocky face he always puts on seems to fade.

"Yeah you said that..But I don't buy it." He leans his hand on the wall, caging you and leaning close enough to make your heart stop.

"You know what I think? I think you're secretly in love with me." Eddie states, smirking at your bewildered look.

"Excuse me?! In your dreams Eddie." You scoff. You can feel your face getting warmer, god dammit the things he can do to you. Prick.

"If you wanted to hold my hand so bad you could have just asked." He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. Your jaw open wide as you try and fail to say anything in response.

"How about we go on a real date tomorrow? I know this great Italian place. Pick you up at 7." He doesn't wait for an answer as he heads back to his apartment.

Whistling as he does so. You bring your hand up to the spot he kissed. Once you finally snap out of whatever trance he put you under you don't know how to feel. Flustered, excited, nervous. Oh that man was going to be the death of you.

"You can't just do that!" You shout and he turns and winks, opening his door and closing it behind him.

"Eddie Alden get your ass back here right now!"

#eddie alden #eddie alden x reader #hugh jackman x reader #eddie alden fan fic

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azen13 · 9 months ago

Note

I’ve never been to a Starlight Pawnshop before…just look at all this stuff. Too bad I can’t buy everything in this store.

Wait a minute, who left this Chess Piece out by itself? No matter, I’ll gladly take it, even if I’ve never played a single game before in my life!

A Losing Game

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Chess Pawn: A finely-carved chess pawn. If life is a chessboard, then so too are people pawns in other's games. Based on this pawn’s pristine condition, whoever controlled it loved it quite dearly.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Gaslighting

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Jing Yuan is an accomplished man. As the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, he has accumulated a list of titles and achievements that could fill a thousand archives: master of foresight; skilled with a glaive; voted “Most Attractive Bachelor” of the Xianzhou Luofu five years in a row. And, of course, his prowess at Starchess.

Yes, Jing Yuan is very, very good at Starchess. One of the best in the entirety of the Xianzhou Alliance, if not in the entire galaxy. While his knowledge of opening lines could be considered weak for his level of gameplay, after he gets settled, he excels at slowly cutting off his opponent’s options, until reaching the endgame.

In Starchess, the endgame is extremely important. A poorly-played endgame can lead to a crushing defeat, while quick thinking and clever maneuvering of pieces can allow a pawn to be promoted to a queen, which can then help propel a player to victory.

While Jing Yuan is good at Starchess, he is almost undefeatable in the endgame.

Until today.

The ring was perfect and understated, a band of solid gold engraved with delicate patterns. He knew everything about you from years of dismantling every thread of your being apart, and knew you didn’t care for things that were too gaudy and outwardly luxurious. The night was perfectly planned: a picnic beneath the starlit sky, constellations framing your face like a crown. He had hidden the ring at the bottom of the basket, beneath a beautiful meal of the finest the Luofu had to offer. And you were going to be there, boundless in beauty and grace, sharp as a sword and sweet as sugar.

Tonight, though, Jing Yuan tastes the sea on his lips.

How long has it been since he has cried? Centuries, he thinks, standing in the foyer of his home, the front door slightly ajar. A biting wind snaps its jaws at Jing Yuan through the opening, but he cannot feel it. He can hardly feel anything.

The numbness spreads from his heart outwards as he moves, first forwards to shut the door. A brief glance outside, and he can still imagine you standing there. In better circumstances, you and him would have gone to Fyxestroll Gardens, and enjoyed a quiet night. He would have proposed. You would have accepted. Everything would be right in the world. But when Jing Yuan opened the door, what greeted him was the greatest misfortune he had ever faced.

You stood outside, jagged shadows stretching like scars across your face, your posture guarded, your face unreadable. At first, Jing Yuan assumed you just had a terrible day, perhaps because of your job, perhaps because of something else. But then you began to speak, poison spilling from your lips, killing both you and him. He knows this is a grave mistake, but you have already drowned in these lies.

As you walk away from him, Jing Yuan makes a vow to himself: he will not let you leave. No, not like this.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Without you by his side, safe and secure in his loving embrace, the General’s night is restless; as he tosses and turns, he replays the memories of hurt again and again in his mind, trying to wrap his head around your reasoning so he can dismantle it when he has you again. He may have unknowingly made a blunder, but he will still win this game, the most important game of his life.

Maybe a stop by the Alchemy Commission–your workplace–is necessary, no? Last time he heard, investigators are still clearing out spies from the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus hiding amongst its members.

Jing Yuan takes a moment to check his schedule, a relaxed smile falling on his face. He still has several hours before his first meeting of the day. Enough time to bring you back home, where you belong. A brief flash of uncertainty courses through his body, like a chess player second-guessing their plan, before he steadies himself. This is for your benefit, he tells himself. With all the dangers on the Luofu, someone like you cannot simply remain unprotected.

With a calm and patient gait, the General of the Luofu makes his way to the Alchemy Commission.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He scrutinizes the cramped halls of the building you work in carefully, noting a pawn here, a bishop there. All people, yet all pieces in the game of love, and the inevitable, complete conquering of your heart. Perhaps they are playing their own games, but they do not matter. In this game, they are Jing Yuan’s pieces to move. Before today, they may have been your pieces. But while the game of life and the game of chess share many similarities, they are not one in the same. Life’s board flips and moves, expands and shrinks. Pieces change allegiances, or disappear and reappear entirely.

The board is not on your side today. You don’t even notice Jing Yuan watching you from the hall, preparing your doom. Within moments, he strides in the room, his lazy gait and relaxed expression taking control over the room and its occupants–including you–in mere seconds. Shocked faces spread like lightning, from healer to healer, before striking yours. You stand in complete terror, as Jing Yuan claims you with a simple glance, before speaking in an authoritative tone, booming like thunder.

“Mx. L/N, you are hereby arrested.” Eyes that once melted with fondness when simply seeing your face now bore into you with frigid disgust.

You can’t help but flinch from the words, mouth agape and mind blank. After a moment, you manage to collect yourself, disregarding the stares of those around you. “Excuse me? What for?” You demand.

Jing Yuan tilts his head, looking down at you. “Sedition against the Xianzhou Luofu through serving the Plagues Author and the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” he cites, taking a stride forward, arms snapping to lock your limbs behind your back like shackles. “You will be taken to the Seat of Divine Foresight and given a proper sentencing for your crimes.”

Try as you may, your shouts and screams of vehement denial do you no good as Jing Yuan walks you out. Streets pass you by like snapshots of a past life. You can see the tea shop where you and Jing Yuan went on your first date. His favorite restaurant to order takeout from. The balcony overlooking the Ambrosial Arbor where he first kissed you. Thousands upon thousands of moves, each and every one thought out to perfection. Countless gambits taken, small victories celebrated, and little defeats mourned. You had nearly defeated him. Or so you thought.

Eventually, you make it to the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan’s arms still vice like in their hold, yet not tight enough to hurt. You try to follow the turns the General takes–a right, a left, another left, up a flight of stairs, right again–but your focus wanes.

You are not guilty of any crime.

At least, so you think. Because you committed a grave offense: breaking the weak, feeble heart of your lover.

A lifelong sentence is only fair, no?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“My dearest, why must you struggle?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he pulls you into a small room with only a table and two chairs. Pulling you away from the door, the General gently places you on the ground, and remains by the exit, cutting off any chance of escape you may have.

“Why must you falsely accuse me?” You retort, voice flickering with fire and burning bright, even amongst all the encroaching darkness.

Jing Yuan’s soft smile slowly dissipates into a frown, the shine in his eyes dimming away into nothingness. “Y/N, I have been nothing but patient with you. I have explained why I must protect you. You understood then. Why can’t you understand now?” Slowly, like he’s trying to comfort a skittish animal, Jing Yuan inches towards you, arms outstretched inviting you into his embrace.

“Because you’re a psycho!” You hiss, stepping backwards. Despite your insult, the General does not anger. Instead, disappointment flashes across his face. He takes another step forward, effectively cornering you.

With a quiet, hushed tone that echoes in the room like a hollow breeze, Jing Yuan’s arms find their way around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. Regardless of how much you struggle, you cannot escape Jing Yuan. “You don’t think that, love. You’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s why I’m here. To care for you. To protect you. To love you. Don’t you want that?” He asks quietly, letting you wear yourself out until you melt in his hands like putty, exhausted in every sense. A few moments of utter silence pass, before he speaks up again. “Why don’t we go home now? I have a surprise waiting for you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment you return home, Jing Yuan locks the door. To protect you from yourself, he says. Though that’s a condensed version of his actual words, which are far more persuasive, spinning you around in a whirlwind of logic and reasoning you can’t seem to keep up with.

Only a second later, the General is down on one knee, a ring in hand and a glint of fire in his eyes. For a moment, you think the look is a soft, gentle thing. But then you see it for what it is: a love so warped it cannot simply be called love anymore.

As much as you want to reject his proposal, to slap him across the face and attempt to spark another uprising against his smothering love, you know it would do you no good. He would only force the ring on your finger and crown you his spouse, whether you liked it or not.

Checkmate.

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otp-after-dark · 1 month ago

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“I love you. I know you love me too.” —Nick Blaine, 6x06

This is the Nick Blaine episode we’ve been waiting for. He’s done hiding, done waiting, done assuming he doesn’t deserve her. After everything that happened in 6x03 — the hug, the heartbreak, the “see you later” — something in him shifts. Now, in 6x06, he finally believes it: She loves him too. And this time, he’s not walking away. He’s asking her to come with him *to Paris*?!

We open on another favor. Another call. Another quiet ask. But this time, Nick doesn’t answer with silence.

“I need to talk to you.”

And from that moment, it’s clear — Nick has made up his mind. Since the last time they spoke, since "see you later", he’s been playing it all over again in his head. And he’s ready.

He’s ready to burn it down. To choose love. To choose her. To stop being afraid.

He goes to her. And he’s already unraveling.

He’s fraying from every angle — Wharton, the Eyes, the Guardians, the memories. But mostly? The weight of finally wanting more.

He asks her to spend the night with him. Takes her hand. And then, the truth spills out of him — tender and raw:

“Sometimes I think you’re the only good thing in my life.”

He hugs her like he can’t breathe without her. Because he can’t.

And then, the flashbacks.

This isn’t just memory. It’s longing. It’s grief. It’s hope clinging to the edges of everything they never got to have.

Season 1. The first time. When everything was still soft. When the world was already burning, but somehow they were still untouched.

June in the light. Nick’s hands careful, reverent. A moment stolen in the wreckage — not for survival, but for love.

And now, years later, Nick closes his eyes. Because he’s there. Not in the moment physically, but spiritually, emotionally — in every cell of his body.

He’s back in that room. With her.

And then — Paris.

“I wish I could take you to Paris.”

That’s not a joke. It’s not a line.

It’s a life. A version of them that was never allowed to exist — walking through gardens, drinking wine, raising their daughter under a different sky.

A Nick who could hold her hand on a sidewalk without dying for it. A June who could breathe freely without looking over her shoulder.

And you can see it on his face — how much he’s imagined it. How much it means to him. It’s not fantasy — it’s what he’s been holding on to to survive.

And then she says it.

“You’d be you. Good. Kind. Brave. And very, very handsome.”

She says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been true. Like it doesn’t need to be earned — just seen.

And for Nick —that’s everything.

Because all this time, he’s believed he wasn’t enough. Too tainted. Too compromised. Too dangerous. Too Gilead.

He says it himself earlier:

“I wasn’t anyone. You wouldn’t have noticed me.”

And June just… stops that thought. Dead in its tracks.

“You’d be you.”

What she’s really saying is: I see you. I always have. I love the man you were, and the one you became. Not because of Gilead — despite it.

And this? This is the moment Nick finally believes it.

That she loved him then. That she loves him now.

It’s why he kisses her like he’s starved. It’s why he says “I love you. I know you love me too” not with doubt, but finally with certainty.

Because in those flashbacks, he’s not just remembering. He’s reclaiming something. He’s saying: That was real. It was always real. And it still is.

Meanwhile — the Serena chat.

It’s not all truth. But it’s telling.

June admits she wondered if Nick would come with her to Alaska. That she assumed he wouldn’t. Because of Rose. Because of what he said in Season 5.

But that assumption is already unraveling.

Because she knows now: Luke is not the one. She doesn’t mention him. Not once. Because this isn’t about Luke. It never really was.

Jezebel’s. The fallout.

He does what she asked. But nothing in Gilead comes without a price. He thinks he got away clean — but Wharton is waiting. Pressing him. Watching him.

“These lies are going to end you on the wall.”

Nick isn’t just risking his life. He’s risking hers, too. If he doesn’t play it right, they’re both gone.

And so — he gives Wharton just enough. Not betrayal. Survival. The cost of trying to love in a world that kills love on sight.

And then. The moment.

Nick storms in. Not quiet, not composed, not careful. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t wait. He needs her.

All fire. All heart. All clarity.

“I love you. I know you love me too.”

It’s truth. It’s everything he’s been holding back finally ripping through.

Because Nick Blaine — the man who’s always held back, who’s kept his love quiet and his distance loud, who’s lived in fragments and shadows — is done waiting.

He knows. Not thinks. Not hopes. Knows.

Because she didn’t say goodbye in 6x03. Because she still comes to him.

This isn’t an affair. It’s not a secret. It’s a life. The life they were never allowed to have.

And for the first time, Nick asks for it. With his hands. With his eyes. With everything.

The kiss is a free fall. Desperate. Messy. Alive.

Nick murmurs “mhmm” into her mouth like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her. Like he’s finally breathing after years underwater. Like if he lets go now, he won’t survive it.

He kisses her like this is it. Because it is.

And then — June asks about Rose. Not Luke. Never Luke.

Because they both know Luke isn’t in this room. He hasn’t been in this story for a long time.

“You’re it. It’s always been you.”

It's always been June. That’s not a line. That’s his soul. That’s every moment he stood in the shadows. Every time he stepped back so she could move forward. Every time he let her go because he thought it was the right thing — even when it broke him.

But now? He’s not letting her go again. Not without telling her what’s real.

He’s not asking for a maybe. He’s not asking for another in-between.

He’s asking for forever.

And June?

She leans in. She chooses him.

She kisses him back — not tentative, not confused — but sure.

And in that kiss? She says yes.

Yes to them. Yes to the life they dreamed of in Paris. Yes to the man who never stopped choosing her. Yes to being his, again — finally.

Nick smiles. Really smiles.

That soft, boyish, wrecked smile we haven’t seen since season one. Like the weight of years has finally lifted.

“You’re crazy,” she says, breathless. He says, "I know."

Because they are. They both are.

But that’s what makes it real. What makes it theirs.

Because this love? It was never safe. Never clean. But it’s true. And in this moment, they both believe it might be enough.

Even just for one night. Even just for now.

Final Reflection:

Nick and June’s love was never built for a clean world. It was born in fire. Forged in survival. Built on stolen moments and desperate choices.

And 6x06? It isn’t the end. It’s the first time they both admit what’s been true all along — out loud, with no hiding, no half-measures.

“I love you. I know you love me too.” “You’re it. It’s always been you.”

They both choose it. They both want it.

That matters. That changes everything.

What happens after — the "betrayal," the chaos that follows — it’s not about Nick giving up on her. It’s not about June walking away from him.

It’s about the brutal reality of the world they’re still trapped inside. The forces bigger than them. The enemies closing in. The ways survival demands sacrifices that love alone can’t always fix — yet.

But the difference now? They’re not pretending anymore. Not to each other. Not to themselves.

They know where they stand. They know who they would choose if the world let them.

And someday —they will choose each other for real.

Because Nick isn't just some tragic side love. June isn't just some unreachable dream.

They are each other’s home.

Always have been. Still are. Always will be.

Love like this doesn’t die. It just waits. And one day, it will finally have room to breathe.

#june osborne #nick x june #max minghella #nick blaine #tht

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mostly-marvel-musings · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 5 - An affair to remember

A/N: There's a time jump. Let me know your thoughts. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you've enjoyed it so far!

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ angst, some fluff.

Word count: 4.5k. She’s long!

An Affair to Remember Masterlist

Flashback

“You’re going to have to make a decision, Tony.”

Pepper’s voice was steady, polished—like everything else about her. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse office, her reflection blurred against the city lights. She wasn’t looking at him. She didn’t have to.

“I have,” Tony said, sprawled on the sleek leather couch, one leg hooked lazily over the armrest. “And I’m deciding to go home. Alone.”

Her jaw clenched just enough to betray the calm exterior. “I’m not talking about tonight. I’m talking about us. The board wants clarity. The press already thinks we’re back together. It would be better for everyone if we leaned into it.”

Tony chuckled humorlessly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Better for who, exactly? You? Stane?”

“Better for the company,” she snapped. “You can’t afford another scandal, Tony. Not with your… distractions lately.”

He sat up slowly. “My personal life isn’t a press release, Pep.”

The door clicked open before she could answer. Obadiah strolled in like he owned the place—because, for all intents and purposes, he did.

“We’re all on the same team here,” Obadiah said smoothly, a drink already in hand. “You and Pepper have history. Chemistry. It just makes sense. You two together? That’s stability. That’s what investors want to see.”

“I’m not a damn product,” Tony muttered, rising to his feet.

Obadiah’s eyes flicked to Pepper before returning to Tony. “You think she’s the problem?” he asked mildly. “I’ve seen the girl you’ve been running off with. Sweet. Young. Disposable.”

“Say that again,” Tony warned.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, son,” Obadiah said. “You play the game, or the game plays you.”

Tony didn’t respond. He just walked out, jaw tight, heart hammering, as Pepper called softly after him—

“You’ll come around. You always do.”

Florence had a way of wrapping itself around you—warm, chaotic, beautiful. Just like him. But unlike him, the city didn’t leave you behind.

It had been three months since you last saw Tony Stark.

Three months since you walked away from the mess, the lies, the complications—and the man who once made you feel like the world had finally slowed down, just for you. And yet, here you were, still trying to outrun memories that clung to you like perfume in your clothes.

The cobbled streets of Florence were nothing like home, but they made you feel lighter, if only a little. The hum of Vespas, the clink of wine glasses, and the constant backdrop of Renaissance beauty gave your restless mind a little peace—and your camera, a new muse.

Your exhibition was next week. The gallery walls were already being prepped. You should’ve been overjoyed. But joy, you’d learned, didn’t always arrive on schedule.

You had thought distance might dull the edges of what happened. That putting countries between you would somehow make it easier to forget. But grief had a passport. And no matter how far you ran, it always found its way back to you.

Your camera hung heavy around your neck as you wandered through Mercato di Sant’Ambrogio. The world here was in colors richer than you’d remembered: ripe tomatoes stacked in baskets, the perfume of basil clinging to the air, soft Italian phrases exchanged like music. This place was a poem. And still, your mind wrote him into every stanza.

The gallery assistant, Luca, had said your work carried nostalgia.

You laughed when he said it—laughed to stop yourself from crying.

Back at your apartment, the sun slanted through the old shuttered windows, catching on the corner of an envelope slipped beneath your door.

You paused.

It wasn’t junk. It wasn’t a bill. It was—

Handwritten. No return address.

You sat on the edge of the bed, heart beating faster than it should.

Inside, just a single folded page. A familiar scrawl that could only belong to one man.

Y/N,

I don’t know if this will ever reach you. I don’t even know what I’m hoping for.

But I saw your name. On a flyer. A gallery in Florence.

Of course you’d make it here. You always talked about how badly you wanted to shoot in Europe. You said, ‘There’s something in the light there, Stark. Something honest.’ I didn’t understand then. I think I do now.

I’m not writing to ask you to forgive me. I know I have no right to.

But I need you to know that what I felt for you wasn’t a mistake.

That you weren’t a mistake.

They say love is supposed to make you better.

I’m trying to be.

I’ll be at the exhibit. If you don’t want to see me, say the word.

I’ll disappear.

But I had to try.

Always,

—T. S.

You stared at the letter until the words blurred.

There were a hundred reasons to rip it up. A thousand excuses not to believe a word.

But that was the thing about love. Logic didn’t always get a say.

You folded the letter back into its envelope and held it against your chest for a moment, like it might still be warm from his hands.

And then you exhaled. You’d see him again. Not for him.

For you.

Flashback

There’s a box of pizza between you—half-eaten, still warm. The couch is worn, cushions slightly uneven, but Tony insisted it’s the best spot in the entire tower because the light hits it just right during sunset, that everything feels dipped in honey.

Tony’s sprawled out, socks mismatched—one with a hole in the toe, naturally—and his shirt’s bunched up slightly where your fingers rested earlier, lazy and warm against his stomach.

“You know,” he says, chewing on a crust, “this is better than any gala I’ve ever been dragged to.”

You hum, head resting against his shoulder. “It’s the socks, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” he grins. “The socks and the company.”

You tipped your head back and kissed the underside of his jaw, and he caught your hand right after—pressed his lips to your wrist, then laced your fingers together.

“You make everything feel like it’s not falling apart,” he murmurs. “Even when it is.”

He doesn’t ask for comfort, not directly, but you shift a little closer and press your forehead to his. You don’t need to say anything—he always understands you in silence. The moment felt like it belonged in a glass bottle, corked and stored away forever.

The Galleria degli Uffizi was quieter than usual, the late afternoon sun casting slanted, molten shadows across the ancient floors. You wandered slowly, camera hanging from your neck, a small notepad clutched in your hand. You were here for work, or so you told yourself. But really, it was about breathing. About remembering who you were before everything got too complicated.

You stopped in front of a Caravaggio—Medusa. Something about the wild emotion, the frozen pain, felt familiar.

Then you felt it.

Not a sound. Not a touch. Just a shift in the air.

You knew it before you even turned around.

“Funny how beauty always leads me back to you,” came the voice. Low. Warm. Cautious.

Your breath caught. Slowly, you turned.

There he was.

Tony Stark.

Hair slightly longer. Sunglasses pushed into his hair. A navy shirt rolled to the elbows, creased like he’d wrung his hands before walking in. The same eyes, though. That same look.

“Tony.” You blinked, swallowing thickly.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said, voice dipping into something softer. “Well—actually, I did. I asked around. Tracked down your assignment. But I told myself I was just visiting the gallery. Lying to myself is a bad habit.”

You stayed silent for a beat, your heart thudding too loudly for a public space. “Why are you here?”

He stepped closer, but not too close. Respecting your space in a way that only broke your heart more.

“To see you. To… try and explain. To apologize. Properly.”

A thousand memories crashed through your chest. His touch. His betrayal. The ache of his absence. The love that never really left.

You shook your head, a humorless laugh slipping out. “You think a gallery in Florence is the right place for that?”

“No. But it’s a beautiful place. And maybe I needed beauty to brace myself for how much I’ve missed you.”

You bit your lip. Looked away. “Tony—”

“Let me take you to coffee,” he said, gently. “Or wine. Or just… let me walk to you. No expectations. Just… time.”

And somehow, that was the thing you couldn’t say no to.

Because no matter how far you’d run, no matter how much healing you’d done—

Tony Stark still had a piece of your heart.

And maybe he always would.

The walk back to your apartment was slow. Neither of you rushed the silence—it settled between you like an old song, comforting in its familiarity. The sun had dipped low, casting everything in gold. Every once in a while, your hands would brush as you walked, sending tiny sparks up your spine. The fifth time it happened, neither of you pulled away.

Florence was loud and soft all at once. A violinist played under a distant archway. The cobblestones clicked beneath your shoes. Tony kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He looked older. Tired. And yet, lighter somehow. Maybe it was the distance from everything back home. Maybe it was seeing you.

“I’ve been terrible.” he said quietly, eyes focused ahead.

You looked at him.

“For a while now,” he added. “I needed to… clear the fog. I think I was scared of everything I felt when I was with you. Scared of how real it all was. You were the only thing that wasn’t blurry.”

You didn’t say anything.

“But you were also the only thing I didn’t deserve.”

That stopped you.

You turned to face him, frown tugging at your brow. “Don’t say that.”

He shook his head, a small, sad smile on his lips. “It’s true. But I’m trying to be better. Even if I never get another shot with you, I needed you to know that.”

You unlocked your apartment and pushed the door open. You didn’t ask him in. But he waited anyway.

“I have a terrace,” you said quietly. “The view’s nice this time of day.”

He nodded silently and followed. This wasn’t the Tony Stark you were used to.

The rooftop was modest—wrought iron railings, ivy creeping up the walls, a small table with two chairs. The sun was kissing the horizon now, painting the sky in shades of blood orange and lilac.

You handed him a glass of wine and sat across from him. For a while, you talked.

About art. About Florence. About your projects. He told you he’d started building again—smaller things. Cleaner tech.

“You always needed something to put your hands to,” you said, watching the light catch the rim of your glass.

He nodded. “I lost myself for a while. But the worst part was losing you in the process.”

That hit like a bruise pressed too hard.

“You didn’t just lose me,” you said quietly. “You let me go.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze burning. “Because I thought I was protecting you.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“I know that now.”

The silence between you stretched like a wire. You sipped your wine. The sun dipped below the rooftops.

Finally, he whispered, “I still love you.”

Your breath caught. And then, just as quietly, you replied, “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded.

“I know.”

But still, he stayed. And you let him.

Because healing doesn’t always look like happy endings.

Sometimes, it looks like sunsets and rooftop confessions, and the kind of silence that holds both pain and peace.

The sky had turned indigo by the time you moved from the chairs to the floor, backs leaned against the terrace wall, a shared blanket draped over your shoulders. You could barely see the city anymore, but the stars were out—and Florence was quiet in a way New York could never be.

“I convinced myself to think you were infatuated,” he said softly, eyes up at the stars. “That maybe one day you’d wake up and realize I was just… older. Complicated. Too much.”

You blinked slowly. “You are complicated.”

He huffed out a laugh. “That’s generous.”

“But I was never infatuated, Tony,” you murmured, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. “You think I didn’t know what I was getting into? I’ve always known who you are—just like you’ve always tried to hide it.”

He turned to look at you.

“I didn’t fall in love with some ideal version of you. I fell for the one who made stupid engineering jokes and knew the exact way to hold me when I needed to be held. Who talked about tech like it was a religion.”

“You always did have questionable taste,” he murmured, eyes soft.

You nudged his shoulder lightly, but your smile didn’t last long. “You were scared of what people would think. About us. About me.”

His jaw tightened. “I hated the way they looked at you. Like you were a phase. A distraction. Like I was corrupting something good.”

“You didn’t corrupt me,” you said. “You woke me up.”

He looked like he might break at that.

You didn’t say anything else. Just leaned your head against his shoulder. Let the quiet stretch.

After a while, he spoke again, voice rough.

“I think about what it would look like if we tried again. You still chasing your career, flying to different countries. Me trying to not self-destruct every time I miss you too much.”

You didn’t lift your head. “Maybe that’s just what love is. Wanting to run even when it terrifies you. Choosing to stay anyway.”

His fingers found yours under the blanket. Tangled them slowly. Deliberately.

“And the age thing?” he asked after a beat, his voice hesitant for the first time.

You tilted your head, catching his eyes in the low light.

“I’ve never once looked at you and seen a number.”

He didn’t kiss you then. Not yet.

But something cracked open between you.

A shift. A pull.

Later, you moved inside, feet bare on old wooden floors. The city breathed below, but it felt like you were the only two people alive.

The bed wasn’t large, but there was enough room for him to watch you sleep.

He didn’t touch you—not yet. You wanted him to though.

But in the quiet, as your breath evened out and your fingers curled into the pillow where his hand had just been, Tony Stark realized something.

He would’ve waited a lifetime to earn that closeness again.

And now that he had, he wasn’t going to waste it.

Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the floor. Birds were chirping somewhere in the courtyard, and a Vespa hummed past in the distance. Florence had already begun its day—but your little apartment still lingered in the hush of early morning.

You stirred first.

Tony was on the chair beside the bed, half-slouched, one arm over his chest, head tilted awkwardly to the side. His lips were parted slightly, his lashes dark against his cheekbones, and for the first time in forever—he looked at peace.

It tugged at something deep in your chest.

You slid from the bed quietly, padding over to him. He didn’t wake when you crouched beside the chair, only shifted slightly, a little frown ghosting his features.

Your hand hovered before it landed gently on his shoulder.

“Tony.”

He stirred. Eyes blinking open slowly, a little dazed. His voice was rough with sleep.

“You’re awake.”

You nodded. “You didn’t have to sleep there.”

“I didn’t want to cross a line,” he murmured, stretching his neck with a wince.

You hesitated—then reached out, brushing the crease between his brows with your thumb.

“There’s room. Come lie down.”

He blinked at you.

You smiled softly. “Just to rest. I want you to.”

Tony looked at you like you’d offered him oxygen after a long dive. No hesitation now—just quiet movement as he stood and followed you to the bed. You slid back under the covers, and he followed, a little stiff at first until you tucked your arm around his waist and pulled him close.

His breath caught.

You rested your head against his chest. “You can hold me, you know.”

And he did—slowly, reverently. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other sliding beneath you until you were completely cocooned in his warmth.

He whispered into your hair, voice hoarse. “I missed this. You.”

Your hand found his, resting over your stomach. “I know.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke.

It was safer this way—in your bubble. The past and future tucked away, leaving only the present, where his heartbeat was steady under your cheek and your fingers stayed tangled like they never wanted to let go.

If only the world could stay on pause just a little longer.

The world didn’t stay paused forever though.

Morning came quietly, like it didn’t want to disturb what was left of the night. The sky outside your windows was barely kissed with light, a gradient of gold and soft grey bleeding into the horizon.

You stirred first, the rise and fall of Tony’s chest steady beneath your cheek. He hadn’t moved all night—like part of him was afraid you’d disappear if he did. You tilted your head just enough to glance up at him. His eyes were already open, watching the ceiling like it held answers to questions he hadn’t dared voice.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly.

He turned his gaze to you, one hand brushing your back absentmindedly. “Didn’t want to miss you waking up.”

Your lips curved faintly, but you could see it, whatever little peace he’d found wrapped around you last night was already slipping.

You shifted, propping yourself on an elbow. “Talk to me.”

Tony didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, and stared out at the sky like he needed the open space. You followed his gaze for a beat, then reached for your robe.

He exhaled, low and slow.

“I need you to listen. Really listen.”

Tony’s voice was quiet, but there was something steel-sharp beneath it. His eyes found yours, weary but locked in. “There’s something you don’t know. About Pepper. About the engagement.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears. He saw it—how you stiffened—and he hated himself for what he was about to drag into the open.

“She wasn’t supposed to announce it,” he said. “We weren’t even—Y/N, we weren’t together. Not like that. Not since… long before you.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then why—?”

“Obadiah.” The name dropped like lead between you. “He’s been circling for years. Waiting for me to be distracted enough to strike. And Pepper—” he exhaled, rubbing the heel of his palm against his jaw, “Pepper wanted security. Influence. She’s not who I thought she was.”

You said nothing, so he went on.

“I think she started out loyal. But something changed. She and Obadiah—they’ve been working together behind my back. She got close so she could help him destabilize me. Feed him intel. Make me look… erratic, incapable of running the company. He needed leverage. She gave it to him.”

You blinked, hard. “So the engagement was—?”

“Manufactured. Strategic. She announced it in front of the board without telling me.” His voice cracked for a moment before he pulled himself back. “They wanted me on the back foot. Vulnerable. Obadiah’s been grooming investors, quietly shifting allegiances. And she… she knew how much you meant to me. That’s why she did it like that. To burn the bridge.”

Silence hung heavy.

“I didn’t fight the narrative right away,” he admitted. “Because I didn’t know who I could trust. And I thought… maybe if you hated me, you’d be safe.”

That part came out hoarse, broken.

“But I never wanted her. Not the way I wanted you.”

He took a step closer. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I needed you to know the truth. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve protected you.”

The words hung in the warm air like ghosts.

You didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Tony stood by the bed now, framed in gold light from the room behind him. He looked like he hadn’t breathed since he stopped speaking.

You finally turned to face him, arms loosely folded, expression unreadable. “So all of it—” you said quietly, “the announcement, the ring, her hand on your chest like she had a claim—none of it was real?”

“It was all for show,” Tony said, voice low. “She was playing a part. And I was the fool who didn’t see it until it was too late.”

You looked away, blinking hard at the view outside, the morning light filtering in quietly, “You let me believe it.”

“I know.”

“You let me think I was a nobody. Disposable. A mistake.”

He stepped forward, the gravel in his voice gentler now. “You were never a mistake.”

“Then what was I?” you asked, turning to face him. “A distraction? An escape? Something to pass the time until your world stabilized again?”

“No,” he said, almost before you finished. “You were the only real thing I had.”

That silenced you.

Tony took a breath and crossed the distance between you, stopping just short of touching. “Everything else—Pepper, the company, the lies—it was all noise. But you? You made me want to be better. Not the brand. Not the machine. Me.”

You looked down at your fidgety hands. “You still hurt me.”

“I know,” he said. “And I hate myself for it.”

“You’re gonna have to work for it.” You murmured a while later, evidently making Tony let go of a breath he was holding.

“I will. Every damn day, if that’s what it takes.”

“Good. Because this time, I don’t plan on falling quietly.”

He smiled then, slow and soft, something like reverence in his eyes. “That’s what scares me.”

“Still?”

“Especially now.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, head tilted as you looked at him. Really looked at him.

Hair a mess from running his hands through it. Shirt wrinkled. Eyes tired but warm. A man who had burned bridges and built empires, now sitting beside you like a boy asking to be seen. Asking to be forgiven.

You reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He didn’t flinch this time. If anything, he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.

“You scare me too, you know,” you whispered.

His brow lifted. “Me?”

You nodded. “Because when I look at you, I see everything I want. And I’m terrified it’ll disappear the second I believe in it.”

His hand found yours on the armrest between you, tentative at first. Then firm. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

“Promise?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But his lips were on yours—soft, searching, reverent.

He kissed you like it was an apology and a prayer in the same breath. Like he was trying to memorize the taste of you just in case he lost you again. Like it physically hurt him not to do it sooner.

One hand curling into the fabric of his shirt, you pulled him closer. His hands found your waist, then your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. When you finally pulled away, breathless and close, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I should’ve done that the first time I saw you again,” he murmured.

You smiled, heart thudding. “Better late than never.”

“I mean it,” he said. “I’m done pretending. Done letting anyone else write my story.”

“Then stop talking,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his again. “And show me.”

He did.

And in the quiet morning light, with the city still stretching awake and the truth still warm between sips of coffee and the closeness of skin, something real took root again.

The smell of espresso was what woke him after another cat nap.

Tony blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft light streaming through the open windows. The space beside him in bed was empty, but the warmth still lingered. He sat up, a blanket half-slipped from his shoulder, and followed the quiet clinking sounds to the tiny kitchen.

You were there, barefoot in one of your oversized shirts—probably his, he thought with a rush to the chest—pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs. The pan on the stove hissed with the comforting crackle of eggs.

“Hey,” you said when you caught him leaning against the doorway, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep.

He did look rather good in your apartment like this. Smaller. Domestic somehow.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to sleep that long. Again.”

“You needed it, old man.” You teased.

He looked at you for a beat longer than necessary, then walked over to sit at the tiny table in the corner, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. “You make it look so easy,” he murmured.

You turned from the stove. “What?”

“This. Life. Mornings. Coffee that doesn’t taste like rocket fuel.” He smiled faintly. “Like you belong in it.”

Your lips curled just a little as you plated the eggs, sliding one toward him. “That’s because I do. I built this one.”

He gulped his coffee out of habit. “I’ve never built something that didn’t end up self-destructing.”

“That’s not true,” you said quietly, sitting across from him. “You’ve built a version of yourself that fights to be better. Someone people trust, someone who’s learning to care. That counts.”

Tony looked down, fingers tightening slightly around his fork. “I care too much, sometimes. About things I shouldn’t. About things I can’t have.”

You didn’t reply immediately. The air between you folded in with quiet tension, gentle but thick—like a breath neither of you dared to exhale.

He met your eyes. “Florence suits you.”

“I like who I am here,” you said honestly. “I don’t feel so… heavy.”

“And when I’m around?” His voice was soft. Uncertain.

You looked at him, steady. “When you’re around… I forget the reasons I left.”

Tony blinked, swallowing hard.

You stood, gathering your empty plate, pausing by his chair.

“Finish your food, Stark.”

He caught your wrist gently before you walked away.

“Y/N…”

You turned your head slightly, your breath hitching at how close his mouth was to the underside of your wrist. His lips brushed against your skin when he whispered it again.

“Thank you… for not giving up on me.”

You smiled faintly. “I tried to. Didn’t stick.”

You stepped away before he could say anything more. He watched you go, heart aching in that soft, awful, beautiful way people feel when they know they’re falling into something they can’t name just yet—but it feels like coming home.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark smut #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #an affair to remember #tony stark fluff #iron man x reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark #the stark squad #marvel fanfiction #pepper potts #obadiah stane #mostly marvel musings #iron man fanfiction #iron man smut

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luimagines · 4 months ago

Text

PALWORLD Meets the Chain

Another Commission!

They wanted Twilight, Wild, and Sky with a Reader who comes from Palworld/interacting with the Pals. I hope I delivered it well enough because I know nothing of Palworld. Friends had to be consulted.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Wild

Wild was fascinated.

There were no other words to describe what he was feeling. He knew, to a degree, that there were animals that one could train and use to help out with day to day life but you… You took it somehow to a whole other level.

The creature that followed you was a lot like the foxes that he saw in his world but the tail was concerningly on fire.

Wild watched you from the sidelines at the beginning. It didn’t last for very long. Without a word from anyone, you’d need only to snap your fingers and the little fire fox would run away, only to return with firewood, placed neatly into a pile by his foot.

“Sorry,” You’d say every time. “They like to be helpful. I didn’t think they’d pick on that you were about to start dinner yet.”

“It’s fine,” Wild would play along. “I don’t mind it. It saves the rest of us the trouble.”

Moving the little pile of wood was easy enough. Setting the stones around them for a proper fireplace was child’s play. Wild reached into his Sheikah Slate for some flint and a dagger to spark a small light. Without warning, the little fox had sneezed and set the little pile of wood into a small blaze.

Wild had froze, staring with awe at the sight in front of him. “...Well that was convenient.”

The little fox looked proud of itself.

You laughed on the sidelines as the little fox-like creature trotted back up to your side. Wild watched as you pet the furry friend on the head, giving him little scratches behind the ear with a small giggle on your lips as you did so. His finger slips in his distraction and he nicks the tip of his thumb with his knife.

Biting back the curse before anyone could notice, he bit his nail and quickly took care of the sharp stinging pain before blood would weep from the cut.

“Are you ok, Champion?” You asked him, turning to him after the commotion he’s caused.

“Oh, yeah, of course, never better.” He lies with ease. It’s a shame he’s such an obvious liar. Wild’s left ear twitched at the thought. He’s not fond of being caught in broad daylight, however, so he’s quick to change the subject. “What did you want for dinner?”

“Anything would suffice,” You said with a dazzling smile that left Wild momentarily distracted. He failed to notice that the little fox was slowly making its way back to Wild. “You know I’m not picky. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to make. You’re a great cook.”

He tries to give you his flattest look, but the mirth is still on his lips. “I appreciate the compliment but that doesn’t really help me with ideas.” Taking out the cutting board, Wild looked through his slate for a moment, trying to think of what he could make on such short notice. It had been a while since they’d stocked up on food. He was running low. “Chicken?”

He took out a few pieces and placed them on the cutting board. “And come potatoes and carrots?”

“Works for me!” You cheered.

“Perfect.” Wild grinned and began to take out as many potatoes as his hands could carry.

“How come you never ask us what we want to eat?” Warrior called out from somewhere behind him. “We can give you ideas too you know.”

“I don’t need to ask you,” Wild deadpans, switching to the carrots. “You lot just yell at me what you want to eat while we walk or in the middle of battle.”

“You could still do us the courtesy of asking us-”

“Wild look out!” You cried.

Wild perked up but it was too late. A flash of orange zipped past his leg and away from the cooking fire, sitting itself as far as possible to enjoy the stolen treat. Wild looked back to the cutting board at once and scowled.

“It stole the chicken!” He shouted, outraged and indignant.

You started laughing.

Twilight

Twilight liked to consider himself a man who wasn’t afraid of anything.

When shadows overtook his homeland, he didn’t want his fear to override his need for justice. His loyalty to his friends was second to none and wasn’t about to sit back and allow anything bad to happen to the people he cared about.

When the dust had settled and the light came back, he wasn’t as surprised as perhaps he should have been when the first portal appeared. Without thinking much about the consequences, he went through it, assured that whatever was about to meet him on the other side was messing with things it shouldn’t.

Which brought him to this moment.

A large dog-like creature growled at him, poised to attack at any moment.

He nearly snarled back, reaching behind to grab his sword. Twilight never liked the idea of hurting animals but he wasn’t about to let this canine have his way with him. The creature was larger than he was as a wolf. The maw, legs, tail, and second portion of the mane were white. The rest of the beast was as black as night.

“No!” You screamed from the other side of the trail. “Don’t hurt my Direhowl!”

“How about he doesn’t hurt me instead?” Twilight yelled back, not once taking his eyes off of the Direhowl in front of him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” You say again, running up to him and taking the beast by the scruff of the neck. “I thought he wouldn’t be like this after a while but I guess it’s because you’re a new face. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t he’d be as sorry as you are.” Twilight bared his teeth ever so slightly.

“Bad dog!” You shout.

Both Twilight and the Direhowl perked up at the words and turned to look at you. You were glaring down at the creature, who, to Twilight’s amusement, began to look rather sheepish. His amusement quickly turned to subtle embarrassment when he realized that he was just as affected by your tone as the canine in front of him.

Twilight put his sword back in its sheath.

Clearing his throat with a cough, Twilight patted down his clothes and rubbed his palms. “If that’s everything, I’m going to check the perimeter.”

“Yeah… Yeah, good idea. Again, I’m really sorry about all this-”

He holds up his hand. “Don’t worry about it. No harm done. Just keep a tighter leash on him.”

He leaves it at that, walking far away to be out of earshot. Without thinking twice, Twilight takes out the shadow crystal and transforms into his wolf body. As per usual, his senses change. Colors were no longer as vibrant, his sense of smell strengthened tenfold, his hearing tripled in range, and his vision both sharpened and lowered to the ground.

He began his trip around the perimeter checking for various signs of mischief or danger if possible. It was old hat for him and he thanked the golden three above that there was nothing to report back on once his check was complete.

That is until he heard a now familiar growl.

He growled back without question, poising his body onto the ground to strike if the Direhowl tried anything. “Oh stop it!” He snarled. “You’re not the biggest beast here.”

“Big words for a tiny dog.” The voice responded. It was deeper than Twilight anticipated for his wolf ears. The Direhowl walked in front of him. “Am I supposed to feel threatened?”

“If you kill me, the others will never forgive you.” Twilight tries a different approach. Because yes, he was, in fact, bigger than him even in this form. “And they’ll take your human and kick them out for the group for treachery.”

That seems to set the Direhowl back a few steps. His loyalty was also unquestionable.

“They wouldn’t.”

“They would.”

A pregnant pause followed before the Direhowl sat down instead. “You’re the one they call Rancher.”

Twilight followed his example and sat down as well with a nod. “I am.”

“...I don’t like you.” The Direhowl glares. “But my human likes you. So I suppose that’s enough to save your skin.”

Twilight had to fight not to roll his eyes. “Charming. I’m forever grateful.”

Sky

“This is awesome!” You shout as you fly through the skies around Skyloft.

Sky laughed and followed you, playfully getting a bit closer than strictly necessary. The heat of your bird was undeniable. Sky could feel the heat of the feathers on his cheek. His loftwing was off-put, unsure about the lack of safe space from the creature beside it.

You pushed off, giving him space to fly in the direction with an indignant squawk. “Hey!”

Sky laughed.

Laughing yourself, you also push him in the air, his loftwing banking left to keep a safe distance between the two of you. “Hey now!” Sky shouted, a large smile on his face. “That’s not fair. Are you trying to set us on fire?”

It’s a tease. He’s well aware that he started it.

Without replying, you bank off to the right and land your bird on one of the many smaller islands around Skyloft. Sky followed you, landing a considerable distance away so that your bird didn’t bother his loftwing. You had warned him before you both set off for the flight that he was aggressive and prone to attack on sight.

As much as Sky trusted you and trusted your judgment, he didn’t want any harm coming to his loftwing.

“Was he getting tired?” Sky asked once the birds were settled. He tossed some treats to distract the loftwing and keep his energy up before jogging to close the distance. “I have extra fruits if that’s what he eats.”

The bird hissed as Sky got close. He paused in his tracks, not taking his eyes off of the volatile bird.

“No, no, no,” You wave him off with a slightly embarrassed smile. “He’s a ragnahawk. I found him living in a volcano and his kind only eats rocks. I have a few in my bag.”

“I’m sorry-” Sky reels back for a moment. “Did I just hear you correctly?”

“Yes. Rocks.” You giggle. “Don’t worry, he has the stomach to handle it.”

“...Right.” Sky awkwardly pockets the snacks once more. Clearing his throat, Sky looked up at the red bird as you tossed it rocks once at a time. He admired the feathers. The colors were much like those of his loftwing’s but the tips of the wings were completely yellow with black lines on the edges. The sickening crunching sound was a little offputting but there was an unmistakable birdy joy as it ate its treats. “So long he’s being taken care of, I suppose.”

“What does your bird eat?” You pocketed the last of the “snacks” and turned back to Sky. “I doubt it’s rocks like this beast.” You use your eyes to gesture back to the ragnahawk with a bright smile on your face.

Sky shrugs. “Fruit mostly. But they live on their own islands. So we’re not entirely sure what it is that they eat. We just know they usually accept our treats when we give them. Each one has their own taste, though. They’re a bit picky like that.”

You nod. The information sounds familiar. “Each has their own personality. I can respect that.”

The silence turns comfortable as you both look out to the expanse of the Skyloft and the surrounding islands. You let out a wistful sigh and step forward. “Your world is beautiful. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see anything like it.”

“It’s not much,” Sky smiles bashfully. “The surface world has much more to offer than our little island.”

“Nonsense, I like this.” You turned to him. “Will you show me more?”

“Of course! Is your bird ready to fly again?”

“Ready whenever you are!”

Sky laughed, jumping off of the ledge “Perfect! Let’s go!”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #lu sky #lu twilight #lu wild

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ladyelissarose · 2 years ago

Text

‘Reckless’

Summary; Miguel finds out why you’ve been too careless and reckless on missions..

Warnings: an argument between the two- its not to heavy.. mostly hurt/comfort

“Ow-“

You had just flinched your arm away from Miguel when he had grabbed it. You cradled it close to you as he then scolded you firmly, keeping an eye on you as you refused to meet his,

“You lied. It’s not a scratch!! You broke your arm and he almost had your head!!”

You rolled your eyes at his loud words and even scoffed, even though you winced when you tried to put your arm down, trying to show it was ok- which you totally failed at doing. Nonetheless you sighed, annoyance evident in your tone,

“Ok maybe I did! But it’s not that bad-“

With one hand on his waist and the other pointing at you, he snapped,

“You disobeyed orders! You’re making close calls and I don’t like it! Yes we can get hurt on the job, but not like this when you’re making poor choices.”

Feet planted on the ground you tried to keep a steady position and look strong, taking his yelling about safety and all, but in reality you were in pain and felt lightheaded, and slowly you were growing frustrated because of it as Miguel ranted on.

“Come on niña!! (Girl) what’s the matter with you-“

Finally you’ve had enough of his mountain of a man speaking down to you as you were of course shorter… but in his eyes all he saw was you being very careless.

The pain was getting to you, making your emotions swirl out of place, hence why you screamed,

“AND WHAT’S YOUR POINT!?”

Miguel flinched a bit at your unusual behavior with him, but he couldn’t help but let his ego bark back at you with some honesty to wake your head up.

“That you could’ve been killed!! That’s the point! Do you know what kind of problems that would’ve caused? Pain or anything? Cómo puedes ser tan imprudente y no preocuparte por las consecuencias, niña terca?!” (How could you be so reckless and not care about the consequences you stubborn girl!?)

Tears of anger and pain grew in your once sun-shining eyes as you shouted back, trying to reason out your deal,

“Because I have nothing to lose ok!?? Maybe that’s why I don’t care as much!!”

Miguel was about to yell back, but your words caught him off guard. Like if someone sucker punched him.

He didn’t look so bulky or so scary anymore, when he lowered himself onto one knee to get on your level, as he reasoned with curiosity, one hand resting on your good shoulder,

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His brown eyes showed his genuine concern for you, unlike anyone you’ve known. You wanted to keep tough and play as the fearless Spider-Woman you were, but it was made impossible when Miguel got a hold of your cheek, beckoning you silently to speak up.

So at last, you broke and confessed, like a little girl and no longer like Spider-Woman.

Letting the façades you wore tumble down through your tears, into his large hands that would catch and hold them all.

“Nothing.… that I have no one back at home.. no family to mourn me. Bury me. Cover my graves with flowers. Like if I had to put everything aside and boil it down for me- I’m… alone.”

His lips parted a bit, as his eyes searched yours, trying to find the right words to say.

It had been a while since he’s used good encouraging words while being kind, but suddenly it was like a switch that flipped in him, and almost immediately he found the words, and he patted your cheek gently as he cooed, his anger and disappointment long gone.

“You’re not alone. You have me.. and I’ll never leave you out like that. But even then I won’t ever do such.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged a bit and shyed out with his eyes everywhere but on you, mostly cause of the fear it caused him to think of you six feet under, and he knew it’d be seen on him.

“The burying thingy and all.”

‘Oh so he wouldn’t bury me then? Or what?…’

“Oh.. why?”

Disappointment was heard in your voice, and Miguel was quick to address with his eyes on you this time, wanting to show he meant it with every bone and vain in his body,

“Because Dulce, I wouldn’t ever let you die on me. You’re not allowed to die under my watch, te lo prometo.” (I promise you that.)

Shyness took over you as the realization of your craziness, thinking it was ok to give up everything of you, when you had so much to lose.. so you apologized immediately.

“I’m so sorry- I didn’t know what I was thinking-“

“Shh shh sh.”

He shushed you right away, letting you know that it was ok as he added,

“It’s ok now.. you’re safe, alive, and here… No más lágrimas mi amada.” (No more tears my beloved.)

With gentle hands he cradled your face and let his thumbs wipe your tears away, refusing to let them fall.

He now wanted to see you cheered up, so he offered with the best smile he could muster.. if not the only one he showed- but just to you.

“You want ice cream after we leave the med? It’ll help with the fever you got.”

Twinkles were shining in your eyes as you replied with a nod,

“please?”

He chuckled at the sight of joy beaming on you, and he then stood up to his full height and took your good hand in his, leading you out as he responded sweetly, squeezing your hand comfortingly,

“of course Dulce-“

Then with a smirk most likely painted on his face, he added,

“-ven mi shadow.” (Come my)

Miguel knew deep down he had thought the same thoughts once, but with you around and so much more? He’d rather deal with the the weight of the good and bad everyday, then leave empty.

#miguel o’hara x reader #Miguel O’Hara x platonic reader #dad miguel o'hara #sunshine x midnight #Miguel x Dulce #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader fluff #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara angst

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tiredfox64 · 1 year ago

Note

HIIIIIIII ur works r sooo good i read them one by one before going to sleep im tellin ya anyways do u still do requestss?? If u do,can i request kunglao x gnreader where we suck kung lao off under a table while hes talking to raiden????? Its fine too if reader n kunglao switched

Hush Hush Never Tell

Yip notes: Guess my works were your bedtime stories XD. Also how did you freaking know I wanted to do a concept like this??? And You picked Kung Lao I've been wanting to give him some love.

Pairing: Kung Lao x Gn reader

Warnings‼️: NSFW, Oral sex (both receive)

You sat on Kung Lao’s lap with your arms wrapped around his neck and your lips smothering his. A steamy make-out session was at play. You had Kung Lao all hot and bothered from the beginning.

He hadn’t seen you since he went to the Wu Shi Academy. He knew he had to focus on his training but his mind would wander to the thought of you. He would think about holding you and kissing you from head to toe. He would imagine how your skin would feel against his and where your hands would wander. Then you came for a visit. Finally, he got to spend time with the love of his life. And maybe he could get rid of that inner frustration that had been building up since the last time he saw you.

He was very grabby today. He squeezed wherever he could. You both grew more and more desperate to the point you started grinding on his lap. You heard his breathing grow heavy and he began to whimper. Oh yeah, things are getting spicy. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Knock! Knock! Knock! FUCK!

Both of you heard Raiden calling for Kung Lao. You didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, you acted quickly. Your first instinct was to slip off of Kung Lao and hide under the table. Luckily the other side of the table was covered so no one would be able to see you were down there, only Kung Lao. Since he wasn’t answering Raiden decided to walk in. Kung Lao scooted his chair into the table more to prevent his friend from seeing his rock-hard boner. The only hint that something was going on was the slight blush on his face.

You heard some of their conversation. Raiden asked where you were, and Kung Lao had to lie by saying you were out for a walk. Little did the champion know that you were close by. This conversation might go on for a long time so you might as well get comfortable and have some fun.

When you looked forward you realized that your boyfriend's boner was not going down. It was pushing up against his pants. You knew it was uncomfortable for him so you decided to help him out a little. There was already a reaction from him. His hand went down to hint at you to not do that but did you listen? Fuck no! You’ve wanted to do this for a long time and now was your chance.

When you pulled down his pants his cock sprang out. Clearly it was happy to see you too. You saw the droplets of precum at the tip. It began to drip down and you took the chance to lean it and lick it up. Kung Lao’s eyes changed from a wide-eyed panic to half-lidded. His eyes rolled back a little before correcting.

“Are you alright, Kung Lao? Are you ill?” Raiden asked, believing his friend was suffering from something.

“Ah yeah…yeah I’m perfectly fine.” He lied through his teeth.

He tried to close his legs to prevent you from doing anything else but it was useless. You placed yourself between his legs. You were gonna have your fun right now.

You began to leave kisses all over it. They were gentle but it had an effect on Kung Lao. His nostrils were flaring up and he didn’t know where to put his hands. You gave him little licks on his tip. You’re killing him with your teasing. He wanted to thrust his hips but that would bring too much attention. Seeing how his legs jittered gave you the hint and you gave him what he wanted. Your tongue began to swirl around his tip.

Kung Lao’s hands were going crazy trying to keep himself under control. One of his hands was scratching at the table while the other was concealing his mouth just in case he couldn’t hold in any moans. Raiden suspected something was up but didn’t ask. He decided to go on and on about what they needed to do in regards to training. Kung Lao was not taking anything in. All he was thinking about was how good you were making him feel. You grew braver as this went on so you decided to take him all in. He felt your tongue slide down as your warm mouth surrounded his cock.

You’re gonna be the death of him.

He let out a whine and he began shaking a little. Raiden noticed and had to ask since Kung Lao was acting very strangely.

“What is the matter? You are not yourself.”

Kung Lao had to think quickly. What did he decide to say?

“…hungry…” Good thinking, it’s realistic.

Raiden sighed before saying, “Typical. Fine, I will leave you be so you can get yourself food. But once you are done we must discuss our training routine.”

Raiden walked out of the room and Kung Lao immediately got to work. You felt his hands grab onto your head before he stood up. It all happened so fast. You felt his cock go deeper down your throat, causing you to gag a little. He thrusted in and out of your mouth. He was a panting and whimpering mess.

All your teasing made him sensitive. Combined with the fact he had jerked off this whole time even when he so desperately wanted to he was incredibly sensitive down there. If Raiden didn’t leave in time he probably would have came right in front of him.

His cock abused the back of your throat while his fingers grabbed at your hair. His pelvis bumped into your nose multiple times. You began to drool from the inability to swallow in time and the constant movement in your mouth. You felt him twitch and he began to moan. One more thrust and you felt his cum flow down your throat. He was pent up for a long time so there was a lot going down. You had no choice but to swallow it all. That orgasm was needed. He was shaking and sweating. He didn’t even realize the top half of his body was leaning on the table.

He slipped his cock out of your mouth before sitting back down. His head went back and you could see his chest rising up and down a lot from his heavy breathing. Your mouth was a mess. A mess of saliva and cum that was slipping down your lips.

You crawled out from under the table and began to stand up before feeling Kung Lao pick you. He placed you on the table and took your pants off in one fell swoop. He parted your legs before giving you a smile.

“Now’s my turn.” He did say he was hungry. Time to dig in.

His face was between your legs in seconds. Gosh, you forgot how impressive his tongue was. Swirling around and making it a wet mess down there. His lips felt like heaven. They are wonderful for kissing and giving kisses down there. You couldn’t close your legs since his hands were spreading them apart. Good luck trying to fight him, he’s too strong and hungry for you.

Your back rested against the table since you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself up. Your head hung off and you were trying your hardest to be quiet. Your legs began to shake and you tried to push Kung Lao’s head away from down there. He didn’t budge and that orgasm hit you like a brick. Your hands went from his head over to your mouth to cover it. Your moans were muffled but could still be heard by him. Prideful bastard, he loves hearing you moan for him.

You sure made a mess on his face. Kung Lao got on top of the table and crawled on top of you. His lips latched onto yours and you both got a taste of each other. When he pulled away you saw the mess you made but also the large smile on his face.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” He’s such a sweetheart, right?

Yap notes: I saw slugs this morning and that's cool. Not important but it's important to me. My cat finally came out and asked for pats and I told her I had to finish but nooo she needs pats. Now she is sleeping nearby. If only I could have my dog come near but he is moody right now. OH RIGHT THIS IS A FANFIC I GOT SIDETRACKED. I mean what can I say Kung Lao is a cutie patootie. And he has a big appetite like me when I'm not anxious. What am i gonna do for dinner? Adiós!

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