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milliesfishes · 1 month ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎHeart Shaped Locks౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: abusive family pairing: fem reader x billy the kid summary: you don't understand why billy still wants you author’s note: billy fic!! it's a little short but <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The grass was soft on Billy's back. He adjusted his arm, careful not to shift you too much. A quiet breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree you were lying under, causing the shade to dance over your face, the sun beaming on you in patterns. You smiled softly; the lines usually held in place when you were closer to home melting away. He loved it when you became like this, as close to relaxed as you'd ever been.

"You're cozy," you said softly, nuzzling your head into his shoulder. Billy leaned in to press his lips to your temple. The idea that anyone at all could find comfort in him was still astounding. The fact that it was you was unbelievable.

He let his hand fall to your waist, rubbing just slightly. "Good." You settled your hand on his chest, smiling softly. What he wouldn't give to have that smile before his eyes at all times. He dreamt of having that someday, of being able to wake up every morning and see you beside him. For now, he had this, and it was enough.

"I wish we could stay here forever." You echoed his thoughts, and he pulled you closer, so your face was close to his neck.

"I know, sweetheart," he whispered, reaching up to smooth your hair. "I wish it too."

"I don't wanna go home," you mumbled, and Billy nodded, his heart heavy at the thought of you having to go back there. It wasn't a place he wanted you to be any of the time, let alone every night when he had to bring you back. "My brothers have been in a mood. It's a miracle I was able to get out today."

His hand moved to the side of your head without thinking, protecting with no visible object. "Do you wanna stay with me tonight?"

When he drew back to look into your eyes, you were solemn, the stress creeping back into your body. He could feel your shoulders tensing, see your jaw clench. You bit the side of your cheek, eyes on his hand as you thought. He didn't move it a muscle. "I want to."

"Hmm." He'd known a no was more likely when he asked. Billy used his hand on your head to thumb the side of your face. "We could have dinner."

"In public?" You sounded nervous. Billy remembered the dirty looks the last time you'd shared a meal in town together.

He shook his head. "No, just you 'n me. My place."

Your eyes were tired. Tracing your fingers up and down his chest, you murmured, "I'd better not."

Despite his expectations, a little strike of disappointment painted his chest. But he kept it out of his voice. "That's okay."

"I want to stay," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he promised, rubbing your back. "We'll just have a nice day here."

He repeated it over the course of the afternoon, trying to reassure you. It was obvious that you felt bad, and so he showered you in extra love. Kisses, cuddling, soft words. You got it all over the next few hours.

Billy always had an uneasy feeling whenever he dropped you off at home, and it didn't go away today. He lifted you off the horse, pressing a kiss to your forehead and rubbing the backs of your hands with his own. "Are you gonna be okay?"

He watched you paste on a smile. "Of course. I'll see you later." You stood on tiptoes, kissing his cheek before you scurried back to the house. Billy didn't take his eyes off you until you disappeared behind the door, waving at him from the porch.

For the entire ride home, Billy couldn't shake the feeling. It usually wore off by the time he passed the tree close to his cabin, but today it stuck with him, growing roots in his chest and spreading like a disease.

You said you were okay. He tried to remind himself. You were okay. You were okay. This was far from the first time he'd brought you home, and it wouldn't be the last.

But still, it plagued him still, a chasm carved into him that his heart was about to collapse into.

Droplets were pounding on the roof, but Billy hardly minded it. If anything, the rain was soothing, creating noise to distract him from his worries. You hadn't left his mind once, something dread inducing gnawing at his gut.

He dressed himself for bed, telling himself he'd check on you first thing tomorrow morning. Heaven knew if he'd be able to sleep, but he'd at least try. He had to respect that you'd have told him if something was wrong.

But what if something happened when you got home? Billy shook his head, pulling the covers over himself. In the morning. He'd see you in the morning and you'd be fine and he'd be able to hold you and know you were safe.

You didn't have anyone to protect you except him. Nobody to take care of you. It was something he could hardly fathom. How could anyone know you and not want to give you every bit of love and affection you needed and more?

"She's fine," he repeated to himself, staring at the ceiling. "She's fine."

He missed the knock the first time it happened, lost in the sound of the rain and the lure of his own thoughts. But the second time, he sat up, reaching for the gun on his nightstand. Reaching for his pants, he yanked that on, throwing one suspender over his shoulder and approaching the door with caution. This was the danger of settling- it was easier for an enemy to find him.

When he swung the door open, gun drawn, the sight of you, soaking wet and shivering, met his eyes. Billy's chest felt hollow. He set his gun aside, reaching for you and pulling you inside.

You were dripping water onto the floor, arms folded around yourself. Billy ignored all of this, pulling you into his chest and smoothing down your hair. "Oh, sweet girl...c'mere, let's get you somethin' else to wear."

He led you to the bedroom, sitting you on the bed and grabbing a shirt of his. "Can you unbutton your dress for me, honey?" When he turned around, you were fumbling at your buttons with shaky fingers. Billy knelt in front of you, taking over after you nodded at his silent asking.

Your skin was cold, and he held back the line of questioning on his tongue, concentrating on getting you into the shirt. The sleeves fell over your hands, the hem to your thighs, but he figured it was a good thing. You'd be warmer that way.

"Alright." Billy got up and returned with the blanket he saved for winter nights, getting you under the covers and spreading it out over you. As soon as he got into bed, you were burrowing into his chest, sniffling. He held you to him with one big hand over the back of your head, making sure the blanket was covering your shoulders.

After a moment of lying there, he found it in him to approach it. Billy held his lips to your head for a moment. "What happened, sweetheart?"

You sniffled again, your cold hands under his shirt. "M-my brothers saw me with you and t-they didn't like it-" Your breathing was getting erratic, and Billy held you tight to him, rubbing your back gently.

"Shh," he soothed. "Sweetheart...did you walk all the way here?"

The quiet nod against his chest confirmed it, and he sighed, kissing your hair again. "I knew somethin' was wrong. I could feel it all night."

"I'm sorry I came here," you started, but he shook his head, rubbing your back carefully.

"Baby, I'm glad you came here," he soothed, kissing your hair. "I always want you to come to me."

You sat up, staring at the pattern of the blanket over your legs. Billy watched you, leaning against the back of the bed. He could almost hear your thoughts spinning.

"Why are you with me?" you asked softly, bringing your knees to your chest.

Billy was frozen in place for a moment. He tried to formulate a response, but it almost felt like being kicked in the ribs.

You continued, fidgeting with the blanket. "We can hardly go anywhere in public because everyone hates my family. You have to deal with every time they make me feel bad. I can't stay with you as much...just..." your eyes found his, teary and about to spill over. "Why would you want to be with me if you have to deal with all that?"

Billy reached for you, pulling you to sit on his thighs. You let him drag you into his lap, shoulders slumped, body tired. He kept a hand at your waist, leaning you against his chest. There was a way to say what he wanted to, and he needed to get it right.

"You mean so much to me, sunshine," Billy said softly, lifting your chin so you were looking at him. "You light up my whole world. I don't know what I'd do without you." When your tears began to spill over, his thumb was right there to catch them. "Baby...you don't deserve a single thing you've been through. I want you to be okay. And I've never thought you were a burden. Not once."

Sniffling, you hid your face in his neck. "Billy."

"You're my girl," he whispered, rubbing your side. "I love you so much. And I wanna take you away from here someday, just you 'n me."

"You and me?" you repeated softly, holding his wrist. He nodded, kissing your nose.

"You and me, darlin'," he promised, and you relaxed a little more against him. Billy eased you back into laying down, your body draped over his chest. "I'm not gonna let you go."

He was surprised by how quickly you fell asleep. Your hair was still wet, but your body was warming slowly. Billy held you tight to him, kissing your hair. You were safe and warm. He knew that for a fact.

It wasn't right yet. But you were in his bed, and nobody could hurt you here. It was a start.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x you #billy the kid imagine #tom blyth #billy bonney #billy mccarty #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney imagine #william h bonney x you #william h bonney #billy bonney x reader #milliesfishes billy #Spotify

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buckysouvenir · 10 days ago

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souvenir

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day one of the valentine’s day collection 2025, yay!!! i hope you find this as fun as i do.

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

New York, back in August.

The air was thick with heat, the kind that settled on your skin and made the city feel alive. You stood on the 10th-floor balcony, watching the smoke curl into the night sky, the distant horns of taxis and the muffled sounds of laughter from the streets below blending into something strangely soothing.

Then there was him.

You watched him from the doorway. Bucky Barnes, leaning against the railing, his metal fingers tapping absently against the edge.The light breeze rustled his hair, the strands falling into his eyes, but he made no move to fix it. Instead, he turned his head slightly, gaze catching yours. His wild blue eyes locked onto you like you were something worth memorizing.

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, the warmth of the evening doing nothing to stop the chill that ran down your spine when he looked at you like that. There was something about the way his gaze lingered—not just admiration, not just desire, but something deeper. Something that made your heart stutter in your chest.

You tried to look away, tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted into knots, but it was impossible.

"Come here," he murmured, voice low, rough.

And God help you, you did.

The night air wrapped around you as you crossed the balcony, the city lights flickering in the reflection of his metal arm. You leaned against the railing beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

The elevator ride to the suite was a blur of stolen touches and muffled laughter.

His fingers found your wrist first, a barely-there brush against your pulse before he traced up your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You shivered, though it wasn’t from the cold.

You reached out before you could think better of it, your fingers grazing over the back of his hand. He stiffened slightly at first, but didn’t pull away.

“Stay,” you murmured. “Just for tonight.”

When the doors slid open, you barely made it two steps into the hallway before he turned, fumbling for the keycard while you pressed up against his back, your breath warm against the back of his neck.

“Patience, doll,” he muttered, though his own hands were anything but steady.

The second the door clicked open, everything unraveled.

His lips found yours before you could take a breath, urgent and desperate, like he needed to make up for lost time. You melted against him, fingers tangled in his hair as he backed you into the room, knocking over something—maybe a lamp, maybe his resolve—before he finally pinned you against the wall.

Kisses in every corner. The bed forgotten.

Bucky was methodical, precise in battle, but here, with you, he was reckless. Hands roaming, mouths searching, bodies pressing so close you thought you might dissolve into him completely.

He whispered your name against your skin, like it was the only language he knew how to speak.

And when you gasped his in return, he sighed, as if that was all he needed to hear.

Later, wrapped in nothing but sheets and moonlight, you watched him reach for the bottle of wine sitting on the nightstand. A Bordeaux from 1993—something expensive, something older than some of the scars on his body.

He poured two glasses, but before he handed you one, he paused.

“Keepin’ this one,” he murmured, setting it aside, fingers tracing the rim thoughtfully.

You arched a brow. “For what?”

His lips quirked, but there was something softer beneath it. “A souvenir.”

Your breath hitched.

Because, deep down, you already knew—this wasn’t just another night. It wasn’t just another city, another warm evening in August.

This was something neither of you had ever had before.

And the way he looked at you then—the way his eyes burned like Egyptian blue, pulling you under—made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, Bucky Barnes had finally found something he didn’t want to leave behind.

#taglist: @cjand10

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky.txt #bê.txt #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes drabble

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fadingdaggerr · 11 days ago

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sumpta sanguine (18+, mdni)

part 1 | part 2

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!witch!reader

summary: stuck in her ways, lost in your vision | 4.4k

includes: domestic fluff but the red flags are waving, blood magick!reader, angst, more angst

warnings: description of injury (brief), mentions of blood/death, description of illness, brief smut, afab reader (no chest description), fingering (r receiving)

translation: tolle hunc dolorem et restitue hoc corpus (latin) - take this pain and heal this body

note: i literally rewrote the entire last two sections bc i had a dream about this fic. it’s been rotating in my brain for weeks and i suddenly redid 70% i swear

August 1752

Hot air brushes through the trees, finding its way into the stuffy walls of the cottage. Not a single room could spare you of the suffocating heat. With all the windows and the door open, there is a small reprieve in the farthest back room, but most definitely not in the kitchen where you find yourself perched at the window.

Clumsy footsteps smack against the wooden floor behind you, a body toppling into the back of your legs. Turning to look down, a mop of brown curls and big blue eyes peer up at you. Hands grasp at your legs, tugging at the cloth of your rolled up trousers, a grabbing motion directed towards you.

With an exaggerated oof, you lift Nicholas into your arms, leaning back against the counter to sit him on your abdomen. His chubby hands fly to the strings of your shirt, fiddling with them with furrowed brows. Before you can even ask, he looks up at you.

“Mama?” He asks, staring you down as if he is trying to read your mind.

You smile, freeing one hand from under him to push a rogue curl from his face. With a gentle touch, you stroke his cheek with the back of your index finger, “Mama will be home soon, my sweet. Before the sun goes away.”

“When?”

Chuckling at his insistence, you lean into his space. His nose scrunches in time with yours, ever similar, and you cannot help the way your laugh becomes a giggle. “She will come home, Nicky,” you whisper, “she will always come back for us.”

This seems to calm his mind, immediately crushing himself against your chest in relief. The warmth of his body makes you feel woozy, but you refuse to let him down until he asks, or rather, wiggles free. Sweat lines your brow as you stand there, eyes closing as you savor the cuddles as long as they will last. Swaying gently side-to-side, you walk around the house, hoping the passing breeze will cool you.

The rest of the day, Nicholas stays glued to your side. When the heat grows too much for the toddler, he spends his time two steps behind you, watching your every move with his full attention. As you prepare dinner, you let him pick out the prettiest flowers from the bunch to make a new bouquet for the table. His murmurs of pu-ple and bwoo are music to your ears. Every time to try to sneak a peek at his choices, he tries to cover your eyes with his tiny hands.

By the time that you had completed dinner, and were finally able to look at your son’s choice of flowers, the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees. Both of you look at the window every now and then. Pursing your lips, you hope that Agatha returns before Nicky is to go to bed. He will never sleep without a good night’s kiss from both of you, each kissing a cheek with a loud smack of lips.

Worry does not even have a chance to take root when steps come up the wooden deck. The sound is enough to have the toddler whining, begging for help down from his perch. With quick hands, you scoop him up and place him on his feet. Little legs carry him with urgency to the door, breathing fast with excitement.

“Oh, my baby! It’s been ages, you’re practically a man now!” Agatha’s voice rings into the house, a muffled chuckle passing her lips as she tucks her face into Nicky’s hair.

Holding him on her hip, she finally meanders into the kitchen. Finding you leaned over the counter, she wraps her free arm around your waist, cheek squishing against your shoulder.

“Hello, my love,” she whispers, nuzzling her nose against you.

You hum, dropping your head to rest against hers, “missed you today, my heart. I trust it went well?”

“Always does,” she answers through an exhale. “Not a knick or scratch, I promise.”

Her words, no matter how much you believe them, do not stop you from reaching a hand around to check for yourself. The beat of her heart finds you easily, a balm to any anxiety you will ever have, steady and calm. Not even so much as a pinprick can be found, and the breath you were holding is let go.

Agatha stays there for a moment, soaking in the comfort that is you and Nicky. There is solace in your cool skin, drawing the exhaustive heat out of her own body. After a moment of solace, she peels herself off you, taking Nicky with her to change into nightclothes.

You and Agatha listen with small smiles as Nicky babbles on about what his stuffed rabbit had gotten up to today. Fern had fed the goats and fetched water, both of which were obviously not you. Chuckling at his antics, you push his spoon into his hand a little more, urging him to eat. Talking through every bite, he continues on the recount of your day. It was early into his rambling days that you realized why Agatha never asked you about the day, always waiting for your son to share it all.

As the sun disappeared and the crickets began to sing, the little boy had become limp on your lap, barely playing with Agatha’s hair anymore. His weight grew heavy, Agatha sensing it too as his fingers stopped fiddling. Sitting up from her spot resting against your legs, she turns to rest her chin on your knee.

Bedtime? She mouths. You nod, standing carefully and cradling the toddler. Walking to the farthest back room, you gently lay Nicky in his bed. Squatting down on either side of the bed, the two of you press a kiss to each of his cheeks.

“G’night, my sweet boy,” you whisper, walking backwards out of the room. It is hard to look away from him, the same every night. A piece of your soul out there, just in the other room, but still far enough to ache. You keep his door open, letting the air flow and to keep him within sight.

The wear of the day tugs you and Agatha to your own shortly after. Bare against the sheets, a pale leg drapes over your body, the warmth seeping in.

“Must you?” You question with a joking tone, the tips of your fingers dancing over her skin.

Agatha sighs in comfort, “I must. You’re an icicle and I’m sweltering.” Her nose brushes against your shoulder. The coolness once bothered her, fearing the worst of your health, but she realized in time that this was just you. Gone were the warm hands that held her close in that flowerbed, now she has the cold hands that temper the fire within her.

Turning your head, you press a kiss to her head, “perhaps that’s why I melt when you’re around.”

Agatha lets out a snort, nudging closer to you. Reaching lamely, you grab the edge of the sheet and throw it over you both. Turning onto your side, you let Agatha wrap herself around you. Your fingers trail up and down her spine, counting her breaths as they brush your neck. An arm wraps around you, nails circling the jagged scar that sits beneath her hand.

—⛤—

November 1754

The market is the most peaceful this time of year. Cold enough that few dare to venture outside, but warm enough to not yet suffer snow on the ground. Hand-in-hand, you and Nicky trail through the stalls. Small containers of goat’s milk and herbs you collected before autumn ended are all you have to trade. Hunting has never been your strong suit, but dressing the animal is another thing entirely. The pelts had been enough so far to give your son warm clothes for the winter, but none for you or Agatha.

Pulling slightly, Nicky tries to direct you towards a table of toys and instruments. Tugging him back to your side, you release his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“Stay with me,” you murmur, looking over a table of fabrics. The four-year-old sighs, leaning against you with a pout, staring off at the object of his desires.

Hugging your legs, he pleas, “I jus’ wanna look. Can I, please?” He draws out the last word, batting his lashes. His mother’s son, most definitely.

“Look, don’t touch,” you relent. Pressing a kiss to his head, you watch him run off.

Looking back at the fabrics, you pull out jars of milkweed and blue iris. The woman running the table eyes them, then her table. Folding up some, she shoves it your way and grabs the jars from your hands. Wordless exchanges are your preferred mode of conversation, giving the people what you know they need for what you know your family needs.

Rolling up the wool, you shove it into your bag. Clipping the satchel shut, you are disturbed by yelling at the other end of the market. From the toy table, a woman yells, three others running after something. A flash of brown hair and a giddy smile passes by, all too familiar.

Immediately, your feet carry you in the direction of Nicky and his pursuers. Hopping over logs, the boy bolts in the direction of your home, just past the treeline. The women never stop chasing him and neither do you.

Your knee aches numbly as you run, making you want to slow down, but with lost sight of the boy, you refuse. As you crash through the trees, your small cabin comes into view. A flash comes from the windows, a blurred mix of orange, pink, and blue, fading into purple. Scrambling up the stairs, you catch yourself in the doorway.

The bag on your shoulder drops to the floor of the cabin, the one you had only moved into in the early autumn. Three bodies lay on the floor, shriveled and sunken, grey and gone. In front of them all, Agatha. Her hands stretched before her, the purple magick swirls around her fingers. A sickly sweet smile crosses her lips, eyes closed in satisfaction.

Blue eyes pop open, suddenly aware of your presence. Her hands drop, moving to step over a body to close the distance between you. Noticing the worry in your features, she cautiously reaches out, warm hands on your face.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, knowing the answer already. A soft kiss presses to your cheek, lingering for a moment, letting you feel the safety. With the sureness of it, you pull away, eyes searching for the boy.

Sat on the stoop, Nicky’s back faces you. Rounding him, you squat down, hand on his knee. Refusing to meet your eyes, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, a whistle in his palm. Your thumb brushes over his knee, feeling a small, tacky spot. Pulling away, blood sticks to your fingers. Carefully, you pull his pant leg up, seeing a large scrape across his skin.

Quickly, to not let him see, you slice your palm across a loose nail, letting red tears fall. Pressing your hand to his knee, you close your eyes. “Tolle hunc dolorem,” you whisper, “et restitue hoc corpus.” Repeating the words, you feel your hand warm, and your knee tingles, skin ripping. Holding your breath, you force yourself to not react. Pulling your hand away, all you see on Nicky is a small scar, one that will disappear with time. You place a soft kiss to his knee, rising and ruffling his hair as you walk back into the house.

As you look around the house, Agatha’s refusal to meet your eye is obvious. Taking in a deep breath, you grasp Agatha’s arm, hauling her into your bedroom with crooked steps.

“You made him do this,” you assert. “You used our son as bait.”

She rips her arm from your grasp, “I did not! All I asked is that he tell me if he sees someone, not to bring them to me.”

Your brows furrow, eyes widening, “he is four, Agatha. A mere suggestion from you is as good as a command. He has no place in this.”

“Is he supposed to never know magick? To never know what we are?” Agatha’s hands rest on her hips, making herself bigger. Blue eyes bore into you, a useless intimidation in your view.

“Do not play that game with me,” you step closer to her. “Nicholas is not a toy to draw in those wretches, he is a child. Our child, Aggie.”

The crack in your voice is a shock to you both, not having realized the tears swelling in your eyes. All you can feel is a burn, in your eyes, in your knee, in your heart. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to rid yourself of the thought. Though with every blink, the image of your son being chased is burned back into your mind, hardly fading and ever present.

Defensiveness rolls off Agatha’s back at the sound of your voice, hands dropping to her side. Without a second thought, her arms wrap around you, hand cradling your head as the other rubs your back. You stand stiff in her arms for a moment, but the overwhelming comfort that is Agatha takes you in, and you relax completely against her.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I will not involve him, not even with a whisper. He will know purple, not red.”

Clasping your arms around her, you bury yourself in her neck. Breathing her in, you try to focus on her pulse. The steady thrumming, for the very first time, does not soothe you as well as you had hoped. “Get rid of them,” you murmur, “and don’t let him see.”

In an extra effort to show her apology, Agatha makes dinner, letting you cuddle with Nicholas in front of the fire. Eyeing from her spot at the counter, she watches you twirl Nicky’s hair with one hand, the other hand resting on his previously injured knee. You took it from him so quickly, noticeably hiding a little limp in your step now. The fact alone makes Agatha squirm with guilt, looking away.

When bedtime comes, she does not allow herself within his room and stays in the hall. Pressing a lingering kiss to his temple, she brushes a stray hair behind his ear. The boy stirs, rubbing his head against your shoulder, “g’night, Mama.”

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers, taking a step back. Carrying him as if he weighs nothing, you disappear into his bedroom. Agatha stays for just a moment longer before going to your shared room.

Laying Nicky down, you bring the blankets up to his chin. Rolling over to face you, his eyes crack open, “are you mad at Mama?”

His little voice makes your heart squeeze, fighting the frown that tries to make its way on your face. You place a hand on his shoulder, rubbing with your thumb, “only a little, but that’s not for you to worry about. I will always love Mama, even if I’m upset with her right now.”

“Are you mad at me?” He is even quieter now, as if he is scared to ask.

You take a deep breath. Tears burn at your eyes, and you pray the cover of darkness does not let him see. “Nicholas, I could never be mad at you,” you say gently. “Today, I was scared. And I need you to promise me that you will never do something like that again?”

Sticking your pinky out, you feel a smaller one wrap around yours. You rise slowly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You are my blood and bone, Nicky. All I want is to keep you safe.”

“I promise,” he whispers, voice muffled as he shifts against the pillow.

With a low good night, you slip out of his room, leaving the door open. Walking back to the main room, you scour the floor for any remnant of earlier events. Not a scratch or so much as a hair. Sated, you slowly make your way to your own room.

On her own side of the bed, Agatha tries and fails to nonchalantly fake read her book. Wordlessly, you undress and lay down facing away from her. Reaching out, you cover the flame on your side of the room, shadows filling the corners. They crawl faster as Agatha’s own candle goes out behind you. Shifting in the sheets, you feel Agatha press against you, skin warm in contrast to yours.

A pale arm wraps around your middle, fingers tracing against your stomach. Her lips find your shoulder, trailing lazily with soft kisses. As her teeth graze over your skin, her hand slips lower and lower.

You can feel the tension gnawing at you with fading anger not far behind, yet your eyes shut almost instinctively. The thrumming of her heart fills your mind, beating in time each wet kiss pressed against your neck.

“Agatha,” you say through a breathy whisper, teetering on a moan. Lithe fingers brush over where you need her most, but she does nothing to soothe the growing ache she so easily caused. You attempt, poorly, to sound more stern, “Agatha.”

She shushes you, hand moving to knead at your thigh, trying to manually remove the anger from you. How she can calm you as easily as she vexes you will forever be a mystery. A shiver runs through you, which Agatha acknowledges by nudging you with her nose.

“Please, my love,” she presses her lips to your neck. Her warm hand slides from your thigh to your center, and at the hitch of your breath, she faintly smiles. Another kiss to your neck, “forgive me.”

A firm press against your clit forces you to bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut. Her saccharine words and addictive touch turn you to putty in her hands. Your hips roll against her, searching for more friction as you grow wetter. At your invitation, her fingers move in slow circles. Thighs quivering as they open, you give her control as you lean back further into her body.

Leaving your clit, her fingers slip through your folds, the tips probing your soaked entrance. With the whine that passes your lips, she sinks two fingers into you, palm rubbing deliciously against your still aching clit. Her agonizingly slow pace quickens as your hips chase a different speed. Pumping her fingers, she lets you ride out the pent up tension on her hand.

The soft clench of your inner walls alerts her to your approaching orgasm, lips reconnecting with your neck. Every scrape by her teeth and gentle nibble makes the fire in your belly grow, the curl of her fingers tightening the coil further.

Your blunt nails dig into her arm, all your effort focusing on not making too much noise. Curling tightly, the tips of her fingers reach that spot that makes your vision turn white, hips rutting faster to chase the feeling. Forcing the heel of her palm harder, the pressure sends you over the edge with a silent scream.

Warmth fills you, slowing your hips, closing your legs to trap her there. Shaking pants pass your lips, eyes slowly cracking open. You feel soft pecks against your sweaty neck, barely there, but grounding. Finally letting her hand free, she slowly pulls out of you, and you have the fight whimper that crawls up your throat at the loss

Lolling your head back, you watch Agatha bring her fingers to her lips, eyes flickering shut at your taste. Reaching up, you pull her hand from her mouth, cupping her face. Drawing her down, you whisper, “I meant what I said. Today will never happen again.” She tries to speak, but your hazy glare shuts her down. “Just nod or shake your head,” you command.

With a stiff nod, she tucks herself into your touch. Removing your hand, you grab her own to wrap her arm around you, pulling her flush against your back. Settling against you, you feel her hold you tighter than ever as you fall asleep, anger snuffed out, replaced with a distant longing.

—⛤—

April 1756

Early in the morning, with the sun still hiding, you felt the bed shift. Groaning, you tug the blankets more into your side, subconsciously seeking warmth as Agatha leaves the bed. Tip-toeing around the bed, she presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” she mutters against your skin, another kiss placed there.

“My heart,” you murmur, slurred with slumber.

You do not hear her shaky breaths, or the creaking of doors. Faintly, you feel two kisses press to your cheek, small and wobbly. But the sniffles do not reach your ears, nor does the crying after the front door shut.

When the sun rises and the birds begin to chatter in the trees, your body stretches under the covers. A grunt passes your lip at the stiffness of your thighs, a pleasant and light ache. Squinting eyes opening to sunlight filling the room and you flop over onto your back, turning your head expecting to see your beloved. What you find instead is an empty bed and cold sheets.

Sitting up, you immediately wrap your robe around your frame, flying through the house. Shoving open the door, your son’s room is empty, his blankets still pulled back. Only Fern the bunny sits on the pillow. The kitchen and sitting room are empty. The yard is filled only with goats and chickens.

Running back into the house, you frantically look around for something, anything. All you find is silence and nothingness. Alone with your thoughts, a bunny, and a piece of paper on the table. Slugging over to it, you read the best you can with tear-blurred vision.

My dearest love,

It’s what must be done to extend his time. We know what is left is borrowed, and we cannot divine when it runs dry. I wish nothing more than to take you with us, but apprehension will not give us more time. And my love, you are too gentle for what is demanded of us.

I’ll pray to the Divine Mother that you shall find me again, for you seem to have a talent for it. It is one of your many, my sun and stars. My heart will forever beat in your name.

Yours in every way,

Agatha

And in messy, but legible, writing below, a message that sits heavy on you.

I love you to the moon and back. And Fern.

Your Nicky

The weeks that follow are filled with sorrow and turmoil. Every township gave nothing, not a sound or a rumor. The nights were nothing but nightmares within short bouts of sleep. Your body felt weaker by the day, feeling similar to a sensation from years ago.

A gnarly cough rips through your throat, unforgiving and sharp. Your chest aches with each one, gripping the counter in front of you as you sway. Looking up into the mirror, you examine your appearance. Skin ashen and eyes sunken into dark circles, you truly looked beyond recognition.

Not once in over sixty years had you been sick, not even an allergy. Your whole body seemed to repel illness and injury, healing and curing with every beat of your heart. The illness that has consumed you in the passing weeks has only confused you. All remedies you knew did not so much as soothe your ailing.

In the market, you force a cough down, not letting it slip. Any sign of illness was assumed to be deadly here, and the people were unforgiving. As you wait for the wave to pass, to eavesdrop on passing strangers, hoping for anything.

Five, ten, fifteen people pass before anything is worth your time. But then, two women walk by slowly, deep in conversation.

“I’ve heard it, it’s true,” the one in a light blue dress says excitedly, “the Witches’ Road. It promises glory for those who dare.”

The one in orange scoffs, “it’s nothing but a song, Violet.”

Standing from your spot, you try to follow. You knew exactly what song they spoke of, it was one of your own, written together through the seasons with a sweet little boy and his captivating mother. Yet now, it was something to sing to yourself in times when grief claws at you.

Stumbling slightly, you catch up with the women. Falling in line, you hope you do not look desperate.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but were you speaking of the Witches’ Road?”

The one in orange speaks first, eyes firm, “yes. And what of it?”

You raise your hands in a show of no harm, “I merely ask where you heard of such a thing? Was it close by?”

Violet interrupts her friend, “it was at a tavern some days back. This adorable little boy was singing of it. Quite well, if I’m to say so.”

Her comment tugs at your heartstrings, a small smile crossing your cracked lips. Your little song bird. It’s replaced by the unsureness in her declaration of time. If they were only speaking of this now, it should not have been too long ago. How close you must be, yet you feel you are far.

“Are you well? You seem…” Violet trails off, concern flooding her features.

“Come with us,” the other says. “You’ll be among your own. I’m Margot, that’s Violet.”

Nodding, you walk in line, letting them practically hold you up on either side. They lead you through town, to a cottage at the edge. Neither ask many questions, just speaking quietly among themselves as they work around you.

Nightfall comes, and you tuck yourself into the small sofa, graciously accepting the several offered blankets. The warmth of the blankets and dying fire tug you into a reluctant sleep, tearing at your sickly mind. Slowly, the rubbing of the stuffed rabbit ears ceases, your hand going limp at your side. Dreamless and dark, it is a heavy slumber.

A dense, ice cold feeling rips through your veins, seizing your heart. Eyes flying open, you sit up to grip your chest, fear flowing as you wake in confusion. Struggling to get up, you fall onto the floor, scratching at your shirt to reach your skin.

Pressing your palm to your neck, you feel your pulse, steady and normal. It is a jarring difference from the pain and unsettling feeling around you. Your heart breaks as you come to realization. Hollow. You feel hollow.

Looking up towards the window, over the hyacinths on the sill, you are greeted with the sight of the moon. Your only companion stares back, capturing your entire attention. A ringing in your ears replacing your ragged breaths. One voice, many unified, echoes behind the static.

Only one, they said. No other.

title translation: sumpta sanguine, latin - the blood taken

note: as always, feedback is appreciated! especially with something like this because it’s not like my previous works. let me know if y’all would be interested in me continuing this <3

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #kathryn hahn #marvel #marvel fanfiction #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian

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kathlare · 2 months ago

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fading distractions

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando's night in Ibiza takes an unexpected turn when his actions with Magui lead to an emotional slip-up.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

August 16th, 2024 - Ibiza, Spain

The dim light of the hotel room flickered on as Lando stumbled through the door, his arm slung lazily around Magui’s shoulders. Her laugh was high-pitched and tipsy, echoing through the room as she leaned into him, the scent of her floral perfume overpowering the faint saltiness of the ocean breeze that clung to his skin.

Ibiza had been... well, exactly what he expected—loud clubs, overpriced champagne, and long nights that blurred into hazy mornings. Tonight had been no different. Martin Garrix had absolutely killed his set at Ushuaïa, and the afterparty was predictably wild. Lando had spent the night surrounded by friends, bottles, and a sea of attractive people who seemed to drift in and out of his orbit. Magui had been one of them.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. Hell, she wasn’t even someone he thought about when she wasn’t physically in front of him. She was just... there. Convenient. Fun. A distraction.

Magui kicked off her heels as she collapsed onto the plush sofa, her legs draped across Lando’s lap as he sat beside her. She reached for the hem of her dress, adjusting it slightly, her movements slow and deliberate. Lando leaned his head back against the couch, his body buzzing from the alcohol and the hours of dancing.

—You’re so quiet,— Magui purred, running her fingers lightly over his chest. —Thinking about the race already?—

Lando chuckled softly, his words slurring just enough to betray his intoxication. —Not even close,— he murmured, his accent thicker than usual.

Magui smirked, shifting her position to straddle him. Her hands slid up his neck, her lips grazing his jawline as she kissed a path toward his ear. Lando’s hands rested on her hips, his grip loose, his mind not entirely present despite the suggestiveness of the moment.

She tilted her head, her lips trailing down to his neck. Her kisses grew more heated, and her nails pressed into his skin as her movements became more insistent. Lando closed his eyes, his head tipping back as a soft sound escaped his lips.

—Amelie...—

The name fell from his mouth like a reflex, unbidden and unmistakable.

Magui froze.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, the heat between them dissipating like smoke. She pulled back, her expression a mix of shock and fury.

—What the fuck did you just say?— she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting.

Lando’s eyes snapped open, his drunken haze clearing just enough for him to realize what he’d done. —Shit,— he muttered, sitting up straighter. —I... I didn’t...—

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as the reality of his slip-up hit him. He blinked rapidly, trying to steady his breath, but the damage was already done. Magui was standing now, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a mix of confusion and anger.

—What the fuck, Lando?— she repeated, her voice trembling with irritation. —Did you just say her name? While I’m here?—

Lando ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. The word “Amelie” still echoed in his mind, his mouth dry. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as the tension in the room grew thicker, suffocating.

Lando exhaled sharply, his mind scrambling for the right words to make this all go away, but nothing came. It was like his brain had short-circuited, caught between the haze of alcohol and the shock of his own slip-up. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but hearing Magui’s voice, feeling her hands on him, and then… Amelie.

He cursed under his breath, attempting to meet Magui's eyes, but she was looking at him like he’d just slapped her.

—Magui, I...— Lando started, his words faltering. —It wasn’t... it’s not what you think.—

Her hands shot up in disbelief. —Not what I think? Really? Then what the fuck was it, Lando?— Her voice was sharp, louder now, her words dripping with frustration. —I’m sitting here on your lap, and you call out someone else’s name? What the hell is wrong with you?—

Lando opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He was panicking, his stomach turning, feeling a sharp pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the situation itself.

—God, you’re fucking insane!— Magui yelled, pacing a few steps away. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, clearly furious. —I don’t care if you’re drunk, that’s not something you just do. That’s not something you just say.—

—I...I didn’t mean it,— Lando muttered, standing up abruptly, his legs a little wobbly from the booze. He reached out to her, but she slapped his hand away with such force that it made him flinch.

—Are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t mean it? Are you going to tell me you’re thinking about her while I’m here, with you, right now?— Magui was almost yelling at this point, her words coming faster, the anger in her voice making Lando wince. —You know what? Fuck this.—

Before he could say anything else, Magui grabbed her purse and threw it over her shoulder, her body tense with fury.

—I don’t need this shit,— she spat, walking toward the door. —You’re a fucking idiot, Lando. And I’m done. Call me when you’ve got your shit together.—

Lando opened his mouth to stop her, but the words died in his throat. He stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching her slam the door behind her. The sound reverberated in his ears like a punch to the gut.

What the fuck just happened?

He didn’t even realize he was standing there, hands clenched into fists, until he noticed his breathing had become shallow and uneven. He let out a long breath, collapsing back onto the sofa. His head was spinning, the mixture of alcohol and a wave of emotions he wasn’t prepared for crashing over him.

—Fuck,— he muttered, his hand going to his face, rubbing his eyes as if that would somehow make everything make sense. But it didn’t.

Lando sat there for what felt like hours, the silence of the hotel room suffocating him. The whole situation with Magui had been easy. Casual. They had fun, they didn’t complicate things. But now, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

What was it about Amelie? Why had her name slipped out like that? It was a name he hadn’t spoken in months, not since the last time he saw her.

He remembered the way things had ended. She’d been busy with Wicked, throwing herself into her work, and he’d felt ignored, pushed aside. That had been the excuse he’d used when he’d started talking to someone else—someone like Luisinha. That relationship, too, had been a mess, full of things unsaid and feelings that didn’t belong.

But now, he was here, alone in a hotel room in Ibiza, with Magui gone and his head a mess. The one thing he couldn’t get out of his mind was Amelie. The way she used to laugh, the way she’d look at him when they talked, the way she made him feel… like he wasn’t just some driver to her. He remembered the times they’d spent in the virtual world, playing games together, talking about stupid shit, and then—what? It was so much simpler then.

He dragged a hand through his hair again, frustrated. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did her name keep coming up?

But maybe the real question was: why hadn’t it stopped?

Lando leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the thoughts. But even in the haze of alcohol and confusion, he knew one thing.

It wasn’t just Amelie he missed. It was everything they had. The closeness, the ease, the connection that had been so fucking easy at first. And then it all just... stopped.

But the real question lingered in his mind as the room fell silent again. Why had he called out her name just now?

He ran his fingers over his lips, biting his bottom lip in frustration. —What the hell was that?— he muttered to himself, his words barely above a whisper.

Lando was left there, alone, still feeling the weight of the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he was more pissed off at Magui or at himself.

The room felt colder now.

Amelie had always been his weakness.

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slutz4fanfic · 2 months ago

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Okay lately I’ve been in a Joel miller kick. Idk why but here we are. I’ve been thinking of writing a short little thing about Joel miller, main character’d dad is Joel’s best friend. A slow burn, angst, a more quieter main character, age gap, smut, all the goods. Here’s what I got so far…thoughts ??

The cicada hummed in the heavy Texas heat as I’m sitting on the front porch swing, my bare feet grazing the worn wood beneath me.

It’s late summer in Austin, the air is thick, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the faint tang of barbecue smoke from the cookout my father had earlier today. I can hear my father’s laughter boomed as he drinks and jokes with his oldest friend, Joel…Joel Miller.

Joel has been a constant presence in my life for as long as I can remember. Him and his daughter Sarah. He’s my dad’s best friend, partner in bad jokes and long-winded stories, Joel always had a way of commanding a room. Joel carries himself quietly, assured, rugged in a way that felt effortless. Him and dad are not only best friends but they’re business partners together. They work together doing construction/contractor type jobs.

“Honey why don’t you come inside?” My mom sticks her head out of the house calling me. “I will, Im just enjoying the late August breeze” I smile at her.

My mom has soft blonde hair, bright blue eyes, always a calming energy. My mother and I look nothing a like. I have my father’s dark curly hair, his dark brown eyes, and tan skin. But people say I have the same calming energy that my mother has. At least I got something from my mother, my mother is the most beautiful woman on this earth…but I guess I’m a bit biased.

“Alright honey don’t stay out here too late” she says before closing the front door.

I don’t only want to enjoy the late August weather, but frankly being around Joel makes my head spin. The past year I’ve developed this stupid, stupid, school girl crush on the man. I know I shouldn’t, I know how wrong it is. He’s 20 years older than me, my dad’s best friend, practically family. But it seems every time he comes around, I found myself drawn to him, my heart fluttering leaving me breathless.

His strong jawline dusted with salt and pepper scruff, his dark hair kissed by streaks of some silver. Then his voice, slow and smooth with that subtle Texas drawl that just stays in my stupid head long after he’s spoken.

The screen door creaks open causing me to glance up. Joel stepped out, a beer in hand, his worn flannel shirt rolled to his elbows. His sharp dark eyes catches mine darker ones. I can see the tired under his eyes, but he has a small lopsided grin.

“Thought I’d find you out here darlin” his voice low and warm. He leaned against the porch railing, faintest hint of a drawl curling around his words. “You always were one for the quiet”

His words make my stomach jump, the idea that Joel knows me. Knows how I think, what I like and don’t like.

Get it together Violet. It’s Joel, of course he fucking knows you. I’d tag along with him and my dad with everything since I was 7. Rides in Joel’s old pickup truck, fishing trips out by the lake, even just watching them fix whatever needed fixin’ . “Guess I like the way it feels out here” I murmur my voice soft.

Joel tipped his head a bit, his gaze feels like it’s studying me. “Can’t blame you for that. Feels like the rest of worlds a thousand miles away, doesn’t it” he sips his beer.

I nod my head, fingers curling around the edge of the swing. His intense gaze lingers and the weight of it sends a slow flush creeping up my neck.

He sank onto the swing beside me, the wood creaking under his weight. For a moment neither of us spoke, the stillness between us only filled by the cicadas.

"You're real quiet tonight" Joel's voice low. "Something on your mind?"

I glance at him,my teeth can't help catch my bottom lip thinking of my response. "Not really. Just...thinking"

"About?"

I hesitate, my fingers tracing the edge of the swing "nothing important"

I can feel him studying me again. Something he does often. He eyebrows furrowing in the process. He didn't push it, but the look in his eyes wasn't buying it. "You know you can talk to me, right kid?"

I feel my heart squeeze at his words, at the gentleness in his tone. I want to tell him everything- that I've been thinking about him for longer than I cared to admit, that my chest ached every time he smiled at me lately. But that's crazy talk, and I'd drop dead before I even think of doing such thing.

Instead, I simply respond quietly "I know”.

Joel nodded, leaning back on the swing. I know he can feel this tension coming off me. He knows me.

"Violet" he says after a long pause, his voice softer now. "You sure you okay?"

I know he means well, he's genuinely concerned. He's like a second father to me for Christ sake. It's not his fault the past few weeks I've been keeping my distance from my dad and him. I mean I used to hang with my dad and Joel all the time, just enjoying their presence, joking with them every weekend- even if it was getting them beers and watching the rangers game.

"Yes just been workin lot" I murmur finally glancing up at him. That’s not a full lie, I’ve been working a lot at the bakery saving up to move out my parents. "Hmm" he huffs eyeing me down softly. "Well leave all that workin like a damn dog to your dad and me" he gently places his calloused hand on my knee. I tense slightly at the action not expecting it. I feel the air suck out of my lungs. I hope he didn’t hear me.

His hand gently rubbing my knee in a calming manner but it feels like my skin is on fire just from his touch.

"Okay" I breathe out in a breathless whisper. "Good girl" my bottom lip naturally finds my teeth again as my gaze instantly looks down at his praise.

"Joel! Get in here! I need someone to back me up on this !" My dad's voice booms shattering whatever the hell this moment is. I feel his gaze still on me for a beat longer before he squeezes my knee and stands to his feet "better go save him from himself" I can hear the chuckle laced in his voice. “Don’t stay out here too late, it’s getting chilly”

I smile to myself at his comment, it's known my dad usually will put his foot in his mouth especially with my mama. I watch as he goes back in the house.

I let out a shaky breath, I set my hand on my chest feeling it beat fast against it, hoping it’ll help settle my erratic heart. Good girl. His deep, southern draw still rings in my head.

"Get it together Violet. It's just Joel" I mumble to myself taking another deep breath. I shake off the nerves standing to my feet. My bare feet making the boards creak from underneath me and I open the screen door.

The smell of my mom's candles going and the voices of all three them going on about something stupid im sure my dad said.

"There's my girl" my dad's smiles, his eyes catching on mine. I look at the trio in the living room, my mom sipping on some wine sitting against my daddy. Joel sitting in his usual spot when he comes over, on the small love seat across them.

"Got a little chilly out there" I say softly. "Well get out that dress of yours and join us kid" my dad's says before turning his attention back to Joel. I glance at Joel really quick trying to steal a look but it seems his eyes are already on mine. I move my gaze quick and go up the stairs with a blush dancing on my cheeks.

This is just a quick draft of the first chapter..but id love feedback and/or ideas from you guys :)

Skylar xx

#joel miller #joel miller age gap #sunshine x grump #Joel miller x sunshine #Joel miller x age gap #joel miller au #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fan fic #joel miller fic #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fluff #shygirl #Joel miller x shy character

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melancholicmelanin · 3 months ago

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Compress/Repress | Chapter 3: Guess Who’s Watching

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Black!OC x Patrick Zweig, Tashi Duncan x Black!OC (Platonic)

Summary: The 2006 Junior US Open winner has been crowned, but Tashi and Maya are on a covert mission—sneaking into the Adidas party, dodging their shared father, and keeping their bond as secret sisters under wraps. What they didn’t expect was to catch the attention of the dynamic duo known as Fire and Ice.

Wordcount: 6.1k

Warning(s): Challengers spoilers, mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK - AUGUST 30, 2006

“Are we seriously sneaking into your own party?” Maya whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore nearby. Her gaze caught between Tashi and the impending scene unfolding before them. The whole setup—the lavish house, the gourmet food, Tashi’s face plastered across banners and posters beside the iconic Adidas logo. Maya’s heart thudded in her, her nerves prickling, but mixed with that unease was a thrill she hadn’t anticipated feeling tonight.

Tashi’s lips curled into a grin, one that was both endearing and maddeningly confident. She reached forward, gently brushing a wayward leaf out of Maya’s wild curls, her fingers lingering as she tried to tame the unruly strands. “It’s technically not my party,” she corrected, her voice full of playful defiance. “Adidas threw it for me, so really, it’s all the more reason for you to be here.”

Maya groaned softly, tugging at her curls, which had frizzed up in the humid, salty air. “I just wish it didn’t have to be a secret,” she murmured, her voice soft but heavy with the weight of everything they were hiding. The words lingered between them, a reminder of the complicated reality they both faced.

Tashi stilled for a moment, her playful expression dimming as she felt the sadness beneath Maya’s words. She’d noticed the anxious energy radiating from her half-sister since the idea of this trip was first discussed. Yet here they were, crouched in a secret hideaway by the dunes, the ocean breeze tangling through their hair as Tashi’s fingers gently combed through Maya’s curls. In that moment, Tashi felt an ache for the relationship they never had—a childhood full of shared memories, secrets, and adventures, the way sisters were supposed to have. Now, on the cusp of one of the biggest moments in her life, she couldn’t help but wish it didn’t have to be hidden from everyone who mattered.

But even with the shadows of their circumstances hanging over them, Tashi couldn’t imagine celebrating any other way. Not without Maya.

“Alright,” Tashi declared, shaking off the sombreness and flashing Maya a determined grin. “Here’s the plan.” Her voice had taken on that confident, upbeat tone that Maya both admired and envied. “We’re here to have fun. No nervous jitters, and definitely no acting like you’re worried about my dad or Tabby and Winston finding out.”

Maya swallowed hard, her hands twisting together. “Who said I’m nervous?” she protested, but her voice wavered, betraying her.

Tashi raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Girl…” she teased, her tone filled with sisterly affection.

Maya rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. The tension in her shoulders loosened, just a little, as Tashi’s humour worked its magic.

“Now, hold on,” Tashi said, her grin turning conspiratorial. She rummaged in her small crossbody bag and pulled out a miniature champagne bottle. The gold foil glinted in the moonlight, and she waggled it in front of Maya. “I’ve got just the thing to loosen you up.”

Maya’s eyes widened. “Wait… we’re actually doing this?” she said, feeling the giddy thrill build up in her chest. “Like, we’re really about to pre-game an Adidas party?”

Tashi threw her head back and laughed, a wild, free sound that seemed to dance on the breeze. “Yes, we’re fucking doing this!” She popped the champagne bottle open with a soft hiss, and bubbles spilled out over her hand.

Maya accepted the small, hastily poured plastic cup of champagne, her hands trembling in the process. “What if we get caught drunk?” she whispered, her voice a frantic rush. “And they call my grandparents? They’d ground me for life if they found out.”

Tashi’s eyes softened, but she gave a small, confident shake of her head. “They won’t find out,” she reassured her. “I promise.” She raised her cup, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “Besides, I wanted you here. You’re not just some outsider tonight—you’re my sister.”

Maya’s throat tightened with emotion, the word sister settling deep into her chest, warm and heavy. She hadn’t expected to feel this way. The joy, the love, the bond she’d craved for so long—it was all here, wrapped up in Tashi’s laughter and the unspoken promise that they would always have each other’s backs.

“To us,” Tashi said, holding up her cup with a twinkle in her eye.

Maya took a deep breath, her nerves still fluttering but her heart a little steadier. She clinked her cup against Tashi’s, a genuine smile breaking through. “To… us.”

And with that, they took a swig of champagne, the fizzy sweetness tickling Maya’s nose and making her giggle. The anticipation buzzed in the air as Tashi grabbed her hand, and together, they stepped out of the shadows, ready to embrace whatever the night held.

The music thumped louder and louder as Tashi and Maya stepped further into the heart of the party. A dreamscape of celebration sprawled across the Long Island's coastline, where every inch of the beach house’s backyard had been transformed into an oasis of glitz and glamour. The checkerboard vinyl dance floor gleamed under the glow of twinkling string lights suspended in a zigzag pattern across the venue. Outdoor furniture, chic and white, framed the dance floor, and lush potted plants lined the perimeter, swaying gently in the salty sea breeze. The sound of waves lapping the shore played as an undertone to the infectious rhythm blasting from the DJ booth.

Maya felt her pulse quicken. Tashi was already in her element, the vibrant blue strapless mini dress provided by the Adidas team hugging her figure perfectly as she sashayed through the partygoers. She exuded a confidence that made her untouchable, like she belonged in this glittering world of tennis champions and luxury. Maya, on the other hand, tugged at the hem of her own dress, a delicate, soft pink dress that embodied a balance of romantic and playful charm (or that’s what Tabitha said at the Bulmarine sample sale). Blend in, she reminded herself. She was supposed to be invisible, just another guest in a sea of faces.

“Just breathe, Maya,” Tashi murmured, squeezing her sister’s hand. Her voice was calm and steady, like an anchor in the swirling storm of sensations. “Remember, you belong here as much as anyone.”

They made their way toward the bustling center of the party, past clusters of people dressed in designer cocktail attire. Tashi moved like a force of nature, greeting people with quick waves and dazzling smiles, but never lingering long enough for anyone to ask questions about her plus-one. It was clear she had only one goal tonight: making sure Maya felt safe and included.

After a moment, Tashi leaned close. “Come on, let’s find my brothers. You have to meet Demitrius and Kenan.”

Maya’s heart skipped a beat. Her brothers—half-brothers, technically, but it didn’t matter. The idea of meeting them was nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Ahead of them, at a sleek outdoor bar adorned with miniature potted succulents and lit by Edison bulbs, two familiar figures were laughing over bottles of soda. Demetrius, with his lanky fourteen-year-old frame and mischievous grin, was nudging his younger brother, Kenan, who still carried that last hint of childhood roundness in his face. Kenan, in his middle school glory, had a mouthful of braces that gleamed as he tried and failed at his turn at cornhole.

“Kenan! Demetrius!” Tashi called, her voice bright and full of warmth.

The boys turned, Demetrius with his signature, slightly older-brother smirk, and Kenan with wide eyes full of youthful energy. “Shy-Shy!” Demetrius exclaimed, his sister’s nickname familiar on his lips and immediately setting down his soda to greet her. He had an air of teenage coolness about him, but his voice still held the excitement of a kid.

“The lady from Adidas said the soda here is unlimited! Can you believe it?” Kenan exclaimed excitedly, his braces catching the light as he grinned at Tashi. His eyes then shifted to Maya, his expression morphing into one of curiosity. “Oh, hello!”

“And who’s this?” Demitrius asked further, his tone cautious yet open to the stranger stood next to his sister.

Tashi draped an arm around Maya’s shoulders, her grin never faltering. “This,” she announced, “is Maya. She’s a really good friend from tennis camp.”

Maya’s heart thumped in her chest; her palms clammy. She felt Demetrius’s gaze appraising her, though not unkindly, and Kenan’s childlike wonder at meeting someone new. She forced herself to speak, her voice steadier than she’d expected. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Demetrius gave her a nod, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Cool to meet you,” he said, and Maya could tell he was trying to be mature, the way a fourteen-year-old boy does when he wants to impress. “Any friend of Tashi’s is a friend of ours.”

Kenan, however, had no filter. He looked between Maya and Tashi, his brow furrowed. “Tashi never lets us meet her tennis friends. Are you, like… super important or something?”

Maya flushed, her cheeks heating up under Kenan’s scrutiny. I mean, yeah, Kenan. I’m your sister for god’s sake. She was saved by Tashi’s laugh, a bright, musical sound that cut through the tension. “Yes, she’s incredibly important,” Tashi said, her eyes twinkling with affection as she nudged Kenan. “And it’s not like every person I’ve met through tennis was worth keeping in touch with, anyways.”

Kenan beamed, looking satisfied with that answer, and Demetrius rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he drawled. “So, you’re here to party or what?” Demetrius asked, his arms rose into the air in an awkward swagger.

“Yeah!” Tashi replied excitedly, pushing the shadow of worry away. “We’re here to party. Forget the speeches about “how thankful I am to be a pillar of the community”. Just music, dancing, and maybe a little mischief.”

Demetrius’s lips curled into a smirk. “Mischief? You? Never.”

Kenan perked up. “Mischief? Can I be part of it?”

Tashi pulled both her brothers into a loose huddle, including Maya in the circle. “Only if you guys promise not to rat me out to Dad if we get caught.”

Kenan’s eyes widened with excitement. “Deal!”

Maya leaned closer to Tashi, whispering, “You really have them wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

Tashi’s smile softened, a touch of melancholy there. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “They’re my boys. Always have been. Always will be.”

As they made their way to the checkerboard dance floor, Tashi’s father, Kevin, was deep in conversation with his wife, Crystal, and an Adidas recruiter. The recruiter’s voice was animated, hands gesturing wildly as he pitched ideas for Tashi’s future, and for a moment, Tashi’s smile wavered. Maya saw it—the flicker of apprehension, the shadow of pressure that came with being a rising star under the ever-watchful eye of a parent. But then Tashi shook it off, her determination steely, and pulled Maya into the crowd.

The music swelled, transitioning into Venus by Bananarama, and the dance floor erupted in cheers. Maya found herself caught in the rhythm, Tashi’s laughter like a shield that protected them both from the world beyond. They danced with abandon, spinning and swaying, the worries of their lives melting away under the glow of the string lights.

Maya’s head buzzed with a mixture of adrenaline and the lingering taste of champagne, and she felt, for a fleeting moment, free. This was what she had come for—this wild, exhilarating night, where nothing else mattered but the beat of the music and the warmth of her sister by her side.

“Look at you!” Tashi shouted over the music, her eyes bright with pride. “Told you this would be fun!”

Maya threw her head back and laughed, the sound coming from deep within her chest. “Okay, okay! You were right!”

The night air wrapped around them like a velvet blanket, and the dance floor felt electric beneath Maya’s feet. Tashi glanced over at her sister, a grin stretching across her lips as she saw how utterly transformed Maya seemed. The girl who was usually burdened with nerves had let herself go, laughter bubbling from her in a way that felt both wild and free. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of the dance, and her hair caught the light, a cascade of movement as she spun to the beat. Maya’s eyes sparkled with an excitement that made her seem almost airborne, like she could lift off into the sky at any moment.

Tashi couldn’t help but marvel. This was a side of Maya she rarely got to see—radiant, unrestrained, and completely alive.

Meanwhile, across the checkerboard vinyl dance floor, Art and Patrick sat transfixed, barely blinking as they watched the scene unfold. Maya moved with a kind of natural grace, her carefree energy impossible to ignore. She was magnetic, drawing eyes with an almost hypnotic allure, and the boys couldn’t help but be pulled into her orbit. Art shifted in his position, his breath catching slightly, while Patrick’s heart pounded with something he couldn’t quite name.

Maya, catching the feeling of being observed, turned with a playful twirl, her gaze landing on the two spellbound boys. They looked stunned, like they’d forgotten the concept of subtlety entirely. Her laughter faltered just a fraction, unable to decipher their intense stares fixed on her from across the dance floor. Her chest tightened, a familiar twinge of self-consciousness surfacing as if a cold breeze had swept through the warm, electric night. She dropped her arms a little, her body’s natural rhythm interrupted, and she shifted closer to Tashi, her smile dimming ever so slightly.

Tashi, ever attuned to her sister’s moods, caught the hesitation instantly. She turned to see what had made Maya nervous and rolled her eyes as she spotted Art and Patricks’ slack-jawed admiration. With a mischievous glint, she grabbed Maya’s hand and leaned in close, her voice a playful whisper. “Hey, don’t let a couple of boys steal your light,” she said. “If they want a show, let’s give them something to remember.”

Maya bit her lip, her nerves dancing alongside the beat of the music. “I don’t know…” she murmured, her gaze darting between Tashi and the boys. The idea of being the center of attention made her stomach flip, but there was something about Tashi’s energy—unwavering, unapologetic—that was infectious.

Tashi squeezed Maya’s hand and stepped back with a grin that radiated confidence. “Come on, we’ve got this,” she urged. She lifted her arms above her head, rolling her hips to the beat, her movements bold and full of flair. “Besides,” Tashi added with a wicked grin, “we look amazing. Let’s make sure everyone knows it.”

Maya hesitated for a beat, but then a rush of courage sparked within her. With a deep breath, she pushed the nerves aside and lifted her chin. If Tashi could be fearless, so could she. Slowly, Maya let herself melt back into the rhythm, matching her sister’s confident movements. The music pulsed through her veins, and she began to sway with purpose, her steps more deliberate, her energy more vibrant. Together, they became a mesmerizing force on the dance floor, radiating an electric kind of joy.

The boys’ attention only seemed to fuel them further. Tashi spun gracefully, her laughter ringing out like music, while Maya followed suit, a blush dusting her cheeks but her smile growing wider, bolder. They danced for themselves but couldn’t help embracing the thrill of being watched, of turning what had been awkward nerves into a moment of power and playfulness.

“See?” Tashi called over the music, her eyes gleaming with pride as she watched Maya’s confidence blossom. “You’re unstoppable.”

Maya beamed, her heart no longer pounding with fear but with exhilaration. “Okay,” she said, her voice light and free, “let’s show them what we’re made of.”

And they did—dancing with a newfound radiance, letting the energy of the night carry them, savoring every bit of the attention they once feared, transforming it into their own kind of magic.

Patrick's gaze lingered, captivated by the way the slinky blush-pink dress clung to Maya’s body, the delicate material riding up slightly as she moved, each motion accentuating her curves. Her skin glistened with a subtle sheen of sweat, catching the golden glow of the string lights strung up around the backyard. Her wild curls whipped around in the breeze, framing her flushed, exhilarated face. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her, the way she seemed both graceful and free, as if she belonged in that moment, like the world had been crafted just for her dance.

Art exhaled sharply beside him, the awe in his voice evident. “Oh my God,” he whispered, eyes wide with admiration, a hint of disbelief that someone could be so effortlessly captivating.

“Fuck,” Patrick echoed, but his was more a low, hungry murmur, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight before him. His heart thudded in his chest as he watched Tashi slide her hands around Maya’s waist, pulling her close with an ease that spoke of years of familiarity and trust. The two girls moved together in perfect rhythm, bodies swaying to the beat, their laughter mingling with the music, the joy in their shared dance lighting up the space around them.

Patrick’s smirk deepened. He had watched Tashi command the tennis court with a kind of fierce determination, but seeing her here, away from the competition and pressure, so carefree and happy, was a different kind of spellbinding. And then there was Maya, who had quietly snuck into his consciousness, her presence growing more magnetic by the second. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was captivating in a way he hadn’t expected. A challenge, perhaps, and he loved a good challenge.

Art nudged Patrick with his elbow, finally pulling his gaze away from the girls. “Man, you look like you’re about to float over there,” Art teased, his voice tinged with envy and a hint of something else—admiration, maybe. “What’s gotten into you?”

Patrick’s grin only widened as he shook his head, eyes flicking back to Maya, who had now broken into a wide, uninhibited laugh. “Just…appreciating the view,” he replied, his voice light but laced with intent. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Art glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and then back at the dance floor where Maya and Tashi spun and twirled like they owned the night. “You mean they’re something else,” Art corrected, though his eyes kept drifting to Maya. There was a palpable pull, a magnetic tension that neither boy could deny.

Patrick's gaze softened for a moment as he watched Tashi’s protective hold on Maya, the way she shielded her sister from the world even while drawing her into the centre of it. He admired Tashi’s fierceness, but he was also intrigued by the vulnerability he sensed between the two girls—the way they seemed to be each other’s universe in this small, wild moment of freedom.

“Yeah,” Patrick finally said, his voice a little more serious. “They definitely are.”

For a heartbeat, he thought about pushing his luck, making his way onto the dance floor to introduce himself. But something held him back—maybe it was the realization that either of the girls were out of his league. That he was wasting not only his time, but also theirs by even speaking to them for 5 minutes. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning, that somehow, this night had tied all of them together, and he was desperate to see how the story would unfold.

Seeing Kevin and Crystal approach the dance floor, Tashi grabbed Maya’s hand in a flash, her eyes wide with a playful panic. “We’re busted,” she whispered, a laugh bubbling up as she tugged Maya away from the crowd. The two sisters weaved through the swaying dancers, the vinyl checkerboard floor beneath them slick from spilled champagne and salty air.

Maya’s heart raced, but it wasn’t just from the sprint or the thrill of sneaking around. It was the prospect of being caught, of her secret presence at Tashi’s celebratory night being exposed to her disapproving father. “Tash, wait!” she whispered, nearly tripping over her own feet as her sister pulled her along. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here!” Tashi shot back, her grin mischievous. Her strands glided in the air with every hurried step, her dress glittering under the string lights like a constellation come to life.

Just as they were about to round a corner and slip behind a decorative hedge, they almost collided with someone—a tall boy with tousled dark brown hair and a confident smirk: Patrick. Art stood just behind him, hands shoved into his pockets, his dark eyes gleaming with interest.

“Whoa, running from the law?” Patrick teased, stepping into their path. His eyes flicked between the sisters, his smile a blend of curiosity and amusement. “Or is it Daddy dearest?”

Tashi paused for the briefest moment, but her energy never wavered. “You could say that,” she said, breathless from the escape. She leaned into the chaos of the moment, her confidence unwavering, while Maya tried to collect herself, the tension knotting in her stomach.

Patrick’s grin widened, and he gestured over his shoulder. “I know a spot,” he offered. “Quiet, away from prying eyes. Perfect for a getaway.”

Maya’s eyes darted to Tashi, silently pleading for her to reconsider. Being alone with two boys she barely knew in an unfamiliar place? Her heart thumped in protest, and a thousand reasons to say no flashed through her mind. But Tashi was already nodding, her eagerness for adventure propelling her forward.

“Lead the way,” Tashi said, leaving no room for debate. She tugged Maya closer, her grip firm and full of determination.

Maya opened her mouth to protest, but Tashi’s bright, carefree energy was overpowering. Her sister’s eyes sparkled with the thrill of something dangerous, something memorable. Despite herself, Maya found her resolve crumbling.

Patrick and Art led the way, guiding them off the dance floor and down a narrow stone pathway that wound through the outdoor garden. The music from the party grew muffled, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the rhythmic crash of waves in the distance. The beach house’s elegant decor faded away, giving way to nature’s raw beauty.

Patrick took the lead, his stride confident, while Art walked a step behind, silent but attentive. The moonlit path they took wove between dunes and tufts of tall grass, the string lights of the party fading into soft, distant glows. Maya’s feet sank slightly into the cool sand, and she shivered, feeling exposed yet exhilarated by the cool ocean breeze brushing her skin.

When they reached a secluded spot on the beach—a little cove marked by large rocks and a pair of beach chairs that looked out over the glittering sea—Tashi let out an excited breath, dropping Maya’s hand and spinning in a circle. She was radiant, wild, and so alive that it made Maya’s chest ache with admiration and worry.

Patrick, ever the charmer, wasted no time diving into introductions. “Patrick Zweig,” he said, flashing a grin that seemed to demand applause. His hand gestured loosely toward himself, the motion so casual it bordered on cocky. Art, perched on one of the beach chairs with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets, offered a quieter addition. “And I’m Art Donaldson,” he said, his tone calm but watchful, lips curving just slightly.

Tashi tilted her head, her expression one of playful disinterest. “Oh, I know exactly who you two are,” she said, dragging out her words as if delivering a punchline. Her gaze swept over them, lingering just long enough to set both boys on edge. “Fire and Ice, right?”

Art blinked, visibly startled. “Oh my god,” he muttered, his composure cracking just enough to show surprise.

Patrick’s grin only grew wider, his confidence unshaken. “In the flesh,” he replied smoothly, tossing a glance at Art that was equal parts teasing and triumphant.

Tashi smirked. “Yeah, I heard you’re playing for Stanford next year,” she said, shifting her focus to Art.

“How’d you…?” Art asked, genuinely curious, though his tone hinted at suspicion at the possibility of thee Tashi Duncan pursuing information on him.

“I just accepted my offer,” Tashi replied breezily, nonchalantly tossing her pin straight hair behind her shoulders. “Your name came up.”

“Wait, are you going to Stanford too?” Patrick asked, turning to Maya, his curiosity now piqued by the quieter sister.

Before Maya could answer, Tashi jumped in, her grin turning wicked. “Maya? No, she’s just a baby!” she cooed in an exaggerated voice, the same one she used when teasing her younger brothers.

Maya groaned, her cheeks flushing. “What she means is I’m still in high school,” she corrected, her voice sharp with embarrassment. “I’m starting my senior year next semester.”

Patrick chuckled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “A baby, huh? Guess I’ll have to call you ‘Kiddo’ from now on.”

Maya, desperate to shift the conversation away from her age, latched onto their nickname. “Fire and Ice?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “What is that—some kind of boy band?”

Patrick laughed, his confidence undiminished. “You could say that” he said, shooting a pointed look at Art. “So, who’s who?”

Maya pretended to study them, letting her gaze flick between the two. Patrick’s bright, easy energy contrasted starkly with Art’s quieter, more reserved demeanour. “You’re Fire,” she declared, pointing at Patrick. “And you’re Ice,” she added, nodding toward Art.

Patrick clutched his chest in mock offense. “Fire? Me? I thought I was the chill one!”

Art’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “I’ve been called worse,” he said, his voice low and dry, but his eyes carried a flicker of amusement.

Art leaned forward in his beach chair, curiosity sparking in his dark eyes. “So, how do you two know each other?” he asked, his voice soft but probing. There was something almost innocent in the way he asked, yet Maya and Tashi exchanged a quick, loaded glance that spoke volumes. They had to think on their feet.

Maya hesitated for a fraction of a second, her mind scrambling, but Tashi was already smiling, that mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. “Oh, it’s a long story,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she shielded herself from the cold breeze. “We met in, uh… Paris,” Tashi began, drawing out the word as though she were savouring the memory.

Maya picked up on the fib, her heart pounding, but a smile began to curl at her lips. “Yeah, that’s right,” she added, the lie shaping itself as she spoke. “I was studying at this tiny art school. You know, the type of place that barely exists on a map.”

Tashi nodded sagely. “And I was there for tennis camp,” she continued, her voice dripping with the dramatic flair she was known for. “We ran into each other at this café near the Seine, didn’t we?” She nudged Maya, who nodded, trying not to laugh. “It was raining. Maya had forgotten her umbrella, and I offered to share mine.”

Maya’s eyes twinkled with mirth as she added, “It was fate. One cup of hot chocolate later, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.” There was a teasing, unspoken implication in their exchange, and it lingered in the air between them, charged and intriguing. The way Tashi kept Maya close, the way their gazes danced around each other—it was all deliberate, adding an extra layer of mystery.

Patrick chuckled, clearly entertained. “Let me guess,” he said, his grin widening. “Love at first sight?”

Tashi gave Maya a mock-swooning look, placing her hand over her heart. “Absolutely. I couldn’t resist her charm,” she teased. Maya rolled her eyes but laughed, her nerves easing with the flow of their banter.

Art seemed to buy it, looking between them with genuine interest, while Patrick tilted his head, smirking. “So, Paris, huh?” He let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s something.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed playfully as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Maya. “So, are you a tennis player too?” he asked, his tone casual, but the way his eyes lingered on her made it clear he meant something more. “You’ve got the body for it.”

Maya’s cheeks flushed, the tension in the air suddenly sharp. Before she could respond, Tashi jumped in, her voice cutting through the moment like a lifeline. “Oh, please,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Coming from Maya’s kind of background, you’d think she’d be amazing at tennis. But no—she sucks at sports.”

Maya exhaled a small laugh, grateful for Tashi’s intervention. “Yeah, hand-eye coordination isn’t really my thing,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I make up for it in other ways.”

Patrick flicked his lighter open, lighting the cigarette perched between his fingers before turning to Tashi, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “So, about the Stanford thing,” he said, his tone casual but pointed.

Tashi arched a brow, clearly caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “What about it?” she asked, leaning back slightly, her tone cool but wary.

Patrick took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifted lazily in the night air. He passed the lighter to Art, who took it without a word. “What’s the deal?” Patrick asked, his words deliberately vague but weighted with insinuation.

Tashi tilted her head, the sharpness in her gaze cutting through the haze of smoke. “What do you mean, what’s the deal?” she said, her tone edging on defensive.

Patrick shrugged, flicking ash from his cigarette. “I mean, what’s your angle?” he clarified, his voice laced with curiosity but tinged with provocation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her composure. “I wanna get better, obviously,” she replied, her words clipped but steady.

“By crushing a bunch of girls who were the best players in their high schools?” Patrick shot back, his smirk growing as he leaned into the challenge.

Tashi’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t waver. “You know, they offer classes at college,” she countered, her tone turning dry. “I’d rather not have hitting a ball with a racket be my only marketable skill.”

Patrick’s brows lifted slightly, a spark of understanding flickering in his expression. “Oh, I get it now,” he said, leaning forward slightly as if the realization had just clicked into place.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed further, her interest piqued despite her irritation. “Get what?” she asked cautiously.

Patrick’s grin turned sly. “It’s smart. You’re making them wait for you. You want all these girls you’ve been annihilating in juniors to go pro, have their little moment in the sun, and then—bam—you swoop in like, ‘Remember me?’” He gestured with his cigarette for emphasis, his voice carrying a note of admiration despite its teasing edge.

Tashi rolled her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“And trust me,” Patrick continued, his smirk widening. “They will remember you. You’re the fucking Duncanator.”

Tashi scoffed, finally breaking her silence. “Is this why you came to my party?” she asked, her tone flat and unimpressed. “To interview me like you’re working for ESPN?”

Patrick chuckled, unbothered by her irritation. “It’s brilliant,” he said, his voice almost genuine. “Seriously. I can already see the Adidas campaign now.”

Tashi crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed but with the faintest glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Glad I could help with your creative brainstorming,” she said dryly, her tone signaling the end of the conversation.

“And when are you going pro?” Tashi asked, her tone casual but her gaze sharp as she shifted her attention to Patrick, clearly ready to dissect him next.

Patrick leaned back, exhaling a lazy laugh. “Next season,” he replied confidently. “It’s a young person’s game. No point in waiting around.”

Tashi scoffed, her eyebrow arching as she crossed her arms. “Hitting a ball with a racket—great way to avoid having a real job. And an even better excuse to dodge college.” Her words were light, but the edge in her tone was impossible to miss.

Patrick’s smirk deepened, his amusement only growing. “Oh, I see. You’ve got me all figured out?”

“Not exactly hard,” Tashi shot back, her head tilting slightly. “Your coach’s been calling you a genius since you were what, thirteen? Letting you do whatever you want, hyping you up like you’re the second coming of Agassi. That’s your problem.”

Patrick’s grin faltered, just a flicker, before he masked it with mock surprise. “Wow, I didn’t know you’d been watching me,” he quipped, the teasing lilt in his voice refusing to waver.

“I haven’t. I watched you once at the Junior Australian Open, and that was all I needed. You’re talented, sure, but no one’s actually taught you anything,” she said, her words cutting with precision. “Especially not how to fix that god-awful serve.”

“It works,” Patrick countered, his tone firm but defensive.

“For now,” Tashi retorted. “But that’s just junior tennis. What happens when you’re up against the pros? Someone’s going to pick apart that messy game of yours.”

Before Patrick could fire back, Tashi’s gaze darted to Art, her target shifting with ease. “Meanwhile, Art couldn’t get your coach’s attention if he lit himself on fire.”

Art stiffened, clearly caught off guard by the jab. He glanced at Patrick, as if looking for an escape, but Patrick only shrugged, clearly amused.

Maya, sensing the weight of Tashi’s words and the awkwardness they created, spoke up. “I think Art has real potential,” she said, her voice gentle but sure. “With time and the right support, he could be a great player.”

Her words seemed to land softly, Art’s blue eyes meeting hers. His ears turned pink, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment blooming across his face.

Tashi, ever the provocateur, leaned back and shrugged. “I was being generous. The point still stands: you can build something solid out of ice. Fire? It just burns everything down.”

Her gaze drifted to the waves, her words hanging in the salty night air like a challenge.

Tashi glanced down at her Garmin watch, the glow from the moon light bouncing of the glass panel. “We should get back before my dad notices I’m gone,” she said abruptly, slipping off the rock she’d been perched on. She scooped up her wedges, the cool sand pressing against her bare feet. “Maya, let’s go.”

Maya hesitated, her gaze lingering on Art. She stood slowly, brushing the sand from her dress, and offered him a small smile. “Goodnight,” she said softly, before giving Patrick a brief wave.

“Wait!” Patrick called, half-standing from his chair, his tone a mix of urgency and playful insistence.

“Are you on Facebook?” he asked, grinning as though the question itself was a clever move.

Tashi and Maya exchanged a quick glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. “No idea what that is,” Tashi said smoothly, her tone flat but her expression teasing, omitting the fact that her account had been forcibly deactivated by her mom months ago.

“He’s asking for your numbers,” Art clarified, his voice low and casual, his smirk lingering as he watched the two sisters. “And, yeah, so am I.”

Tashi laughed, shaking her head. “You both want our numbers?” she asked, her disbelief evident.

“Absolutely,” Art said, his gaze steady.

“Right?” Tashi shot back, turning to Maya with mock astonishment. “Unreal. What do we look like to you—a pair of homewrecking lesbians?”

“We don’t live together,” Art said dryly, his lips quirking.

Patrick leaned in, quick to follow up with a smirk. “It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend,” Art added, his tone light but pointed, earning a glare from Patrick.

“I do not,” Patrick protested. “Hey, why don’t you come hang out with us later?” His grin widened as he added, “I’m guessing they put you up at the same hotel in Flushing?”

Tashi rolled her eyes. “Maya’s too fancy for that. She’s at the Hampton Inn. Last-minute booking, naturally.”

“Oh, come on, Tee,” Maya shot back, exasperated. “It was the closest place to your hotel, and everything else was booked.”

“Alright, alright,” Tashi said, waving them off as she turned to leave. “I think it is time you get your beauty sleep. Goodnight boys.”

Patrick’s voice followed them, lilting and mischievous. “We have beer!”

Tashi laughed over her shoulder, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, in that case!”

As they walked back toward the glow of the party, Tashi nudged Maya, her grin wicked. “God, they want you so bad. What are you going to tell Jake when he finds out you’ve got two suitors fighting over you?”

“Jack is not my boyfriend. He’s just my debutante escort... maybe, I don’t know yet,” Maya groaned, exasperated.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Tashi teased, her laughter soft as the crashing waves swallowed their voices.

#challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x you #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #tashi duncan #melanie's fic: compress/repress

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ladykailitha · 1 year ago

Text

The Magic of Christmas Part 4/8

Hello! How are you guys enjoying so far?

In this Steve realizes his feelings, Dustin and Robin decide Steve needs to live forever, and Steve gets roped into something he swore he'd never do.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

***

August was fucking miserable. Like the worst month of the year. After February. And January. And September...

That’s besides the point. The point was that AC had kicked the bucket in the middle of the biggest heatwave.

He was going to cry. The wizard piece turned out really well. Steve had loved all the little details that he had put in it.

But the rogue was giving him trouble. It was horrific. Because rogues were silent and mysterious, but the way Steve talked about Will, he was quiet kid, a bitchy teen, and a wild adult. Trying to figure his place in the world he kinda went punk. Dyed his hair bright green. Piercings and tattoos. Ripped clothes and combat boots.

Eddie slowly sat up. Well that’s a thought. He blinked for a moment. That could actually work.

Suddenly his phone rang. He frowned at the device. No one called anymore. It was all texts and DMs and Face Time. The name that came up because there was one, another surprising thing, was Steve.

He dived for the phone and managed to answer it before it went to voicemail.

“‘Ello?” he breathed.

“Hi, Eds,” Steve greeted cheerfully.

Eds.

Fuck.

The things that little nickname did to the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey, Stevie!” he said back. “What can I do you for?”

“That article Nancy did is making some serious headway,” Steve explained. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet me for lunch to go over the details.”

Eddie laughed. “I was about to text you, darlin’. I have an idea for the rogue I wanted to float by you. So where to, my liege?”

“Monte Cruz, the Mexican place on 7th?” Steve asked.

It was a bit pricey, but it had the best fajitas Eddie had ever had. “Sure thing. 1pm okay?”

“Let me check,” Steve replied.

Eddie could hear him call Robin and while he couldn’t hear her response, Steve’s warm ‘thank you’ meant he was free.

“That’s perfect,” Steve said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

They hung up and Eddie laid on the floor staring up at the ceiling, holding his phone over his chest.

Fuck!

He got up and dashed to the bathroom to shower. He felt like he was covered in slime.

Steve was waiting for him on the terrace, a nice cool breeze rustling his hair. And Eddie couldn’t help but fall a little bit more.

Eddie waved and was far too pleased to get Steve’s little finger wave in return.

He sat down and grinned at Steve. “How is it cooler outside then in my loft?”

“Heat rises?” Steve suggested. cocking his head to the side.

Eddie laughed. “Well it’s the only thing that rising at this point. It’s so fucking hot.”

“I thought you’re loft had air conditioning,” Steve said with a frown.

“Apparently we worked it to extinction,” Eddie said mournfully.

Steve pulled out his phone. “Are you renting or paying a mortgage? I don’t remember what all we’re paying for.”

“Sadly, we own it,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh. “Otherwise I would have harassed a landlord to get it fixed.”

Steve hummed. “All right, I’ve messaged Robin. She’ll call around and get a technician come over tomorrow. It’ll go on my card if can be fixed or if it needs to be replaced.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair. “You don’t have to do that, man.”

Steve smiled at him. “Will the excess heat hurt your paintings?”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he threw his arms in the air. “Yes! Of course it will.”

“Then it’s a business expense and I’ll cover it.”

“I hate you,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You really, really don’t,” Steve murmured. “Now show me your idea for Will’s rogue.”

Eddie pulled out his drawing pad and flipped to the right page. He slid it over to Steve for him to see.

“Oh Eds,” Steve breathed. “It’s beautiful. He’ll love it.”

Eddie tried not to preen, but he couldn’t help it. “So I can go ahead and start painting?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Though maybe wait until after your cooler is fixed.”

Eddie threw his head back laughed. “I think you’re probably right.” He gently took the pad from Steve’s grip. “So what’s going on with the charity?”

Steve lit up. He started explaining about all the people interested opening would basically be franchises but that Eddie would still have full control of each branch.

“This is amazing, Stevie,” Eddie breathed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m happy to help,” Steve said with a grin. “It means that I get drive Dustin absolutely nuts with this whole charity thing. He’s been begging me forever to meet you.”

“I mean, you can invite him to one of our reeducation of Steve Harrington movie nights,” Eddie said, shoving his hair in his face bashfully. “If you wanted to.”

Steve smiled fondly. “That’s sweet of you. But I was thinking something that would absolutely flip their collective shit even more than a movie night. A Halloween one-shot.”

Eddie’s lips formed an O. His eyes sparkled and he grinned. “I know just the thing. It’s something my friends and I used to do in high school. You have these little half–not even half character sheets that have just the most basic of stats. The point is to die in the most epic way possible. There are rewards for stupidest death, most epic death, TPK. It’s lots of fun.”

“That sounds amazing!” Steve said. “Would you be willing to do it?”

Eddie leaned forward on the table. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“You join us,” he said with a grin. “You read the stats, you roll the dice, you die like a bitch, just like everyone else. You’d be on equal footing with the rest of the Party.”

“Can I think about it?” Steve asked shyly, ducking his head.

“Sure thing, big boy,” Eddie replied. “But let’s order lunch. I’m starving!”

Steve laughed. “Of course.”

Robin poked her head into his office and held up a leather folio. “Do you want to tell me what the hell this is?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, “I’m not Spider-man. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“That’s Superman,” Robin replied with a huff, “and you’re dodging the question. You know full well what I’m talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I really, really don’t. I haven’t done any even remotely outrageous in months.”

She walked up to his desk and slammed the folio on the desk. “Steven Kevin Harrington...”

“Not my middle name,” he sneered. “You know what it is. You have seen my birth certificate way more times than I have.”

Robin laughed. “But it’s so lame, so I make up ones that sound better.”

“Whatever, Robs,” he said with a huff of his own. “What has got you so twisted this time?”

She opened the folio and turned it around to face him. “You booked the Newfield for New Year’s eve.”

Steve smiled widely at her. “I told you I was going to. It’s hardly my fault you were making goo-goo eyes at Eddie’s agent at the time.”

Robin gasped. “I was not!” He raised a single eyebrow and she folded. “Yeah, all right, maybe.”

Steve sat up in his chair and scooted closer to her. “Look, before you start throwing accusations around about feelings and thinking with my dick, it’s for the charity. You know, the one we’re working on right now.”

Robin glared at him. “So it has nothing to do with him making goo-goo eyes at you?”

“He’s not!” he protested. “There’s no way. He can have anyone he wants, he’s not going to go for a stuffed shirt like me.”

Robin raised both her eyebrows. “You can’t actually believe that.”

“You saw his most recent video right?” Steve snapped. “The one where he ranted about how greedy businessmen destroying the environment?”

“Uh...” she said, “you mean the one where he especially called out billionaire businessmen and how smaller companies can change the face of the industry and then went on to list ten things that CEOs can do to change the world and all of them were things you did with Starcourt Ltd. That one?”

Steve blushed. “I guess I didn’t realize.”

“Look,” Robin said sitting down in one of the chairs, “I was wrong about a lot of things when you first hired Eddie for this job. About him, about you and your motives. So I get why you can’t take my advice on this, but he likes you. And more than just a friend.”

He ducked his head as the blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears down the column of the throat. “Don’t go there, please.”

Robin held her hands up in surrender. “I won’t if you don’t want me to. All I’m saying is that if you think you’re falling for him, too…just know he probably feels the same.”

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah, okay.” Then he suddenly buried his head in his hands. “Fuck, I have to make a phone call.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He lifted his head and sighed heavily. “Looks like I’m going to be playing D&D after all.”

She laughed and laughed as Steve buried his head again.

The kids were never going to let him live this down.

“You’re sending my off for my last year as undergrad,” Dustin whined, “and you’re making me come back for fall break? Why?”

Steve was getting tired of this question. The only people who knew about Eddie DMing for them was Steve, Robin, and Eddie. And probably Chrissy. Oh and Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom. Which meant that all the other moms knew too.

All right, the conspiracy was bigger than Steve thought.

“Because it is your last year,” he said with a sigh. “You’ll be heading off to MIT next year and it’ll be harder for you to come home for the holidays.”

Dustin deflated. “Yeah, okay. So everyone will be home for Halloween?”

Steve brightened up. “Yep! I’m throwing a costume party with pizza and if you guys aren’t shitheads about it, I might even front for a wet bar.”

Dustin frowned. “What the fuck is a wet bar?”

Robin who had just come home, smacked him on the back of his head, knocking off his hat. “It means there will be booze, doofus.”

Dustin who had been about to yell at her for knocking off his hat, turned to Steve instead. “Seriously?”

“Yup! I’ve okay’ed it with all the parental units,” he said, “and I keep an eye on your intake to make sure you don’t get sick, they’re fine with it.”

Dustin launched himself at him and hugged him tight. “You’re the best, Steve!”

“There won’t be beer,” Steve warned. “It’s not the best drink to get started drinking on and bottles tend to hide how much you’ve been drinking.”

“Are they going to be spooky themed drinks?” Dustin asked.

Steve laughed. “Hell yeah, they are.” He ruffled Dustin’s hair. “Now go finish packing. I’m not going to let your mom do it for you this year. You’re an adult. Act like it.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “God, you’re more mom like then my actual mom.”

Steve laughed. “If I got insulted every time one of you called me mom, I would’ve died of a heart attack years ago.”

Dustin hit him on the arm. “No talks of dying. You aren’t allowed. You have to live forever.”

Robin laughed. “Sure, just got to find that elixir of life somewhere.”

“Or the fountain of youth,” Dustin helpfully supplied.

“You could always invent something,” Steve suggested.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!” He dashed off excitedly.

“Pack first!”

Robin laughed.

***

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @carlprocastinator1000 @mogami13 @samsoble

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #christmas #artist eddie #businessman steve #autistic steve harrington

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theseshipsshallsail · 12 days ago

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Summary:

A smile takes hold of Elio’s features as Oliver’s doting gaze shifts between Jesse - currently pacing a bone-dry mudflat - and Noah, who’s shimmied up the gnarled tree trunk, itself; determined fingers stretched to where the course fibres of the rope’s other end are wedged firmly in the pendulous canopy.

THE BEST LAID SCHEMES OF MICE AND MEN

The late-afternoon shimmers with stationary heat; the muggy air typical of the syrup-slow days of August. The turquoise sky is equally photogenic - essentially cloudless where it skirts the remote, mountain peaks - and wiping the pollen from his tinted Persol’s Elio savours the fragrant aroma of basil and juniper as a gentle breeze rustles the stunted cedars that pepper his secret spot.

Though nowhere near as secret as it used to be, he’ll admit, scooping Little Ollie under one arm to clear a patch of brambles: his curiosity piqued by the intermittent hollers drifting beyond the ridge. The shadows have unspooled around them - his nine-year-old brother having scoured the wildflower meadow for butterflies, finches - and an occasional womp rat - and plucking a twig from his corkscrew curls Elio spins the budding X-Wing pilot over a clump of vibrant poppies; retracing their steps to the grassy riverbank upon which they’d sprawled out earlier.

The closer they get, the more boisterous the laughter becomes, yet brushing aside some trailing wisteria it’s Oliver’s magnetic energy he’s drawn to first: calmly treading water beneath a partially uprooted willow; a thick coil of rope tied snugly about his hips. Achelous personified, he’s like something from a dream, and a smile takes hold of Elio’s features as Oliver’s doting gaze shifts between Jesse - currently pacing a bone-dry mudflat - and Noah, who’s shimmied up the gnarled tree trunk, itself; determined fingers stretched to where the course fibres of the rope’s other end are wedged firmly in the pendulous canopy.

“The boys figured they’d make a swing,” Micol informs him, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of San Pellegrino.

“Edoardo spared some old moor line,” Miranda remarks, jerking her chin at the twin-hulled fishing boat trawling the westward cove.

With practised ease, she bundles Little Ollie into her lap - reapplying a generous layer of sunscreen no matter his squirming protestations - and Elio can only assume the project is going badly, albeit enjoyably, as Jesse lets loose a resounding whoop; Noah having successfully released his prize before launching himself at the Alpi Orobie in a haphazard cannonball.

“How long have they been at it?” he asks, rifling through their picnic basket for Mafalda’s homemade apricot juice.

The circuitous trek to the harbour was no quick ride, for starters.

Micol shoots him a smirk. “Half an hour in the river,” she says, distracting Little Ollie with a docile dragonfly. “Most of which they’ve spent wrangling the rope.” A beat. “When Ols wasn’t chasing it downstream, of course…”

“Of course,” Elio agrees, bemused and somewhat blinded by the Star of David glistening at the other man’s throat. “I guess that explains the belt, then?”

“Teamwork makes the dream work…” Micol murmurs, frowning at Jesse who’s attempting to scrabble up Noah’s back.

Still, at five foot five, and graced with a rower’s physique, she and Oliver’s eldest proves to be a friction-free surface, and the slippery silt sends Jesse tumbling; jolting his brother sideways in one, last heroic effort. They both emerge sputtering - raking the dark-blond hair from their foreheads - and Elio’s eyes turn automatically to their father: maintaining his place at the deeper centre despite the deceptive current.

Sun-kissed shoulders burnished in the dappled light.

Naked chest broad as ever; dusky nipples inciting memories of mapping that same flush of colour with his teeth.

But it’s more than that, however - more than just the physical - and Elio bubbles with happiness at the unselfconscious manner in which he carries himself; the confidence he’s fought hard to master since his life-altering return to B.

To him.

“Perhaps I should offer some advice…” he wonders aloud, recalling the untold salvage digs he’d partaken as a teenager.

Sure, there’s no bronze Boxers to dredge up here, but Micol just hums in faux consideration when Oliver’s forced to intervene: Noah holding Jesse captive via a hearty headlock. “What? And miss out on all the fun?” she says, New England accent rich with devilment. “Nothing wrong in keeping them humble, I’ve learned. Besides… this is better than the Summer Olympics.”

“Or the Three Stooges.”

“I heard that, Perlman!”

He’s grinning though, is Oliver, so kicking off his espadrilles Elio drops his shirt and glasses to the tartan blanket then wades into the shallows; gathering the fugitive rope en route to haul it after him. “Honnêtement! You need to lift and counter the undertow,” he says, biceps already straining when he transfers it over. “Reduce as much tension as possible, ouais?”

An anchoring grip finds his waist below the water; calloused thumb circling his navel in an absent-minded sweep. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

Elio snickers at Oliver’s coy expression. “Behave,” he mutters, untying the loop from his midsection. “I’ll climb, you’ll be my ballast,” he instructs, before tossing it to Jesse, also. “Once I’m in position, all you’ll have to do is pass that back, then help Noah steady your father for good measure.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” the agents of chaos chorus, and Oliver snickers in undisguised amusement as he hunkers lower; presumably studying their choice of branches ‘til Elio wriggles his toes against his thigh.

“Give me your hand, mio amato.”

Noah plants his feet whilst Oliver’s cheeks flood a pretty rosé; but be it from exertion or arousal he can’t quite tell. “Isn’t that my line?” he asks with a wink, the onyx engagement ring at Elio’s knuckle glinting as they make a common fist.

“Pronto?”

A huff. “Andiamo, Italiano.”

Elio braces his fingertips on Oliver’s sternum; a moth to his siren flame. “Uno, due, tre…”

Straight away, the pull of muscle flexes beneath golden skin, and Oliver grunts as he bears his weight; bunching the seat of his cargo shorts to aid his vertical momentum. They soon hit the tipping point of Oliver’s balance, regardless, yet their lurching stagger is somehow avoided when Elio slaps the rough-hewn bark with the heel of his palm.

“Jesse…”

“Ready when you are, Pro,” the younger man says, so Elio sets his jaw then gestures for the rolled-up moor line.

It takes a bit of wriggling - Oliver’s forearms wrapped securely across Elio’s trembling calves - but focused on their united purpose he hooks the prospective rope swing over a suitably angled bough; leaving the requisite amount hanging with which to circle the sturdy limb.

“Accidenti,” he grouses, foiled twice in as many minutes. “I can’t reach far enough to fasten it.” Swiping the sweat from his prickling brow, he bites his bottom lip. “I need to go higher.”

“Higher?!” Oliver asks as Jesse rises to the challenge; looping both arms around his abdomen.

“Sì, higher.” Elio props a knee on his fiancé’s shoulder. “Comparative adjective of Germanic descent. Regional derivative of the Old English hierra and hera.”

“I’ll show you a derivative…” Oliver growls - an intimate tease that has no business outside their bedroom - then grumbles something else it’s best Little Ollie doesn’t hear the moment Elio hoists himself upwards; trusting the mettle of his newfound family to keep him safely aloft.

“Almost there…” he assures, catching the furthest end with the crook of his elbow, and not wanting to strangle the growing tree he fumbles a running bowline, adding a simple double knot to the dangling length in order to boost the traction. “E finito!” Elio bellows, giving it an experimental tug, and both boys groan dramatically when Oliver steals a victor’s kiss; peeling to the side in such perfect synchronicity there’s zero hope of stopping the cart-wheeling plummet that follows.

#elio x oliver #cmbyn fanfic #call me by your name #cmbyn #supportarmiehammer

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galaxysupreme17 · 28 days ago

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August Evening

Y/n = Your Name

Agathario x daughter!reader!

A cool breeze blew through the late August evening, a welcome change from the day's heat. The scent of freshly turned soil and blooming flowers still clung to the air, a testament to the hours Rio and Y/n had spent working and playing in the garden. The little girl had been a ball of energy all afternoon, running between the rows of vegetables and helping Rio water the plants, though more water had ended up on her than on the soil.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue across the yard, Rio noticed Y/n beginning to slow. Her dark brown curls were damp with sweat, and her small hands rubbed at her eyes, trying to fend off the sleepiness creeping in. Rio crouched down and gently scooped the little girl into her arms, brushing a stray curl from her face. "Alright, sweet girl," she murmured softly, "let's call it a day."

Y/n didn’t protest, her head resting heavily on Rio’s shoulder as she was carried inside. The house smelled of dinner—savory and warm—drawing them toward the kitchen. Agatha stood at the stove, stirring a pot with practiced ease. She wore her usual calm expression, but her lips curved into a soft smile as she turned to see her wife and daughter. The golden light from outside mingled with the warm glow of the kitchen, wrapping the scene in a cozy aura.

Rio shifted Y/n slightly in her arms. "Look who’s all tuckered out," she said, her tone laced with affection.

Agatha chuckled, setting the spoon down and turning the heat to low. "I wonder why," she teased lightly, walking over to them. Her hand came up to brush against Y/n’s flushed cheek. "Was someone playing a little too hard today?"

Y/n made a small noise of protest, half-asleep and unwilling to engage in conversation. Rio laughed softly. "She had the best time, though. Didn’t you, mi amor?"

Agatha smiled and pressed a kiss to Y/n’s temple. "Why don’t I clean her up and put her into something comfy while you shower? You’ve got dirt on your face, cariña."

Rio smirked, feigning offense. "It’s called working hard. But fine, she’s all yours." She carefully passed Y/n to Agatha, who easily cradled the little girl.

"Come on, sweetheart," Agatha murmured as she carried Y/n upstairs. "Let’s get you all cleaned up."

Y/n whined softly, her head nuzzling into Agatha’s neck. "No bath," she mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion.

Agatha chuckled as she entered the bathroom, setting Y/n down on the counter. "Just a quick one, darling. You’ll feel so much better afterward."

Despite her protests, Y/n let Agatha undress her and settle her into the warm water. Agatha hummed softly as she washed away the dirt and sweat from Y/n’s day of adventures, her gentle hands working efficiently but carefully. The little girl’s eyes drooped further, and by the time Agatha wrapped her in a soft towel, she was more than halfway asleep.

Back in Y/n’s room, Agatha helped her into a soft lavender nightgown, the fabric light and cool against her skin. She ran her fingers through Y/n’s damp curls, gently detangling them as Y/n sighed in content. "There we go," Agatha whispered. "All comfy now."

Y/n didn’t respond, her head lolling against Agatha’s shoulder. The older woman carried her back downstairs, the comforting aroma of dinner still wafting through the air. With Y/n securely in one arm, Agatha returned to the stove, stirring the pot with her free hand. She hummed a soft tune, the rhythm soothing and familiar, as Y/n’s small fingers clung lightly to her shirt.

A few minutes later, Rio came down the stairs, her damp hair curling slightly from her shower. She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her wife and daughter. Agatha’s movements were fluid and precise, even with a half-asleep child in her arms. The warm light of the kitchen seemed to wrap them in a glow, a picture of quiet love and contentment.

Rio’s heart swelled, and she crossed the room quietly, wrapping her arms around Agatha from behind. She rested her chin on Agatha’s shoulder, her hands brushing against Y/n’s back. "You’re amazing, you know that?" she murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of Agatha’s neck.

Agatha smiled, leaning back into Rio’s embrace. "Takes one to know one."

Rio chuckled and kissed the top of Y/n’s head. "And you," she whispered, her voice soft, "are the luckiest little girl in the world."

Agatha turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting Rio’s. "We’re the lucky ones," she said, her voice filled with emotion.

As the three of them stood there, the comforting warmth of the moment settled over them like a blanket. Agatha gave the pot one last stir before turning off the stove, and Rio took Y/n into her arms, cradling her close. Y/n stirred briefly, opening her eyes just enough to see her mom's before snuggling deeper into Rio’s embrace.

"I think she’s out for the night," Rio whispered with a grin.

Agatha chuckled softly. "She deserves the rest. Our little gardener worked so hard today."

Rio nodded, her fingers gently stroking Y/n’s back. "She’s perfect."

Agatha smiled, her gaze softening as she watched her family. "She is. And so are you."

Rio leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Agatha’s lips. "We make a pretty good team," she said with a wink.

Agatha laughed, a light, melodic sound that filled the room. "That we do."

Together, they carried Y/n upstairs, tucking her into bed with care. Y/n’s small hand clutched at the edge of her blanket, her breathing even and peaceful. Agatha and Rio stood by her bedside momentarily, their hands intertwined as they watched their daughter sleep.

"Goodnight, mi amor," Rio whispered, brushing a final kiss against Y/n’s forehead.

Agatha leaned down, her lips pressing softly to Y/n’s temple. "Sweet dreams, darling."

As they left the room, their fingers still intertwined, they returned downstairs to enjoy a quiet dinner together. The meal was simple but hearty—a stew filled with fresh vegetables from their garden and warm bread that Agatha had baked earlier in the day. They sat across from each other at the small table, their conversation quiet and easy as they ate.

Rio reached for the bread, tearing off a piece with a playful grin. "You outdid yourself again, Mama," she teased, using Y/n’s term for Agatha.

Agatha chuckled, sipping her tea. "It’s amazing what I can do when I’m not chasing after the two of you all day."

Rio laughed, the sound soft and warm. "Fair point." She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. "I think Y/n inherited your determination. She didn’t want to stop until every last weed was pulled."

Agatha smiled, her expression tender. "That sounds about right. She’s got your energy, though. I don’t know how you kept up with her all day."

"Pure love," Rio replied with a wink, earning a fond shake of the head from Agatha.

When the meal was finished, they seamlessly transitioned into their nightly routine, cleaning the dishes side by side. Rio washed, humming softly, while Agatha dried and put things away. Their rhythm was comfortable, a testament to years of partnership and shared love.

As they finished, Agatha leaned against the counter, watching Rio wipe the last dish. "You know," she began softly, "these little moments… they’re my favorite."

Rio turned, a teasing smile on her lips. "What, washing dishes?"

Agatha rolled her eyes, but her smile never wavered. "You know what I mean. Just being here. Together."

Rio set the towel down and closed the distance between them, her hands finding Agatha’s waist. "I know," she murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Agatha’s forehead. "It’s my favorite too."

They stood there for a moment, the quiet of the house wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Then, hand in hand, they turned off the lights and went upstairs.

As they settled into bed, Rio curled up beside Agatha, resting her head on Agatha’s shoulder. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along Agatha’s stomach as the crickets’ faint song drifted through the open window.

"Goodnight, cariña," Rio whispered, her voice low and soft.

"Goodnight, my love," Agatha replied, her eyes already drifting closed.

The house grew silent, save for the steady breathing of the small family within. Outside, the stars continued to shine, a quiet witness to the love that filled their home.

#x reader #reader insert #agatha all along #agatha x daughter! reader #rio vidal #agatha x rio #agathario x daughter!reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along season 1 #agatha harkness x daughter!reader

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sensitiveaangel · 10 months ago

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polypore candelabra by me.

a tree trunk with candle-supporting mushrooms growing out of it.

made of borosilicate glass at the torch. 2024.

#photography #glassblowing #flameworking #borosilicate #mushrooms #murmurs in the august breeze

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ravennaortiz · 6 months ago

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August 10th features Half-Sack with the prompt "Is it to late for a birthday kiss?" requested by the lovely @hatersaremymotivators .As always my stories are 18+

“Dude. Just go ask her out already” stated Juice as he sighed as Half-Sack missed his shot. His friend to busy watching you make your way through the crowd at the clubhouse. The two of you had gotten close over the last couple years. The last few weeks since Opie had pulled his stunt had you two closer than ever. Half-Sack wanted nothing more than to call you his but his nerves always got the best of him. Why ruin a good thing? He told himself every time the perfect moment arose to tell you how he felt.

“Didn’t Piney give you the go ahead last week? Now that you’re a full patch and shit?” questioned Ratboy as he brought more beers over to the pool table. “Besides we all know she likes you too” he added as Juice nodded his head in agreement. Half-Sack couldn’t argue that your dad had in fact pulled him aside and inquired about his intentions with you. The more you hung out with him the more your fathers watchful eye had been on him.

“I don’t know…… she’s out of my league” stated Half-Sack as he shook his head and took a long sip of his beer.

“True but won’t hurt to ask. So you can stop this pining thing” joked Juice making Ratboy snicker as he leaned against the pool table.

“Just go follow her and tell her you have a gift for her and then lay it on her” stated Tig joining in on the conversation from where he sat at a nearby table with a crow eater on his lap.

You had snuck outside to enjoy the crisp, cool night air. Escaping the stale, stuffy clubhouse with your tequila sunrise you perched on a picnic table far from the door. Closing your eyes you sipped your drink as a gentle breeze caressed your heated cheeks. Losing yourself in thought you didn’t hear anyone approach until you heard a voice making you jump slightly.

“Mind if I join ya?” asked Half-Sack as he tapped his beer bottle on the table as he got close to you. “Sorry for scaring you” he offered when you jumped.

“No worries. What brings you out here?” you inquired as you smiled at him as he sat next too you. Heat pooling in your belly as his knee touched yours. Too say you had a crush was an understatement. The alcohol had you wishing he would take you right here and now.

“Just saw the time…. Almost midnight” stated Half-Sack trailing off as he looked over at you his eyes falling to your lips at the end as he swallowed hard. “Was uhh wondering….if it ….if it was too late for a Birthday kiss?” he stammered as he looked back u at your eyes.

You lean forward without answering and press your lips onto his quickly before pulling back some. “Not to late” you murmur as you caress his cheek with your hand.

Return to Masterlist

#sons of anarchy #ravennasmasterlist #ravennasbirthdaybingo #soa fanfiction #soa fanfic #half sack epps #half sack #soa half sack #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic #imagines #fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine

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baronmpontmercy · 4 months ago

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To Pretend (Enjolras/Combeferre, 978 words)

Happy @logic-and-philosophy week 2024

On an autumn evening, Combeferre dreams of a homecoming.

____

The leaves were turning in the Jardin du Luxembourg, the vibrant greens of summer shimmering into golds and auburns. The oppressive thick heat of July and August had lessened now in mid-September, blown away by a cooler, crisper breeze and chased by orange-streaked evening skies. Combeferre, who hailed from the Alps, had always felt he was more suited to the cooler climes of autumn, would enjoy in his boyhood the colours and smells of the changing of the seasons; the tang of woodsmoke, the crunch of freshly fallen leaves underfoot, the rush of cold air from the mountaintops. Paris did quite pale in comparison, it had unique sights and smells for sure, but they were certainly not as quaint or picturesque.

Still, sat in a quiet corner of the Luxembourg, hidden by a canopy of yellows, reds, browns, and greens, one might pretend. The soft autumnal sunlight filtered through the trees, though as it hit Enjolras’ hair, Combeferre could only think of spring.

“...and will you?” he was drawn from reverie at Enjolras’ question, sat beside him on this secluded little bench. His cheeks and nose had the charming beginnings of chillkissed blush on them.

“Will I what?” Combeferre asked a little sheepishly, “Forgive me, my mind wandered.”

“Return home over Reveillon and the new year,” Enjolras prompted,

“Ah, yes. I suppose I will, Céline wouldn’t be amused if I didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, “and you?”

Enjolras was silent in reply, his gaze trained firmly forward, though Combeferre could see a line of displeasure twist at the corner of his mouth, barely perceptible lest you knew where to look. Combeferre knew where to look. He pressed Enjolras’ hand,

“I see,”

Enjolras pressed back and lingered, fingers brushing through the supple leather of their gloves. The twist at his lips dissipated, not quite giving way to a smile, but he was grateful at Combeferre’s immediate understanding; Enjolras had little need for dour attempts at frivolity anyway, when there were more important things to be done elsewhere.

Still, Combeferre thought as he caught the warm musty scent of smoke in the air, maybe it would do Enjolras some good to get out of Paris at some point. Maybe not over the winter, maybe…

“I would that you could come with me to Saint-Antoine,” Combeferre said softly, “one day, perhaps, on a day like today.”

Enjolras tilted his head, indulging Combeferre’s sentimentality, “Oh?”

“Yes. I can picture us there. There is a park I used to frequent with my siblings, not so unlike this one, but with the Alps framing the background. And it’s quieter, as any small mountain town would be. But the leaves turn the same, the sky at dusk has the same smoky clouds crossing it. If I close my eyes and let myself focus, it’s as if we are there already. In fact… humour me, I know this may sound frivolous and fanciful.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed slightly as he considered this, but it passed quickly as he took in Combeferre’s expression, the embarrassed bloom of pink that was gathering on his cheekbones, “Shall I close my eyes then?”

Combeferre’s delighted smile was answer enough. Eyelids firmly shut, Combeferre pressed Enjolras’ hand again, and Enjolras squeezed in return.

“The streets are narrow, and old, not unlike the Latin Quarter. The cobbles are bumpy underfoot, but worn. There’s a bookshop and printshop on the Rue Saint-Charles, where I got a set of tomes on biology as a young boy. There’s the abbey church, with a towering steeple that as a boy I thought was the biggest in the world, with a belfry that’s open to allow the remnant arms of the Mistral to pass through on the occasions it did.”

“I know the Mistral,” Enjolras murmured, contentedly, contemplatively, “I would hear it rush past my bedroom window, see it beat against the trees.”

“Cold and sharp. Breathtaking,” Combeferre agreed, “we could walk past the belfry, to that park. It’s just around the corner, and when the days get colder and the nights longer, it is less crowded. We’d have it to ourselves, nearly.”

“I will admit to not seeing what you see in your mind’s eye,” Enjolras said, eyes falling open, turning his head to Combeferre, “as lovely an image as it is.” “No, I know you are not in the habit of daydreaming,” Combeferre sighed, his eyelids flickering behind the lens of his spectacles yet staying shut, “forgive my maudliness.” “No,” Enjolras’ voice was soft, brushing across Combeferre’s ear like a gentle caress, “continue.”

Combeferre felt his shoulders relax, and filled his lungs with the crisp autumn air. The pictures were vivid in his memory, and sparked on the tip of his tongue as he spoke the images into the space before them, anchored all the while by the gentle, constant warmth of Enjolras’ hand. Him and Enjolras, traversing the old weathered cobbles, past the bookshop, past the church. The breeze would rattle past them, causing them to huddle close together, Enjolras’ nose would be the same charming pink it was now. The distant warm glow of a setting sun would light Enjolras’ golden hair on brilliant fire, a beacon in coming darkness. And Combeferre, in this little world he saw, would draw him closer still.

“I love my hometown. I would love it all the more for you being in it. I love the patch of grass on which we stand, because we stand on it together.”

Combeferre opened his eyes,

“That is true for here too, François.”

“No need for pretense.”

“None at all,”

In the quiet of that secluded spot, when Combeferre leant to press his lips to Enjolras’ forehead, there were no witnesses save those trees, emblazoned with the colour of fire. No witnesses, when Enjolras bent to capture Combeferre’s lips with his own, but the pinkening sky above them.

The same as over Saint-Antoine.

#les mis #les miserables #enjolras #enjolras/combeferre #combeferre #enjolras x combeferre #homo and vir #logic and philosophy week #my writing #my fic

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wilsons-three-legged-siamese · 6 months ago

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another fic of mine woah 😩

fandom; house md

can be interpreted as non slah or slah between house/wilson

summery; wilson is dying, being taken care of a person. but wilson cant remember who they are.

word count; 1.3k

tw; major character death.

a/n: i dont have ao3 so it shall not be put up on there. if it is notify me, ill say if i have given permission as if someone asks i probably will say yes.

this was based on the song "rises the moon - liana flores"

rises the moon.

days seem sometimes as if they'll never end.

its august. the 20th if we're being exact. coming to the close of summer and the opening of autumn, usually being my favourite time of the year. cozy sweaters, warm socks and scarfs, the perfect weather. usually sunny with a nice breeze. well, i wish i could enjoy it. instead, im stuck in bed, my breathing laboured and my body shaking. though, this year, summer was my favourite.. june. i really enjoyed that, when i could walk without aid and just, enjoy life. ever since mid july, ive been deteriorating quicker than an abandoned building, which has been agonising. i want the pain to go away, please. it hurts..

but i dont want to die.

from the bedroom, i hear the singing voice again, a soothing melody. their voice smooth and deep. i sigh softly, it being a sort of comfort for me, knowing at least someone was there and i wasn't alone. their humming and muffled singing drowns out the continuous beeping of the heart monitor besides me. they had stolen the machine after faking being ill in a walk-in clinic, once the doctor had done to complain to the dean about them being an ass, they smuggled the monitor and brought it back. the good ol' days hm? that day was probably the most ive complained and laughed for a long, long time.

a mass than sat on the bed, the weight shifting slightly on the mattress. i ket out an involuntary groan, my back being slightly unsupported.

"hey, i made some broth for you.. its 1, and i think you should at least try and drink it for me," they murmured.

the bowl, of what i assume was broth, was set down on the small table besides me. soon enough, long, lanky arms were wrapped around my middle, gently pulling me up to sit up. wait.. what time did they say again.. 1 was it? only.. 1?

the sun digs its heels to taunt you.

the rim of the bowl was scarcely pressed to my lips, the bowl being slightly hot. i signal them to tip it a little so i can take a sip. and so i do. and holy shit..

thats fucking amazing.

the warm, soupy liquid runs down my throat, a sort of feeling i dont get that often, especially being warm. the way he flavours mix together is phenomenal, the spices and the subtle beef. its flavourful, but not enough to freak my taste buds out, which happens all too often now.

"is it okay?" they ask, their voice soft and gentle.

i hum with a slight nod.

but after sunlit days, one thing stays the same:

rises the moon.

days fade into a watercolour blur.

its been.. maybe a week? my sense of time is so off, it could be a week for a few days.. lets say its been a few days - to make me feel better. im now slipping in and out of consciousness, which is concerning in itself. i dont know how long im out for at a time. theyve been becoming more and more worried about me. i mean, there was always an elephant in the room, hell even when i was first diagnosed. but, the elephant has been growing larger and larger than before, making it hard to ignore. we have to adress it sometime.

but its hard to breathe.

then im awoken by a coughing fit.

it shakes my whole body, racking everything as i shut my eyes tight, desperately trying not to wake them up behind me. but, of course they woke up, they always do. i tried to savour the two, lanky but muscular arms around my abdomen, as they were warm and comforting, but soon, all i could feel was pain.

"are you okay?" they ask, their voice still a bit groggy from sleep.

i hum, my voice still hoarse even though i barely made a sound.

this just reminds me of them, i swear something to do with an infarction to the leg. but i cant quite remember.. or remember them.. their face is slightly recognisable, but not by a lot at all. my memorys been wracked up.. pisses me off, i wanna know whos caring for me. i wanna thank them, using their name, recogising their face.

memories swim up and haunt me.

"hmm.. mm!" i hum, trying to catch their attention.

they run over, quickly turning me on my side and holding the bucket to my mouth. i start to cry as i retch, vomiting harshly into the bucket, they rub my back gently, mumbling words of encouragement and reassurance softly to me. finally, i stop. glancing down at the small puddle of bile and saliva, i frown slightly.

look into the lake, shimmering like smoke.

i look into their eyes. my, coffee like brown into their, ocean like blue. scared and helpless meet concerned and determined. they run their skinny, pianist fingers through my frail hair. they always wanted to care for me, secretly.

rises the moon.

"close your weary eyes, i promise you that soon the autumn comes to darken faded summer skys." they pause for a moment. "breathe, breathe, breathe."

almost immediately after hearing that, i start to cry, just a full on breakdown. they quickly embrace me, wrapping their arms around my middle. i dig my face into theit shoulder, tears still rolling down my pastey cheeks. its nice.

oh to be hugged like this again.

days pull you down just like a sinking ship.

its been a day? maybe.. i dunno anymore. it might've been 2, 3, 4 a week, who knows - not me thats fot sure. it might be september now, i last remember it was august, that seems like yesterday. them, my carer, whatever, i dont know their name anymore. i dont know who they are, i cant see.. its all blurry and fuzzy, so is my memory. i cant remember the last time i ate..

floating is getting harder.

"im sorry.." they mumble, their voice snapping me out of my thoughts - though it was barely above a whisper.

their thin fingers run through my hair again, gently letting it fall between the gaps and repeating.

oh, i forgot to mention, i also cant speak.. or breathe for that matter. i think the tumor - or tumors more like - have begun to press against my trachea and esophagus, making his hard to both eat and breathe. wheezing has become a normal, daily routine.

considering my condition,

i have tonight,

and thats it.

because of my fate, i keep repeating a phrase i once said to a child as they went through chemo. they had no parents, i was the best thing they had..

but thread the water, child, and know that meanwhile: rises the moon.

days pull you up just like a daffodil.

its the next day, i think. its really hard to just think. the weezings gotten worse, i feel awful, like horrendous. its awful... maybe i am ready to die. i can just subtly feek them holding my fraile hand, stroking their thumb over my knuckles. only barely. im scared, terrified more like. i dont even know who they are, but im scared for them.. they'll miss me definitely. what will they do when im gone? i dont know..

uprooted from its garden.

once again, i feel consciousness slip from underneath me. which is normal, very. but this wasn't normal.. i could still hear.

"they'll tell you what you owe," they mumble. "but know even so, rises the moon."

i try to smile, a small twinge of my lips. but nothing happens. i try to tell them i love them, but again, nothing happens.

"you'll be visited by sleep. i promise that the autumn comes to steal away each dream you keep." they choke back a sob.

"breathe, breathe, breathe." houses voice sobs.

they're house.

but its too late to tell him i love him.

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olvxva · 4 hours ago

Text

stolen heat | joost klein x f!reader, ski aggu x f!reader

✦ wc: 5.5 k

✦ warnings: rpf!, cheating, angst, smut, public sex, smoking, drinking, cursing, mdni, remember it's pure fiction!!!

✦ summary: you're in a very stable and happy relationship, but sometimes words can mess with a common sense

✦ an: wanted to write something more debatable and i finally had the time to write it. please forgive me if it's lame ;)

the evening was muggy and the city lights reflected off the damp cobblestones of the street, creating shimmering reflections after the recent rain. the air carried the scent of summer dusk, mixed with the aroma of heated concrete and cigarette smoke, drifting lazily in a nearby alley. Aggu held you firmly by the hip; his hand rested there as if it was its natural place. you felt the warmth of his touch, which contrasted with the cool breeze softly brushing against your skin.

bar, to which you were heading, was already teeming with life outside. through the open door, fragments of loud music, laughter, and conversations spilled out, merging into one chaotic clamor. the neon lights illuminated your faces, giving them a somewhat surreal, multicolored glow. you quickened your pace and suddenly, the door swung wide and someone emerged from inside with a drink in hand, swaying slightly and almost bumping into you.

"hey, man, watch out" said Aggu half-jokingly, half in irritation, shielding you with a subtle movement of his body.

the stranger only muttered something under his breath, turning away before disappearing into the darkness of the street. August, never taking his eyes off you, grabbed your hand and led you inside. there, you found hot, stuffy air, filled with the smell of alcohol, sweet perfume, and a tightly packed crowd. people moved to the beat of the music and lights created flashes of bright smiles and shadows on their faces. you breathed out softly.

"i wonder, how our friends are doing" Aggu said with a smile, leaning closer to your ear to speak over the music. his tone was casual yet slightly provocative, as if he wanted to make sure you were having a good time.

"i think, they’re fine…" you gave him the most dazzling smile you could muster at that moment. he brushed your cheek lightly, then began guiding you toward the bar, deftly weaving past small groups of people standing in random spots, as though he'd known this place forever.

you noticed that the bar was exceptionally crowded that night. you felt eyes sliding over your figure, but with August by your side, you felt nothing but safe at that moment.

you both took the free seats you managed to find somehow, and Aggu leaned casually against the counter, throwing the bartender a laid-back gesture.

"so, what are you drinking, beautiful?" he asked, turning his head toward you. his voice was low, almost drowned out by the pounding bass that filled the place.

"you should already know the answer to that" you replied with a smile, tilting your head slightly to the side. your eyes met his, which for a moment seemed more intense than he intended. Aggu let out a soft laugh, as though your response amused him.

"so, the usual" he murmured, giving the bartender your order.

you turned away for a moment, trying to spot your friends, but the sound of a glass being placed in front of you pulled you out of your trance. you took a sip of your drink, feeling how the familiar taste provided a moment of relief in the overwhelming heat. August was still watching you and his smile, though gentle, seemed to conceal something more - something you sensed but couldn’t yet define.

"maybe we should find the others" you said after a moment, once again fixing your hair, which was slightly disheveled.

"ah, right…" Aggu replied with a wider smile "i’m sure they’ve really missed us."

he stood up, extending his hand toward you. for a moment, your gazes locked, and in his eyes, you noticed a slight tension, as if he were waiting for something to happen. maybe he felt the same way you did - that there was something different about this night. you took his hand, letting him lead you through the crowd once again.

"where are they?" you asked, looking at him with slight bewilderment, still not seeing any familiar faces in the massive group of people "we’re not that late..."

"they’re probably in the other part of the room" he replied, barely raising his voice above the music "come on."

at every step, people were chatting, sipping drinks, and the whole scene seemed full of energy, pulsing with an unrestrained urge to have fun. you managed to get past groups of people dancing nearby, when you finally heard the familiar, raspy voices coming from one of the booths.

"oh, there they are!" Aggu said, then quickened his pace, leading you toward the sounds. before you reached them, you felt his hand tighten around yours, as though he wanted to give you extra reassurance in all this chaos. your legs began to tremble slightly - not from fear, but from that strange, electrifying mix of excitement and adrenaline that filled the place. after a moment, you recognized familiar faces greeting you both.

"well, well, look who finally decided to show up!" came Stuntje’s boozy voice as he suddenly wrapped you in a hug so tight it was like he hadn’t seen you in years. his embrace was full of joy, and though the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hanging in the air was a bit overpowering, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“oh, baby, you always know how to welcome me!” you replied, laughing quietly. at the same time, you noticed a hint of uncertainty in his hug - maybe he sensed the strength of Aggu’s presence right beside you, still holding your hand.

"i see something really important held you up if you’re this late" someone teased from deeper in the group.

August let out a quiet laugh, looking at you and then at the others. he was silent for a moment, deciding how to phrase it, then finally sat on the couch and pulled you close so that you ended up sitting on his lap without a word. his hand settled naturally on your waist and he gently stroked your back, as though trying to ease the tension in the air.

"we had… a private matter to take care of" he said, flashing a playful smile at your friends and your cheeks instantly grew warm.

sitting on his lap, you felt his hands on your waist, and that delicate touch reminded you of the odd energy that had been sparking between you for a while. the rest couldn’t fail to notice it - their gazes moved back and forth between you and him.

you’d been together for three months now, yet some of them still couldn’t hide their curiosity, looking for clues that might explain why there was something between you that no one could ignore. your relationship didn’t have a standard, drawn-out beginning. instead, everything fell into place so naturally that it was hard to believe how quickly it all came about.

Joost introduced the two of you one day. maybe that was when you first felt this was something you just had to try. Aggu was intriguing - his demeanor, his confidence, and his casual manner that never felt arrogant, immediately caught your attention. his playful remarks, how easy it was to talk to him and how effortlessly he made you smile, all led to you spending more and more time together.

you felt it after just a few of your first meetings: there was something you couldn’t explain, but you knew it was there. every day brought tiny gestures that went beyond friendship - his looks, the light touches that seemed small, yet felt so significant. and when you spent your first whole night together, talking about everything and nothing, you realized it wasn’t just friendship anymore.

and then, when that moment arrived - when your gazes began to meet under different circumstances, in different situations - everything became clear. the smile that lit up your face every time you spotted him in a crowd, the hand that accidentally found its way into yours, the look that held you captive for a moment - those were the instances that made it impossible for you to turn away.

sitting on his lap now, however, you felt strangely uneasy. an uncertainty washed over you, one you couldn’t explain. the tension in the air grew, not only because of the group’s stares, but also because something inside you had started to change. the feeling that had been building for days wouldn’t give you any peace.

you took a sip of your drink, feeling how suddenly all attention shifted from the two of you to someone else. Joost appeared at the table, holding a beer in his hand, and his steps were confident, though weighed down by something you couldn't quite pinpoint. before sitting down, he exchanged a smile with Aggu, patting him on the shoulder.

"what's up, man?" he said, then turned his gaze to you. his face wasn't wearing its usual smile, replaced instead by something that resembled cool indifference. for a moment, he looked at you as though deciding what to say, but in the end, he simply nodded, as if it was the most ordinary gesture.

he didn't even try to greet you with words. he just took a seat beside you, placing his beer on the table. still, his eyes kept drifting back to you, even though he said nothing. you were certain something in him had changed - the way he was looking at you, as if trying to uncover something he wouldn't speak aloud. even though you were still friends, you felt a weird feeling hovering between you.

you felt an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach. had you done something wrong? it's true that you hadn't been spending as much time together as before, but you still wanted your relationship to be like it used to be. something in Joost's behavior made you uneasy, as though there was an unspoken cloud hanging in the air, but you couldn't quite grasp what it was.

you knew that something had changed. maybe it was because of his gaze, which met yours for a moment - cold but filled with something more, something that might have been… anger? or maybe it was simply the fact that you still couldn’t forget how close you two used to be. now, sitting there, Joost seemed especially bothered by something.

your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Aggu’s hand sliding up your thigh. you felt a wave of warmth spread through your body at his touch. you turned more toward him, and your hands instinctively found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. his scent, the warmth of his body - everything about it made it impossible to focus on anything else. your lips met in a wet kiss, and you pulled away a moment later.

your heart raced and your breathing grew shallow. the kiss, though brief, left you with a feeling you couldn’t ignore. you looked into his eyes, searching for some kind of answer there, but instead you only felt a rising uncertainty.

you stared at him for a moment, but before you could gather your thoughts, you heard that familiar voice of Joost. his presence suddenly felt overwhelming.

"lovebirds, find yourselves a cozy spot, but please, not right here in front of everyone, okay?" he said, his voice laced with mild irony, and his eyes, though cool, tracked your every move.

you felt the tension growing, as though something intangible was hanging in the air. for a moment, you held your breath, feeling your heart race with nerves. his words were meant as a joke, but in that moment, they seemed charged with hidden meaning, as if there was more behind what he said.

you glanced at him, then at Aggu, who let out a light laugh in an attempt to ease the situation. still, there was something in his gaze - perhaps a shadow you spotted there - that told you he, too, felt uneasy. there was something in Joost’s behavior you couldn’t understand right now, but you sensed the whole situation was starting to slip out of control.

"whatever, i need a smoke" you said, carefully getting up from your boyfriend’s lap. you tried hard to keep your thoughts from spiraling, but the chaos in your mind was overwhelming. reluctantly, you looked at Joost, whose eyes you still felt on you.

"how about some shots?" someone in the group called out, trying to break the tension of this weird situation. the others murmured their agreement, and a few people began heading toward the bar. Aggu looked at you with curiosity on his face, but he said nothing, simply watching you closely.

"do you want me to go with you?" he asked quietly, raising his eyebrows slightly, as if he wanted to give you space but also didn’t want to leave you alone.

you felt a strange, indescribable sensation growing in your stomach. maybe it was fear, maybe excitement - maybe both. either way, you wanted to escape the situation for a moment. you needed a breath of air.

"no need, go with the others. i’ll catch up later" you said, trying to sound confident. you looked at Aggu, who didn’t move at first, as if still wondering whether you really wanted to be alone.

he merely nodded, giving you a slight smile, though his eyes revealed that he noticed something was off. after a moment, without another word, he walked away to join the rest.

"i’ll go with you" the blond guy spoke up after a pause "i’m not in the mood to drink more tonight anyway."

you glanced at him, feeling a little uneasy, but said nothing. you only nodded slightly and started heading toward the back exit, aware of his gaze on you. even though you wouldn’t admit it, you felt relief that you wouldn’t be alone, that someone had chosen to stay by your side. ever since Joost entered the room, you’d sensed that something was shifting in the air, that the energy between you was taking on a strange, incomprehensible form.

you went outside and Joost pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket, took one out, and offered it to you after a moment. you looked at him briefly, unsure of what to say, but finally nodded and accepted.

"thanks" you said softly, lighting it and drawing in the first puff of smoke, which immediately enveloped your senses and calmed them.

Joost stood beside you, lighting his own cigarette, but he didn’t speak right away. for a moment, there was silence between you - only the sounds of the city and your breathing filled the background.

"what’s going on?" he asked at last, looking at you. his voice was gentle, yet still distinct in the quiet.

you knew he couldn’t fail to notice the change in your demeanor, that strange atmosphere that had suddenly arisen between you, even though you were friends. you fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words, but instead you only lowered your gaze and took another drag of smoke.

"it seems like i should be the one asking you that..." you replied somewhat sarcastically, lifting your gaze to him. you felt something rough in your voice, as though you could no longer fully hide it.

Joost held your gaze for a moment, and his face seemed to harden. he didn’t respond right away; instead, he blew out a stream of smoke toward the sky, staring into the darkness for a while.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about" he finally said, but his voice sounded different than usual - more subdued, with a trace of something that hadn’t been there before.

he went quiet again, his gaze fixed on the space behind you, as though he were avoiding your eyes. it seemed he was trying to keep a lid on something - whatever was about to surface - but in his eyes, you could still see that unspoken answer you longed to hear.

"there’s really nothing going on" he finally said, but his tone was too soft, too unconvincing. you felt an unspoken presence hovering between you, as if waiting to break free.

"i don’t believe you" you replied, looking at him with a hint of irritation "Joost, don’t be childish. i know something’s off. you’ve been acting weird around me all night, and now you want me to believe you don’t know what i’m talking about?"

your words hung in the air. Joost blinked, as if colliding with a reality he’d been trying to avoid. the calm you usually saw in his eyes was replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. you watched him carefully, hoping to catch some clue about what he was really thinking.

"can’t you just tell me now?" you asked, feeling your hands tremble slightly "what’s this game all about? why are you hiding from me like this?"

he sighed deeply, his gaze shifting to the side for a moment.

"maybe i don’t want to tell you" he said quietly, as if trying to conceal his words, though they rang loud in the hush that surrounded you.

"i don’t really understand..." you answered, still staring at him with an expectant look that made it clear you wouldn’t back down "we’re friends, Joost. i have no idea what’s going on, but i’m not giving up until i get an answer."

the silence that followed was almost tangible, the atmosphere suddenly so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"sometimes..." he began, then hesitated as though unsure whether to continue. he looked at you for a moment and then sighed "sometimes things aren’t always what they seem" his words lingered in the air, leaving you suspended in uncertainty. you could feel something unspoken circling around you, something that was bound to come out eventually.

"what do you mean?" you asked, unable to conceal the tension in your voice any longer. you studied him intently, hoping to glean some hint from his expression, but his face remained unreadable.

he drew a deep breath, as though trying to gather his thoughts, but something in his posture betrayed that he was holding something inside, something that refused to emerge.

"never mind" he began again, but this time it seemed like the words were stuck in his throat. after a moment, he looked at you, and a certain shadow appeared in his eyes.

"i don’t know what’s happening to me" he finally added quietly, as though he was at last freeing himself of a heavy burden "maybe i shouldn’t be telling you this, but... i always wanted there to be something more between us than just friendship."

your heart stopped for a moment, and your mind filled with a storm of thoughts. you struggled for any words, but all you could do was stare at him, surprised and thrown off course.

"Joost, stop…" you began, but you couldn’t finish, because what he was saying made no sense. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

"you know, you’ve always been someone special to me" he added quickly, as if trying to explain himself, but his voice now sounded bitter "it’s just... i never knew how to tell you."

you felt your heart beat faster. what you heard made no sense at all.

"why are you doing this to me now?" you managed at last, your words hitting like a blow. the tension that had held you in place exploded suddenly, mingling with a wave of confusion and anger. you looked at him, feeling your heart thump erratically, as if trying to break free from your chest.

"this isn’t... this isn’t the right time for this" you went on, your voice cracking near the end of the sentence "why now? why at this moment, when everything is already so complicated?"

there was something in his expression that made you feel as though you were standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to step forward or back. your heart pounded and your head buzzed with questions that had no answers. and there was that uncertainty, like a shadow, a darkness spreading through your thoughts.

"you think it’s easy for me to watch the two of you almost every day?" Joost burst out, and now his voice held something more than sadness - it was frustration, as if these words had escaped at the moment he could no longer keep them in "i know, you’re with Aggu, i know, your relationship makes sense but that doesn’t change the fact that… that i wanted something too."

you stared at him in silence, feeling your heart clench with emotions that had no way out. what he was saying wasn’t easy to accept, but you couldn’t ignore what you felt in that moment - the strange sting of regret spreading through your body. you didn’t know how to react, what to say to make sense of it all, to avoid hurting anyone in this chaos.

"but i can’t... i can’t return your feelings, Joost" you said softly, sensing a hint of sadness on your face "it’s not what you think. i can’t give you what you want."

"you can't or don't want to?" Joost asked with a slight edge in his voice, as though searching for some loophole in your answer. he looked at you intently, his gaze giving you no chance to escape that question, from this moment that suddenly became unbearable. you fell silent for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts.

"Joost, it’s not like that..." you began, but there was uncertainty in your voice. the tension in the air between you intensifying.

"either way, i have nothing to lose" he said, moving closer, and his voice grew soft, almost pleading "i understand if you don’t feel the same, but… maybe give me a chance to prove it to you."

the uncertainty that had been present for so long now seemed to overwhelm all your thoughts. you struggled to control the whirlwind of emotions, but at last, you felt your resistance start to melt away. there was something in his bearing, in that look of his, that made it impossible for you to say “no.”

without another word, he came even closer. you felt his warmth as he stood right beside you, looking at you in a way you could no longer ignore. your cigarette stubs had long since been abandoned on the cold concrete. you no longer had any doubts and with every second in this silence, that uncertainty vanished, replaced by something more intense.

then his hand found its way to your neck, and his lips brushed yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first but grew more passionate with each moment. you began to feel his touch flowing through you, losing yourself in the feeling that had been building up throughout the conversation. and though you tried to resist, you finally felt yourself give in.

deep down, you were grateful that you two were off to the side now, where there were hardly any people around. the distant lights of the bar cast gentle shadows on your faces. the air between you felt thicker than before, as though the unspoken emotions had suddenly become too heavy to bear. you looked at him, a battle raging in your mind - reason telling you one thing, while your heart and body screamed something else.

"Joost, we can't…" you whispered between kisses, attempting to hold back your own hesitation, but he only moved his mouth down to your neck, so you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"tell me you don’t want this and i’ll go" he replied quietly, but you heard desperation in his voice, as though this were his last chance "we’ll go back inside like nothing ever happened."

you said nothing, and though your hands wanted to push him away on principle, they ended up resting on his chest as though searching for support. he was so close that you had nowhere to retreat, and the tension that had built up between you for so long now finally began to find release.

his hands gently yet firmly took hold of your hips, pressing you lightly against the cold wall behind you. you looked into his eyes, seeking an answer, but all you saw was a spark that instantly ignited something in you. before you could react, his mouth found yours again.

the kiss was fierce, charged with that elusive energy that had gripped you both for so long. your thoughts ceased to exist for a moment. Joost’s hands slid higher, gripping you tighter, as if he feared you might disappear. you didn’t protest; your body, almost independently of you, responded to his touch, to this moment you’d been avoiding for so long.

your fingers laced themselves into his hair, and your heart hammered wildly, trying to find its own rhythm in the chaos unfolding. Joost pulled back for an instant to catch his breath, his eyes, darker than usual, fixed on your face.

"tell me to stop" he whispered, his voice low and raspy, his breathing uneven.

you wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in your throat. your gaze lingered on his lips, and a wave of warmth coursed through your body. instead of answering, you pulled him closer yourself, giving him the response he needed.

his hands found yours, lifting them gently above your head, pinning them against the wall as if to make sure you wouldn’t run. you felt his lips on yours again, hungrier and more demanding, and your body responded to his every move.

quiet moans escaped your mouth as Joost pressed his crotch against you. his body pushed harder against yours, your breaths becoming short and ragged. the soft sounds you couldn’t hold back only seemed to spur him on. his hands, still holding yours above your head, were firm but held an odd tenderness - like he feared this moment might vanish in an instant.

his hips began moving with a slow confidence, and the heat of his body seemed to seep through your clothes, blurring every boundary between you. you felt his lips leave yours to travel down to your collarbone, leaving wet traces that sent shivers of pleasure through you.

"Joost…" you whispered his name quietly, almost pleading, though you weren’t sure what you actually wanted - begging him to stop or never to stop at all.

another faint moan slipped from your throat as his hips shifted, sending a spark through your entire body. Joost looked directly into your eyes - his gaze was so intense, almost hypnotic, as though he was trying to read every emotion on your face. his breathing was fast, unsteady, and the warmth of his body was almost overpowering.

"i need you" he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips along your neck, leaving damp kisses in his wake "i’ve always needed you."

your hands, still pinned above your head, twitched as if wanting to break free, but you didn’t have the strength to do it. his touch was everything you wanted in that moment, even though somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this shouldn’t be happening.

"please… do something" you whispered desperately against his mouth. you saw something flicker in his eyes, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for that tiny request that gave him permission. the hands that had held yours above your head slid downward, brushing your shoulders and collarbones, then finally found your waist, pulling you even closer.

slowly, his hands began to explore your body, and your fingers came to rest at the nape of his neck, gripping a little tighter, as if seeking support. there was no turning back now - only him, his touch, and that unspoken need burning between you both.

his hand soon found the soft skin of your inner thigh. after a moment, you felt his fingertips graze your panties, pushing them slightly aside. you needed him, right then and there.

his lips left yours, traveling along your jaw and down your neck again, planting hot kisses that sent shivers racing down your spine. your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, encouraging more, even though your mind still flickered with the awareness that this was crossing a line.

your hands moved to his belt, unfastening it with a few quick motions. your breaths intertwined, mingling in the space between you. you undid his pants and took his hard length in your hand.

"oh, fuck… so needy" was all he managed to say in that moment.

his hands lifted your thighs, making you wrap them around him, and in that moment, you felt even more strongly how much he wanted you. the wall behind you was cold, but that only heightened the contrast with the fire that was burning inside you. every movement, every touch felt like it was setting you ablaze, filling you with a mix of excitement.

after a moment, you felt him move inside of you. his lips lingered by your ear for a moment, releasing a ragged breath that mingled with yours. in the half-light, you could only make out the outline of his face; a narrow beam of light from a distant streetlamp fell on both of you, painting shadows on the wall. the sound of music from the bar reached you faintly, as if it belonged to another world, and now only this moment mattered - your quickened breaths, the warmth of your bodies.

his hands tightened their grip on your thighs. you felt every nerve in your body respond to his touch - a mix of lust and overwhelming pleasure. your heart pounded like crazy. somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this shouldn’t be happening, yet every movement Joost made and the bliss coursing through you effectively drowned out that thought. you felt a wave of forgetting wash over you - only he existed, his touch, his rapid breath close to your neck.

his movements became more deliberate, and with each slow thrust, you felt a surge of warmth pulse through your body. a low moan escaped your lips, blending with the muffled sounds of the night. every brush of his skin against yours seemed to heighten the tingling sensation coursing through your veins, and an unmistakable urgency wove itself into the air around you.

Joost caught your gaze and his hand slid up your side, fingers splayed to take in as much of you as he could, lingering at the curve of your waist. the moment felt both endless and fleeting, as though time had slowed just enough for you to memorize the rise and fall of his chest, the small tremors in his muscles, the rapid thudding of your own heart.

"you’re so beautiful when i fuck you like that" his voice was hushed, ragged, as though any louder sound might shatter the fragile intimacy. he leaned in to capture your mouth in a needy kiss. you responded with the same hunger.

there was a heady mix of desperation in each movement. every time he pulled you closer, it was as though he wanted to merge all the space that remained between you, to reassure himself that you were truly there. your legs tightened around his waist, and you found yourself lost in the rhythm you created together - fierce, then gentle, fierce again.

you arched your back against the wall, a soft sound escaping your lips as the pleasure built up, a heat just beneath your skin. Joost shifted his weight, angling himself to bring you closer to orgasm. with each shared breath, you could sense how close he was to losing himself as well. his forehead pressed against yours, and for a moment, you both just breathed - eyes closed, hearts pounding in unison - before the next wave of movement carried you further.

"look at me" he murmured, voice unsteady. opening your eyes, you found his gaze locked on you, pupils dark with desire, but also brimming with something more than raw lust. there was a reverence in his face, a quiet question, one that asked if this was real, if you were truly here.

in a heartbeat, you felt the swell of release rise inside you, spreading like liquid warmth through every limb. your nails dug into his shoulders, and the tension that had been coiling within you finally snapped. you heard your own voice, husky and breathless, merging with his low groan.

in the aftermath, all the tantrum stilled. your breathing came in shallow gasps, chest rising and falling as you clutched at Joost, your bodies still together. the world outside, for a brief moment, felt far away, nothing but the soft hum of city lights and the lingering echo of music in the distance.

with one last gentle press of his lips against yours, Joost allowed a quiet exhale to escape, as if releasing all the pent-up yearning he had carried until now. he rested his forehead on your shoulder, arms still snug around your waist, neither of you quite ready to break that connection. it was in this hush that you felt the weight of what had just happened.

"what the fuck have we just done.." was all you could say.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x y/n #joost klein x you #joost klein angst #joost klein smut #ski aggu x reader #ski aggu x y/n #joost klein #ski aggu

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