#my favorite is the blue striped one :>>>

[druidonity2]

Tried to design an outfit for Anduin that felt like him, but also didnt use any blue. Something comfy and more travel suited. I based the colors off his non-blue outfits from WoW and HotS, his pink one is based on his older self in the Legion comics.

[yardikins]

She’s a ten but her favorite background Rageons are ones that are really hard to find clear shots of in crowd scenes

[gojosconsort]

satoru giving pregnant wife head to help with her hormones 😇

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. oral (f receiving), pregnancy, mild degradation, spit

you’re six months pregnant, hormones all over the place, making you restless and needy as hell. satoru’s been eyeing you all day, that smug grin on his face, knowing exactly what’s got you squirming. you’re in one of his shirts, barely covering your thighs, belly round and heavy, when he kneels between your legs, hands spreading you wide like it’s his goddamn mission.

“fuck, baby, you’re drippin’ already,” he says, voice low, teasing, blue eyes locked on your soaked panties as he yanks ‘em down, tossing ‘em somewhere. you’re flushed, half-embarrassed, ‘cause these hormones got you so damn sensitive, every touch feels like fire. “satoru, don’t stare,” you mumble, but he’s already leaning in ‘til his breath’s hot on your cunt.

“shut up, you love it,” and then his tongue’s on you, flat and slow, licking a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting how wet you are. you moan, loud, head falling back, hands already fisting his white hair ‘cause you can’t help it—pregnancy’s got you so keyed up, you’re practically humping his face. “shit, taste so good,” he mutters, diving in like he’s starving, tongue flicking your clit fast, then slow, sucking hard ‘til you’re shaking.

“toru—fuck, slow down,” you gasp, thighs trembling, but he’s not listening, too lost in it, groaning into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal. “slow down? why? you’re gushin’ for me,” he says, pulling back just to spit on your clit, watching it drip before he laps it up, sloppy and loud, the wet sounds filling the room. your hormones are screaming, making every lick feel like a damn shockwave, and you’re already close, too damn close, body wound tight.

he’s relentless, tongue circling your clit, then dipping lower, fucking into you, nose pressed against your sensitive bud. “look at you, all knocked up and still beggin’ for my mouth,” he teases, voice muffled, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise, keeping you spread as you buck against him. “these hormones got you actin’ like a slut, huh?” you whimper, embarrassed but too turned on to care, ‘cause he’s right—you’re a mess, and you need this bad.

“satoru, please,” you whine, chasing it, and he smirks, sucking your clit hard, making you scream, pleasure so sharp it’s almost pain. “please what? wanna cum all over my face?” he taunts, pulling back to rub his fingers through your slick, spreading it, before diving back in, tongue relentless. your belly’s tight, hormones amplifying every sensation, and when he grazes his teeth lightly over your clit, you’re done—orgasm hits like a freight train, vision white, thighs clamping around his head as you sob his name, gushing so hard he groans, lapping it all up like it’s his prize.

“fuck, that’s it, soak me,” he says, still licking, slower now, drawing out every aftershock ‘til you’re twitching, oversensitive, pushing at his head. “toru, enough,” you beg, voice wrecked, but he just kisses your inner thighs, soft, almost sweet, before climbing up, lips shiny with your slick. “hormones feelin’ better now?” he grins, cocky, but his hands are gentle, rubbing your belly, pulling you close. you nod, dazed, still catching your breath, and he chuckles, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself, ‘cause he knows you’re still needy—and he’s far from done.

[cameronsbabydoll]

KEEP QUIET ꨄ︎ RAFE CAMERON X BABYDOLL READER

WARNINGS — unprotected sex, sorta public sex, mdni 18+

The nonstop sound of your flesh slapping against flesh reverberated through the 50s-styled Americana bathroom, resonating with Rafe’s persistent thrusts as Rafe pressed you against the pastel striped wallpaper. The wet sounds were almost pulsating, mixing with the sweet sounds coming from your mouth. 

“Shh… Gotta keep quiet, baby,” Rafe whispered vigorously into your ear, his hot breath coming in strained grunts. 

Rafe moved one of his hands from the soft flesh of your hips to squeezing your face in almost a patronizing manner, pressing slobbery kisses all over your flushed face.

As Rafe’s other hand moved to pull your pretty ass against him, he started grinding your body against himself with slow and deliberate attacks. 

“Babydoll, you have to be quiet; everybody is going to hear you, and I know my baby doesn’t want that, right?” Rafe’s voice was almost a sensual threat, muffled in a soft tone, as he gave you another slap on your ass. The sound was almost like a soft melody, mixing with you shaking your head desperately to his words.

“Of course you don’t, doll; after all, this is your favorite diner.” Rafe mused with a deep chuckle as your whimpers grew stronger. 

With agonizing control, Rafe withdrew his length from your dripping wet heat, making sure he only left you with the swollen tip nestled between you. “Come on, babydoll, move those pretty hips for me,” Rafe growled as he delivered another spank, his eyes lighting up with a wild glee.

“I know you want this baby. Better yet, I know a needy little thing like you needs me, huh?” Rafe demanded, adjusting your body to face the antique mirror hung above the sink, making sure you can see your lust-glazed eyes and your drunkenly pleasurable appearance. 

“W-Want it so bad,” You whimper before shaking your head and speaking again, almost correcting your words. “N-Need it! N-Need so bad, Rafey!” 

Rafe pulled you back onto his cock with a brutal force that almost guaranteed to leave you sore. “Fucking hell, baby, so desperate for me? Aren’t you a doll?” Rafe teased with a forceful thrust.

Rafe watched the way your glossy eyes rolled back and your mouth fell open in a silent scream. “Look at that; it has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Rafe chuckled softly as his hips snapped forward with an intense urgency. “Little by little, babydoll, doing so good for me, such a good girl, aren’t you?” 

With a final brutal thrust that buried him in your cunt, Rafe pressed his thumb hard against your clit. At the same time, Rafe let out a deep, guttural breath as his cock pulsed between you.

Rafe moved his hips at a slow pace, stirring his release inside him as you rode out the aftershock of your climax. Rafe moved his burly hands to trace small circles around your soft skin as he pressed gentle kisses on the dampened nape of your neck.

Rafe slipped his cock out from you with a wet plop; a trickle of his seed dripped down your inner thighs. Rafe kneeled down slightly as he used his fingers to scoop some of it up and pushed it back inside your fluttering entrance before pulling your white lace panties and the baby blue shorts back over your hips, pressing a little kiss on the quilted heart on your shorts.

Then, Rafe turned you around to face him, his hands cupping your face roughly as he captured your mouth in a deep sensual kiss.

You hum softly as you reach out to move your fingers through Rafe’s dirty blonde hair, “Can we get a milkshake first? You did promise me you’d get me one…” 

Rafe couldn’t help but let out a smile at your request. “Of course, babydoll, anything for my baby.” 

[angrythingstarlight]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DJt1UWoxhCl/?igsh=M3drNndlcTdsYXQy

This is such a Bucky and sweet Bee thing 😂🥹🥰 like did you ghostwrite or manifest this reel 😅

Bucky and our sweet Bee have been co-conspirators since she was born.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff

WC: 1k

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series.

You have to keep a constant eye on these two because the second you’re not paying attention, they’re up to something. Running off to some store or looking up how much a baby highland cow costs. And how to sneak said baby highland cow into the house.

Last week, you overhead them plotting ways to get you on the jet so they could spring an impromptu vacation to the Maldives on you. Bucky tossed out the idea of simply tossing you over his shoulder and taking you on the jet. Bee approved. And what Bee wants, Bee gets. Or so Bucky told you as he carried you to the plane.

The next night all of you were at a new restaurant, you wait until the orders placed and the drinks on their way to go the restroom. You leave Bee digging through your purse for her stash of crayons while Bucky places a few cloth napkins in front of her.

You're gone for less than five minutes. Just five.

You come back to an empty table and a wide eyed, slightly nervous waiter telling you that your husband and child will be back soon.

Bucky has Bee answer the phone when you call. The conversation is all too familiar. They’ve done this before.

He listens in, ignoring the salespeople rushing around him trying to locate the exact pieces he custom ordered before the jet landed.

“Hi, mommy. I can’t tells you. It’s our secrets. Okays. Yeah. My favorites too. Okays, I tells you a wittle bit. We gonna gets you—waits. Hi Papa. Okays. Mommy, we—we gonna sees you laters. Bye. Loves you.”

She hangs up, leaving you chuckling into your glass of wine.

In all fairness, Bucky doesn’t make you wait too long. The appetizers arrive just as your mobster strolls back in, everyone watching him make his back to the table.

You can’t blame them for staring. There’s something about him that’s magnetic, drawing attention effortlessly. Maybe it’s because he looks so damn good in his dark grey suit, tattoos peeking past his sleeves, and that signature smirk on his bearded face. Could be the way he’s attentively doting on the little girl in his arms that has every woman in this place swooning. Bee is adorable in her fluffy white and pink striped dress, her head tilted back as she talks, a small white bag with a black logo in her hand.

Bee stops mid-sentence when she sees you, a smile brightens her face. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hey sweet Bee.”

Bucky leans down, setting her on the chair next to you, leaning over to sweep his lips across yours. “Hi Malyshka,” he murmurs with a teasing grin.

“James.” Your eyes roll, but he can read you better than his favorite book, he knows you’re happy to see him and that you’re curious about what they did. He gives you another kiss before he takes his seat. His blue eyes flicker between you and Bee. She’s squeezing the bag between her hands, brimming with excitement, he gives her a brief nod.

Bee empties the bag on the table, two small velvet boxes tumble out, one knocks against your plate with a faint clink. “Oops. I gots it,” she says, picking them up and holding them in front of your face. Little fingers wrapped around cobalt blue cloud your vision. “Prise!”

Leaning back, you take one and pop it open. Your heart melts. Just gone in a puddle of sheer happiness. In your periphery, you see Bucky, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, a pleased grin breaking through.

You want to appear unfazed, tease him a bit, tell him he can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep spoiling you like this.

But you can’t. The words won’t form.

Not when you’re gazing down at a pretty bumblebee locket, your baby’s initials etched into the hand-carved wings. Bee snaps open the other box, revealing a heart-shaped locket, lined with gorgeous pink diamonds.

“Its for us Mommy,” she says, switching the boxes and opening her locket. You gently trace a finger over the photos of you and Bucky. These are from New Year’s, you let Bee use your camera to take pictures of the city before the countdown. It wasn’t until later that you found the ones she took of you two. “You loves it?”

“I do.” Tears prick at your eyes as whatever is left of your melting heart warms your chest.

Bucky’s smirk fades into something softer, sincere. His hand brushes down your arm and he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look at yours Malyshka,” he asks, voice deep and thoughtful.

The locket opens with a soft snick. You recognize the photos. You have them on your desk. Baby Bee and her toothless grin, the one you could never get enough of. Bucky, the night he proposed, looking up at you, the passionate emotions captured in his eyes always make your breath hitch.

“Its perfect,” you breathe out.

“Always is,” Bucky responds, his gaze drifting across your face. He can’t imagine anything more perfect than you. And little Bee.

“Thank you. This is amazing.”

Bee wiggles in her chair, legs swinging. “You welcomes.”

Bucky says nothing, happy to let his baby take all the credit. He places the locket around your neck and does the same for Bee. Topped off with a kiss on the lips for you, one on the forehead for her.

Dinner goes by too fast. Cherished memories you’re going to store away, right next to all the other incredible moments in your life. You take it all in. The delicious food is made even better by the bite or two stolen from each other’s plates. Excellent wine. Bee’s apple juice. Your hand in Bucky’s. His arm around your shoulders. The sounds of the band unnoticed over shared laughter and Bee’s wildly imaginative stories about Mr. Tato and Elmo.

And the heart-shaped locket warming against your skin as the sun sets.

Life is good.

You’ll never be able to stop these from conspiring against you, but you’re about to one-up them. Give them something that can’t be bought in stores.

[chow0w]

may i humbly request my beloved lady scarab or lady jewel?

of course dreams! Here’s my redesign of lady Jewel!

I had a lot of ideas for this design and it was super easy to make, but the patterns did kind of throw me a little. Jewel’s design uses recurring elements of gemstones and swirls for an elegant, royal look! Her scale and wing colors aren’t particularly special, but I did decide to change her color palette slightly and exclude any prominent use of black stripes, since I wanted the highest points of contrast to be around her jewellery and eye/face. She holds a dragon cocktail, with a feathered scarf-neckpiece and some neck/tail jewelry. I’m not sure if I would label the jewels on her wings as piercings or clip-ons, as I imagine they would make flying somewhat difficult. A lot of lady Jewel’s rebellion throughout the lost continent arc is seen/alluded to be silent - she quietly refuses to follow some of Wasp’s orders in relation to the silk wings, and is described as a fair leader who can be trusted by both tribes: so long as Wasp believes her to be incompetent and naive. Because of this, it was important to me that Jewel’s design had the potential to be viewed in a negative light. Jewel’s posture and expression help us to view her as intelligent and witty, however a different mannerism with the same design could portray her as tackily dressed and incompetent - which is totally something she would think about when dressing up.

I love Jewel’s character and book appearance, but my one criticism would be that I wish we got to see more of the art scene in jewel hive - it would be really interesting to see how protest art movements work within jewel hive, and if they were any different from cross-hive protests like the chrysalis leaf. Art and rebellion are inextricably interlinked, and not exploring jewel hive to the fullest almost seems like wasted potential in my opinion. That definitely drove me to include subtle references to art forms with a strong link to protest and social justice: particularly drag. My first idea for this design was for Jewel to be in full drag, but I realized Wasp would probably never let that slide (even with how much Jewel got away with already) and decided to present those design elements much more subtly instead. Overall, Lady Jewel’s appearance is intended to be a reflection of her personality, grace and sense of justice.

As always, thank you guys so much for all of your support of this series! I hope these designs are a point of inspiration and discussion, and look forward to continuing them in the future.

Here are the current characters in waiting: Sunny, Moon, Clearsight, Blue, Luna, freedom, Bigtail, Cricket, Clay, Blaze, Queen Thorn, Starflight, Darkstalker, Tsunami, Snowfall, Grandeur, Sky, Lynx, Oasis, Winter and Kinkajou! If you don't see your favorite here or have another question/something to say, please feel free to leave a request in my askbox!

later :33

[random-thot-generator]

POUND CAKE

—No good deed goes unpunished.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

cw: (MDNI-18+ ONLY) explicit sexual content, dark themes, allusions to stalking, manipulation/coercion, dubcon

mdni banner: @cafekitsune

-

You were just trying to be nice to the guy, show him a little customer appreciation. You should've known better.

Whenever the big blonde Manc showed up at your shop, he always ordered a hot cuppa and a slice of lemon pound cake. Didn't matter what was on special that day or what was in the display case, he always asked for the pound cake. Nothing else would do.

You hadn't seen him in a couple of months, which over the past year or so you had learned was sort of his MO. He'd stop in every day for several weeks in a row, then poof! He'd vanish until, months later, he'd just suddenly reappear again. You never asked why; it wasn't that kind of relationship. He never was much of a talker, that one.

So, yesterday he showed up again—just suddenly out of the blue, like always—and wouldn't ya know it, you were completely sold out of the pound cake. Usually you wouldn't be, but it just so happened that an old bird had popped in before lunch and bought the last of what you had for an afternoon tea she was hosting for her knitting circle.

You obviously had no way of knowing that would happen, but still you felt bad because you could tell he was disappointed. You even offered him some free macarons to make up for it, but he just grunted and shook his head, then paid for his tea and left.

Well, of course, you wanted to make it up to him, him being one of your regulars and all. It's simply good business, you told yourself, looking after your loyal customers and what not.

So, the next day you were ready for him. You even went so far as to set out the tin of his favorite brand of earl grey in anticipation of his arrival. You then fretted for hours, keeping a close eye out for him, until he finally showed up. You were all smiles as he approached the counter.

"Got any uh tha' pound cake left t'day?" he'd asked in that grumbly, gruff way of his.

"I do!" you told him, giving him a coy smirk.

"Gimma a slice then, an' my usual brew."

You were on pins and needles while making his tea, giddy with nerves as you slid the green-and-white striped cake box across to him with his to-go cup. You were keen to see his reaction. His dark eyes squinted at it, darting back and forth between you and the box.

"Wha's this, then? I asked fer a slice, not a whole bloomin' cake, ya muppet." He scoffed and pushed the cake box back towards you.

Well! Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Feeling a bit peeved, you pushed it back. When he glared, you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it.

"I felt bad that you left empty-handed yesterday, so I wanted to make it up to you. That's an entire lemon pound cake, made just for you."

He blinked, his pale brows furrowing into a bothered little frown. He eyed the cake box, looking a bit perturbed, then reached for his wallet.

"No no!" you blurted out, waving him off. You gave him a sheepish look, suddenly feeling put on the spot. "It's um—It's on the house." You scratched at the back of your burning neck, eyes sliding off to the side. "Gotta take care of my loyal customers, don't I? Wouldn't want to lose ya."

And he just stared at you. Didn't say a word in response.

In fact, he stared at you for so long, you started to fidget. Sweat began gathering in your pits, your body tense and overheated. Had you overstepped, offended him somehow? Your mouth fell open, but nothing came out of it. You weren't quite sure what to say to him, so you just gaped up at him like a stupid, daft cow.

He tilted his head, eyes hooded and lazy. "Ya sayin' ya made this especially f'me, pet?" he finally asked.

The situation was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "Um... Well... Y-Yes, I suppose I did."

Planting his hands on the counter, he leaned forward, his dark, glinting eyes raking over you as he hummed in consideration. Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust from embarrassment, he straightened to his full height and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wicked little smirk.

"Wha' time do ya usually get outta here?"

Your breath gusted out in a rush, and you realized you'd been holding it the whole time. "Around seven," you croaked, then cleared your throat. "S-Seven o'clock..."

"Christ," he grunted, making your eyes bug when he reached down and shamelessly adjusted himself. "Olright then. I'll be back 'round seven f'ya." His eyes bore into yours as he took his tea and cake from the counter. "I'll walk ya home."

Then out the door he went.

Your mind was in a daze for the remainder of the day, the passing hours little more than a blur. He's coming back; he's walking me home, your mind kept repeating.

Your anxiety eventually got the best of you. You'd pretty much talked yourself into nicking out early to avoid him, but your plan of escape went completely awry when he walked back into the shop at six-thirty.

Oh, dear God...

"You're early," you squeaked.

He rolled his massive shoulders, then took a seat at one of the tables. He stretched his long, tree trunk legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "Figured I'd wait while ya finished closin' up. Care t'make me a brew first, though?"

Your body went on autopilot, making him a tea while your mind screamed into the void. Then you shuffled off to finish closing up for the night while he sipped his tea. He helped you turn up the chairs to speed things along, and was right on your heels when you finally locked up for the night.

It was all you could do to keep up with him as he led you by the hand a few streets over to your flat. You were so flustered, it didn't even occur to you at the time that he somehow already knew the way.

The next thing you knew, he was herding you up the stairs to your floor, taking the keys from your trembling hand to unlock the door himself. Maybe it was an attempt at self-preservation that gave you the courage to balk at the threshold and turn to face him.

"Thank you for walking me home, Mister..." Your lashes fluttered and a nervous titter bubbled out. "I'm sorry. I never even asked for your name."

Heavy hands landed on your shoulders, sliding down to your biceps as he smirked a wicked grin and walked you backwards through the doorway.

"Name's Simon, lovie. Simon Riley."

The gravel in his voice sent a chill shuddering down your spine. He laughed low and wicked when you jumped after he kicked the door shut behind him.

"'S olright, li'l girlie. 'M gonna take real good care uh ya. Jus' relax an' let it happen, yeah?"

That was the extent of your conversation for the next few hours. You really weren't capable of speech during that time, and he mainly just growled out orders at you.

"Get yer knickers off an' spread those pretty thighs, doll."

"Fuck. Tha's it, lovie. Keep suckin' it just like tha'. Told ya you could take more."

"Quit squirmin' an' keep them legs open. Can't eat properly wiff ya squeezin' my head."

"Just breathe, sweet'art. You can take it all. I'll make it fit."

"On yer belly, arse up, princess. 'M not done wiff ya yet."

"Quit yer whingin' an' come f'me again."

That's not to say he wasn't generous with the praise too, though...

"Lookit tha' sweet li'l cunt. Olready drippin' wet f'me."

"Ya look s'pretty wiff my cock in yer mouth. Like a fuckin' angel."

"Mmm... Never tasted a pussy this good. Could eat ya all night."

"Bloody hell, 's tight. Feels like heaven."

"Good. Fuckin'. Girl. Nngh! Knew ya could take it all."

"Christ... 'Got me 'bout t'come olready, lovie."

"Look bloody gorgeous sittin' on my cock, lass. An' lookit how yer tits bounce. Fuck... FUCK!"

"Not gonna last—feel too bloody good. Gonna fill this pussy up!"

And he did. He filled you up to the brim and left you a boneless, quivering mess. Then he cleaned you up and tucked you into his side. Best sex ever, you thought before drifting off to sleep.

It was so good, in fact, that you didn't even get mad when he ghosted a kiss on your cheek and slipped out of your bed then out of your flat before dawn. He never was much for chatting anyway, so you figured he'd rather skip the awkward goodbye the next morning. It was a bit disappointing to know you'd probably lost a good customer, though.

And yeah, maybe you were a little sad when he didn't stop in for his usual slice and cuppa the next day, but honestly, it was probably for the best. He always did strike you as a little too intense, maybe even slightly unhinged. Yet it was probably that hint of danger that drew you to him in the first place, like a moth to a flame.

It might be fun to dance in the flames on occasion, but his brand of fire would consume you if you stayed too close for too long. Ah well. At least he left you with some good memories to keep you warm at night.

By six that evening the store is dead, your last customer having departed a half hour ago. Deciding to close up early, you flip the sign on the door and turn the lock, then head to the back to clean. You're already planning on a long soak in the tub with a glass of wine once you get home. Simon left you with sore muscles and a bone-deep ache between your thighs. You swear you could still feel the shape of him impressed into your inner walls.

You're in the process of shelving a stack of loaf pans, dithering over Chinese or pizza for dinner, when you hear the telltale jingle of the bell above the door. Startled, you gasp and loaf pans go scattering across the floor, making a terrible racket. Hissing a curse, you toss your hands up in frustration before stomping back to the front.

"Sorry! We're closed," you call out as you shove through the kitchen door, then come to an abrupt halt.

Wait. Didn't you lock the door?

"'Ello, lovie."

Simon's leaning against the counter, a devilish little quirk on his lips.

"How did you get in here?" is all you can think to say.

"Took yer spare set uh keys before I left this mornin'. Needed the key t'yer flat, but didn't wanna wake ya, so I helped myself. What was oll tha' racket?"

"I dropped the loaf pans," you mutter, in a daze.

He huffs a dry laugh. "Sorry if I startled ya. Was gonna call, but figured ya'd be busy closin' up the shop." He starts flipping the chairs up onto the tables. "Ya almost done? 'M ready t'go home an' relax. Been movin' house all day."

"Moving house?" you parrot, a sense of dread settling like a stone in your gut.

"Yeah. Figured I'd move tuh yers since yer flat's bigger than mine. Nicer, too." He smirks. "But don't worry. I didn't toss any uh yer shit. Got rid uh mine instead. 'S all secondhand junk, anyway."

You feel like you're in some sort of surreal dreamscape, where up is down and right is wrong and nothing makes sense anymore. Alice taking a header right down the old rabbit hole.

"You... You moved into my flat? But... But—why?!"

He rounds the counter, steps slow and steady, a predator stalking his prey. Scared little rabbit that you are, you tremble but don't move, some deep-rooted, primal instinct warning you to stay very, very still. Your head tilts back, eyes wide and unblinking, fearful of what you see smoldering in the dark depths of his eyes. Hellfire. Damnation.

"Shh..." he shushes you, placing a rough palm against your cheek. "We both know why. Yer just scared 'cause now ya know that I can see ya. But I've always seen ya, lovie. Always knew what ya wanted, what ya needed. Was just waitin' f'ya tuh figure it out."

Wrapping his fingers around your throat he draws you close, licks into your mouth like it's his to possess, like you're his to claim. He then spins you around and swats your bum to get you moving.

"Go grab yer stuff. We'll take care uh the rest uh this in the mornin'. 'S time t'go home."

You stumble to the back to get your things, mind numb, thoughts empty.

Later that night, eyes staring blindly up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, you quake as he sinks slowly between your thighs, listen to the filthy praise he mumbles against your lips. His breath tastes sweet, like pound cake, and you swallow it down, make it your own.

You were just trying to be nice, but you should've known better. You can't feed a feral stray like him without consequences. Because a beast like him is bound to follow you home.

-

[notdysfunk]

✨ FUNTIME SUN/MOON ✨REMAKE!!!

Ollddd + redesign notes under cut vvvvv

OLDDD VERSION!! It's so crunchy haha

A lot of yapping incoming I was never supa happy with these designs because I felt like they were too high contrast and/or would have rlly dull muted colours- which as we know funtimes mostly consist of whites and like pinks, purple, blue, or red. I took away their stark white parts, as I thought it was too bright even for a Funtime. I decided to play around with giving Sun some blue (always wanted to do that!!!), and giving Moon some yellow to match!!! I really tried leaning harder into the vibrant pastel-y almost colours that funtimes have!!! (Fun fact: SL is my second favorite game behind SB!!) Sun's yellow stripes are sparkly, and most of Moon's garments are the same. I gave Sun some fancy ray ornaments, like the mini rays behind the big ones!! And I deduced that, as a puppeteer, Moon's long ribbons would only pose a tangling threat- so I changed him to have ribbons tied around his forearms instead! And of course, I kept the stars on their shoes because... Of course, I had to!!! <3

[mywritersmind]

GETAWAY - FC43

summary : An italian weekend getaway with your favorite loving boyfriend. Filled with strawberries and hammocks.

listen up : inspired by @purinfelix ! super sweet and blue vibes

word count : 884

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I yawn, walking down the kitchen and through the doorway that’s wide open, revealing my favorite part of this house. The balcony is long and filled with a couch, hammock, and table, all overlooking the crystal blue ocean. My feet are cold against the wooden floors but the moment I step outside, the sun warms my face.

I smile softly when I see him. He’s in a chair, quietly looking at the water. I wrap my arms around my lovely boyfriend, my coffee and strawberries in my hands still.

“Morning Mi amor.” His strong arms move so his hand is resting over mine, tilting his hair back so his waves brush the side of my face.

He gets a hold of my arm and gently pulls me around him, motioning to sit on his lap. He puts down his mate and welcomes me to sit on him. I put my breakfast down and wrap my arm around him, looking up into the fact I so love.

Franco’s hand goes to my leg, smiling. “Nice shirt.” I look down at what I'm wearing. It’s his shirt actually. A blue and white striped button down paired with underwear to match.

“Thank you!” I run my hands through his hair, messing it up at bit, “I stole it from a very handsome man!”

He tilts his head a bit, kissing my cheek, “He’s a lucky man.” I rest my head on Franco's shoulder. He smells like peppermint and coffee. He snatches one of my strawberries from my bowl and pops it into his mouth.

I breathe in the fresh air, closing my eyes and smiling. “You’re a vision, mi amor.” He kisses me on my lips this time, brushing my hair back softly.

I fell in love with him because of how soft he is. He never rushed me, never yelled. Him and those big brown eyes do everything to love me.

“What are you thinking about today?” I ask, looking out at the water and birds passing ahead as his lips go to my neck, “Farmers market?”

He hums against my skin, not giving any answer. I can’t even be mad at his lack of words because his lips against me and this morning view is anything I could ever ask for.

⋆༺

Our day is slow and peaceful, his hand never leaves mine and as soon as we get back to the house we change. Franco will go along with anything I do and I may be abusing my power a bit when I see our matching pajamas.

I can’t help but giggle at Franco in the blue and white porcelain design, they’re locally made and absolutely gorgeous. I have the pants and top while he seemed far too happy that they had no other pajama top in his size.

It takes approximately twenty minutes for the two of us to get into the hammock without falling out. He wraps his arm around me as I nuzzle into his chest, looking up at the star filled sky.

“I never want to leave.” He says as jazz plays from his phone across the balcony, “Let’s stay.”

I smile and look up at him, “We have to leave. But we can come back anytime.” I kiss his jaw as his hand brushes up and down my arm.

“I love you.” It makes me smile.

“I love you too.” I wrap my arm around his middle, his shirt soft against my skin. I look back up at the stars, feeling complete peace in the cool air, my warm skin, and my boyfriend next to me.

“Those stars look like a dick.” And he ruins it all in one sentence. I groan and he starts laughing, hard, shaking the hammock.

“Franco!” I scream and hold onto him tighter as we swing, “Fran- I swear!”

He's still laughing, his chest moving up and down rapidly under my head. He holds me tighter as we both try to stay still, “I’m sorry!” He laughs, “I’m sorry! You love me! You can’t be mad!”

“You’re the wor-” I go to jokingly hit his arm but when he moves to block me, we flip.

We’re on the floor and laughing seconds later. Franco grabs my face, trying to be serious but still laughing, “Are you okay!?”

Literal tears are coming out of my eyes which he wipes away with his thumbs, still looking at me worriedly. I just laugh again and pull him closer to me, pressing my lips against mine.

He pushes his hand into my hair, “Did you hit your head?” I shake my head and kiss him again, climbing on top of him.

He laughs against my lips, moving his hands to the side of my legs. “Attempted murder!” He says as I gasp dramatically.

“You were the one who made us fall!”

“Oh no!” His hand goes to my head, “You did hit your head!” I hit his arm as he breaks into laughter again and I move back next to him, looking up at the stars from the floor.

He kisses my head and tugs me against him again, “Those stars look like a heart.”

I raise a brow, “No they don’t.”

He shushes me and points, “Just squint.”

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Three sets of digital drawings of Alice Dyer from The Magnus Protocol in different outfits on a brown background. She is a thin white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair with faded pink tips, crooked teeth, and pink painted nails, and she is always wearing pink cat-eye glasses, two pairs of silver earrings and silver snakebites, with a varying third ear piercing as well.

The first image features three pajama outfits.

The first is a baby pink cami, dusty pink shorts, and burgundy slippers, in which she also has her hair tied in a bun with a burgundy colored scrunchie. She is standing hunched and yawning.

The second is a dusty pink cami, gray PJ bottoms with pink stars and moons, a dark blue robe, and burgundy slippers. In that one, her hair is down and extra shaggy, and she is scratching her side, lifting her shirt a bit.

The third has her with nicely curled hair, wearing a baby pink satin robe, a black cami, and burgundy stockings, slippers, and matching makeup. She is standing coyly lifting her robe slightly with one leg lifted and a hand to her mouth.

The second image features three work outfits.

The first is of her in a pink and gray flannel shirt, dark blue hoodie, patchwork flannel maxi skirt, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a gold and red braided bracelet and a pink one. She is standing in profile, smiling with her hands behind her back.

The second outfit is a blue, pink, and brown flannel shirt over a grey undershirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans, a brown and pink flannel tied around her waist, brown socks, dusty pink converse, pink bracelet, and a dark blue hoodie draped over her shoulder. She is standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her hoodie, and she is smiling as thought talking.

The third outfit is a burgundy blouse, long navy skirt, brown belt, and burgundy shoes. Her hair is also done in nice curls and she is wearing soft burgundy makeup. She is smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

The third image features casual outfits.

The first is a soft pink tank top with a navy bra peeking underneath, a frilly brown maxi skirt, pink slip-ons, and a grey and brown flannel purse. She is also wearing the three bracelets previously shown with, and pink donut earrings. She is smiling with her hands behind her.

The second outfit is a burgundy bra, baggy brown and grey flannel hanging off her shoulder, a pink and brown flannel tied around her waist, a navy knee-length skirt, white crew socks, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a grey bracelet, a pink beaded bracelet, tooth earrings, and navy eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick. She is standing leaning to the side with one hand on her knee, smiling and holding up a peace-sign with her other hand near her face.

The last outfit is a dusty pink crop-top with a boat on it, dark blue hoodie, a short burgundy-plaid skirt, shredded navy tights, gray knee-high socks with burgundy stripes at the top, and dusty pink converse. She also has her usual bracelets as well as shark earrings and smeared burgundy lipstick. She is jumping up, smiling and shouting, with one hand punching into the air.

end ID]

~~~~

ALICE OUTFITS <3 these were soooo fun to do omg. i have my own favorites out of these, please tell me yours!! i'm really happy with how they all turned out <3

[covenofagatha]

The Mile High Club

Jennifer Barkley x reader

When flying back to Washington, DC with your boss, Jennifer Barkley, she comes up with an interesting way to relax when there's some turbulence

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: fingering, semi-public sex

“Ugh, why are there so many people here?” your boss, Jennifer Barkley, scoffs when the driver drops you off at the Indianapolis airport. 

After spending the last six weeks in Pawnee, Indiana on Bobby Newport’s campaign for city counsel, you and her are finally getting to go home back to Washington, DC. It’s been the first time in her career that she’s lost a campaign, but even she has to admit that Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt did a really good job. 

It was the most engaged in a campaign you’ve ever seen Jen, the most challenged, and you’ve been working with her for about a year now. It was exciting to watch her strategize like this, hot even. You’ve always had a thing for powerful, older women, and that was the definition of Jen Barkley. She oozes confidence and she’s not afraid of how good at her job she is. 

The two of you have a pretty good relationship — you’re actually the longest assistant she’s ever had, so clearly you’re doing something right. The easy banter between you is one of your favorite parts of the job. 

You glance at her as you take her suitcase out of the trunk and then yours, putting them on the ground and groaning with the effort. She’s wearing a navy blue blazer over a striped pink and gray button-down, with a gray pencil skirt, her signature string of pearls around her neck. Her brown hair is perfectly fluffed and curly, with makeup accentuating her lips and eyes. She looks good. 

“Well, I offered for us to fly out of the Pawnee airport, but you said, and I quote, ‘I don’t trust Pawnee to have planes that aren’t just tiny steel death in the sky—’”

“‘— that will fall apart if you breathe too loudly,’” Jen finishes with a chuckle at her own joke at the small town’s expense. She’s been making a lot of them the entire trip. “Yeah, I remember. I just still can’t believe the private jet had routine maintenance scheduled for today and now we have to fly with them. God, if only Knope and Wyatt hadn’t insisted on that recount.” 

By “them,” you know she means normal people who don’t run congressional campaigns for some of the most powerful people in the country and don’t just have access to private transportation whenever they want it. 

And without the recount, Jen and you would’ve been done a few days earlier. You still remember her little meltdown where she collapsed on the table, whining about wanting to leave, and it brings a smile to your lips. 

You roll your eyes fondly and grab both of the handles of the suitcase. “Well, we’re still in first class, so you won’t have to sit with all the peasants,” you tease. 

Jen points at you and moves her finger back and forth for emphasis. “That…that was a good one,” she decides and you can’t help but feel warm with her approval. And then she swats at your hand that is holding onto her bag. “I can wheel my own suitcase, sweetheart.” 

You mutter a half-hearted apology and follow her through the doors of the airport and go to the counter to check your luggage. Jen starts digging through her purse and you raise an eyebrow and wait for her to ask you for something. 

It’s always fun to watch your boss go as long as she can without willingly asking for help, even if you have exactly what she needs. Her tenacity and stubbornness often go hand-in-hand. 

She huffs exasperatedly before looking up and giving you a prize-winning smile. “Honey, do you happen to know where I put my—”

You reach into your pocket and pull out her boarding pass, reaching it out with a smirk. 

“Thanks, doll,” she says and snatches it from you before examining it like you may have given her the wrong one. You always keep an extra copy of all her documents on you at all times, just in case situations like this ever arise. “God, I cannot wait to be home and not sleep in sheets that smell like mothballs.” 

Giggling despite yourself, you think back to the small motel rooms the two of you had to sleep in. “It wasn’t all bad. JJ’s Diner was pretty cute.” 

“Yeah, after I bought them that cappuccino maker,” she retorts. “Everyone there was a moron. Did you know one of them told me they voted for Leslie because I said she was a dog murderer? Another thought I was Bobby’s sister. As if he and I could possibly share any of the same genes. Did you see him try to sound out ‘Connecticut’?”

It makes you snort. People in Pawnee were surely not the brightest. 

“I almost pity Leslie,” she sighs as the two of you move up in line. “You could not pay me enough money to trade places with her. I love my life way too much.” 

You laugh. “That’s good to hear, because I need someone to boss me around.” It’s meant to be a light quip, but there’s no mistaking the innuendo and Jen smirks before looking you up and down. You’re wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt — nothing special, especially compared to her. But you’d rather be comfortable for the flight, rather than look as professional as you usually do. 

“Don’t worry, hon. I’d bring you with me,” she reassures with a wink and your cheeks heat up, breath catching in your throat. She’s just being nice, you think. You are a good assistant. 

After you check your bags, you walk to the gate with Jen next to you, typing something one-handed on her phone and occasionally bumping into you. Boarding is in about thirty minutes, so you tell Jen you’re going to get something to eat. You end up choosing a soft-serve stand and get her a cup too. 

When you get back to her, she’s now reading a newspaper that she must have bought, and doesn’t look up at you until your arm starts to get tired holding out her ice cream. 

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” she purrs and takes it from you, ignoring the spoon and just licking a stripe straight through the swirl. Your eyes widen — you feel a tug in your stomach and you rush to sit down next to her and think about anything else. 

You busy yourself by scrolling on your phone until it’s time to board, and then you settle into your seat in first class next to Jen. You’ve only flown first class a few times, but you’re not sure you could ever go back to sitting in economy. Your seats are spacious and luxurious, with fancy screens in the backs of the chairs in front of you. There’s an armrest between you and your boss, with a piece that could slide up to separate you, but you make no moves toward it and neither does Jen. 

The flight attendant comes around and gets your drink orders, a coffee for Jen and a hot chocolate for you. She snorts when your drink comes back with a mound of whipped cream and you take a long sip, appreciatively humming when the warmth spreads through your body. 

“Oh, honey, you’ve got a little—” Jen says when you turn to look at her, and you scrunch your eyebrows before she cups your chin and swipes her thumb across your upper lip. 

You freeze and your heart rate spikes. 

When she pulls her hand back, there’s a smear of whipped cream on her thumb. She smirks before sucking it into her mouth, never breaking eye contact. You feel your body get warm and you shiver. 

“Are you cold?” she asks. Before you can tell her that you’re fine, she’s waved the flight attendant over and asked for a blanket. It’s touching to have this badass woman you’re always chasing after trying to take care of you. 

The stewardess brings a heated blanket over and Jen helps you tuck it around yourself despite you muttering that you’re really okay. 

And then the safety video plays on the screen and the plane takes off. You’ve never been great with flying and you try to distract your anxious mind with a movie. 

It works until the plane starts to shake. Your hands fly to the armrests and dig your fingers into them as if that will steady it. It doesn’t; if anything, it just gets worse and a small whimper escapes your lips. 

Jen, who is reading a different newspaper now, glances over at you and must see the panic evident on your face, because she lays a hand on top of yours. “Are you okay?” There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness to her voice and you wonder if she’s going soft from the exhaustion of having been in Pawnee for six weeks.  

“Yeah,” you say through clenched teeth. There’s another rough patch and the plane dips and you sharply inhale. You expect her to laugh, maybe make fun of you, but her eyes are understanding and she starts to stroke her fingers up and down your forearm. 

Is she trying to comfort you? You swallow roughly as her warmth seeps through your skin. “It’s okay,” she coos. “It’s going to be fine.” 

You nod and try to repeat the words to yourself until you believe them, but the plane shakes again and you shudder. “Oh, god,” you whisper, feeling a little sick. Jen is frowning next to you and closes the little cabin door on the aisle, essentially hiding the two of you from view of anyone else. 

“Just breathe. Try to relax, honey,” she says soothingly, and then apparently decides she’s being too nice, because she tosses her hair over her shoulder and huffs haughtily. “Don’t let a bit of wind scare you. There’s so many other things to be more afraid of. Like me, if you don’t relax.” 

It makes you smile a little and your muscles loosen ever so slightly. The turbulence stops and you’re able to breathe normally. 

Seemingly satisfied, Jen turns back to her newspaper and removes her hand off your arm. You miss her touch, but brush it off and start scrolling through the screen to find a movie to watch. 

The plane starts to shake violently and a terrified gasp slips out of your lips, hands scrambling for purchase and your legs tensing against the seat in front of you. This is it. 

You can practically hear Jen roll her eyes and she gives you a pointed look. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, breathing heavily. “How are you so calm?” 

Jen shrugs. “I’m exceptional,” she states matter-of-factly. Her fingers reach over to lay on your forearm again and you’re able to feel yourself relax. Just slightly, but she feels it too. “Is that helping?” she murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she smirks. 

Her fingers trail up your arm and then back down, and slide into your lap and ghost over your thigh. All the air leaves your lungs. “Do you want some more help?” 

Surely she can’t be offering what you think she is. But there’s not a single hint of jest on her face with her eyebrow arched and her pupils blown out. “Jen—” you swallow, your mouth suddenly so dry. 

“You can say no,” she reminds you. She lifts her hand off the blanket and hovers over it, showing that she’ll accept whatever you say. 

But you couldn’t even dream of rejecting her. “Please,” you say, voice suddenly full of heat, and your boss looks absolutely overjoyed. 

She drags part of the bunched up blanket covering the lower half of your body over herself, so if anyone were to look over the top of the cabin when she sneaks a hand under the cover and rests it on your leg, they wouldn’t be able to see. 

The plane rocks and dips, but you couldn’t care less because Jen has just dipped into the waistband of your leggings, her cold hands making you hiss. 

“Why don’t you put on a movie?” she suggests, her hand moving lower and cupping you over your underwear. You can feel yourself starting to get wet and you nod, tapping on the screen and clicking on the first thing it opens to. The film starts, but Jen’s fingers have found your clit and you can think of very little else. 

She rubs around it for a bit, teasing and feeling the crotch of your panties grow wetter while you squirm and try to get more stimulation. 

“You got to stop being so obvious, honey,” she whispers, ducking her head down to scrape her teeth against the top of your ear before nibbling on your lobe. You can’t stop the small moan that escapes you and she presses down on your clit. “Do you want the flight attendants to come over and see what a slut you’re being?” 

Heat tears through your body and you clench around nothing. You’d like to point out that this was all her idea, but you don’t want to risk her pulling away to teach you a lesson for talking back, which is exactly what Jennifer Barkley would do. 

So you shake your head and try to act like you’re watching the movie, but your eyes keep straying down to the blanket. 

She tuts lowly in your ear before sliding your underwear to the side and you jump when her fingers trace through your folds. “God, you like this a lot, don’t you,” she observes, amusement leaking into her voice. You blush and nod, softly whimpering when she teases your clit without touching it. 

“Jen, please, I need you,” you whine, and she chuckles humorlessly before pushing a finger inside you. She’s met with absolutely no resistance, and your walls bear down around her immediately, drawing a small gasp from her mouth. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of the drink cart coming down the aisle. 

She doesn’t move at first, just enjoying the feeling of you being around her, and it isn’t until you choke out another plea that she starts to slowly withdraw and then thrust back in. 

The flight attendant comes into view over the cabin walls and by the looks of it, she’s about two rows ahead of you. Your head tilts toward Jen, who is already watching you, a wicked glint in her eye. Her thumb expertly rubs at your clit while her one finger fucks you at a leisurely pace. It’s not enough to get you there, but the possibility of being caught and the way Jen’s eyes are burning into your face, watching every little twitch, are helping build the tension in your stomach. 

The stewardess stops at the row in front of yours and if she looked to her right just a little, she would see your knuckles straining as your fingers grip the armrests to try and stop yourself from reacting. 

“Better behave, honey,” Jen whispers dangerously, tongue flicking out against your earlobe. It makes you shiver and clench around her finger. “Don’t want her to know how naughty you’re being right now.” 

She smirks at your muffled whimper and finally gives your clit the direct stimulation you’ve been looking for and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop any other noises from crawling out. 

The flight attendant pushes the cart forward and pauses, looking at you and Jen over the cabin door with a warm smile. Jen pulls her finger out of you and you bite your lip at the sudden emptiness. 

“Hi ladies, can I get you anything else?” she asks, looking at Jen first. 

“Oh, I’m perfect, thank you,” Jen gushes, and then turns to you. You can feel both Jen and the flight attendant’s eyes on you. 

You nod in agreement and open your mouth to answer, but Jen chooses that exact moment to shove two fingers inside you, and you’ve never heard the sound that comes out of you before. You see her stifle a laugh in your peripheral vision and you plaster what you hope is a convincing smile onto your face, but probably looks more like a grimace. “I’m good,” you squeak. 

Jen’s fingers curl roughly and your hips jolt. 

The flight attendant looks like she wants to say something, but purses her lips tightly and moves on. The second she’s out of earshot, Jen laughs cruelly in your ear. “That was close, honey,” she mocks and scissors her fingers to stretch you out and you hiss. “Do you think she knows that you’re taking my fingers like such a good slut? That this was the only way I could get you to relax?” 

She presses her thumb against your clit and starts to thrust into you fast and you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The pleasure starts to spread from your pussy to your stomach to all over and you feel your orgasm building. 

“Jen, I — please, fuck,” you groan when she twists her fingers. Your hands are scrambling for purchase on the armrests, hips rolling as much as they can, and you can feel your head start to spin. 

“God, hon, your cunt feels so good around me,” she says conversationally and your head falls back against the seat, clenching violently. “So warm, so wet. Think I might have you ride my fingers while I have to sit in all those boring meetings.” 

Your whimper is one of a wounded animal and she grins, flashing her perfect teeth at you. It turns you on even more, how perfectly composed she is, while you’re a fucking mess in the chair next to her, a few miles above the ground, in a plane where you could get caught at any moment. 

“Please, I’m so close,” you beg quietly, one of your hands clasping onto hers over the blanket. You can feel her muscles move as she thrusts into you and you gasp, heat searing through you. 

Jen leans over and nudges your head to the side with her own before sucking on your neck. You keen softly and your chest rises and falls rapidly, your orgasm steadily approaching. 

You slouch down even further in your seat so that her fingers can reach deeper inside you and it makes your eyes roll back in your head. “So good,” you whisper and Jen huffs in agreement. 

Her thumb speeds up on your clit and her fingers hits the spot that makes sparks erupt in your cunt each time and you’re so fucking close —

“Cum for me, honey,” she rasps, and it’s strangely what makes you finally cum isn’t the way her fingers curl particularly deliciously when your hips meet her thrust perfectly, it’s not the way her thumb presses harder on your clit when she circles it again, it’s not the way her tongue draws a hot stripe up your throat — it’s the flustered, pink tint in her cheeks and her slightly uneven breathing and the way her eyes dart from yours down to your lips and then back up. 

It’s knowing that she’s affected by you falling apart for her: that's the final nail in the coffin, and your pussy walls spasm around her fingers, pleasure erupting through your trembling body while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out. 

She fucks you through your orgasm, whispering what a good girl you are, and you finally slump back into your chair, feeling ruined and much more relaxed. 

“Did that help?” Jen asks, wearing a playful smirk. 

You laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of her question. Of course it fucking helped. “Yeah, I’d say so.” And you’d like nothing more than to kiss the smug look right off her face. 

The pilot comes on the intercom and announces that you’ll soon be starting your departure into DC and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” you say, for getting you through your anxiety and fear about the turbulence, and for fucking you. Something you’ve been wanting since you started working for her. 

Jen knows exactly what you mean and she presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Anytime.” 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

[jesuistrestriste]

patrick and art who never got into tennis and instead formed an indie band in the early 2000s.

art sings and plays the guitar while patrick plays the drums.

they don’t exactly ‘blow up’ at first, but they do eventually gain a pretty decent following. and with this following came groupies.

they took a handful of them on their small state-wide tour; kissing and touching and humping and fucking each other every night after the shows — fueled by alcohol and weed and a little bit of arrogance.

one of their little groupies happened to be you.

you’re their favorite, actually.

you can take everything they give, and you can deal it right back when they need some sense slapped into them. sometimes literally.

pat likes to pull down your panties at the back of the tour bus and buck into you rhythmically from behind. his fingers will curl into your waist before he sneaks a hand down the front of your stomach and then lower to seek your sweet spot. rubbing it with fast circles of his thumb. his mouth’ll find your neck, and before you know it he’ll be sucking and biting like he’s starved of the taste of your body (even though you sucked him off before they even got on stage). he smells like sweat and peach vodka. “who’s my biggest fan, huh? thaaat’s it… louder, baby… louder—! aagh-! fuck, fuck fuck-“

art’s a lot more sensual and slow. he likes to go down on you, spreading open your legs as he eases you down into a chair in the green room of the show’s venue. licking a glassy stripe up your folds before he smushes his face into your wetness and shakes his head from side to side, pushing his tongue into your hole as he moans. he likes when you grab a fistful of his messy blonde hair and force his head back so he has to look up at you. it’s even better when you let him rut against your foot. he’s a disaster personified; blue eyes rolled back, hands shaking on your thighs, and the scent of his almost-sleazy cologne wafting off of him in waves as he worships you. “mmmnn, god, i could stay here forever… come in my mouth, please… i wanna feel you come on my tongue…”

best band ever.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Cephalopoda - Octopoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Order: Octopoda

Common Name: “octopus” (pl: “octopuses” or “octopodes”)

Families: 14 - Cirroteuthidae , Stauroteuthidae, Opisthoteuthidae (“umbrella octopuses”), Cirroctopodidae, Tremoctopodidae (“blanket octopuses”), Alloposidae (“Seven-arm Octopus”), Argonautidae (“argonauts” or “paper nautiluses”), Ocythoidae (“Tuberculate Pelagic Octopus”), Eledonidae, Bathypolypodidae, Enteroctopodidae, Octopodidae, Megaleledonidae, and Amphitretidae

Anatomy: eight arms fully or partially encased in webbing ; suckers line the inside of arms; two rear appendages are generally used to walk on the sea floor; slit-shaped pupil; no internal shell; most of the body is made of soft, gelatinous tissue allowing it to squeeze through tiny gaps; many species can change color, texture, size, and shape to camouflage and communicate

Diet: crustaceans, other mollusks, and fish

Habitat/Range: every ocean, with species adapted to many habitats, including tide pools, coral reefs, seagrass beds, open ocean, the Antarctic, and hydrothermal vents

Evolved in: Middle Jurassic

Propaganda under the cut:

The Argonauts (genus Argonauta, the only living genus in the family Argonautidae) (image 4) build their own paper-thin shells to use as a brood chamber and maintain buoyancy. This shell is not related to the external shell of nautiluses or the internal shell of squids. Nevertheless, argonauts are sometimes referred to as “Paper Nautiluses” due to this shell.

Colour vision appears to vary from species to species, for example, it is present in the Marbled Octopus (Amphioctopus aegina) but absent in the Common Octopus (Octopus vulgaris). Octopuses achieve their color-changing camouflage by using opsins in their skin which respond to different wavelengths of light and help the animals choose a colouration that matches the surroundings. Chromatophores in the skin can also respond to light independently of the eyes. An alternative hypothesis is that cephalopod eyes in species that only have a single photoreceptor protein may use chromatic aberration to turn monochromatic vision into colour vision, though this lowers image quality.

Most octopuses are solitary, but the Larger Pacific Striped Octopus (Octopus sp.) has been described as particularly social, living in groups of up to 40.

On rare occasions, octopuses hunt cooperatively with other species, with fish as their partners. They communicate with their partners by punching them.

All octopuses are venomous, but only the genus Hapalochlaena (Blue-ringed Octopuses) (image 3), has venom that is lethal to humans. The genus consists of four species of octopus that are found in tide pools and coral reefs in the Pacific and Indian oceans, from Japan to Australia. Despite their small size (12 to 20 cm [5 to 8 in]) they carry enough neurotoxic venom to kill 26 adult humans within minutes. The venom can result in nausea, respiratory arrest, heart failure, severe and sometimes total paralysis, blindness, and can lead to death within minutes if not treated. Death is usually from suffocation due to paralysis of the diaphragm. Despite this, Blue-ringed Octopuses are relatively docile and will only bite if actively harassed, instead choosing to flee or display their warning colors: bright yellow with blue flashing rings. Very few deaths have been recorded.

The Giant Pacific Octopus (Enteroctopus dofleini) (image 1) is often cited as the largest octopus species. Adults usually weigh 10–50 kg (22–110 lb), with an arm span of up to 4.8 m (16 ft). The largest specimen of this species to be scientifically documented reached a live mass of 71 kg (157 lb). Much larger sizes have been claimed: one specimen was recorded as 272 kg (600 lb) with an arm span of 9 m (30 ft). However, one carcass of a Seven-arm Octopus (Haliphron atlanticus), weighed 61 kg (134 lb) and was estimated to have had a live mass of 75 kg (165 lb).

The Star-sucker Pygmy Octopus (Octopus wolfi) is the smallest known octopus, at a length less than 2.5 cm (1 in) and a weight less than 1 g (0.04 oz).

The Coconut Octopus (Amphioctopus marginatus) collects discarded coconut shells, then uses them to build a shelter, an example of tool use.

Octopuses are highly intelligent. Maze and problem-solving experiments have shown evidence of a memory system that can store both short- and long-term memory. In laboratory experiments, octopuses can readily be trained to distinguish between different shapes and patterns. Octopuses have also been observed in what has been described as play: including moving around a bottle by jetting water at it. Octopuses often break out of aquariums and sometimes into others in search of food, after which they return to their enclosure.

Evidence indicates that octopuses are sentient and can feel pain.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 34 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Maverick makes time to have a conversation with Bradley, but you've already lost faith in him. Your words hurt him more than anything else could. 

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

When the mattress dipped and you felt the bedding shift around your legs, you opened your eyes to find Bradley climbing out of bed. The room was still dark, but his face was illuminated by his phone screen. The baby was thumping against your tender insides, making you wince, and your husband was playing around on his phone in the middle of the night. Or texting someone.

"What are you doing?" you croaked. Bradley's gaze snapped toward your face, and he leaned down to pull the covers to your shoulder.

"Uh, I need to head to base a little early," he whispered, tracing your cheek with his thumb. "To meet with Mav."

"What time is it?" you asked, rolling toward him to see his phone.

"Almost six," he replied, kissing your forehead as he tipped his screen away. "I love you. Try to get some more sleep."

You swallowed hard, rolling away from him as he started pulling his uniform from the closet. The rustle of fabric set your nerves on edge, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he got dressed. Maybe he thought you fell asleep again, because he didn't say another word before he left the room. But you were pretty sure you heard him stop in Rose's nursery before leaving the house.

Now you were wide awake and alone. Your phone told you it was 5:28 which was completely absurd. Neither you nor Bradley ever got to base before 8:00 unless you were working your ass off on a project.

He used Maverick as his excuse which seemed ridiculous. Bradley wasn't in the middle of training for a special mission which would require extra hours before daylight. And he had to know Maverick would only cover for him for so long.

You sat up and laughed miserably. Your husband was lying to you. And you thought you knew what he was lying about. Tears filled your eyes as your hand rested on your belly where your younger daughter was moving around. Why was Bradley doing this to the three of you? 

It wasn't like you couldn't tell how bad you looked at the moment. You knew it. You were bloated and chunky and broken out, but it was at least half his fault you were pregnant again in the first place. And you would make it a priority to get in shape after she was born. You would.

Your fingers were curled around the sheets, trying to keep yourself on your side of the bed, but you crawled toward Bradley's nightstand anyway. The lamp was too bright, taking your eyes a beat to adjust. You yanked the drawer open which offered almost no insight to anything except his Nugget Notebook with the pink and blue striped cover. But then you saw something underneath it.

You grabbed the second notebook, this one bright pink, and pulled it from the drawer. Only the first few pages were covered in his writing, but you soaked the words up greedily.

To my second daughter, you are the third love of my life. I realize that sounds a little unfair, like you're coming in third place, but I promise that's not that case. It's only because I met your mom and your sister first. You're not even here yet, but I already know I love you just as much as I love them. And I can't wait to meet you, too.

Before I get carried away, let me introduce myself. I'm your dad. It's my job to love you and take care of you. I'm not perfect, but I love you so much, I'll always try my best to be here for anything you need. To be honest, I never expected to have a family at all. And to be extra honest, you were a bit of a surprise. But a very good surprise. My favorite kind of surprise. I can't wait to teach you everything I know, which isn't much, but I do know how to love my three girls. 

"How?" you gasped, dropping the notebook back into the drawer. You sobbed into Bradley's pillow, unable to make sense of this. How was the man who wrote notebook passages to his children the same man who was sneaking around behind your back. With Indigo. It simply did not make sense, but both versions of him seemed to exist at the same time. And somehow you were the one who was more at odds with yourself than he was with himself.

You could feel the love he had for his daughters. It was so obvious. He was so good with Rose, and he seemed excited about having two kids.

You weren't sure if you'd be able to kick him out. You didn't know if you could leave him. If push came to shove, you didn't know if you could be that strong. You wished he wasn't making you consider it at all. 

--------------------------

"Oh, God."

Bradley was awake as soon as Maverick replied to his text at five in the morning. He'd barely been able to sleep anyway, but when Maverick told Bradley he was heading to Lemoore in a few hours for a meeting, he begged his godfather to meet with him first.

Now Bradley was sitting in his office in a silent building waiting for any help he could get. As far as he had worked out, Indigo had been devouring his extra attention for weeks for a less savory reason than he originally thought. All the times she invited him out for a drink left him shaking his head while he stared at the wedding photo perched in his desk. 

He never tried to hide the fact that he was married. He fucking flaunted it. You were perfect; why wouldn't he? If someone else thought they had a gorgeous wife? Ha, Bradley could lay it down in spades. Someone else claimed their wife was smart? Well, his was a goddamn genius. Someone wanted to brag about their kids? All he had to do was pull up a photo of Rose, and he had everyone around him swooning.

He found it easier to make small talk about his family than anything else these days, and he was sure Indigo knew he was married before he even left Texas to fly back to San Diego. It still seemed unlikely she wanted to sleep with him, but he wasn't going to deny that Nat was usually right about these things.

"Oh, God," Bradley groaned for probably the tenth time since he woke up. He wanted to rewind and go back to Texas and never select Indigo in the first place. 

But would that have been fair? To leave her behind when she was the best? When she was clearly one of the pilots who should be moving forward with new programs? It wasn't like she ever touched him. Other than persistently inviting him for drinks and showing up for all of his office hours, she never made an advance. But now he was uncomfortable. There was something about the way she always looked at him that.....yeah, Nat was right.

But if Bradley couldn't handle his first assignment in his new position, how was he supposed to prove he could do this going forward?

There was a knock on his already open door, and Maverick stood there looking perplexed. "Bradley? What did you need that couldn't wait until later this week?"

Bradley groaned again as he stood. "Can you shut the door?"

"Sure."

Maverick let it slip from his fingers, and Bradley waited until the echo of the door closing gave way to silence. He could feel his godfather's gaze on his face as his eyes closed. He swallowed hard, not wanting to waste the other man's time, but now that he was here, he felt so stupid. 

"I need your help," Bradley rasped, voice hoarse as his eyes opened. "It's work related."

"Okay," Maverick replied, voice between a statement and a question. "What can I do?"

Bradley's fingers curled around the edge of his desk as he looked down at his phone sitting there. "Uh...Mav, this is embarrassing."

When Maverick took a step closer, he reached across the desk to cuff Bradley on the shoulder. "Just hit me with it."

Bradley took a long breath and let it out slowly. "There's another officer who... well, it's been brought to my attention that she..." He let go of his desk and rubbed his fingertips against his eyes. "There's a chance my wife thinks something's going on between me and another officer on base. One who reports to me."

Maverick's expression gave nothing away, but he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before taking a step away from Bradley. "To be clear, Bradley, are you asking me to help you hide an indiscretion from your wife?"

Bradley's head tilted slightly. "Huh?" he grunted, thoughts already swirling around his mind so rapidly, it took him a few seconds to catch up. "What the fuck, Mav? No!" he gasped. "An indiscretion?" He could barely even say the word as he shook his head. "No. God, no! Nothing happened! Nothing is ever going to happen!"

He realized he was shouting when Maverick's hands flew into the air in surrender. "Okay. Alright. I hear you loud and clear. I just needed to be sure I understand what we're dealing with here. Why don't you have a seat and explain everything to me?"

Bradley was raking his fingers through his hair as he dropped down into his chair. "It's Lieutenant Jeffries. Indigo." Her intense blue eyes filled his mind as he shook his head. "Phoenix and Hangman pointed out that she..." He paused and glanced at the ceiling. "This is so embarrassing, Mav, but they said it seems like she wants to sleep with me."

"Hmm."

When Maverick hummed and went silent, Bradley said, "I know how ridiculous it sounds."

"It doesn't," his godfather replied immediately. "This sort of thing happens sometimes. You said nothing happened? You should keep your distance moving forward, and if she contacts you outside of work or does anything inappropriate, we can write it up."

Bradley groaned miserably, unlocked his phone, and pushed it across the desk with his messages open. "She did text me outside of work."

While Maverick reached for the phone, he said, "Did you give her your number?"

"No. Why would I do that?" he replied. "But honestly, it's not hard to get access to that kind of information. I didn't think much of it the first time."

Maverick shrugged. "Well, what did she text-" His eyes grew wide when he looked down at the phone, his cheeks turning pink as he was surely looking at the photo that had been in Bradley's messages for less than twelve hours.

"Yeah," Bradley croaked. "She sent that last night."

"But she texted you before that. When you never explicitly gave her your number." Maverick looked up at him, shaking his head. "Bradley, what were you thinking? She seems to have some sort of agenda. You should have come to me immediately after the first message."

Bradley stood, stomach lurching. His marriage, career, and reputation were somehow all on the line, and he hadn't even done anything. He couldn't help but think of his parents and the fact that his dad probably never put his mom through this kind of shit when she was seven months postpartum.

"An agenda?" Bradley whispered. "Shit, Mav. This is the kind of thing that happens on carriers. Not on base. I thought this was something men did way more than women when they wanted to cheat."

Maverick handed his phone back across the desk with the photo of Indigo open. Bradley swiped out of the text thread immediately, sick to his stomach. 

"You work in a high stakes field where women routinely outperform men. They are capable of anything you are."

"I know that!" Bradley snapped. "But I'm married! I'm not looking for that shit. I never let on that I was."

"Oh, you sweet summer child," Maverick sighed, checking his watch. "Literally," he added as he dug his own phone from his pocket. "If Lieutenant Jeffries is sending you photos and playing coy, she doesn't care about your wife."

Bradley winced. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Maverick grunted, taking a few steps toward the door. "And your wife is pregnant and vulnerable, and now I'm going to have to tell Admiral Simpson that I'll be late getting to Lemoore. Follow me. And bring your phone."

-------------------------------------

Bradley was late getting home. This was happening almost every night now, and you were hanging on by a thread as Rose screamed in your arms. She was fed, but she always seemed to prefer the way Bradley burped her over your technique.

"He's not here," you said through gritted teeth. "I don't know where he is or when he'll be back. I just need you to burp so you can go to sleep."

Your texts had gone unanswered. You weren't sure if Bradley had been in the cafeteria at lunchtime, because you hid in your office. Dinnertime had come and gone, and his cold plate of food was currently sitting on the kitchen counter.

"I don't know where he is," you repeated to your daughter while her younger sister did somersaults against your bladder. Rose's sobs finally started to taper off as you rubbed your hand firmly against her back. She finally burped, and that seemed to do the trick. Her fists curled up next to her face as she yawned. You barely had enough time to change her into a clean diaper and pajamas before her eyes were closed.

You were mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. You stood in her nursery, watching her sleep while you decided you needed to say something to your husband tonight. There was no way you could keep punishing yourself for not being enough. If he wanted someone else, you deserved to have him say it to your face.

But when you heard him open the front door thirty minutes later, your heart lurched into your stomach at the sight of him. You'd known how handsome he was since the day you met him, and he only seemed to get better looking with age. Each year added more silver to his hair and laugh lines to his face, but he was undeniably sexy.

Today, however, he looked exhausted, and your brain went wild with awful ideas. What had he gotten up to? Why was he so late? The top buttons of his uniform were undone, and his hair was mussed. He was staring down at his phone in his hand while you stood silently at the end of the hallway, terrified of what he was looking at.

Suddenly everything you'd been holding inside for weeks was bubbling up to the surface, and you were done holding it back. You cleared your throat, and his gaze snapped up to your face, phone hanging in his hand by his side.

"Hey, Sweetheart. Is Rosie already asleep?"

You nodded, taking each step slowly until you were standing right in front of him. When he reached for you, his fingers skimmed your shoulder before you pushed his hand away. Those beautiful, brown eyes you loved so much went wide, but he didn't look surprised. Not at all.

"Why are you so late?" you snapped. "And don't feed me some bullshit about office hours, because I know your schedule. Or, at least, I know what they are supposed to be."

Bradley licked his lips, gesturing between the two of you with his phone. "I had to take care of something important with Maverick."

You wanted to laugh in his face. "You're really going to use the same excuse as this morning? Another meeting with Maverick? What, one was at the crack of dawn and the other was after dinnertime? I've been texting you for hours, Bradley."

You watched his Adam's apple bob. "I didn't have my phone with me for part of the day."

"You have it now!" you laughed sardonically, pointing at his hand just in time to see his phone light up. 

It was her. You saw her name there. Indigo. She was texting your husband well after work hours, and you could already feel the tears stinging your eyes.

You grabbed his phone before he seemed to realize what was happening. Your fingers shook as you entered his passcode to find it was still your birthday. He wasn't even trying to hide this from you. He wasn't trying to take his phone back. As you braced yourself for what you were about to see, you whispered, "What the fuck is going on with her?"

His brown eyes were so sincere, and once again, you couldn't understand how this was the same man who wrote journals for his unborn children. "Nothing," he replied, voice taking on a tone of defeated exhaustion. "There's nothing going on."

Your eyes dipped down to his phone to find not one, but two flirtatious selfies. One new one, and one that was sent last night while he was working out in the garage. Indigo's eyes stared back at you from the screen, mocking you, making a fool of your family.

You were crying. You didn't want Bradley to see you cry right now, but you couldn't stop. "This doesn't look like nothing. And you didn't tell her to stop."

Now he looked panicked, eyes wide as he saw the photo on his phone in your hand. "Okay, I know this looks bad, but I reported it, I swear! I've never been alone with her behind closed doors. You can call Mav!"

Violent sobs shook your body, and when Bradley slowly let his hand settle on your arm, you shook him free. "You expect me to believe nothing is going on? When you get home late every day? When she told me that it's no wonder you prefer her since I let myself go?" you gasped, swiping at your tears.

"What?" Bradley barked as you blindly handed his offending phone back to him. "She said that to you?"

You nodded miserably, taking a step away from him. "I don't want to know if you said that to her, or if she formed her own opinion after spending time with you. And I don't want to know if you're fucking her or just considering it. But I want you out of the house."

Bradley looked like you just slapped him. His mouth was hanging open, brow creased while you sobbed. "You want me out?" he whispered, hand going up to rake his fingers through his hair.

"Yes," you squeaked, trying to stay strong not just for yourself, but for your daughters as well. Every word hurt as you forced them out of your mouth, but you had to say them. "Go. Until I can talk to my parents about canceling the sale of their house. I'll transfer to Annapolis. Take the girls with me."

Bradley closed the distance to you, tears already pooling in his eyes as he dropped to his knees. His lips found your belly, and you sobbed harder as he wrapped his hands around your hips. "No. You can't," he said so softly, you could barely hear him. When he looked up at your face, you almost believed he would never be capable of hurting you. "Baby Girl, you can't leave me. I need you. I need my girls."

When you stepped out of his grasp, his arms fell limply to his sides. You'd never seen him look so miserable before, and you had to stand firm instead of reaching for his hands.

"Find somewhere else to sleep."

The implications of your own words stung your heart, and you had to watch him slowly get to his feet. He kissed your forehead, and your eyes blurred with fresh tears when he went down the hallway to Rose's room. Less than a minute passed, but each second felt like a day. You had plenty of time to tell him the truth. That you didn't want him to leave. That you couldn't blame him for wanting someone else, and you still needed him as much as he said he needed you.

When he reappeared, you pressed your lips together even as he kissed your damp cheek. "I love you," he rasped. "I'm never going to stop loving you. I'll figure out some way to make you believe me."

You watched him retreat to the front door with his keys, shoulders sagging as he gave you one last lingering look before slipping out into the darkness.

------------------------------------

Ouch. Ouch. Okay. I want BG to believe Roo beyond any doubt, and I think I know how to make that happen. Please stay tuned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 36

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[gingernut1314]

How Can I Be Of Service?

Summary: You can't sleep and after Sanji comes and finds you, you think of a way he can help you spend the time.

Content: gender-neutral reader, Sanji getting flustered, nervous Sanji, pet names, french pet names, cigarette sharing, skinny dipping, slight gas lighting (in the past), Luffy being Luffy and getting Franky to join in

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: I've had this one in the drafts for a little bit and felt that spark to finish it because Ooooh do I love myself a nervous and flustered Sanji. My favorite 🤤 I hope you all enjoy!

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The crew’s snoring melded and mixed with the sounds of the crackling fire and the waves crashing upon the sandy shore you all had decided to sleep on that night. Your captain had insisted you all to drink and party in celebration of finding this unoccupied island--said drink having knocked out several of your crew mates out cold. 

You, on the other hand, were wide awake. 

Even though the alcohol you had drunk made your eyes sting in sleep and the warm bodies of your crewmates pressed together in a huddled pile made your body relax, you couldn’t quite fall asleep. 

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be unable to sleep upon land. It had been that way for you since childhood. You needed the rock of the sea, the creaking and moaning of the ship's wood, the lapping of waves against the hull. None of which you got on land. 

So you lay awake, sleep rattling at your bones but never managing to pull you under fully. 

You continued to try for hours. 

You shut your eyes, counted sheep, and even turned so that your captain would stretch his arms around you, his warm and safe hold keeping you close. But still nothing and it had begun to frustrate you. 

Slipping from your captain’s hold and carefully stepping over your snoring crewmates, you walked along the beach shore, hoping maybe a small walk would help tire you out. 

You came to a stop before the Thousand Sunny floating a little ways in the sea, smiling proudly back at you.

Oh, how you longed to be back on the ship, to have your muscles instantly shift and sway with the ship’s rocking. To feel the salty sea breeze against your skin as you sailed through the endless expanse of the Grand Line. 

You could suffer one sleepless night and in the morning, after Sanji cooked up a mouth-watery breakfast and coffee, you would be back aboard the Sunny and able to catch up on all the sleep you missed out on. 

As you dug your toes into the sand, the chilled seawater kissing at your skin, the sound of sand crunching underfoot floated through your ears. You turned to find the chef himself making his way over to you, a lit cigarette between his lips. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked in way of greeting, coming to a stop next to you. 

“How did you guess?” Sanji chuckled, passing his cigarette to you. You took it gratefully, raising the white roll to your lips to inhaled the warm, nicotine-riddled smoke. You passed the cigarette back to Sanji on your exhale, feeling your muscles begin to loosen and mind rush in a pleasant buzz. 

“I heard you tossing and turning.” He spoke before fitting the cigarette between his full, heart-shaped lips. “Thought I would see if there was anything I could do to help.”

You watched him for a long moment. A moment you took to look over his thin yet muscled body which his blue and white striped, button-up shirt could hardly contain. Look over his arms, half exposed to the night air, which led to those skilled hands of his, one of which hid away in his pocket. You looked over his breathtaking features and those eyes of his, which were just as clear and blue as the afternoon sky. Took in that sandy blond hair, which your fingers itched to tuck away that longer bit behind his ear and expose his whole face to you.

You could. 

You knew you could. 

It would be so easy to reach your hand out and do what you wished. So easy to let your fingers feel over his smooth skin. So easy to pull him into you--to hold him in just the way you wanted. 

You had done it before. Had shared drunken kisses and touches that left both of you panting and needing more. Touches and kisses you pretended never happened. Sanji would try but you were always so quick to shut him down. You shut him down even when it made you feel like a horrid person, seeing his big, blue puppy eyes look so wounded.

It was your overthinking brain. 

It wouldn’t allow you to get close to him. Wouldn’t let your feelings free from the cage it had put around your heart. 

You were scared of what acknowledging your feelings for him would mean. Scared that he might hurt you and you might hurt him. 

You were tired of hurting him. Of letting your anxieties and worries get the better of you. 

You wanted to let him be as close as he wished to be with you, but there was always that unknown--that but what if?

Sanji extended the cigarette out to you once more and you took it, breathing in the heavy air and begging it to relax your tensing body.

“I’m okay. Just--not used to sleeping on land.” Sanji nodded as you exhaled, his fingers brushing over yours as he took it from you. Your skin sparked and burned at the simple, unintentional touch. 

“I’ve told you of Baratie?” Sanji questioned, taking another hit.

“The floating restaurant in the East Blue you grew up on? A little, yes.” Sanji smiled nostalgically as he thought of his home. A smile that stole your breath and made that itch to touch him grow near painfully. 

“Yes. When I lived there, I hardly made the journey inland. Only long enough to gather supplies and be on my way. After joining Luffy, it took me a while to get used to sleeping so--still, when we stopped to rest on land.” He said in that smoothly accented way of his, handing you the cigarette once more. “So I understand.” 

“Do you have any tips to help?” You asked on an exhale. Sanji shrugged, taking the slowly shrinking cigarette from you.

“I find I am a much lighter sleeper on land so I have yet to overcome it fully, but I could make you a cup of lavender tea? Maybe find you something more comfortable to sleep on than the sand?” You waved him off, turning your gaze back onto the dark waters of the sea, which the moon reflected and shone off of like a thousand diamonds had been scattered within its waters. 

“I’m okay. Really. I’m not going to bother you any more than I already am.” 

“You could never bother me, love.” Sanji quickly responded. You turned your gaze back upon him to find his cheeks flushing in a light dusting of pink. His eyes snapped towards the sea as soon as they met your own, something like panic flashing within their pretty depths. 

Love. 

The simple nickname always had your stomach freefalling upon hearing it. Always had your body tensing and that chaos within your chest rattling against its cage. 

You’d snapped at him before for calling you that. Had snapped maybe one too many times at the man who was too kind to you. Who had never once snapped back even though he should have a million times over. 

Sanji lifted the cigarette to his full lips again, the soft light from its smoldering end illuminating the soft curve of his nose and clean-shaven chin. The light disappeared behind that soft curtain of sandy blond hair that blocked the rest of his face from view. 

And you wanted to tuck it behind his ear again. Wanted to run your fingers over his cheeks and lips and let his softness take away all your hardness. 

Instead of giving in, you forced your fingers to grab hold of the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. 

“What--what are you doing?” Sanji sounded all so flustered, voice wavering in its typical smoothness. You smirked up at him as you tossed your shirt to the sand below.

“I’ve thought of a way you can help.” That dusting of pink deepened into a glowing red. You could all but see Sanji fighting his eyes to keep a hold of yours. To not dip lower to gaze upon all the skin you had just exposed. 

“A-and how might I be of service?” 

“Have you ever skinny-dipped before?” Sanji blinked down at you, his lips parting wide enough that the last half of his cigarette fell from his mouth. 

“Skinny--skinny-dipping?” You nodded, going for the buttons of your pants. 

“You had to have--living on that floating restaurant in the middle of one of the calmest seas there is.” You continued, yanking your pants and undergarments down and over your legs. Sanji was quick to avert his eyes toward the starry sky, shoving his fists into his pants pockets.

It was cute how much he wanted to respect your privacy. 

“I--no.” You gasped loud and quick enough it startled the poor man. “What?” Seriousness had filtered into his voice, eyes scanning for any sort of danger that warranted your reaction. When nothing but you was found, that blush of his glowed just as bright as the stars he had been watching seconds ago. “It’s--I was busy.” He huffed at you. 

“Busy.” You repeated, letting your playful smirk grow devious. “Or just chicken?” His brows furrowed and your nose was invaded by that silky cologne of his as he leaned down closer to you. 

“I am hardly chicken.” 

“I think you are.” You continued, moving closer into his orbit. 

“Am not.” You quirked your brow, giving pause before you tucked your fists under your arms to create the illusion of wings.

“Bok bok bok bok.” Sanji huffed in astonished amusement at your flutter of movement and sound. Those blue eyes scanned over your face, full of too much joy in teasing him. His heart-shaped lips tugged at their sides.

“Oh--you’ve taken it too far now, mon chère.” A squealing laugh tore from your throat as Sanji scooped you up in his arms, nuzzling his nose to yours. You let him, cupping his burning cheek in your palm. 

“Forgive--” But before you could even finish your laughing apology, Sanji was tossing you through the air. 

The sharp yelp you let out was cut out by the warm waters of the sea washing over you, engulfing you in their watery darkness. 

You stood, mouth agape from shock. Wet sand and bits of rock fitting between your toes as you struggled to find your footing. You had just begun to wipe stinging sea water from your eyes when the most beautiful sound called through the air. 

It was Sanji’s laugh. 

A laugh that started out as a whoosh of air from his lungs, before bellowing out the most lovely sound you had ever and would ever hear. 

It was a laugh so powerful it had him folding over, hands on his knees as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling to the sand below.

It hadn’t been particularly funny, but Sanji was finding it hysterical. 

“Haha. You got your payback.” You tried to keep your own laughter at bay, but that laugh of his always found a way to bring yours out. “Join me?” Sanji’s laughter died down at your question. You could almost feel the heat from his blush from where you had been thrown.

His fingers twitched, physically showing his nerves to you as he glanced back down the beach to where the rest of the crew still snoozed away.

“Turn around.” He insisted, turning those eyes back into you. 

“Turn around?” You almost scoffed, but seeing his fingers twitch once more, you held your tongue. As soon as your back was turned, the Sunny’s smiling face greeting you, you threw the flustered chef a thumbs up. 

You listened over the watery sounds of the sea for the rustle of clothes being shed and thrown to the ground. Listened so that as soon as you heard the harsh splashing of his entrance into the ankle-high water turn softer as the sand floor dipped deeper, you were turning to face him.

Sanji's face was nearly as red as one of the tomatoes he had used in the night's dinner. His body was too stiff and his eyes were wider than saucers. 

You tried not to let your eyes linger too long over Sanji’s exposed body. Over his pale skin, which bore faded scars one was bound to receive after numerously dangerous adventures. Over his smooth chest and strong torsor, which slimmed as your eyes danced lower. Couldn’t possibly help but take in the sandy-colored trail of well-groomed hair which the eye happily followed to such imitate parts that had your own face heating. 

The warm water flowed around the skin of your hips as you pulled closer to Sanji. 

His eyes tracked you, his face growing so red you thought he might pop a vein. You stopped with hardly an arm's width of space between you two.

“You’re too cute when you’re all flustered like this.” You teased, leaning in that much closer just to make him squirm.

“I--I am not flust--” But before Sanji could finish, you were sending a small splash of salty water into his face. 

“Payback for the payback.” You gave Sanji a little mischievous shrug, the chef giving a shocked laugh. 

“Payback for--that’s not how that works.” He challenged, running his fingers through his now damp hair to keep it from covering his other eye. 

“Yes, it is. Them’s the rules. Sorry.” You said in mock seriousness. Sanji laughed. A laugh that he tried to stifle as he made himself look just as serious about this matter as you pretended to be. 

“You’re right. Rules are rules.” You only had a millisecond to spot the little smirk that pulled at Sanji’s lips before he sent an even bigger splash your way. You gave a playful yelp before you sent another splash his way. 

Splash after splash after splash was sent back and forth, the space growing smaller and smaller between you two. 

That golden laughter filled your ears just as strong hands grabbed you up into equally as strong arms, holding you close and making your skin burn.

“And I believe this makes,” Sanji laughed, fingers digging just enough into your sides to make you squirm and pull a fit of laughter from you. “Makes me the true winner of the night.” 

“O-o-okay! Okay!” You shouted cheerfully, wiggling against his tickling hold. “You win!” Sanji stopped in his tickle attack, that stunning smile of his bright on his lips. 

You let your laughter die out right alongside Sanjis. Laugher that stung at your cheeks sorely but you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. 

“Thank you,” You started, once the sounds of the sea had overtaken the air once more. “for making sure I was okay. I really appreciate it.” You glanced away from his gaze, feeling like even saying this simple little thank you was stepping into “too serious” territory. 

But…maybe you wanted to. Maybe you should just take that leap. 

“And facing your skinnydipping fears for me.” You’re anxieties added. Sanji only chuckled with a shake of his head. 

“Of course, love. I would overcome anything if it meant you would be alright.” Sanji’s blue eyes glanced away then too. Glanced away like he knew saying that was crossing into that solidily serious territory too. 

And he looked all too beautiful in the moonlight, looking all flustered all over again. 

You cupped his cheeks in your hands then, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest. 

“I’m--I’m going to kiss you,” Sanji’s eyes flew wide and that blush came flushing back to his cheeks. “And I’m--I’m going to mean it…we can see where this goes?” The purest look of joy sparked to Sanji’s face it made your heart ache and flutter all at once. 

“Truly?” He asked hopefully. You gave him a simple nod back, pulling yourself closer to his face. Letting just the very tips of your noses brush. 

Sanji’s breath hitched.

His grip tightened around you. 

“Truly.” And that was all the confirmation Sanji needed before he was crashing his lips to yours. Lips so soft you felt as if you would melt right into them. Lips that tasted faintly of the cigarette you two had shared. A taste that was smokey and sweet and made your heart feel so so full. 

“Awwww!” The high-pitched whine had you and Sanji jumping, teeth clashing against teeth in a not-so-nice way. Sanji gave a low curse, blue eyes shooting toward the beach to find your captain pacing at the edge of the shore restlessly. “Guysss! No fair! I want to join!” He shouted. 

“No--Luffy do not.” Sanji shouted Luffy’s way. 

“Just catch me,” Luffy shouted, already yanking his vest off his back. Mild panic clutched at your heart as you shimmied out of Sanji’s hold. 

“Luffy--” You started to warn. 

“CANNONBALL!” You snapped your head to the side just in time to see Franky’s tall head of blue hair disappear within the large splash of water he had created in his cannonballing. 

“AWWWWW! Guys! Franky too? I’m coming in!” Luffy declared as he struggled to tug his pants off. 

“No--” Sanji tried again, now rushing towards the shore as fast as the waters would allow.

“Gum-Gummmm---ROCKET!” And Luffy rocketed himself straight at Sanji, who took the hit with a loud oof before they disappeared under the dark waters. 

And as you watched Sanji pull a limp-limbed Luffy back to the surface, your captain giggling up a storm, all you could do was laugh. A laugh Sanji took a moment to pause for and admire before he began shouting his displeasure Luffy’s way.

More Like This: Demons and Claws {Zoro x gn!reader} ⋆ Couldn't Sleep? {Robin x gn!reader} ⋆ Just Trying To Sleep {Luffy x gn!reader} ⋆ Feeling Generous {Nami x gn!reader} ⋆ Nightmares {Usopp x gn!reader}

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter iii.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

cw: implied familial issues, fluff, first kiss, medium burn?, suggestive content, paige is never beating the down bad allegations, implied mental health issues.

notes: hello, hello. this is one of my favorite chapters. the songs used are "tinsletown in the rain" by the blue nile and "78fahrenheit (unreleased)" by ethel cain. i hope you enjoy yourselves. love you. can't wait to see you in my inbox.

III: INTERTWINED.

» please don’t break up with me, but i accidentally watched two episodes ahead of you

azzi smiled as her phone vibrated with an immediate response. since their dinner, there had been coffee. then another. and then another. another, another, another—until the cups blurred together, indistinguishable from habit. paige was so easy to slip into her life. a stone in the creek, changing the flow of water without trying.

azzi wished she could have kept her in new york forever, tucked her inside a pocket, but paige had to go back to dallas, a reality that nearly tore her apart. distance became a thing to work around.

they read the same books (paige used her ipad, which azzi found vaguely offensive—she was on a quiet, private campaign to convert her to a kindle). they made each other playlists, exchanged photos of their separate days. street signs, sky colors, the shine of oil on the concrete beneath their identically booted feet. this reminded me of you. 

azzi had even mailed paige a dark denim jacket she spotted in a boutique window in the east village. paige washed it immediately, wore it out the next day, prompting the internet to go feral trying to find the designer.

they had inside jokes now. a growing, shifting list of them. one of azzi’s favorites: “please don’t break up with me,” a melodramatic phrase they’d stolen from a book and used whenever one of them committed an unforgivable offense, like finishing a show too soon or forgetting to send a good morning text. 

the light ping of another message brought azzi back to the moment. 

» i’m never speaking to you again » wait which show?

watching things together was their ritual. the old-fashioned way: facetiming at the same time, counting down, pressing play in sync. there were easier ways to do it, probably, but azzi liked the effort of this. the reaching. it made her feel like she was participating in her own life, actively choosing it.

» chef’s table

azzi held her breath as she sent it.

» i can’t believe you, az!! » p, i fell asleep i swear it wasn’t on purpose. rehearsal was brutal and i went straight after the studio » the show is really calming and i was so sleepy from the warm shower » idc you KNEW

then, 

» mind you, YOU crashed out over ME watching FITEEN MINUTES of anthony bourdain 

azzi pressed her lips together, failing to contain the joyous twist of her mouth. the grin eventually broke free and spread through her cheeks. she tucked her hair behind her ear.

» that was different » bro, how????? » whatever! look, p, i can rewatch! i don’t mind, you know i don’t » … » i’ll consider it

with a soft huff of laughter, azzi rolled out of bed and opened her blinds. her joy seemed infectious, coaxing the sun through the open pane of her window. she stood in the middle of her bedroom for approximately three minutes, her feet bare against the wooden floor and one arm up and stroking the hill of her shoulder. 

she felt both unreasonably young and, in some absurd way, already old in the faint light of the morning. she looked down at herself, taking in the wrinkled pink-striped boxers and the vintage yale sweatshirt that seemed to have settled around her with a tired resignation. she remembered when she'd wanted to go there, when her mother had taken her on a visit, the two of them wandering new haven, pretending it could be a future. the thought hurt, brief but sharp. she couldn’t remember the last time she and katie had been…right, together.

her phone buzzed—a quick, familiar pattern. katie.

azzi twisted her hair into a messy knot at the back of her neck, securing it with an elastic, and lowered herself into a half-hearted yoga pose. three more buzzes. then, the phone would ring.

azzi sat cross-legged beside her bed, feet pressing into the floor like she was willing herself to grow roots. she picked up the phone.

“hey, mom.”

“hey, honey. were you in the shower?”

“azzi’s face scrunched as she lied, a gesture so automatic it felt like a tic. “um, no, just doing some stretches. i started wearing earplugs to block out the morning traffic. sorry. what’s up?”

“you shouldn’t do that, baby,” katie said, that casual tone that still landed like a reminder. “look, i’m outside your apartment. brought breakfast.”

azzi almost groaned but swallowed it, layering her voice with fake enthusiasm. “yum,” she said, but it came out flat before lifting just enough at the end to sound like a decent person.

⟡

her mother had gotten a haircut.

katie’s blonde hair had been cut into a sharp bob, and azzi noticed it immediately. it suited her, the kind of sharp, neat cut that was popular on magazine covers in the coffee shop she liked to frequent. azzi felt a small pang of something—resentment, maybe, or just recognition that katie was doing things for herself again, things azzi couldn’t quite figure out how to do.

still—she was glad her mother was finding things to do outside of managing her. thanks, max, she thought.

she opened the door still in her pajamas, and katie was standing there, two large boxes of breakfast from the diner a few blocks away, the coffee holder hanging from her hand like a prop. katie didn’t say anything, just gave her the kind of look that azzi couldn’t place but that made her chest feel tight. azzi leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mother’s plump cheek, the skin softened by her morning creams and serums. 

azzi wandered into the kitchen, pressing her finger against the surface of her rose gold ipad, searching for the song paige had sent her a few days ago. she’d been meaning to listen to it, had actually enjoyed it when she did.

she found it—‘mythological beauty’ by big thief. paige had sent it to her with the message:

» idk why spotify recommended this to me, seems more up your alley » discover weekly my ass, half of these songs suck

azzi had hidden a smile behind her hand while standing in line to pick up that night’s pizza order. she’d texted back teasingly, saying,

» this may be a sign to let go of drake  » i ain’t holding on to him 

azzi hadn’t replied until later, sending back a grainy video shot on her old iphone se, its shaky camera making her look soft-focus. she was sitting on her bed, a sage-colored silk scarf holding back her curls, listening to the song. the video ended with an awkward thumbs-up and a muffled giggle. “i love it,” she said, like it was a confession.

now, azzi snapped a photo of the song on the tablet and sent it to paige.

» miss you

“azzi?”

azzi turned around, startled by the sound of her mother’s voice.

“yeah, sorry. what were you saying?”

katie, looking shy, busied herself unpacking the breakfast boxes, rearranging food on pale green plates with hand-painted garlands of pink roses.

“i was saying that, well, i miss you.”

azzi didn’t know what to say to that. “oh,” she said, and immediately regretted it, as if the word had been a reflex she hadn’t meant to expose. 

katie’s posture deflated, and azzi rushed over, sidling up to where her mother had begun cutting up the eggs into neat squares. she grabbed a plate and began assembling breakfast, the rhythm of the task comforting, familiar. she pulled away to grab glasses from the cabinets.

“you know, i was thinking about our yale visit when i was obsessed with going.”

katie looked up, eyes softening. “i remember.”

azzi half-smiled. “i wouldn’t stop playing that song, and you were so close to kicking me out of the car. i can’t remember the song, though.”

katie’s lips curved into a fond smile. “'need you now' by lady a. you played it on repeat because you were convinced you could sing it better than they could.”

azzi laughed then. she sat on a stool at the counter, the ache of the morning light catching her in its awkward glow as she ate, chewing slowly, mindlessly.

“why the hell was i so obsessed with yale anyway?”

“honestly? i think you saw it as your last shot at normal. you could dream about college, like the other girls, instead of being in the studio all the time, surrounded by everyone except your family. you were twelve when you got discovered, fourteen when you had your first album out. and now you're twenty-three, still trying to figure out what the hell you're doing.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but the words settled in her chest like something unexpected. there was a relief in it, in hearing it out loud, in realizing that, maybe, they weren’t as different as they sometimes seemed.

“i guess i fed into it because i felt guilty,” katie added softly, almost to herself.

once again, azzi was unsure of how to respond, but she felt it—the weight of that invisible truth that had always sat between them. she felt herself relax, the air clearing just enough for her to breathe a little easier.

“maybe i should release a country album,” azzi said, and katie barked out a laugh, sharp and familiar.

if azzi didn’t know better, she might’ve thought the sound was her own.

⟡

but azzi’s largest issue remained: she was unable to be content for long periods.

happiness came, stayed long enough to fool her, then drained away in increments. moreso now, as she slogged through the laying of the bones of her new album. she found herself withdrawing.

since that morning with her mother, it had gotten easier to admit to minor irritations, the small inconveniences of daily life. but there were still things she kept to herself. like how badly she wanted paige back in new york.

their movie nights had transitioned from ‘facetime + film’ to just ‘facetime.’ azzi hadn’t asked for it outright. she had just postponed pressing play, filling the space instead with long, looping stories, tangents about nothing, stalling without meaning to. eventually, paige caught on. and being paige—being someone who never let anything slide—she finally said,

“if you wanna talk to me, just say that.”

azzi looked up from her desk. she’d started handwriting songs again, her moleskine journal thick and inflamed, its strap barely holding it together, blood red cover scuffed and soft at the edges.

it took a second to process what paige had said, her voice still rough from sleep. only an hour between them, but it always felt like more. when the meaning finally settled, azzi flushed hot, ducking out of frame.

paige smiled, amused, rolling onto her stomach so her face pressed into the cotton of her pillow. she looked soft like this. angelic. her blonde hair waved around her shoulders, those blue eyes dark in the low light, the lilac strap of her nike sports bra just visible. azzi focused on that instead of responding.

“you don’t sleep in that, do you?” she asked instead. “it’s bad for circulation.”

paige grinned, pearly teeth gleaming. “oh yeah?”

“yes,” azzi said, exasperated. “it can, like—affect development. it’s not good for you.”

paige hummed like she was considering this. then shifted just enough for azzi to catch the dip of her cleavage. “yeah, i think we're past that point, baby.”

azzi turned a deeper red, arms crossing over her stomach. she tried to sink further into the gaping mouth of her navy blue hoodie. paige could see the whisper of a dress beneath the hem.

“shut up,” she muttered. “i wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to comment on your tits. i was just saying.”

“oh, my bad. sorry, princess.”

“i’m hanging up,” azzi deadpanned, face blank.

paige held back a laugh. “aight, chill. you just so easy to fluster.”

azzi scoffed. “i’m easy to fluster? be serious. when my calvin klein campaign dropped, you quite nearly went into cardiac arrest.”

paige’s face immediately went pink.

“aight, now.”

“no, not ‘aight now.’” azzi leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “you left me on read for two days. if i hadn’t dmed kk on twitter—of all places—i wouldn’t have even known you spent the entire time curled up in a little red ball.”

paige shrugged, still a little pink, biting down on her lip. she was thinking. then deciding. letting her lip slip free, her expression turning lazy, sharp. azzi felt something hot unfurl low in her stomach. 

“okay, yeah, i had a minor crashout,” paige admitted, dragging a hand through her hair. her cross pendant dipped into the hollow of her throat. “a lil’ itty-bitty breakdown. but can you blame me?” she looked into the camera then, voice low. “az, you looked so fucking good. the baby pink ones were my favorite.”

azzi stilled, fingers twitching.

paige grinned. “you get to bring a pair home?”

azzi hung up.

the callback was immediate. she let it ring, took her time answering. finally, just before it stopped, she picked up.

“did you just hang up on me?”

“no,” azzi said, voice smooth, wide-eyed like she meant it.

paige let out a slow, dry laugh, her nose flaring. “aight. keep playin’.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “will you fly out if i do?”

paige’s face softened.

azzi sighed, already standing. she drifted away from her desk and set the phone down on her floor, balancing it against the nearest stack of books. she slipped away, and when she came back into the frame, she’d changed.

the hoodie was gone. instead, the soft curve of her shoulder, the clean line of her collarbone, the faintest trace of tan lines against her skin. the dress was simple—cream-colored, thin-strapped, almost weightless. the silk shifted when she moved, clung to her like a second skin.

paige didn’t say anything at first. just stared.

azzi adjusted the strap where it had slipped. “are you okay?”

paige’s voice was slower now, almost slurred. azzi’s body began to tingle with the recognition of desire. “you just look real… delicate.”

azzi’s brows furrowed, but the flush was already creeping up her throat, settling at the tips of her ears.

paige watched her, half-lidded, half-smiling. “like, if i touched you, you’d bruise.”

“do you want to bruise me?” azzi asked, tucking her legs beneath her neatly. 

paige didn’t have an answer, and the silence made azzi press her tongue to the back of her teeth. she made a face, pressing her lips together, but she laughed a little, shaking her head. 

paige was still watching.

azzi fidgeted, like she might change the subject, then reached for something off-screen. a small, instinctive movement. when she lifted the moleskine journal into the frame, she didn’t say anything. just held it there and tilted her head. 

paige raised a brow. “you gon’ show me?”

azzi exhaled. then nodded, shifting the camera down.

the pages were a mess, ink heavy in some places, light and faded in others. words crossed out, rewritten, and pressed deep into the paper. paige recognized azzi’s handwriting—messy when she was in a rush, looping and neat when she was careful. there were little angel wings in the margins. a few water stains. coffee, too. 

azzi flipped to a page near the middle. “this one’s kinda about you,” she murmured.

paige felt something warm unfurl in her chest, slow and blooming. she cleared her throat. “yeah?”

she could see some of the lyrics, but the words were twisted and reversed. azzi reached forward, picking up her phone, switching the camera so she could see them more clearly. paige knew she should’ve been reading, but her eyes caught on the strong bones of azzi’s hands instead, the slight tension in her knuckles, the chipped ballerina-slipper pink clinging to the edges of her fingernails.

do i love you? yes, i love you will we always be happy go lucky do i love you? yes, i love you but it’s easy come and it’s easy go all this talking talking is only bravado

“it’s a dance song. kind of 80s. i wrote it forever ago, but now i—” azzi hesitated, just for a second. “i feel it again.”

paige blinked as the camera flipped back, azzi’s face coming into view.

“it’s me singing about you,” she said. “but also asking myself if i’m gonna fuck it up. if it’s gonna last before i—” she made a little motion with her hand, something between a wave and a slow collapse—“bring myself down.”

she paused, tilting her head. “but the beat pulses. it kinda—” she hopped her fingers across her thigh, gave a small, absentminded shimmy of her shoulders—“jumps around, so you can’t tell if i’m happy or sad. i remain an enigma, and you really hope i’ve got it under control.”

her voice was light, teasing, but something about it snagged in paige’s chest, caught in the tender spaces between bone.

azzi tapped the page with her pen. “mm. it’s not done.”

paige smiled, slowly. “sing it to me.”

azzi’s lips parted like she might object. but then something in her expression shifted, went softer. she turned the page over, tapping her nails against the paper.

her throat trembled, a melody climbing inside it. then, she sang.

her raw voice was husky but light, full of something old and unnameable, something that had always been aching. it knew nothing of peace, and it invaded paige in the same way. the sound of it as it peaked—high and breathless, curling at the edges—went through paige like a pulse, like a shock of warm water against her ribs.

it was orgasmic. it felt like a million birds bursting into flight underneath her skin.

⟡

the venue smelled heavily of varnish and sweat, the air thick with the ghosts of girls azzi had been before, versions of herself she was trying to slip back into, feel out like old sweaters. some still fit. some itched against her skin, wrong in ways she couldn’t quite name. 

she had been moving for hours, letting muscle memory guide her through old material, testing where her voice still lived in them, where it wavered, where it no longer belonged. it was a relief for her body to find the old melodies still inhabitable, to still understand where best to collapse and rebuild. 

barefoot, azzi traced slow circles across the stage, rolling her shoulders, stretching her arms above her head. the room was empty except for a single spotlight pooling around her, turning the sweat at her collarbone to gold.

she had yet to notice that paige was there.

paige had slipped in through the side door, keeping to the shadows, her heart pounding hard enough that she could feel it in her fingertips. the flight had been an impulse, the need to see azzi—unshakable. now she sat in the darkened auditorium, watching azzi move like she was underwater, like she was feeling her way through something only she could hear.

the usual spectacle was stripped away—no sequins, no stage makeup, no cameras angled to catch her best side. just azzi, raw and untethered, her voice curling into the dark like smoke. paige could feel it under her skin, the way it lifted, shimmered, the way it sent something sharp down her spine. even the music was muted and warbling; azzi relied on her own words to paint the picture of what she envisioned.

she lost herself in the song, body twisting, spine arching, a prayer in motion. and when she reached the last line— is it something i did? and did i do it to you?—she reached blindly into the air, fingers grazing nothing before coming back to wring loosely around her throat. but something in her must have felt it, some part of her must have known.

then she rolled, first onto her stomach, then onto her back, arms flung wide. her head tipped back until it hung off the edge of the stage. she opened her eyes, her mouth—

and saw paige.

she was upside down in the seats below, watching her, blonde and breathless.

for a moment, neither of them moved. azzi’s chest rose and fell, her breath still uneven. paige’s hands had curled into fists in her lap. her pulse slammed against her ribs. she felt eerily close to claiming something; it was the same feeling that rocked her when she was on the court. 

and then, like she was being pulled by something outside of herself, she stood. climbed onto the stage, moving toward azzi’s sprawled-out form, laid out like an offering. azzi blinked slow, gaze molten and unfocused, but she wasn’t stopping her.

paige didn’t think. she moved.

her fingers found the warm column of azzi’s throat, thumb pressing just below her jaw. she felt her swallow, felt the rapid, unsteady beat of her pulse.

then she bent down and kissed the damp, brown skin just below azzi’s ear.

azzi made a sound, soft, almost imperceptible. paige might have imagined it, but she didn’t pull away. so paige kept going, trailing her mouth along the sharp edge of azzi’s jaw, moving slow, reverent. when she reached the corner of her mouth, she hesitated, just for a second—

azzi turned her head the tiniest fraction. not much. but enough.

paige exhaled shakily, then kissed her, lips parting, tasting sweat and something animalistic, something electric. azzi sighed into it, a quiet, complacent thread of air, and the sound sent a shiver through paige, sharp and unbearable. she wasn’t sure if she was shaking or if it was just the world moving underneath her.

somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. the spell snapped. paige pulled back, breathless. azzi stayed where she was. 

lips parted; eyes hazy. a beat. then another.

azzi’s lips curled, just slightly. “i didn’t even know you were coming,” she murmured.

paige laughed, suddenly and breathlessly. she pressed their foreheads together, her head heavy with the force of her blood flow.

“yeah,” she whispered. “you knew. you asked me to.”

⟡

karnold: i feel as president-elect of bueckers-fudd nation, it's my duty to let you know that paige might in fact be locking in ⤷ drewbuckets: she’s going to murder you in cold blood ⤷ uconnsports: who elected you?? ⤷ username: the question we all need to be asking ⤷ username: mind you why is uconn’s update page here if paige is now in dallas??? ⤷ dallaswingsofficial: we’re all invested ⤷ username: omg wait are they gfs??? ⤷ karnold: mind the business that pays you ⤷ karnold: but no #wives 

© hcneymooners.