#obviously this would all be light hearted

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚜 || 𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and azzi hate each other... right?

You first met Azzi Fudd under bright gym lights and the roar of a packed crowd.

The game had been brutal—fast, physical, and personal from the moment the ball tipped off. Her team was just as talented as yours, and Azzi? She was relentless. Quick on the drive, sharp with the three, and didn’t flinch even when you clashed shoulders under the rim. You’d been assigned to guard her, and you took that job seriously, chasing her like a shadow across the court.

When the final buzzer went off, the scoreboard flashed your team’s name in green. You won. By five points. And while your teammates jumped and celebrated, you found yourself looking across the court at her.

Azzi wasn’t celebrating.

She stood by the baseline, towel around her shoulders, lips pressed in a tight line, bouncing a basketball with her foot. A slow, rhythm-less tap. You saw it in her eyes—she was pissed. Competitive. The loss didn’t sit well.

And yet, something in you tugged toward her anyway.

You made your way across the court, ignoring the way your teammates hollered your name or tried to give you high-fives. All you saw was her.

She noticed you when you were halfway there and stood straighter. Her shoulders rolled back, jaw tense, like she expected you to gloat.

“You were insane out there,” you said before she could speak. Your voice was quiet—lower, calm, not cocky like she probably expected. “I’ve never had to work that hard to guard someone.”

Azzi blinked, arms still crossed. “You came over here to say that?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling your usual confidence slip just a little. “Yeah. I mean… yeah. You were amazing. And I wanted to say…” You paused. Swallowed.

Azzi tilted her head, her expression softening just a bit. “What?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” you said, quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “And I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna… give me your number?”

Her jaw dropped, just a little.

Then she laughed. Just a breath of it. “That’s not what I expected at all.”

“Most people don’t.”

She stared at you for a second longer, then pulled out her phone. “Give me your phone.”

You tried to play it cool as you handed it over, pretending your palms weren’t suddenly sweaty.

She typed quickly and handed it back.

“Don’t text me anything weird,” she said.

“No promises,” you replied with a smirk, then walked away—heart pounding, stomach full of butterflies, but already looking forward to the next time you'd talk.

It started with texts.

Late-night ones. Good luck before games. Teasing messages during class. You weren’t great with words, never had been, but something about Azzi made you want to try.

And she? She was sharp. Funny. Sweet, but always knew when to press your buttons. The more you talked, the more you wanted her.

Your first hangout was at a smoothie shop halfway between your schools. She wore joggers and a hoodie. You showed up in black jeans and a tee that she would later steal.

You talked about basketball, your goals, your families, what music you listened to before games. Azzi made fun of your playlist. You pretended to be offended.

On your fifth hangout—after an afternoon of walking around the mall, laughing over bad shoe designs and sneaking fries off each other’s trays—you walked her to her car, leaned against the door, and said, “So, uh… I like you. Like, actually like you. You wanna be my girl?”

Azzi blinked at you. “I thought I already was.”

Your heart tripped over itself. “Wait… seriously?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yes. Obviously. I just wanted to hear you say it first.”

From then on, you were inseparable—off the court.

At school, no one knew. Not your friends. Not hers. Just your families, who caught on quickly when Azzi started showing up more and more at your house, and vice versa. Your mom made a habit of teasing her. Azzi blushed every time.

But on the court?

You were enemies.

Hard fouls. Trash talk. Lockdowns. It was like everything flipped when you wore a jersey. The fire in her eyes met the steel in yours. Fans loved it. Commentators ran stories about your "heated rivalry." Opposing coaches used your games as examples of elite competition.

Only you and Azzi knew what happened after the final whistle.

Only she saw the way your fingers grazed hers in the handshake line. Only you knew what it meant when she mouthed “see you later” instead of “good game.”

You both liked it that way. The thrill of being each other’s greatest challenge and quietest safe place.

Your high school gym is packed. Every single seat filled, every corner lined with kids standing on their toes just to see. The banners hang heavy above the court, the air humid with sweat and anticipation. It’s your senior night—but that doesn’t mean anything’s going to be easy.

Not when she's on the other team.

Your so-called rival.

Your not-so-secret girlfriend.

The whistle blows, and from the jump, it’s war.

Azzi sinks a three thirty seconds in—deep, smooth, net barely even moving. The crowd erupts.

You stare her down on the way back.

She smirks. “Gonna have to do better than that tonight, tough guy.”

You don’t respond. You just catch the inbound and dribble up court. One jab step, one cross, and you drain a triple from the logo.

The crowd loses its mind.

Azzi glances over her shoulder at you. “Okay, that was hot.”

You blow her a kiss before turning to get back on D.

The next hour is hell and heaven at the same time. You and Azzi trade buckets like it’s personal. Because it is. Off the court, she wears your hoodie and eats snacks in your bed. But on the court?

She’s trying to kill you. And you love her for it.

She drives hard, shoulder into your chest, and makes the layup. You respond by calling for a high screen and pulling up for another three.

“Lucky,” she spits when she jogs by you.

“That was for you babygirl,” you reply.

She blushed.

By the fourth quarter, the gym is practically shaking. Every time you touch the ball, people scream. Every time she does, someone yells for a double team.

You’re tied with 20 seconds left on the clock. You’ve got the ball at the top of the key. Azzi steps up—eyes narrowed, feet wide. You give her a look. “You sure you wanna be the one guarding me right now?”

“I insist,” she says through gritted teeth.

You hesitate, then drive right. She cuts you off. You spin back left. She’s there. With three seconds left, you step back behind the arc and fire. It’s clean. All net. Your gym explodes.

Azzi’s team calls timeout, but it's too late.

The buzzer echoes, and the place is chaos.

Your teammates tackle you. You’re yelling, laughing, fists pumping. But when it all settles, and the line forms for post-game handshakes, you find her.

Azzi’s face is unreadable.

You give her a small nod, just one heartbeat longer than necessary when your hands meet.

Neither of you say a word.

You walk off like strangers.

But you don’t leave the lot like one.

The gym’s finally quiet. Lights off. People gone. Your adrenaline’s faded into a deep, aching satisfaction. Your body’s sore, your knees screaming—but your heart is still sprinting.

You’re sitting in the driver’s seat of your car, head leaning against the seat, hands loose on the wheel, when the passenger door opens.

Azzi slips in like she belongs there. Because she does.

She tosses her gym bag in the back, still in her away jersey, hair tied up, cheeks flushed and glowing under the dome light.

“You looked good out there,” you say, voice lower now. Softer. Just for her.

She huffs. “You hit that step-back on me again, and I might break up with you.”

You grin. “You loved it.”

She glares. “I hated it.”

You reach over and brush a strand of hair from her face. “You still kissed me last time I hit it on you.”

Her eyes flick down to your mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She leans in and kisses you.

It’s quick at first—like she’s still mad, like she wants to punish you a little for stealing the spotlight.

But when she starts to pull away, you grab her jaw gently, thumb resting under her chin, and kiss her again.

Slower. Deeper. A little desperate. Because when you’re like this—just the two of you, no crowd, no scoreboard—it feels like the only thing that matters is the space between your lips and hers.

When you break apart, she exhales. “I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ll get over it.”

She climbs over the center console and settles sideways in the passenger seat, feet up on your dash, your varsity jacket draped over her legs like always.

“I better,” she murmurs. “’Cause I’ve already planned our post-season dinner date.”

You look at her, soft-eyed. “Are we celebrating my win or your revenge game?”

She shrugs. “Both. I’ll win next time.”

You lean in, press your forehead to hers.

“Game on, baby.”

You arrive at the restaurant first.

It’s not fancy—not somewhere with white tablecloths or chefs with French names. Just a cozy little bistro tucked between a used bookstore and a florist, the kind of place that smells like garlic and fresh bread the second you walk in. You picked it because it’s quiet. Private. Somewhere she can take off the armor, and you don’t have to pretend to hate each other.

You’re in dark jeans and a collared button-down, sleeves rolled up. The hostess compliments your cologne and you just smile, politely, already checking your phone even though you know she’ll be on time.

And she is.

Azzi walks in wearing a cropped leather jacket over a soft red dress, her curls down, earrings catching the warm light. Her sneakers don’t match the rest of her outfit, and you know she did that on purpose.

Just to mess with you.

She spots you, smirks. “Wow. You clean up nice.”

You lean back in your chair. “Look who’s talking. Didn’t know I was dating a model.”

Azzi laughs as she takes the seat across from you. “You’re not. I just look good next to you.”

You fake a wince. “Damn. That’s how it’s gonna be tonight?”

She opens her menu with a shrug. “You did hit that step-back three on me in front of the school. I deserve compensation.”

You glance over the menu, grinning. “You want me to pay for dinner, just say that.”

“Oh, I fully expect you to,” she replies. “You humiliated me. In my new shoes.”

You chuckle, eyes flicking to her sneakers. “Those are my shoes.”

“Exactly. The betrayal runs deep.”

The waitress comes by, and you both order—Azzi gets pasta with spicy red sauce, you get steak and potatoes because, according to her, you’re “boring but reliable.”

You don’t deny it.

The conversation flows, easy as ever. You talk about school drama, prom rumors, which teammates are secretly dating, and what she’s binge-watching lately. You tell her your little cousin has started copying her jump shot. She looks quietly proud, but tries to play it off.

“I don’t know if I’m flattered or scared,” she says.

“Flattered. You’ve got fans now.”

“Only one I care about’s sitting in front of me.”

You look down at your water glass to hide your smile.

The food comes. You both eat like you haven’t had a real meal in days. And when she drops sauce on her chin, you don’t even hesitate—just lean over the table and wipe it off with your napkin, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

Azzi stills.

“You’re being soft,” she says, voice low now. “I thought you were supposed to be the mean one.”

You don’t answer. You just sit back, head tilted, eyes scanning her face like it’s the game film of your life.

“I like you soft,” you murmur. “Even if you try to pretend you’re not.”

Azzi sets her fork down. “Okay… stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something that’ll make me fall harder.”

You blink, caught. “Would that be the worst thing?”

Azzi looks down, then back up—soft brown eyes laced with something vulnerable.

“No,” she says. “Just dangerous.”

You don’t say anything to that. Just reach across the table and lace your fingers through hers.

Your hand finds hers, like it always has.

You both sit there like that, thumb tracing the back of her palm, feet nudging each other under the table. The waitress swings by to ask about dessert, and you both shake your heads.

You don’t need anything else tonight.

You walk her to her car. It’s chilly out, and she wraps her jacket tighter around herself, but still leans into your side like it’s instinct.

“Tonight was…” she trails off.

You finish it. “Perfect?”

She grins. “Yeah.”

She unlocks her door but doesn’t open it yet.

Instead, she turns and stands in front of you, face tipped up toward yours, like you’re gravity.

“You know we’re gonna end up at different colleges, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Different states.”

You nod again, slower.

She sighs, leans forward, and rests her forehead against your chest. “You’re not gonna ghost me, right?”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, holding her tight. “Never. I’m yours, Az. For real.”

She tips her chin up, and you kiss her before she can overthink it.

And when she starts to pull away?

You don’t let her.

You kiss her again. Longer. Slower. Like you're trying to memorize the taste of her mouth. Like if this were your last game, your last night, your last kiss, you’d want it to be just like this.

You only break apart when you both have to breathe.

Azzi’s eyes are closed when she rests her head back against your chest. “You’re such a liar,” she whispers.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you said you weren’t romantic.”

You chuckle. “Yeah… I lied.”

It’s late.

Your room is mostly empty—walls bare, shelves wiped clean, boxes stacked by the door. Tomorrow, you leave for Notre Dame. Azzi leaves for UConn the day after.

You’re sitting on the floor, backs against your bed frame, knees bumped together, your music playing low from your phone on the nightstand. A sad playlist. One of the ones she says makes her cry too easily.

You don’t say much.

You’ve been talking all week. Pretending it didn’t hurt. Pretending you could treat this like just another chapter.

But tonight?

Silence feels more honest.

Azzi shifts beside you, stretching out her legs. Her pinky hooks around yours.

“You still gonna text me after your first practice?” she asks quietly.

You nod. “Course.”

She turns to look at you. “Even if your coach hates me?”

You smile faintly. “He already does. I told him I loved a Husky.”

Azzi groans. “Why would you tell him?”

You shrug. “He asked if I was seeing anyone. I said yeah. A UConn commit who’s gonna make my life hell every March.”

She laughs, but it’s thin. “Guess I’m your enemy now, huh?”

You look over at her.

Hair in a loose bun. Hoodie half-off her shoulder. Her game-day bracelet on her wrist—the one you gave her freshman year, back when you were just flirty texts and movie nights.

“Never,” you say. “Not really.”

Azzi leans her head on your shoulder. “We’re gonna be rivals on paper.”

“Only on paper.”

You hear her exhale. “You know what scares me?”

You turn your head, forehead brushing hers. “What?”

“That we’ll both get so caught up in everything… games, practices, interviews, fans…” She pauses. “What if it doesn’t feel like this anymore?”

“This?” you ask.

She lifts her head and looks at you. “Us. Being like this. Sitting on your bedroom floor, feeling like the world can wait.”

You reach for her hand, sliding your fingers between hers.

“I’m not gonna let the world take this from me, Az,” you whisper. “Not the press. Not the travel. Not even Geno.”

She half-laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Geno’s scary.”

You grin. “So am I. Ask anyone who’s tried to guard me.”

Azzi goes quiet again, resting her head back against your shoulder.

You sit like that for a long time. Breathing in sync. Letting the ache settle in.

Finally, she whispers, “You should get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You leave in the morning.”

“I know.”

But you don’t move.

Instead, you shift so you’re sitting in front of her, your hands on her knees, your eyes searching hers like you’re scared to forget what they look like.

“You sure we’ll be okay?” you ask.

Azzi reaches up, cups your cheek with both hands, her thumbs warm against your skin. “You think a couple of different jerseys is enough to scare me off?”

You lean in. She meets you halfway.

The kiss is slow. Soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything, just promises everything. Her hands slide to the back of your neck. Yours settle on her waist.

You pull her closer, and the way she melts into you—like she’s been waiting to—makes something crack in your chest.

“No matter what the world thinks… you’ll always be mine.”

The buildup started weeks ago.

Notre Dame vs. UConn.

Top-10 showdown. National television. Sold out arena. ESPN graphics. Two undefeated records. All the hype. All the noise. But underneath the headlines and the headlines behind the headlines, one storyline kept showing up again and again.

“Former High School Rivals Face Off Again: Fudd vs. Y/LN”

They played the clips.

They aired the buzzer-beaters.

They pulled photos from your senior nights—both of you on different courts, drenched in sweat, arms raised in victory.

They called it, “the most personal rivalry in women’s college basketball.”

They didn’t know the half of it.

You’re stretching in the tunnel when UConn jogs past you toward the court.

You feel her before you see her.

New jersey. Same stare.

She doesn’t say a word as she passes. Doesn’t smile. Just bumps shoulders with you on the way out like it’s any other game.

Your teammate nudges you. “Damn. She just big-leagued you.”

You roll out your wrist, deadpan. “Let her try.”

The lights feel brighter tonight.

Or maybe it’s your pulse.

The student section is unhinged. The commentators are already talking about the history, the rivalry, the story behind the story.

You try not to look for her. You fail.

She’s already looking.

Azzi is standing across the court, hands on her hips, lips set in a thin line. But her eyes—those soft brown eyes—flick up and down your frame like she never forgot a single inch of you.

Neither of you smile.

Because on the court?

You don’t know each other.

It starts fast.

You hit your first three from the top of the key—clean, confident, no hesitation.

Azzi answers with one of her own. Pull-up off the screen. Pure.

Back and forth.

You shove her on a drive. She elbows you on a rebound. Words are exchanged.

Trash talk isn’t new, but now it feels sharper. Realer. Everything’s layered.

You pick her pocket once. She blocks your shot the next time down.

The arena is living off it.

At one point, you get switched onto her at the top of the key. The crowd knows what’s coming. So does she.

“You gonna flop again?” she murmurs as she dribbles.

“Only if you miss,” you shoot back.

She grins.

And bricks it.

You blow her a kiss on the rebound.

The world is watching two rivals. Neither of them know they fell asleep in each other’s presence two weeks ago during FaceTime.

Notre Dame comes out hot.

You push the pace. Dime a behind-the-back pass. Force two turnovers. You can feel it shift—momentum, belief, control.

Azzi gets frustrated. Misses a three. You’re already gone in transition before she turns around.

You hear her curse under her breath.

Later, with four minutes left and the game tied at 64, she drives baseline and tries to reverse it on you. You stuff her at the rim.

The gym erupts.

She hits the ground. Looks up at you. Breathing hard. Frustrated.

You offer your hand.

She doesn’t take it.

You jog back down court.

You hit the go-ahead three with 1:06 left. The crowd goes feral. You don’t even celebrate. You just turn and point at her.

She bites the inside of her cheek.

On the final possession, Azzi pulls up from the elbow.

You contest it. She misses.

Notre Dame wins, 71–68.

You line up. It’s tense. You’re buzzing. You want to scream. You want to celebrate. But you also know the camera’s still rolling.

Azzi gets to you.

You hold her hand a second too long.

She mutters, “Nice game.”

You whisper back, “Say it like you mean it.”

She bumps your chest with her fist before walking past.

You catch the grin she’s trying to hide.

It’s past midnight. You’re in Notre Dame warm-ups. Hoodie pulled over your head. Waiting outside the visitors' hotel, hood up, hands in your pockets.

She walks out through the side exit.

No words.

Just climbs into your car like she did back home, back when you were just two kids falling hard and pretending none of this mattered.

She throws her bag in the back and turns to you.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

She just leans over the center console and kisses you.

It’s rough at first—like she’s still pissed. Like she wants to beat you in something. Then it softens. Her hand finds your jaw. Yours slides under her hoodie, warm palm on her waist.

She pulls back first. Barely. Her breath is on your lips.

“I should hate you,” she whispers.

You rest your forehead against hers.

“But you don’t.”

She closes her eyes. “No. I love you. That’s the problem.”

You kiss her again.

Slower this time. Like winning wasn’t enough. Like none of this means anything without her.

They call it The Rematch.

Every basketball fan in the country has it circled.

Notre Dame vs. UConn.

Azzi vs. You.

The gym is packed before warmups even start. Banners everywhere. UConn blue flooding the stands. Chants already rising before the tip. They remember what you did to their team last time—and they remember you.

You can feel it in the air when you walk in for warmups. The noise. The tension. And somewhere in the chaos, you catch her.

On the far side of the court, headphones on, locked in. She doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

You smirk. She's acting.

She's always been good at that.

You’re alone, tying your shoes near the Notre Dame locker room when you hear footsteps.

She rounds the corner like a storm.

Azzi looks up at you, expression unreadable. She’s already in uniform. Game face on. But her fingers twitch at her side, like she wants to reach out.

“Welcome to my court,” she says.

You grin. “It’s cute.”

She steps closer. “You’re not winning here.”

“You scared?”

“Not even a little.”

You glance around, then lean in just slightly, voice lower. “You gonna kiss me good luck?”

Azzi’s jaw ticks. “No. But I might foul you just to feel your body on mine.”

You blink.

Then laugh. “Damn. Okay, UConn.”

She walks away without another word.

You stare after her, heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with basketball.

Gampel is deafening.

Every time you touch the ball, you’re booed. Every screen you fight through, every shot you take, they let you hear it.

Azzi, on the other hand, is a queen in her palace. The fans worship her.

You see the signs.

Fudd Around and Find Out!

Notre Shame

Break Her Ankles Again, Azzi!

You don’t care. This is fuel.

The first quarter is fast. Aggressive. And personal.

You and Azzi go at each other like no time has passed since high school.

She hits an early three—flick of the wrist, effortless—and doesn’t even celebrate. Just looks at you.

You come back with a drive, finish through contact, land hard on your side.

Azzi’s hand is the one you swat away when she offers to help you up.

She raises her eyebrow. “So it’s like that tonight?”

You smirk, standing. “Always has been.”

But your thoughts are with her. With how you brushed shoulders walking into the tunnel. With how she mouthed, “Don’t hold back,” before disappearing into her huddle.

Everything turns up.

The defense is tighter. The crowd louder. Azzi steals the ball from you and scores on the fast break—turns and winks at you.

You respond two plays later by crossing her up and draining a jumper in her face.

The bench loses it.

She stares you down, chest heaving.

“Bitch,” she mutters.

“Lover,” you correct.

No one hears it. Just her.

And she blushes—because she hates that it gets to her.

With three minutes left, you tie it at 63 with a deep three from the corner.

Azzi gets the last shot.

One-point lead for Notre Dame. Final possession. Ten seconds.

She dribbles up, you’re guarding her tight, and she hesitates. She could go left. Could pull up. She fakes you out. And for the first time in four years… she slips. She loses the ball.

You dive for it, snatch it clean, and run the clock out dribbling in place.

Notre Dame wins.

You find her in the chaos.

Azzi doesn’t say anything as you approach. Just grabs your hand, squeezes it—hard—and leans in during the brief second you have to pass.

“Hotel,” she whispers. “Tonight.”

You nod once. Then keep walking.

It’s quiet. Still. The buzz of the crowd gone, the weight of the game lifted.

You open the door in sweats and a messy bun. Her eyes are tired. Her cheeks flushed. And her lips find yours before you even speak.

She pushes you back against the door. Hands in your hoodie. Mouth on yours like she needs to forget the loss. Like she’s choosing you over everything else.

When she pulls away, forehead resting on yours, she exhales.

“I hate losing.”

You kiss her temple. “I know.”

“I hate that you got the best of me again.”

“You didn’t,” you say. “You still own my heart.”

She groans. “Shut up.”

You smirk. “Make me.”

She kisses you again.

Longer this time.

Deeper.

And the rivalry?

Forgotten—at least for tonight.

It’s 12:43 AM when your phone buzzes.

“Meet me by the service exit in five. No questions.” – A.

You’re already moving before you finish reading. It’s been too long since you’ve been in the same place at the same time.

The Notre Dame hotel is quiet, dark—everyone asleep or pretending to be, the weight of the season making the air feel heavy. You throw on your hoodie, tuck your room key into your pocket, and slip out like a shadow.

She’s waiting by the alley behind the loading dock. Hoodie pulled low over her curls. Hands in her pockets. Her sneakers kick the curb as you approach.

You don’t say anything. Just reach out and lace your fingers through hers.

She squeezes once. Then pulls you forward, toward her car parked a block away. You slide into the passenger seat, your legs brushing hers. She doesn't look at you yet. Just starts driving.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall, a good thirty minutes outside the city. Off a quiet highway exit. No social media tags, no late-night sports coverage, no college kids.

Just cracked leather booths, a buzzing neon OPEN sign, and an old jukebox humming softly in the corner.

You slide into a booth in the far back. Azzi takes the seat beside you, not across. Like she needs you close. Like if there’s only a little time left, she’s not wasting it on distance.

The waitress doesn’t recognize you. Just hands you two chipped mugs of coffee and a menu that looks older than both of you.

You order pancakes. She gets fries and a milkshake.

Azzi picks at the fries while staring out the window, her leg pressed against yours under the table.

You nudge her gently. “You okay?”

She nods, but doesn't meet your eyes. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

She takes a slow breath. “That it’s almost over. This season. Us… like this. Sneaking out. Hiding. Pretending we’re enemies on the court.”

You reach for her hand under the table, thumb brushing her knuckles. “It doesn’t have to be over.”

She finally turns to you. “You know what I mean. After Sunday… one of us wins. One of us loses. And the whole world’s gonna have something to say about it.”

You don’t answer for a second.

Then you lean over and rest your head against hers. Soft, like you’re both afraid to move too fast and break this night.

“They can say whatever they want,” you murmur. “We’ve always known what’s real.”

She’s quiet, her breath shallow against your collarbone.

“I’m scared,” she whispers. “Not of the game. Just… if I lose, I want it to hurt. And if I win… I don’t want to feel guilty.”

You pull her closer until her head is tucked beneath your chin, your arm draped across her back.

“I get it,” you say softly. “I’ve thought about every outcome. But the only one that matters to me is this—right now. You. Me. Here.”

She looks up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable. “I love you.”

You kiss her forehead. “I love you more.”

“No, you don’t,” she mumbles.

“Yes, I do.”

She laughs under her breath. “Prove it.”

So you do—by curling your hand around the side of her neck and pulling her in for the softest kiss imaginable. It doesn’t ask for anything. It doesn’t lead anywhere. It just is.

Warm. Familiar. Steady.

Like you’ve been kissing her your whole life.

Her hand slides under your hoodie, her fingers drawing tiny circles along the small of your back. You lean into her, resting your forehead against hers when it’s over.

“Can we stay here forever?” she whispers.

You chuckle. “We’ll get kicked out if we nap in the booth.”

“Worth it.”

You pull her into your side, and she stays there, head on your shoulder, her knees drawn up like she’s trying to fold herself into you.

You sit in silence for a while, your hands tangled together, her milkshake half-melted beside you.

Eventually, you whisper, “Whoever wins Sunday… promise me something.”

She shifts to look at you. “Anything.”

“Don’t let it change this. Don’t let it touch us.”

Azzi cups your face, her thumb brushing just beneath your eye. “Nothing could touch us.”

You kiss again. Slower this time. A little longer. A little sadder.

Because you both know the truth.

When Sunday comes, everything changes.

But tonight?

Tonight is still yours.

The arena is loud.

Too loud.

Flashbulbs. Chants. Screaming fans. Cameras everywhere.

You're in the tunnel with your Notre Dame teammates, jersey clinging to your shoulders, sweat already gathering at your brow.

You bounce the ball between your hands.

Breath in. Breath out.

The other tunnel erupts.

UConn jogs out first, all white and navy and ice.

And at the center of it—her.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t glance your way once. She’s all game face.

But you know her better than anyone else ever could. You recognize the way her fists clench a half-second longer than usual. How her mouth tenses when she’s focused and feeling too much.

She’s not just ready.

She’s burning.

Good.

So are you.

You win the tip.

And you come out swinging.

First possession, you drop a dime off a pick-and-roll that leads to an easy layup.

Next trip down, you take Azzi off the dribble, left hand, body bump—bucket.

She doesn’t flinch. She comes back and nails a deep three from the wing, right in your teammate’s face.

You’re jogging back, and she gives you a look. A smirk.

“You gonna guard me or watch me?”

You scoff. “You wish I was watching.”

“Baby, you are.”

You chuckle, low. “Not on the court, I’m not.”

You drive, kick out, collect an assist.

You swat a layup attempt so hard it hits the baseline camera. The crowd erupts.

Azzi responds with a crossover so nasty your center stumbles—then she buries the three from the logo.

Timeout Notre Dame.

You wipe your mouth with your jersey and stare her down on the way to your huddle.

She raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Never better,” you say, chest heaving.

Her eyes flick to your lips for a split second. No one catches it.

Except you.

It’s a war.

But the difference?

You’re not even close to done.

You come out of halftime furious.

You strip Azzi at the top of the key and take it coast to coast—left hand, finish through contact, and-one.

Azzi jogs back up court beside you. “Okay. That was hot.”

You grin. “You’re not stopping me.”

She bumps your hip. “No, but I’m not done trying.”

Two plays later, she pulls up off a screen and buries another three. Her fourth.

Your bench calls timeout again.

As you walk past, she leans in just enough to say, “Kiss me after the game.”

You look straight ahead, lips twitching.

“Only if you lose.”

Every possession is blood.

It’s tied 71–71 with two minutes left.

Azzi hits a midrange jumper.

You answer with a drive and dish—your eighth assist.

Then you hit a three with 38 seconds left to go up 78–75.

Azzi takes it up the court. No timeout. She wants the ball. Wants you. You meet her at the top of the key. She tries to shake you, steps back—fires.

You block it.

The ball ricochets off her hand. Out of bounds.

Notre Dame possession.

The whole arena erupts.

You don’t smile. You don’t flex.

You just turn to her as you walk past, lean in, and whisper, “I told you.”

She watches you go, jaw clenched, fire in her eyes—and something softer just beneath.

You fall to your knees as the buzzer sounds.

Your teammates tackle you. Confetti falls.

Somewhere in the blur, you hear the announcers losing their minds—

“The freshman from Notre Dame has done it—one of the greatest championship performances in recent memory!”

“And the rivalry delivers again—but this time, Notre Dame finishes on top!”

You're named Most Outstanding Player.

Azzi disappears into the locker room.

But later that night… she lets herself in using the side stairwell. Still in sweats. Hair a mess. Eyes red—but not from crying. She finds you sitting on the bed, the net beside you, still half in uniform.

Azzi doesn’t say anything. Just crosses the room and climbs into your lap, arms around your neck.

You hold her tight.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, even though it clearly hurts to say it.

You press your lips to her temple.

“I never stopped playing for you,” you murmur. “Even when I played against you.”

She looks up at you, soft and wrecked all at once.

“You won,” she says.

“We both did,” you answer. “We made it here.”

Then you kiss her.

And this one?

It’s not about trash talk or rivalry or proving anything.

It’s just love.

It happens in practice.

A simple cut. A drive off a screen. You've done it a thousand times.

But this time—your knee doesn’t follow.

The sound isn’t even loud. Just a pop. Then fire. Screaming fire in your leg.

You hit the floor, gripping your knee, biting down on your mouthguard to stop yourself from howling.

Trainers rush in. Practice stops. You don’t need the MRI.

You already know.

You’re sitting on the table, head in your hands, your brace still on, the scan glowing on a screen nearby.

Confirmed. Torn ACL. Out for the season.

Gone. Just like that.

Your chest is tight. Your throat is raw. You’re so mad you can’t even cry at first.

But when the room clears and it’s just you and the quiet?

You finally break.

You don’t even think. Your fingers dial her number automatically.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hey—” Her voice is warm, soft, familiar.

You can’t get the words out. Just a broken sound, the kind that comes from somewhere too deep for language.

“Hey, hey, baby. What happened?” she asks quickly, worried.

You finally manage to say it, through thick sobs. “I tore it. My ACL. I tore it.”

“Oh my God,” Azzi whispers. “Where are you? Are you okay? I mean—fuck, of course you’re not okay—what do you need?”

Your hand is shaking. You clutch the phone tighter. “I’m getting surgery in five days. They already booked it.”

She’s silent for a second.

“I’m coming.”

“No,” you say immediately. “Az, you’ve got practice, classes, your own season—”

“I don’t give a shit,” she says, voice steel now. “I’m coming. I want to be there.”

You wipe your face. “You don’t have to—”

“I need to be there.”

She softens again. “You’d be there for me, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then let me show up for you. Please.”

You swallow hard, then nod, even though she can’t see you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

You’re in a gown, in a plain white hospital bed. Your knee’s marked up, IV taped to your arm. Olivia Miles is on your right, flipping through a magazine to distract you. Sonia Citron is near your foot, cracking jokes and trying to get you to smile. It’s working. Barely.

Until the door opens.

And Azzi walks in.

Wearing a Notre Dame hoodie you once left at her place—and a pair of UConn joggers.

Olivia does a full double take.

Sonia nearly drops her phone.

“Wait… what the hell?” Olivia says, pointing. “Why is she here?”

Sonia blinks. “That’s Azzi Fudd.”

“She’s UConn. She’s your rival.”

You blink at them slowly. “Yeah. Also… my girlfriend.”

Silence.

Then both girls explode.

“WHAT?!” “Shut the hell up!” “Wait, wait, wait—this whole time?!” “Since when? HOW?!” “You hated each other!”

Azzi walks calmly to your bedside and kisses your forehead.

“Pretended,” she says, smirking.

You nod, a little smug despite the pain. “Best kept secret in college hoops.”

Olivia’s mouth is open like she’s buffering.

Sonia just blinks. “That’s actually… iconic.”

Azzi squeezes your hand. “You ready?”

You look up at her, suddenly calm in a way you haven’t been in days.

“With you here? Yeah.”

The nurse comes in and tells you it’s time.

Azzi bends over you, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead. Her lips find yours—gentle, grounding, warm.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” she whispers.

You nod. “Okay.”

She takes your hand one last time before they wheel you out.

You don’t look back.

You don’t have to.

She’s already promised to be there.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is pain.

Blunt, dull, but unrelenting. Your throat is dry. Your leg is heavy. Your mouth tastes like metal.

Then you feel her.

Azzi’s fingers laced with yours. Her thumb rubbing slow circles into your palm. Her head is bowed, resting against your side like she hasn’t moved in hours.

You shift a little and wince.

Her head jerks up immediately.

“Hey—hey, you’re awake,” she whispers, eyes wide with relief.

You manage a croaky, “Barely.”

Azzi reaches for the water cup on the tray and holds the straw to your lips. “Sip. Slowly.”

You obey. The water tastes like the best thing in the world.

She watches you like you’re made of glass.

“You stayed,” you mumble.

Azzi’s voice drops. “Of course I did. Told you I would.”

You blink against the haze in your eyes. “You look tired.”

She smiles softly. “And you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Love you too,” you rasp.

Azzi laughs, brushing hair from your face. “You scared me.”

“I’m okay now.”

She leans down and kisses your forehead. “Yeah. You are.”

After two days in the hospital, you’re discharged to a recovery suite near campus. You were supposed to go home.

You didn’t.

Not when Azzi booked a room next door.

She helps you get in, carefully easing you onto the couch, stacking pillows under your leg. She doesn’t let you move a thing without her.

Olivia and Sonia swing by with flowers and snacks and a card signed by the whole team. They pretend to be chill about Azzi being there.

They’re not.

You keep catching them watching the two of you with wide eyes and amused grins.

“You guys really sold the rivalry thing,” Olivia says, raising her brows.

You shrug. “We’re competitive.”

Azzi kisses your temple. “And I’m possessive.”

Sonia fake gags.

You laugh for the first time in days.

Physical therapy starts. It sucks.

You can’t stand for more than five minutes without wobbling.

Everything hurts. All the time.

You cry in frustration more than once.

Azzi is always there. Sitting in the corner of the PT room. Hoodie pulled up, book in her lap. Watching every rep like it’s the Final Four.

After one particularly bad session, you drop onto the mat and cover your face with your hands.

Azzi walks over silently, kneels beside you, and rests her forehead to yours.

“I hate this,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I feel weak.”

“You’re not. You’re healing.”

You finally look at her. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Azzi takes your face in both hands.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

Her voice breaks a little. “You’ve always carried so much. Let me carry you now.”

She makes you breakfast every morning.

Eggs. Toast. Sometimes pancakes, even though she always burns the first batch.

She helps you shower. You insist you can do it on your own.

She glares. “You almost fell last time.”

“I like risking it. Keeps things interesting.”

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

You grin. “And you love me.”

She doesn’t argue.

Your team has an away game.

Azzi flys in.

No one even questions it anymore. The coaching staff lets her take two personal days.

She tells them it’s family business.

And you are.

You sit together on the balcony of the recovery suite, watching the rain fall over the trees.

Your brace is itchy. Your mood is sour. Your pain is low but constant.

Azzi reaches for your hand.

“You’re doing so well.”

“I feel like I’ve gone backward.”

“You haven’t,” she says, squeezing your fingers. “You’re already stronger than you were last week. I see it.”

You lean your head on her shoulder. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. Except maybe us.”

You shift and look up at her.

“You really believe we’ll be okay?”

Azzi nods. “I believe in you. And I believe in us.”

You kiss her.

She tastes like coffee and cinnamon.

Like home.

You’re lying together on your couch, a movie playing in the background, neither of you really watching.

Azzi shifts, resting her head on your chest.

“You know… I think about it sometimes.”

“What?”

“If you never got hurt… maybe I wouldn’t have come. Maybe we’d still be sneaking around. Maybe no one would ever know.”

You run your fingers through her curls. “Are you saying my injury was… romantic?”

“I’m saying it forced me to stop hiding.”

You blink, then chuckle. “Wow. That was the most chaotic love confession I’ve ever heard.”

She looks up at you, smiling. “Yeah. But it’s still true.”

You kiss her.

And for the first time since you fell to the court that day, you feel whole.

Warm-ups feel like a dream.

Not because the gym is packed or the lights feel hotter than usual, but because you’re in uniform again. Notre Dame jersey. Knee sleeve. Your name echoing off the arena walls when they read the lineup.

You’re not starting—Coach said you’d get “light minutes.” Nothing too intense. Controlled movement. Easing in. Just enough to get your legs back under you.

But even being on the bench, even lacing up your shoes again, even sitting next to Liv and Sonia during the anthem… it feels like everything.

Olivia nudges you. “Nervous?”

You blow out a breath. “Nauseous.”

Sonia leans around Liv and smirks. “You’re good. You’ve done this before.”

“Not after tearing a whole ligament out of my body,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” Sonia shrugs, “but like… you’re you.”

You give her a sideways look. “What does that mean?”

She smirks. “You could drop five points in two minutes and still get a standing ovation.”

You shake your head—but you smile. They’re trying to keep you calm. You love them for it.

You spot her.

Back row. Hoodie up. Hat low. Face mostly hidden. But she’s sitting with her knees bouncing, watching warmups like she’s the one about to play.

Your chest warms instantly.

Only you, Sonia, and Olivia catch her. No one else notices. She’s hidden in a crowd of Irish fans, blending into green and gold like she’s just another face in the sea.

But you know better.

She’s always been watching. Even when no one else could see her.

You lean back and whisper to Sonia, “Row J. Hoodie. That’s her.”

Sonia squints. “Oh my God… she really came.”

Olivia grins. “You’re gonna cook now.”

You roll your eyes. “On a minutes restriction?”

Liv shrugs. “That’s all you need.”

There’s a buzz when your number flashes at the scorer’s table.

You hear your name in the arena speakers. “Now checking in for the Irish… number eleven…”

The crowd stands. Clapping. Cheering. It’s not deafening, but it’s warm. Supportive. Like they remember.

Like they know what this means.

You tap hands with the starter coming out and jog onto the court.

Your heart pounds.

You flex your leg once. Just to feel it.

When the game ends, Olivia hugs you so tight you almost fall over.

Sonia lifts your arm like you just won a title. “Six points in nine minutes? She’s back.”

You laugh, the adrenaline crashing all at once. Your body aches. Your leg is sore.

But your heart? Steady.

You sneak out the side door later, hoodie up, duffel on your shoulder.

Azzi is leaning against the far wall of the parking lot.

She sees you and breaks into a grin.

You don’t say anything. You just walk straight into her arms.

She holds you like she was holding her breath the entire game.

“You were amazing,” she says into your neck.

“I played nine minutes.”

“And made every one count.”

You pull back, cupping her jaw.

“You always show up,” you whisper.

She brushes her thumb over your cheek.

“Because you always rise.”

Then she kisses you—quick, fierce, and full of the love that’s carried you through every hard minute since the fall.

This next season has been brutal. A new season where you’re fully healthy.

You’re halfway through an early-morning film session when your phone starts vibrating—hard. It’s her.

You step out immediately, heart in your throat.

“Az?” you answer, already breathless.

She’s not speaking.

You can hear her crying. Sharp, gasping sobs. Not like her.

“Azzi—hey, what happened?”

More silence. 

“I—I did it,” she chokes. “My knee. It… popped. And I—I knew. I knew the second I hit the ground.”

You close your eyes. The hallway spins.

She’s still crying. “They confirmed it. It’s my ACL. And my meniscus. It’s both.”

You sink down onto a bench. “Oh, baby…”

“I can’t— I can’t do this,” she whispers. “I don’t wanna do this.”

You grip the phone tighter. “Listen to me. Yes, you can. You will. You were there for me, Azzi. Every step. I’m going to do the same for you.”

She breathes out shakily. “My surgery’s Friday.”

“I’m flying in Thursday.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t even try to argue. I’m coming. End of story.”

She breaks again. But this time it’s softer. The sound of someone finally exhaling after holding it in too long.

You walk into the hospital suite with a bouquet of lilies, a backpack full of snacks, and a heart that hasn’t stopped pounding since your plane landed.

But the second you step inside—you stop short.

Because she’s not alone.

Paige Bueckers is sitting in a chair by the window, long legs crossed, her eyes flicking to you the moment you enter.

KK Arnold is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hoodie up, and glowering.

Aubrey Griffin is on the other side of Azzi’s bed, quiet but watching you like a hawk.

You’re about to speak—except you don’t have time.

KK steps forward. “Uh—what the hell are you doing here?”

You blink. “I—”

“Seriously?” Paige cuts in. “She hates you. What, you here to gloat or something?”

Aubrey doesn’t speak, but the tension in her posture says everything.

Azzi, flat on the bed with her leg braced and eyes still a little swollen from pre-op nerves, just… starts laughing.

Like full-on giggling through her surgical haze.

“Guys,” she wheezes, pointing at you. “This is my girlfriend.”

Silence.

“WHAT?” KK nearly drops her water bottle. “Wait—waitwaitwait—you mean—like—girlfriend girlfriend??”

Paige’s mouth drops open.

Aubrey furrows her brows. “Like… kissing kissing girlfriend?”

Azzi grins dopily. “We’ve been dating since high school.”

KK spins toward you. “I knew something was weird during that tournament game. You two were talking mad trash, but it had flirt energy.”

Paige’s jaw is still on the floor. “You kept this from me?”

“Damn right I did,” Azzi mutters. “You’re nosy.”

KK gasps. “So that time she hit a three in your face and you winked? That wasn’t just psychological warfare?”

“Nope,” you say, finally walking over to set the flowers beside her bed. “That was her flirting.”

“Oh my God!”

Azzi’s eyes find yours, and despite the chaos, there’s only one thing she sees… you.

You lean down, brush her hair back, and kiss her forehead.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

“I know,” she breathes.

The roles are reversed now.

You help her shower. Sit next to her during every PT session. Make late-night grocery runs. Brush her curls out when she’s too tired to lift her arms.

You cook her breakfast in her apartment—burn the eggs, just like she used to do.

You hold her when the frustration hits. When she cries because her leg won't bend past 90 degrees. When she has to use the crutches to get across her bedroom. When the world feels too far away.

You fly out whenever you can.

Even if it’s only for a day.

Even if it means red-eyes and brutal turnarounds.

Because you remember what it felt like to have her by your side when it all collapsed.

And now?

It’s your turn to carry her.

It’s been twelve months since the pop. Ten since the surgery. Six since she cried in your arms the first time she couldn’t make it up the stairs without help.

But tonight?

Azzi Fudd is cleared.

She’s on the bench in warmups, legs bouncing, hair tied back with that little white scrunchie you always steal, eyes scanning the court like she’s trying to absorb it all at once.

She looks like fire held barely in check.

And you?

You’re three rows up from the tunnel, hoodie over your head, beanie pulled low, collar high enough to cover half your face.

No one recognizes you. Which is exactly how you planned it.

Only Paige knows you’re here. And even she only offered you a smirk and a soft fist bump when you passed her in the hallway before tip-off.

You didn’t come to be seen.

You came to see her.

The lights go low. The announcer's voice booms.

“Back for the Huskies tonight after nearly a year off the court… number 35… AZZI FUDD!”

The crowd explodes.

She steps out of the huddle with both arms raised, smiling so wide it almost knocks you out.

Your chest tightens.

She doesn’t look at you—not once—but you see her eyes flick toward the crowd. Just once. Quick.

She knows.

She feels you.

She only plays twelve minutes. She finishes with 11 points. Two assists. A steal.

It’s not about the numbers.

It’s about the fact that she ran. She jumped. She smiled.

She’s back.

You stay seated while the crowd clears. Hoodie still up. Hands in your lap.

She doesn’t look for you. Doesn’t need to.

You’ll see her soon.

You’re sitting on her couch, waiting when she walks in. Still in her jersey, postgame sweat in her curls, tired but glowing.

The door shuts.

Then she’s on you.

Arms around your neck. Legs around your waist. Mouth on yours before you can speak.

She pulls back, eyes shining. “You came.”

You smile. “Always.”

Azzi leans her forehead against yours. “It felt different. But good.”

“You looked like yourself.”

She nods. “That’s ‘cause you were there.”

You kiss her again.

Longer this time.

The kind of kiss that says, “We made it through hell.”

And we’re still here.

The final buzzer sounds. Confetti falls. Azzi’s arms shoot into the air as the crowd erupts.

She did it.

They did it.

And you?

You’re on your feet in the corner section, half-shadowed in UConn blue, clapping like your palms are going to split.

You watched her hit dagger threes. Chase down rebounds. Bark commands like a general.

And when they handed her the Most Outstanding Player trophy, your vision blurred from the tears you weren’t supposed to let fall.

The champagne hasn’t popped—NCAA rules and all—but the energy’s louder than any bottle bursting.

KK Arnold is bouncing on Paige Bueckers’ back. Aubrey Griffin is doing some terrible dance in socks on the slippery floor. Ice packs and championship shirts are flying everywhere.

You’re tucked in the farthest corner of the players' lounge, hoodie still up, baseball cap down, practically fused to the cushions of a leather couch.

Azzi is half in your lap, legs draped across yours like she’s melting.

You have one arm over her shoulder, your hand resting softly on her waist. She’s wearing her championship hat backwards and smiling so wide, it’s like the whole arena is still lit inside her.

“You proud of me?” she mumbles under the chaos, nuzzling her face into your hoodie.

You smirk. “Nah. I’m proud of South Carolina for surviving that long.”

Azzi laughs into your chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re disgustingly good at basketball.”

“I’m so sweaty.”

“I noticed,” you say, wrinkling your nose and fanning your shirt. “And yet here I am, cuddling a human Gatorade bottle.”

She shifts a little, gripping your hoodie tighter. “Shut up. I’m comfy.”

“You’re spoiled.”

“You like it.”

You don’t argue. Because you do.

You don’t even notice she’s filming at first. Neither of you do.

KK is showing off the locker room. Jumping from face to face. Aubrey’s eating cake. Paige is singing off-key.

Then she flips the camera mid-spin and walks past the couch.

And just for a split second— In the background. Azzi Fudd. Championship hat backwards. Curled up in someone’s lap, laughing softly, hoodie-clad arm wrapped tightly around her.

The face is barely visible. Blurry. Covered. Hidden.

But it’s Azzi.

And TikTok notices everything.

KK freezes when she realizes what she just did.

She fumbles her phone. “Oh shit—wait—OH NO—” She turns to Paige. “PAIGE—PAIGE I THINK I JUST—”

Paige leans over and cackles.

Like full-on, doubled-over, can’t-breathe, mouth-wide-open cackling.

“YOU WENT LIVE?!”

KK’s face is pure panic. “I DIDN’T KNOW!! I—I THOUGHT THEY WERE—I THOUGHT THEY MOVED!!”

Aubrey stops dancing. “Wait… are they out?”

KK hits END on the live so fast it’s like she’s defusing a bomb.

“NOPE. THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME.”

KK tiptoes over like she’s approaching a sleeping lion.

You glance up, Azzi still practically dozing against you.

“What’s up?” you ask.

KK sits down. Hard. “I think I just soft-launched your relationship to the world.”

You blink. “What?”

Azzi slowly sits up. “What?”

KK looks wrecked. “I—I was on live and I didn’t know and I walked past and you guys were… y’know…”

You look at Azzi.

Azzi looks at you.

Then you both… just start laughing.

KK stares. “Why are you laughing?! This could be BAD!”

You wipe your eye. “Because it’s you. Of course it’s you.”

Azzi throws an arm around her. “You’re so chaotic.”

“I panicked!”

“It’s fine,” you say. “They didn’t see my face.”

Azzi shrugs. “Even if they did… you were always worth the risk.”

KK squeaks and covers her face. “I’M GONNA THROW UP FROM THE WHOLESOMENESS.”

The room’s quiet. Her jersey is draped over a chair. The championship hat is tossed onto the dresser. Her shoes are still by the door—lopsided like she kicked them off without thinking.

She walks to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly, the city lights reflecting off her skin.

“I can’t believe we won,” she whispers.

You come up behind her, sliding your arms around her waist. “I can.”

“You really think I played well?”

You kiss the back of her neck. “Az. You dominated.”

She turns in your arms, looping hers around your neck.

You lean your forehead against hers. “Most Outstanding Player, huh?”

Azzi’s voice drops, teasing. “I like the sound of it.”

“You should. I’m thinking of getting it tattooed on my ass.”

She snorts. “Don’t you dare.”

You press a kiss to her jaw. “You were electric tonight. I’ve never been more proud.”

Azzi’s voice softens. “You were there. I felt it.”

You smile against her cheek. “Always.”

She leads you toward the bed and pulls you down beside her, curling into your side.

You let your hand rest on her thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns over her warm skin. She shifts closer, nuzzling into your chest.

Her breath tickles your collarbone.

“I don’t wanna share you with the world yet,” she says quietly.

“You don’t have to.”

“But someday?”

You kiss her hair. “Someday.”

She hums.

“Until then,” you murmur, “you’re just mine.”

“Mine first,” she says, already drifting.

You don’t tell her where you’re going.

You just tell her to pack light. Bring sneakers. Trust you.

Azzi raises a brow as she throws her duffel into the trunk. “This better not be a survivalist weekend. If I see a single tent, I’m leaving.”

You grin. “Relax. There’s plumbing.”

Tucked away in a clearing. Big windows. A lake view. Just you, her, and miles of space where no one expects you to perform or hide.

She spins in the driveway, arms wide. “Okay. This is acceptable.”

You bring her bags in. Set out snacks. Let her explore. When she finds the hammock strung between two trees, she calls dibs. You nod, distracted—your fingers brushing the ring box deep in your jacket pocket. You walk her down to the dock at sunset.

The sky is watercolor—pink and orange and soft blue bleeding into the trees. The water reflects it all like a secret.

She’s barefoot. Wearing your hoodie. Her curls are tied up and messy. She looks like everything you ever wanted to wake up next to for the rest of your life. She sits on the edge of the dock, legs dangling above the water. You sit behind her. Wrap your arms around her. Press your face to the side of her neck.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, hand reaching up to touch yours.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

You pause.

Then slowly, you pull the ring from your pocket.

“About this.”

Azzi turns slightly. Her brow furrows—until she sees the box in your hand.

Her breath hitches.

You kneel in front of her, on the dock, heart pounding.

“You’ve been my rival. My secret. My safe place. My person. You’ve carried me. Grounded me. Loved me even when I forgot how to love myself.”

You open the box. The ring glints in the fading sun.

“And I want to spend the rest of my life reminding you that you’ll never have to do any of this alone again.”

Azzi’s hand covers her mouth. Her eyes are already brimming.

You smile. “Marry me?”

She doesn’t speak for a beat. Just throws her arms around you and buries her face in your shoulder.

Then she whispers—voice shaking, warm against your skin, “Yes.”

The ring’s on her finger. She keeps staring at it like she can’t believe it’s real.

You’re lying in bed together, limbs tangled under a thick blanket. The windows are open. The night air is cool and smells like pine.

“You really meant it?” she asks quietly, eyes still on the band.

“Every word.”

She rolls into your chest and presses her lips against your neck. “I’m gonna ruin the wedding with tears.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She pulls back and looks at you, glowing in the moonlight.

“I never thought I’d get this,” she whispers.

You brush your thumb across her cheek. “You built this.”

“You sure you want me forever?” she teases.

You tuck her against you, hand resting over her heart.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The wedding was beautiful. Small and intimate.

The table is set beneath hanging lights.

Small white plates. Homemade place cards. No fans. No cameras. Just the people who knew before the world did.

Olivia taps her glass and raises hers. “To the only couple who made me believe in ‘rivals to lovers.’”

Sonia grins. “To Azzi and Y/N… may your babies shoot like her and guard like you.”

KK sobs halfway through her toast and then starts a dramatic retelling of how she accidentally soft-launched your entire relationship.

Paige raises her glass and says, “To the strongest love I’ve ever seen. And to Y/N—officially, and forever… a Fudd.”

Everyone claps.

Your face burns. Azzi kisses your cheek and whispers, “Looks good on you.”

You grin. “Sounded good in the paperwork.”

Time passed by fast. One minute you were playing against each other in your high school gym, now you were both in the big leagues.

The city’s quiet tonight. Your apartment feels like it’s wrapped in a blanket. Golden hour faded hours ago, but the light still lingers, casting soft shadows across the couch where you’re both sprawled out.

You’re in sweats. She’s in one of your Valkyries T-shirts, legs draped over your lap, head tucked beneath your chin. The TV’s playing some old rom-com neither of you are really watching.

Azzi’s warm. Familiar. Her fingers tracing gentle lines up and down your arm like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

You’ve been quiet for a while. She notices.

“Y/N,” she murmurs without moving. “What are you thinking about?”

You hesitate.

Then shift a little beneath her, enough so she can see your face.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” you say. “For a while.”

Azzi lifts her head. Her brows pinch. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just… it’s about my jersey.”

Her eyes search yours. “Your jersey?”

You nod slowly. “I’ve been playing this whole time with my old last name on it. The name I had before we got married.”

Azzi doesn’t move. Just listens.

You take a breath. “I think I’m ready to change it.”

She stills.

Your voice softens. “I want to wear your name. The name you gave me.”

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything.

Then you see her eyes fill.

“You do?” she whispers, her voice suddenly small.

“I do,” you say, leaning in to kiss her temple. “I want the world to see the name I chose. The name that means something real. I want to walk out on that court with ‘Fudd’ across my shoulders. I want people to ask. And I want to tell them.”

Azzi covers her mouth, shaking her head slightly. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good,” you smile. “You’ve made me cry at least twelve times.”

She laughs, wiping her eyes, then looks up at you again—vulnerable, glowing.

“You’re sure?” she asks. “Because once it’s out there…”

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” you say. “It’s been months, Az. I want people to know you’re mine. That I’m yours. That this—” you motion between you “—isn’t a rumor. It’s a life.”

Azzi leans forward and kisses you, slow and deep.

When she pulls back, her voice is barely above a whisper.

“You have no idea how much I love you.”

You touch her cheek. “You put your name on me.”

She exhales shakily, grinning through the emotion. “Well, when you say it like that…”

You laugh, pulling her into your arms again.

Outside, the world still doesn’t know.

But in here?

It’s the only thing that matters.

You’re both under a blanket now. The movie’s long over. The TV’s quiet. Just the hum of the city outside and the occasional sound of her breathing against your chest.

Your fingers trace lazy shapes into her spine. She’s half asleep when you whisper, “I emailed the team.”

She hums. “About the name?”

You nod, then realize she can’t see you. “Yeah.”

“Fudd on the Valkyries,” she murmurs, smile in her voice.

You chuckle. “Fudd vs. Fudd.”

Azzi grins into your shirt. “Let’s break the league.”

You close your eyes, hand curled around her back, your heart settled in the quiet promise of everything ahead.

The city is buzzing.

You arrive hours early—hood up, headphones on—but cameras are waiting. Lights flash. Reporters yell questions.

“Y/N, how’s it feel to face Azzi tonight?” “Are the rivalry rumors true?” “What do you make of Fudd’s hot start to the season?”

You smile. Say nothing. Just keep walking.

The name stitched on your suit jacket gets no attention.

But the jersey waiting in the locker room?

That’s the real headline.

You take your time changing.

Your jersey hangs at your locker, crisp and clean. Black and gold. The Valkyries crest bold on the chest.

But that’s not what everyone is staring at.

It’s the name on the back.

FUDD.

Kate’s jaw literally drops. “Wait. What?”

You shrug, tugging the jersey over your head. “It’s time.”

The crowd is deafening.

Spotlights swirl. Fireworks explode over the jumbotron. Chase Center feels like a playoff game.

“Starting at guard for the Valkyries… number 11…”

You walk out.

The camera zooms in.

Your back turns toward the audience.

The crowd sees it.

FUDD.

The world stops for half a second.

Announcer 1: “Wait—do I… do I need to clean my glasses or does that jersey say Fudd?” Announcer 2: “It does. That’s not a typo. That’s not her listed last name. Did she change it?” Announcer 1: “Are they related?! Are we talking long-lost cousins or—wait, no—WAIT.” Announcer 2: “…No. No way.” Announcer 1: “I’m texting my producer right now. We need confirmation. This is not a drill.”

The internet loses its mind.

“Y/N FUDD?! IS THIS A JERSEY MISHAP OR A LIFE REVEAL??” “I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING FRUITY BETWEEN THEM. I KNEW IT.” “This ain’t a rivalry. This is a marriage. I’m SCREAMING.” “So we’ve had a married power couple in the league for WEEKS and didn’t know???” “WNBA just became the most romantic league on earth. Goodbye.”

Paige posts a story, “This is why I was never allowed to post them. I’m free now!”

KK goes live mid-game watching from her couch, mouth open, “YOU GUYS I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE AT FIRST BUT SHE REALLY—AZZI REALLY—Y/N’S NAME IS—”

She’s stretching when the crowd starts reacting to something that’s not her. She turns. Sees your jersey. Sees her name. And bites her lip.

Kelsey elbows her. “You good?”

Azzi smiles—small. Glowing. “Never better.”

You lock eyes across the center circle.

You’re in your new jersey. Her name on your back.

She smirks. “Took you long enough.”

You grin. “Had to do it at home.”

Fans don’t just see fire. They see history. They see the hand lingering an extra second on the foul line. They see the way you look at her when she backpedals on defense. They see the rivalry and realize—it was never real.

It was intimacy disguised as opposition.

It’s 74–74. 90 seconds left.

You’re guarding her full court.

She fakes left, spins right.

You recover.

She pulls up.

You block it.

The crowd explodes.

You don’t celebrate big. You walk over to her.

Azzi meets you at half-court, lips twitching.

“You really wore it.”

“I really did.”

“You’re mine,” she says softly.

You grin. “Always was.”

You shake hands with everyone else. But her? You linger. You walk off together—side by side.

The room is packed. Reporters buzzing, hands raised.

First question, “Y/N, you revealed your marriage tonight to Azzi Fudd. Why now?”

You smile. Look straight at the camera.

“Because I wanted the world to know I play with her name on my back, and her love in my heart. Every game. Every day.”

Azzi walks in mid-answer and sits beside you. No mic needed.

“She’s my wife. And we’ve waited long enough.”

[paulyenvol6]

Made To Take It

Jackson!Joel x Jackson!Tommy x female reader

Okay so I'm definitely going to hell for this one. This is dirty, filthy, raunchy and SO thirsty, but I'm a slut for Joel and Tommy, I'm sorry. Enjoy these 13,000 words of (almost) pure smut and meet me in hell.

Contains: Oh lord, where do I begin... smut, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving and it's rough and messy af), fingering, degradation, humiliation, objectification, gagging, choking, boot riding, slapping, fat age gap (Joel and Tommy are in their 50s, reader is 24), sort of innocent kink, dacryphilia, mentions of somnophilia, dom Joel and Tommy (obviously), subby/whiny reader, everyone involved is a little drunk, dubcon (gonna put this here just in case because at some point reader is in pain and doesn't give clear consent), flirting, mentions of alcohol and cocain, use of words like bitch/slut/whore, descriptions of pain and discomfort, they're cumming over reader's breasts and face

Wordcount: 13,115

Masterlist

Joel hated it.

He didn't exactly hate you, but he hated what you were doing. The words coming out of your mouth, your smiles and your sparkling eyes.

When he thought about it, maybe it was more about the things you made him feel than what you said, but it was much easier to blame you.

You didn't have to wear that tiny excuse of a skirt or that tight pink top that showed off every curve of your body in a way that made him want to bang his head against the table in front of him just to make those sinful images disappear from his mind.

He felt awful for even just thinking about you that way, a girl almost 30 years younger than him. But what made him feel even worse was when his eyes stayed on you for just a little too long. Long enough to glance at your beautiful legs and your waist and imagine what you would feel like.

Joel inhaled the air which was definitely too thin in here and searched for a window or a door to open. Just when he was about to turn to his left someone sat down in a chair to his right and he spinned around only to look into a pair of brown eyes that looked very much like his own.

"Tommy. Didn't know you were comin'."

Joel tightened his grip around his glass and then emptied it in one go. If he already felt miserable dreaming about you like that, he better be drunk at least.

"Didn't know you were comin' either. You alright? You look awful."

"Thanks."

Joel darted at him, the corner of his mouth lifting as he noticed the hazy veil in front of his brother's eyes that hinted at the fact that he wasn't entirely himself either. Tommy exhaled and then leaned back in his chair, his eyes staring into space, but then Joel felt an arm around his shoulders.

"Seriously, though, why the fuck you here? You hate this kinda stuff."

"Thank you for tellin' me what I like."

Joel pushed his hand away and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"You pissed?"

"No," he growled, rubbing over his forehead with his hands that were cold from the icy liquid in his glas and hoped that it would calm his racing mind.

"Alright."

Tommy was quiet for the next few minutes which was why Joel eventually decided that from you, himself and Tommy, the latter was the least to blame so he gave him a conciliatory grin and toasted with him. That was communication enough and the two brothers silently watched the scene before their eyes until Tommy quietly chuckled.

"She's puttin' on quite the show, isn't she?"

Joel's heart jumped, his head throbbing as he tried to figure out who he was talking about and when he followed his little brother's gaze he almost choked on his own spit.

"Yeah, I guess," Joel nevertheless replied, trying to play it cool.

"She's an adorable 'lil thing though. I get why all these boys are head over heels for her. If I'd known her back when I was her age, god… the things I would've done just to get to touch those pretty legs for once."

"Jesus, Tommy," Joel hissed, rolling his eyes at his brother's light chuckle.

Nice one, Tommy. Not that he had needed it, but now he felt even worse.

"Fuckin' relax, Joel. Don't act like you would've been any different. Actually, she's more your type than mine. She looks a bit like… that one girl from music class in highschool, god what was her name again…"

"Georgia."

Tommy laughed out, slapped his thigh and then shook his head.

"Yes, Georgia. I remember her… That summer, I swear you were so goddamn useless. In your fuckin' room all day to practice the guitar to impress 'er… God… I would really like to know what happened to 'er."

Joel averted his gaze, looking down at his hands, which were resting on the table, and flinched when Tommy punched him lightly in the back.

"Anyway, the point is she's cute. But I swear to god, she's trouble. Just look at her. She's gonna break one heart after the other…"

Joel craned his neck back to look at the now familiar scene and felt his heart pound as he saw you whirling around, your hand gripped tightly by some guy's claws, as if he was afraid you would slip away if he let go. His fears were not unfounded because with a glance at the people around you it was clear that a number of guys seemed to be waiting for you to be free for a minute so that they could claim you next.

Goddamn stupid… Joel shook his head and dropped his gaze, but Tommy seemed invested now, an occasional chuckle leaving his mouth and his hand poking Joel's side when something of interest happened.

"Look, Joel. That one's out now." He giggled. "And look at his face… I hope he doesn't start a fight with that guy."

"Jesus… Can we stop now?" Joel grunted and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Tommy on the other hand shrugged, but finally averted his gaze from you and your little crowd of admirers.

"Alright. Don't know what the fuck's wrong with you tonight, but okay."

"I just think we have better things to do than stare at her an' get involved in this fuckin' teenage drama."

Tommy frowned, took another sip of his whisky and then lightly thumped Joel's shoulder with his fist.

"You makin' me sound like a creep."

"Yeah. Goddamn right," his older brother scoffed, but with these words the topic was finally dropped.

The brothers started talking about work and soon ended up talking about the patrol they were due to go on the next day. Time passed and Joel finally felt the lump in his throat resolve, the tension in his body easing and his mind capable of thinking about something that didn't have to do with you.

But the redemption was short-lived. It was around 11pm when a shadow approached the two brothers who were deep in a conversation, which was why they only noticed you when you were right in front of them.

"Jesus fucking christ," Joel cursed, bringing his hand to his chest to calm his rapid heartbeat that had gone through the rooftop by your unnoticed appearance. Tommy giggled again, his breath thick with the scent of whiskey.

"Good evening, gentlemen," you said with a smile and propped yourself up on your hands on the table which caused your t-shirt to ride up slightly. Joel felt his breath catch in his throat and he had to force himself not to look at the thin strip of skin exposed by your careless action.

"Hello, gorgeous," Tommy grinned and his brother involuntarily rolled his eyes. It wasn't just that Tommy was naturally a much bigger flirt than he was, it got even worse when he was drunk.

"What you're doin' here all alone? Did your admirers leave you? Not such gentlemen, huh? Leavin' a pretty thing like you here so late."

You tilted your head, swung your weight from one foot to the other, and somehow it only made Joel more nervous.

"No. They'll be back. They're… gettin' some other drugs," you whispered with a blink of your eye and brought a finger to your lips, signalising the Miller brothers to keep it a secret.

"What?" it was Joel now who hissed.

"Relax. It's just a bit of coke, I guess. Nothing I can't handle."

Joel glanced at Tommy, who had a frown on his face, although he looked more like he was enjoying the game.

"You shouldn't take some drugs you can't identify and don't have any experience with," Joel insisted, shaking his head and straightening up in his chair like he was preparing himself to jump to his feet and personally prevent you from just going near those drugs.

"Yeah. That's why I'm gonna try it. So I gain experience with it."

The smile on your face had faded, and Joel definitely preferred the sweet glint in your eyes to the crease between your brows, but there was no way around it now.

"No, that ain't my point. You don't know these guys, you don't know what they have in mind and so you definitely shouldn't take anythin' they offer you."

"You don't know if I know them," you claimed, defiantly raising your chin, but Joel knew that he had hit a nerve. God… he could read you like a fucking book.

"Don't lie to me. You don't know 'em well enough to trust 'em like that. Tommy, you wanna back me here or what?" he asked, elbowing Tommy's arm. The addressed cleared his throat, looking as if he'd just woken up from a daydream.

"Oh yeah. I agree with Joel, you gotta be more careful, kiddo."

The pout on your lips intensified as you flashed your eyes at them, but Joel remained uncompromising.

"S'better for you that way," he whispered, his voice softer now.

"I don't even know why the fuck I'm listenin' to you," you growled as you pulled up a chair and sat down.

Joel's heart fluttered, his insides clenching with a strange combination that felt like a mixture of fear and excitement and his hands becoming sweaty.

"'Cause you're a good kid," Tommy chuckled and reached for a glass to his right.

"Are you allowed to drink that?" he asked, hesitating only when he already held the bottle in his hand.

"I'm 24," you rolled your eyes which earned you an approving nod from Tommy.

"Behavin' like an 18 year old sometimes though," he then grumbled as he forcefully put the glass on the table in front of you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked and defensively raised your hands.

"Means you're stubborn and don't listen," Joel joined the conversation, his teeth gritting when you narrowed your eyes.

"Yeah, as if you're not stubborn, Mr I-know-everything-better-and-refuse-to-change-my-mind-even-though-I-know-that-you're-right."

Joel exhaled, but felt the blood in his veins throb at your sweet laugh. That sweet laugh he sometimes heard at town meetings, when you giggled with your best friend, or when he passed you in the street, your arm intertwined with that of a friend or sister. But he hated the sound of it when you were talking with boys, immature foolish boys who certainly didn't know how to handle you, let alone deserved to hear your sweet angelic laugh.

But now you were laughing because of him or better about him and he liked that a lot better.

"I can admit when I'm wrong," Joel said, shrugging his shoulders and then frowning as Tommy to his right slapped him on the back.

"Oh no you can't, big brother. She got a point."

Tommy and you shared a smirk and although it felt like a kick in the stomach, he was just glad you were enjoying yourself after he and Tommy had robbed you of your night with your friends and their various drugs.

"Where did you leave your 'lil friend, by the way?" Tommy wanted to know, turning the whiskey glass in his grip as he watched you over the edge of it.

"You mean Nicole? She's sick. At home."

"Oh yeah? So you had no choice but to hang out with those little boys of yours."

You rolled your eyes, you lips forming a pout, but you looked amused rather than offended.

"I like hangin' out with them. They're funny."

"No, they're not. They give you attention. That's what you like 'bout 'em," Tommy corrected, a crooked smirk on his lips that made Joel slightly shake his head. Was his brother seriously flirting with you?

"That's not true," you said with a frown, spinning your own glass in your hand, but then putting it back on the table to rest your chin on your hand, and Joel felt his throat dry up at the adorable image. Your head was now tilted as your eyes darted between the two brothers, making Joel grit his teeth, afraid to give away how much your little gestures were affecting him.

"It's fine. A girl like you surely gets a lotta attention. S'okay to enjoy it. Everyone likes attention. Especially if it's positive."

You shrugged and dropped your eyes, glancing at Joel and Tommy's hands around their glasses, then up at them from under your lashes. Joel almost had to surpress a growl, his pants painfully tightening around his dick at your wonderful doll eyes.

Jesus Christ.

He had to control himself, but along with the effects of the alcohol in his blood he felt overloaded with feelings. You were so fucking gorgeous and the way you moved and occasionally bit your lip, the sweet pout on your mouth and now this submissive look… You were progressively killing him and Joel didn't know how much further you could go before he would have to leave. For his own good.

"Maybe I like it. I just don't like it when they try to impress me. They're so fucking predictable sometimes. But sometimes I play along 'cause it's funny."

"Oh sweetheart. You know it's not nice to play with those boy's hearts. Gonna break a lot of them if you go on like that," Tommy said, his voice more quiet and dangerous now and Joel squeezed his eyes shut trying to process what his brother was doing right now. He couldn't seriously flirt with you.

"Maybe I like that too," you whispered and brought a thumb to your lips to nibble at it. "Maybe I like the thrill."

Tommy folded his hands on the table in front of him and then leaned in until his mouth was close to your ear.

"Yeah, but maybe you'd like to be the one to be played with for once in your life… These boys seriously know how to handle you? Do they know what ya need?"

Joel closed his eyes, sighing deeply and bringing a hand to his temple to massage his pulse point.

"Tommy," he said, pulling his brother back by his arm, but he just gave him a stern look and then returned his gaze to you.

"I know you're a wild one," Tommy smirked and it only intensified when a mischievous smile appeared on your face, your eyes provokingly sparkling.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about…"

You crazy little thing actually seemed to enjoy this. Joel couldn't believe it. Of course he knew that you were a tease, he only had to open his eyes at the town meetings and count the number of different boys he had seen you holding hands with over the past months to know that you most certainly weren't shy with people of the opposite gender, but the fact that you seriously jumped at his brother's attempts to flirt with you? Joel was fucked.

"I think you do know what I'm talkin' about. 'Cause I think you need more than some teenage boy who's buyin' you flowers 'n' shit and think they can win your heart with it, huh?"

Suddenly Joel sensed a change in your expression, your eyes rounding and your smile fading, and as he turned to his brother he realised that Tommy must have put his hand on your thigh under the table.

Fuck. This was… Joel didn't even know what this was. And then the fact that you were wearing this dangerously short skirt which meant that Tommy had placed his hand right on your naked leg.

"You're a pretty thing," his brother continued like he was the most confident man in the world and Joel wasn't sure if it was the whiskey talking or if he seriously believed that he had a shot with you. Not just the fact that you were thirty years younger, but you had a line of worshippers only waiting for you to give them the faintest hint of a smile. Why would you want to let someone like Tommy touch you?

"Yeah?" you whispered, shifting in your seat and then sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. "You like what you're seein'?"

Neither of them paid attention to Joel right now and he didn't know if he was supposed to feel grateful or neglected.

"I do. Yeah. An' I like what I'm feelin'."

You giggled and moved closer to the edge of your chair, giving Tommy more access and then your teeth sank down on your lower lip when he reached the inside of your thigh.

"Jesus… you really are touch-starved. Your pretty boys give you attention but not enough attention to feed your desires, huh?"

You swallowed hard and then gave Tommy those pretty doll eyes again and Joel couldn't help but wish it was him instead.

"No, they don't. They just kiss me 'n' fuck me 'n' cum inside of me and then leave."

Joel's mind went blank.

You seriously hadn't just… He clenched his hands in fists, focusing on his breathing so you wouldn't hear his loud panting.

Tommy seemed surprised by the obscenity of your words as well, but was quicker to collect himself.

"Ohh you poor girl. So they don't know how to touch a pretty girl like you?"

"No they don't."

Suddenly Joel's little brother leaned back in his chair, slightly spread his legs and took the whiskey glass in his hand again.

"Think you should come with us then. Think you should let us show you how a sweet thing like you should be treated."

Us. Joel's heart skipped a beat or maybe even two as the word echoed in his head. It wasn't like Tommy and he had never done fucked-up things like that. At the height of their freaky past, they had fucked three or four girls they had picked up in a bar in a dirty hotel room only to sneak out at dawn, but Joel had believed this to be long in the past. Or perhaps he had misheard his brother. But then as you turned your gaze to him, he knew that he hadn't. He gulped at your beautiful innocent eyes that looked like you only now remembered that he was part of this conversation too.

"Is he in too?" you whispered and once again rested your chin on the palm of your hand, looking a lot more innocent and shy than you were. Tommy smirked at his brother's profile, putting a hand on his shoulder and slighty rocking his body.

"Hell yeah, he is. Right, Joel?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, was the mantra in his head although part of him figured that this was going wonderfully. All this time he had been pining for you, his eyes lingering on you far too long and your face involuntarily appearing before his eyes when he masturbated… and now you wanted to know whether he would join you and his brother? Or what if the opposite was true and you would refuse if Joel were to be part of it?

He hesitated, his eyes small but determined as he trailed his gaze down your flushed cheeks and he wished he knew what was going on behind that pretty head of yours.

"Would you like that?" he asked because he didn't know what else to say, but instantly regretted his choice of words. It didn't sound playful or flirty at all, especially out of his mouth. Tommy had always been better at this, he was more charming, more confident in what he was doing –

"I think I'd like that," you whispered and looked… Shy?

Joel's heartrate picked up, his throat so dry that he craved a glass of cool water, which might also serve to calm his overheated body, and he suspiciously observed your pretty face, now drawn with a mixture of curiousity and timidity.

"Then why don't you come with us, pretty girl?"

Joel would have liked to bang his own or maybe even Tommy's head on the wooden table because how could he be so straightforward, so direct. Where the hell did he take his confidence from? But before Joel could ask himself any more questions, you had suddenly risen from your chair, Tommy's and his eyes following you as you threw your hair back and adjusted your shirt.

"Alright. But you better not disappoint me."

The Miller brothers stood up as well and Tommy was quick to wrap an arm around your waist, gently yet firmly pulling you to the door of the church that was serving as the party location. Joel followed like a puppy, gritting his teeth and using his elbows to separate the crowd.

Outside, the cold wind hit him so intensely that it knocked the air out of his lungs and he needed a moment to get a hold on himself. The silence was a stark contrast to the noisy party, and the smell of alcohol, sweat and smoke that he had become so used to over the past hour was gone, too, replaced by the clean smell of wet grass and damp earth. Joel rubbed his hands together to warm them up and then lifted his head just as Tommy whispered something in your ear.

There was a sharp sting in his belly. Not one caused by jealousy, he believed. It was rather… a feeling of longing.

"C'mon, brother. Ain't got all night!"

"Yeah, I'm comin'," Joel shouted and then followed the two of you with fast steps. Big, doe eyes stared up at him as soon as he was close enough, and Joel felt his mind racing with excitement and nervousness.

"C'mon, now. It's fuckin' cold out here," Tommy complained and turned up his collar, but your eyes were still on Joel.

Why were your eyes still on him?

"Can I kiss you?"

The words didn't reach him at first, but when they did, they hit him like a mighty wave, and he felt as if he had just been knocked to the ground. He swallowed to fight the dryness in his throat, but then felt his fingertips tingle.

"Yeah?" Joel whispered, smirking to hide his heavy breathing. "You want that?"

You nodded and came a little closer and without glancing at Tommy, Joel leaned in to press his lips on yours. You tasted of whiskey and something sweet, but perhaps that was just the way you always tasted. The kiss was a little shy and curious, but it had something daring about it, Joel thought when you pushed yourself closer, your lips opening to give him access to more. He had brought his palms to your face, gently holding you in place while your tiny hands tugged at the hem of his jacket. When a quiet moan left your throat, Joel thought that he might lose it and ended the kiss just in case he would go too far, especially considering the fact that you were still in the middle of the street.

"I'm not watching for a second and the two of you really can't fuckin' hold back, right?" Tommy chuckled, but didn't look offended when Joel slid his arm around your waist and pulled you with him to head to his brother who was a few feet ahead.

The kiss had not only increased his desire, the warmth in his stomach now spreading throughout his body, it had also taken away some of his doubts. Maybe you actually wanted him; why would you have asked him to kiss you if you didn't?

Thoughts swirled and raced in his head as they took you to Tommy's, and Joel didn't listen to his brother's flirtatious attempts and your answers. He was just glad when the three of you finally walked through the door, his jeans tight and uncomfortable around his center and the burning desire to feel you having increased enormously since you had kissed him.

"Make yourself at home, darlin'!" Tommy said with a welcoming gesture to present you his living room.

You took a few exploratory steps towards the couch in the middle of the room, a pair of curious eyes following the paintings on the walls and the bookshelves until your gaze landed back on Joel.

"It's nice," you said, but something about the way you had said it made him think that you weren't talking about Tommy's home.

"Glad you like it. Bedroom is over there."

"Jesus fuckin' christ, Tommy…," Joel interrupted him and ran a hand through his hair.

"You really have no fuckin' manners. You wanna drink somethin'? Or you're hungry?" Joel wanted to know with a glimpse at you who giggled and looked boldly from one brother to the other.

"No, but thanks. I… I think I'd like to see the bedroom."

Joel gulped and had to stifle a sigh because, if he wasn't mistaken, he'd seen you blush. You had said the most obscene things in the middle of the party in front of everyone you knew and now you were blushing because you wanted to see the bedroom?

"Sure thing, hon. Just follow me."

Tommy determindely headed to the door and Joel found himself behind you, putting a hand to your waist with a pounding heart and then smirking when you peeked behind your shoulders and leaned in to his touch.

"Don't let 'im intimidate ya, sweetheart. He can be crazy. Especially when he drinks a lot."

You lowly chuckled and nodded, but then bit your lip.

"Don't worry 'bout me. I think I can handle it."

"Oh I think so too. You made it this far…" Joel squeezed your flesh and then turned his attention to Tommy who was standing by the bed, his eyes shamelessly wandering from your ankles up your naked legs to where your shirt tightly hugged your breasts and then to your face.

"You wanna get on the bed?" Tommy asked and placed his hands on his hips, his lips curling into a smug smile when the blood rushed to your cheeks again. "Don't ya get all shy on us now, angel. C'mon."

Joel and Tommy's eyes were burning holes in your back while you climbed onto the bed and sat down in the middle, your legs slightly parted and your eyes wide, eager and curious as to what was going to happen now.

"Good girl," Tommy growled, sat down on the edge and reached to his shoes to unlace them.

"Don't take your clothes off. Gonna let us unwrap you like a sweet 'lil gift," he then whispered and kicked his shoes off. "Joel, get the fuck over here. Need someone to take care of 'er while I undress. I know she's the kinda girl you can't leave alone for a second, huh?"

Joel made what sounded like a mixture of growling and laughing, but obeyed to his brother's demand, sitting down on the other side of the bed and connecting a hand with your cheek to cradle your head.

"Hey there," he whispered and bit the inside of his cheek when you closed your eyes. "Nuh uh… Eyes on me. At all times, alright?"

Your eyes snapped open again, and you gave a quick nod.

Jesus. You listened so well, seemed so eager to do as you were told and it looked like you were just waiting for him or Tommy to throw you around. Joel inhaled the tense air in the room and then removed his hands from your face only to grab the hem of your tight pink shirt.

"Gonna take this off now, okay? You good with that?"

A nod of your head told him to continue and he carefully pulled the fabric up your torso and then over your head, only to then toss it behind him without even watching where it landed. He was too distracted anyway. You didn't wear a bra and the sight of your bare breasts and stomach was almost unbearable.

"Goddamnit, you're beautiful," Joel mumbled and didn't even see your sweet smile as you followed his eyes traveling down your body.

"Look at that, Tommy," Joel said a little louder, but still refused to take his eyes off you.

Joel couldn't help himself; without waiting for his brother he cupped your breast, savouring the warmth in his palm and began to gently knead the flesh while his other hand lingered at your waist. Within seconds Tommy had moved to your other side and seemed to be eating you alive with his hungry, flashing eyes.

"Holy shit…," he hissed and then suddenly slapped your left breast that wasn't covered by Joel's hand making you yelp.

"God damn it, Tommy," Joel cursed and soothingly stroked your sensitive skin with his thumb. You whimpered when Tommy's hand came closer again, but this time he just touched you the way his brother did, his hand massaging your breast and occasionally squeezing it in his large palm.

After a while you relaxed again, your eyes almost closing before you remembered Joel's command and fixed your gaze on him and your limbs loosening as two hands took care of your chest. Their palms pressed into your flesh, fingertips tracing the swell of your breasts and when they rolled your nipples between their fingers from time to time, you whimpered or moaned, your own hand coming up to grasp theirs before they pinned your wrists to the side of your body.

Along with that, Tommy and Joel showered you with praise and compliments that somehow made you feel both proud and small. Maybe it was the fact that they were towering over your sprawled body or maybe it was just that they were physically stronger than you, but you felt yourself drift into submission the longer their hands remained on your chest.

"Pretty 'lil girl… Jesus, Joel… Look at her. Look how she bites her lips… Gonna bite them all bloody, babygirl," Tommy growled and then shoved two fingers inside your mouth without a warning.

Something about the two men talking about you like you weren't in the room aroused you so much, you felt dizzy. The whiskey in your system only added to the feeling of being drunk with pleasure and excitement.

"Suck 'em, yeah… Show me what a good girl you can be…"

His left hand left your breast as well and wrapped around your throat, applying light pressure which made your eyes round as coins while Tommy laughed at your stunned expression.

"Holy shit, didn't expect 'er to get all shy 'n' dumb in the bedroom… Just needed the hands of some real men on 'er body and we got 'er whining for us."

Now the older brother laughed as well and forcefully twirled your nipple which made you whince in pain, but it also enhanced the heat between your legs.

"There ya fuckin' go…," Joel hummed, twisting his lips and taking care of your other breast as well now that Tommy was busy with your mouth and neck.

Speaking of, he thrust his fingers in your mouth at a steady pace, making sure you glided your tongue around the digits and reminding you whenever you forgot.

"You'd like that to be my dick?" Tommy whispered, pushing deeper until your gag reflex kicked in and your eyes watered. "You'd like to gag 'round somethin' else? I know a slut like you would like that."

You choked and clung to his wrists, your nails scratching his skin as you desperately tried to fight the tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Without success, of course. Combined with the restriction of air from his hand around your throat, it became too much and you writhed under Tommy's penetrating fingers, jerking away had Joel not had you secure under his touch.

"No… no, uh…," the younger brother made and only pushed deeper, his deep brown eyes on you like a predator observing his victim. "You're stayin' right here. We only just got started, haven't we?"

He chuckled lowly and moved closer to you until his knee was right next to your arm.

"Careful, Tommy. Don't give 'er too much," Joel warned.

His brother grinned, hooking his fingers behind your lower teeth as he released his hand from around your neck, giving you a moment to catch your breath before he tightened his grip again, leaving you gasping as your lungs desperately craved a few steady breaths.

"Don't worry, she can handle it… Isn't that right, babygirl? You can handle it… Show Joel how you can handle it, pretty girl…"

You weren't sure if you could, actually. The sensation was overwhelming, so intense, that you barely even registered Joel's hands on your torso anymore which you regretted because his touch had been soft and beautiful despite his rough skin that was marked by years of heavy fighting and working.

You gurgled something that neither you nor any of the brothers was capable of understanding, but Tommy seemed to find it amusing because he pushed even deeper until he hit the back of your throat and you couldn't help yourself and buckled, your shivering hands desperately clutching his stronger and bigger ones and your feet kicking as a sign that it was too much. The crease between Joel's brows deepened and he put a hand on his brother's shoulder to get his attention.

"Enough, Tommy. I don't want 'er to get sick all over the bed or have 'er suffocate."

Tommy shook his head, the wry smile glued to his face, but actually listened to Joel and slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, a string of spit connecting the pats with your mouth. You greedily inhaled, your chest heavily rising as there was finally enough air to enter your lungs and Joel was relieved as he saw your pupils focusing on him through the veil of tears.

"Good girl… Did so well for him," he praised and cupped your cheek, not minding the mess on it. You gave him a soft smile and Joel was just about to lean in to kiss you, but Tommy was already planning on how to take you next and interrupted the intimate moment.

"Fuckin' Christ, she already struggled to take two fingers… I'm gonna feed her my dick next, wanna see her cry 'n' gag around it."

Joel lightly tapped against your cheekbone, enjoying the view before Tommy took hold of your waist and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

"Get on your knees," he ordered, sinking down on the mattress to sit with his legs spread while you rushed to do as you were told.

"She's a fuckin' dream," Tommy growled with a glance at his brother, then unbuckled his belt in order to pull down his jeans and boxers.

"Get behind 'er, Joel, an' play with her pussy. I wanna get 'er real messy and fucked out while she sucks my dick so she won't fight so hard when I fuck 'er throat."

Joel shook his head in disbelief, but couldn't hide the amused smirk.

"So now I'm takin' fuckin' commands from you?" he chuckled, but climbed off the bed to stand behind you, his hands situated on his hips while he watched the scene unfold before him. You crouched at Tommy's feet, your gaze fixed on his hands, which had now freed his cock and were pumping his length and your own palms flat on the floor.

"'Course you are. If your 'lil brother asks so nicely…"

"I'm gonna let 'er ride my boot. I think we should make 'er work for it a little, mhm?"

Joel circled you, stroking your head which really made you feel like their pet and then sank down to sit next to his brother with a sigh, the mattress creaking under his weight.

"Open your legs, little one," Joel said and then pushed against his brother's arm. "Move a little. Needa get my foot under her."

Tommy complied, but grabbed a handful of your hair to move your head with him, keeping it close to his center. Your body was slanting now, your knees almost directly in front of Joel while your lips were inches away from his brother's throbbing manhood.

"Open your mouth. Wide 'n' nice like a good girl."

Fuck, you were scared now. Of course you had sucked dick before and had often made your boyfriends finish with your mouth, but you knew that this would be different. Tommy and Joel were different, the torment of his two fingers had shown that much. What if you wouldn't perform the way they wanted?

Still, you tried your best when you unlocked your jaw and parted your lips as wide as you could. It felt like your eyes were already stinging with tears although nothing had happened yet, but it didn't get past Tommy.

"Jesus, this bitch is already cryin'. Didn't even start yet…"

He wrapped a hand around his dick and guided the tip to your lips to smear his pre cum all over them while he held your head in place.

"You just enjoy cryin'? You enjoy tearin' up whenever things don't go the way you want 'em to?"

He teasingly inserted his tip into you, gasping softly when your lips closed around it and started to suck on it, but he didn't grant you much freedom, his grip on your hair tight and uncompromising.

"Check it out, man," Tommy hissed and although it was directed at Joel, you looked up as well, your pupils flickering between the two brothers.

"We got ourselves a perfect 'lil slut. Just look at 'er. Fucking hell…"

"Lift your hips a little," you now heard a slightly softer voice and automatically obeyed the gentle sound. Joel slipped his foot beneath you and positioned it so your clothed pussy was hovering right above the rough and creased leather of his boot.

"You're gonna be a good girl 'n' ride my boot, okay?"

Your watery eyes were now on the older brother, your pupils flared and your lids fluttering in panic. All you wanted was to be good for them, but what if you couldn't give them what they wanted from you?

"I-I don't know h-how," you truthfully whispered and yelped when Tommy pushed your head down his length to shut you up.

"Jesus, s'not a fuckin' science," Joel growled, pushing his foot up to apply pressure. "You just roll your hips and rub your 'lil clit against me, alright? You know where your clit is?"

That last part sounded more like a statement than a question, and finally you could nod your head in the affirmative and rejoice at the generous nod of Joel's head.

"Good. Just make yourself feel good. You're gonna need it to take our dicks in your 'lil pussy later so you better be good."

The blood in your veins throbbed at his words, the prospect of taking both brothers in your clenching hole arousing you so much, the view around you became blurry, but perhaps this was also caused by Tommy's cock that was now deep inside your throat. He was merciless when he made you take every inch, not giving you any time to adjust and then the next thing you felt were his balls pressed against your face and your stomach dangerously rumbling.

"Holy shit," Tommy panted, his nails painfully digging into your scalp. He ignored your retching and moaning, his head thrown back and his eyes closed like he didn't even notice the way your body resisted.

"She must be fuckin' kiddin' me… Look at that Joel, takin' every inch like goddamn whore. She was fuckin' made to suck dick."

Joel grinned and slowly moved his foot underneath you until he saw your body tense and the knew that he had touched your right where he wanted to. Then he gave you a sharp slap on your bottom, his dick twitching at your whimper, and tightly squeezed your flesh in his hand.

"I said I want ya to get off on my boot. You're gonna start movin' now I'll make you."

A cry went past your lips, which was muffled by Tommy's dick, but the words seemed to have reached your mushy brain because your hips began to shift.

"There ya go… Good girl… Just need a smack on your cute 'lil ass and you behave yourself."

Your lashes fluttered, your pussy clenching around nothing at his words, but Joel sensed it in the way your center pushed down against his boot with more eageness.

"Jesus, Tommy… She's gettin' off on this. She likes it when we talk to 'er this way."

"I know she does. She's a 'lil whore and I knew so from the start. The way she enjoyed all these boys lookin' at 'er… She's an attention whore even though she just wants someone to put 'er in 'er place," Tommy smirked and ran a hand down to your neck to threateningly stroke your skin almost like he was about to choke you again, but wanted to taste your fear a little longer.

"Yeah, you like that?" he whispered, grinning as he ran a thumb over the pool of wetness under your eyes that your tears had created.

"Like gettin' that pretty throat o'yours fucked while we talk you down? Like bein' a dirty set o'holes for us? An obedient 'lil pet? S'what ya are, mhm?"

His tip in the back of your throat twitched which caused you to gag and without Tommy's secure grip in your hair you would have jerked away from him.

"Not so fast," he growled and pushed you down even deeper as a punishment.

At this point you were a mess although it had only been around 20 minutes since you had entered the house. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, your whole body shaking and trembling in a mixture of pain and pleasure, your chin soaked with pre-cum and spit. Tommy didn't help matters by spitting right onto your face and laughing at the way his drool got stuck in your eyelashes, making it even harder for you to see.

"Fuck me… She's a mess."

You had stopped riding Joel's boot even though it had felt divine to rub your aching clit against the leather tip, but you had to concentrate fully on your breathing in order not to suffocate. Joel let you feel the consequences of your disobedience and delivered another forceful slap to your back that made you cry out around his dick and your head dropped, resting on Tommy's thigh while he still didn't let you catch your breath.

"Do that again, Joel," the younger brother said under breath and pressed your head against his muscular leg to keep you still while he moved the hair out of your face.

Joel suddenly stood up, made his way around your crouched body and knelt down behind you which unsettled you as you weren't able to see what was happening. At least it's Joel and not Tommy, you thought. Joel had been kinder to you so far, his hands more tender and careful and he had even restrained his brother when he feared that he was being too rough with you. You definitely had more trust in Joel, but still anxiously squirmed when you felt two large hands grabbing your hips.

"Hold still," Tommy grunted and buckled his hips, which caused you to gag once more.

Joel changed your position on the floor slightly, lifting your hips and forcing you down on all fours while pushing up your tiny excuse of a skirt. At this point you were so fucked out that you forgot Tommy's request and therefore squealed when his hand came down on your ass once more, leaving a sharp, cutting pain on your backside. Your back arched to flinch away from Joel, but he didn't hesitate to pull you back and press a hand to the small of your back right where it met the crease of your ass.

"That's right…," Tommy whispered and slightly pulled out of your mouth to listen to the delicious wet noise only to thrust back in, his eyes rolling back at the warmth your throat offered.

"She always whines so wonderfully when you hit 'er. Creates the perfect vibrations," he told Joel and pursed his lips when you coughed around his length.

"Aww, s'too much for you?" He pulled your head off his dick by yanking you back by your hair, allowing you to inhale so deeply that you had to cough again, which made the two men laugh. Joel hit you again, but somehow you were immune to it, instead struggling to calm your pounding heart and swallowing to fight your sore throat.

"Answer me," Tommy fizzled, shaking your head with his hand tangled in your messy hair.

Joel reacted too, slapping your pussy this time, and you closed your legs, whimpering softly as new tears fell from your waterline.

"Stop fuckin' cry 'n' use your voice," Tommy warned you and leaned down so his hot breath that smelled of whiskey brushed over your ear.

"I know ya can use it so well… I hear it all the fuckin' time when you talk with your 'lil friends, whisperin' an' flirtin' like a cheap whore."

"Yes," you sobbed and closed your eyes because by now your eyes were swollen and sensitive from all of your crying. "S'too much… Please."

You were surprised by how stable your voice was because the state of your throat was bad. It was dry despite the fact that Tommy had made a hell of a job wettening it with his pre-cum and hurt every time you swallowed. So you let the brothers know.

"Hurts. When I swallow 'n' when I talk."

You brought a hand to your neck to show them where it ached and then shrieked when Tommy slapped your cheek.

"I see," he then purred, gently stroking your hair like he hadn't just smacked you across the face and wiped away some of the tears.

"Joel, take her wrists. Can't have 'er 'lil hands get in the fuckin' way all the time."

You didn't know what was happening but when Joel grabbed both of your hands, taking them in one large hand and pinning them on your back you just knew that you felt helpless. You whimpered, unable to complain vocally, and moaned as you saw Tommy's hard dick dangling dangerously close to your face again. This time you couldn't even support yourself with your hands on his legs or the floor and had no control over what was happening as he fed you his dick again, your head resting sideways on his thigh.

"Yeah. That's right… She's amazing, Joel. You should try it out next," Tommy growled, rolling his hips at a steady pace now to thrust in your throat which you definitely preferred over the previous assault because that way you always had a second to inhale fresh air despite his punishing speed.

"I don't know, I really wanna feel 'er pussy. I just know that she's fuckin' tight," Joel lowly chuckled and then parted your knees again to slide a finger through your folds.

"Jesus… she's soaked. You were right, Tommy, she likes this shit."

The younger brother smiled broadly and slapped you lightly on the cheek a few times, your watery eyes flinching each time his hand touched your skin, but when he was finished he rewarded you with a short pause to catch your breath.

"Bet she does. 'Cause she's a slut. Always all innocent and polite, but actually a filthy greedy slut. Shoulda known by how she dresses up."

Your skirt was still tangled around your waist and he gave the fabric a firm tug to move you closer to his center while you nearly lost your balance, your hands still trapped by Joel's. But they had you securely in their hold, Tommy's hand keeping your head snug against his thigh and Joel's hand firm on your hips so your weak knees wouldn't give in.

In the meantime he had started to rub your clit through your panties, finding great joy in watching you squirm and arch at the tight circles he drew around your little pearl and slapping either your pussy or your bottom every now and then when you expected it the least. Your head was spinning with pleasure and pain because the friction against your clit drove you wild, his finger so precise and skilled, but then there were your knees that hurt so much you just wanted to cry.

They were bruised and sore, the hard floor beneath you doing nothing for them and you wished you could ask Tommy to fuck your mouth in a different position even though you didn't believe he would do you the favor. But maybe Joel would? It didn't matter anyway because you were unable to speak, your mouth pliant and open for Tommy to wreck it and he did. You preferred what he was doing to you now to what he had done five minutes ago, but that didn't mean this was easy. He wasn't careful or gentle with you, using your throat like a tool or just some worthless hole to receive pleasure from and he wasn't shy to choke or slap you when you resisted. By now it wasn't just the lower half of your face that was coated with spit, tears and pre-cum, but the wetness was dripping down to his thigh your head rested on as well. Tommy didn't mind though. He would make you lap up every last drop anyway.

"Shit, I'm fuckin' close," he panted and as your mushy brain understood the words and you were already preparing yourself for his load, he suddenly stopped and pulled you off his leaking dick. You must have looked surprised because Tommy chuckled and brushed his thumb over your hot, flushed cheek.

"Don't ya worry, babygirl. You're gonna get my cum later. Just haven't decided yet where I'm gonna put it. How can I, if I haven't even seen you 'lil pussy yet?"

Tommy pulled at your hair, making you raise your head from his thigh and then slapped you across your breasts that were already sore and red from the previous treatment.

"Let's fuck 'er," he then said to Joel, who gave your pussy one last slap directly on your clit and then removed his hands from your core.

"Oh no, wait… I almost forgot," Tommy lowly chuckled and cupped your chin, watching you until your big, misty eyes were focused on his face. He gave it a firm squeeze and then pointed to his thigh.

"You see the mess you made, babygirl? Who's gonna clean it all up, huh?"

You sniffled and darted down to where a mixture of various bodyfluids were glistening on his hairy thigh and then looked up to him again.

"What you're waitin' for, mhm?" Tommy grinned and expectantly watched you. "It's not gonna clean itself up on its own."

You slightly nodded before lowering your head and then lapped up the wetness covering his leg. It tasted musky and metallic, but first and foremost salty. It wasn't the worst thing you had ever had on your tongue, but you weren't exactly a fan of it either so you were relieved when you had finally licked his skin clean and proudly raised your head to show Tommy the result. You had expected praise or perhaps an affectionate brush over your cheek, but he just gently slapped your face and then sighed out.

"There ya go…" With a glance at his brother Tommy stood up and now you finally paid attention to Joel again. While you had been busy cleaning his little bother's thigh he had undressed as well and now your pussy clenched at the sight of his broad shoulders and chest and the hair on his stomach that was a little greyer than Tommy's thick black strands. He still wore his jeans, but you liked what you were seeing so far and unconsciously pressed your thighs together.

"How are we gonna take 'er?" Joel asked his brother, smirking as he felt your eyes on him and leaning down to cradle your head while meeting Tommy's gaze.

"On 'er back. Don't think she's gonna handle bein' on all fours. Can barely even hold 'erself up like this."

He was referring to the way you crouched at Tommy's feet because after their rough treatment your limbs felt so heavy, your knees hurting at the slightest contact and your arms too weak to support your weight.

"Alright," Joel shortly answered and then, without the slightest hesitation, leaned down to slip his hands under your arms and lifted you in the air like you weighed nothing. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his hips and nestled your face against his neck, inhaling his scent that smelled of smoke and leather and whimpering when he let go of you way too soon.

Joel had carefully tossed you onto the bed, well-aware that you were too weak to catch yourself and now the two brothers were standing on either side of the bed, observing you so intensely, you would have felt embarrassed in any other situation.

"She found a likin' in you," Tommy grinned and put his hands on his hips.

"Yeah? That right?" Joel whispered, returning the smirk and then followed you on the bed. With deliberate and strong hands he parted your legs, revealing what hid in between to his brother with a hungry sparkle in his eyes.

"See that, Tommy? Perfect fuckin' pussy…"

Tommy joined the two of you on the bed and you felt the heat creep up on your face as both men stared at your most intimate and vulnerable body part with such a naturalness and confidence that you couldn't help but look away.

"You wanna taste her?" Joel said, gliding his thumb through your slit just like he had done earlier and then lazily drawing it over your clit, looking so calm and relaxed as if it was just a secondary task.

"Nah, I don't think so. Needa feel 'er."

Joel pressed his tip of his thumb into your clit causing you to moan, but neither of them paid any attention to you.

"You think she can take it though? Without cumming before we fuck 'er?"

"Hell yeah. Look at 'er, she's soaked." Tommy parted your pussy lips, licking over his lips at the milky liquid leaking from your quivering hole.

"Yeah, but she seems tight. Maybe we should prepare her with our fingers at least."

His younger brother rolled his eyes and suddenly his hand came down to your pussy, the blow landing with a wet, gloopy thwack that echoed against the walls.

"Now she's well perfused. She can take it. Just watch it."

"Jesus Tommy… I just don't wanna split 'er apart."

Joel's eyes found your face, which looked somewhere between excited and a little frightened and his expression softened, a hand sliding down your arm until he squeezed your wrist and felt his heart flutter at your shy, yet curious smile.

"You think you can take it, babygirl? You're not a virgin, are ya?"

"No," you replied. "I wanna take it. I can take it, I swear."

"There ya fuckin' go… You're worryin' too much. She said it herself, she can take it. Now either fuck her or move to the side."

Joel exhaled in annoyance, shaking his head, but pushed Tommy's arm away.

"I'm gonna fuck 'er. And you stop pissin' me off, alright? Jesus."

Joel grabbed the inside of your thighs and spread them wider, his breath hitching as your pussy lips parted to reveal your pink, wet entrance that was probably sore from the spankings, but looked so soft, he would have shoved his tongue inside you, if Tommy hadn't been so eager and rushing. He jutted out his lower jaw and placed a hand on your belly while his other began unbuckling his belt. Your eyes followed his movements, a restricted longing moan leaving your throat as he shoved down his jeans, the bulge huge under his boxers.

"Shit, the 'lil bitch is drooling at you," said Tommy, his body vibrating with laughter as he sat down next to you and gave your breast a firm squeeze.

"She prefers me," Joel smirked and ignored the way his brother shot arrows at him with his eyes.

"You do, babygirl, huh?" Joel then whispered, his dick free now and your eyes round as coins. Joel was thicker than his brother, but not as long and didn't possess the same curve as Tommy's girth.

"Look at me. He surely likes the attention, but eyes on my face, alright?" His voice was low and rough, but there was something soft about it that made you fully trust him. While Tommy seemed hot-heated and wild, Joel had a natural dominance about him, but also a protective and caring side that made you believe that you were safe and taken care of. Even now when the fat tip of his cock was so dangerously close to your dripping entrance and looked so huge, you feared that the sting would be unbearable, you knew that Joel would take care of it.

"Yes," you breathed and ran your eyes over his clenched jaw.

"Don't worry, Joel, I'll take care of 'er in case she forgets to be a good girl," Tommy joined the conversation and propped himself on his elbow, his hand petting your head which made you feel even smaller.

"You're ready to take my dick again, little one? I'll give you a few minutes so we can enjoy your pathetic 'lil squeals and sobs and the terrified look on your face, but then you'll go right back to work, suckin' my cock like a good girl."

Tommy laughed about the sheer terror on your face, but Joel couldn't find it in himself to join, instead shaking his head and feeling grateful that he got to be the one to open you up first.

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy. You're scarin' the shit outta her."

"That's the plan, man," Tommy replied, pulling back your lower lip only to have it snap back with a plop.

Joel frowned, hoping that his brother would get the warning from the serious look on his face, but it seemed that he was too distracted by playing with your breasts and lips to give a fuck. Therefore Joel decided to ease your nervousness by gently cradling your head and securing his grip on your waist.

"Don't worry, hon. I'm not gonna go too hard on ya. Just need ya to relax for me and let me in, alright?"

You softly nodded and although your eyes remained wide, you loosened slightly underneath him and it only improved when Joel started rubbing your clit again.

"Yeah, sweetheart… Knew you could do it, just relax for us…," he purred and then glared at his brother. "Gonna fuck her now. Hold her shoulders in case she squirms away."

Tommy gave him an agreeing grin and then buried his fingers into the flesh of your shoulders, pinning you down and kissing your temple while Joel began to slowly ease his tip into you.

"Relax, baby… Yeah…," Joel cooed you, his grasp on your hips firm and rigid so you had no chance to avert his large dick.

Of course it hurt. He was thicker than any cock you had ever had inside of you and even though you were soaked, your walls wet and sticky from your arousal, the burning sting brought tears to your eyes and your instinct was to jerk away. But Tommy was prepared for your resistance and unwaveringly held you down while Joel claimed your aching pussy to the whole.

"Hurts," you choked and buckled your hips away, pressing yourself into the mattress as if you could escape his large dick that way.

"I know it does…," Tommy whispered in your ear and grabbed your hands that were around Joel's wrists, your nails scratching over his skin in an attempt to find release as the pain made your mind dizzy. He took both your wrists in one hand and pinned them down above your head so you were completely helpless.

"Hurts... oh god..." you repeated and a heartbreaking cry left your trembling body, prompting Joel to continue his circles around your clit.

"It's alright. It's gonna be better, babygirl, just try 'n' relax 'round me."

Your body convulsed in pain, your breathing heavy and unsteady and your face grimacing whenever he went an inch deeper. But somehow you made it. Somehow you endured it and then Joel was inside you to the brim.

"Look at that…," Joel made, his voice thick with pleasure and contentment and brushed your hair that was wet from your sweat and tears out of your face until he looked into a pair of hectic and squinting eyes.

"You took it all, little one… So brave 'n' good for us… Wasn't so bad, was it?"

You didn't know why, but you shook your head. It had been bad. It had hurt like hell, but now that Joel was so deep inside of you, his dick filling you so intensely that you literally felt him everywhere in your body and his mouth producing those sweet and kind words of praise, you didn't care anymore. You lived for these tender phrases even when the brothers were talking about you like you weren't in the room or like you were too dumb to understand them. You just wanted attention, maybe that was the core of it all and you had a feeling Joel and Tommy knew better what worked on you than yourself.

"Holy fuckin' shit, Joel, I don't know what you did to 'er, but teach me," Tommy laughed in disbelief and threw his head back while his hand holding your wrists down relaxed a little.

"Tearin' her apart on your dick and she's so fuckin' close to thankin' you for it."

Joel crookedly smiked, but his eyes remained soft and warm. Maybe that was what you liked so much about him, his brown eyes that radiated comfort and safety even when he was degrading you. It made you think that he actually cared about you and didn't just use to dump his seed into you like his brother certainly did.

"I fuckin' know. That one definitely has some issues," Joel chuckled and changed the positions of his hands, tracing his hand from your neck down to your tummy where he squeezed your flesh and then rested his right hand on your waist and his left hand right next to your boob on the side of your body.

"Please," you whispered and cried out when Tommy rolled your nipple between two fingers.

"Stupid fuckin' slut…," he cursed and then slapped the already reddened swell of your breasts.

"Fuck 'er brains out, okay? She don't need 'em anyway. All she's good for is bein' a 'lil fucktoy. Don't go soft on 'er, alright, Joel, I wanna see some pretty tears on those cheeks."

Joel exhaled and slowly pulled himself out of you until only his tip was inside and then slammed back in, making you flinch and whince in pain.

"Can you please stop tellin' me what the hell I'm supposed to do? I'm gonna fuck 'er the way I want. You can have 'er when I'm done and then you can do whatever fucked up things you want."

You writhed with the space the two men were granting you and softly wailed, his words only vaguely and with some delay fighting their way through your hazy mind.

"Fuckin' Christ, Joel. Don't know why you're so sensitive… You like that 'lil whore, don't you?" he then grinned, dropping his piercing gaze to examine your fucked-out frame.

"Goddamnit, no, I don't. You can do whatever you like to 'er, I just want you to stop tellin' me what I'm supposed to do and lemme do with 'er as I like."

Tommy shrugged and began pumping his dick while staring at your chest.

"Alright. Do as you like. As long as you don't wear her out too much and I can still fuck 'er after you're done."

"Don't worry, I think she's also pleasant to look at when she's asleep," Joel wryry grinned and forcefully smacked the side of your ass which made your eyes pop open.

"Oh no, I want 'er awake when I fuck 'er. Wanna hear her 'lil moans and whines and not fuck a lifeless frame. Where's the fun in that?"

Tommy's large hand cupped your chin and tilted your head, forcing you to bend your neck so the tip of his dick was hovering right in front of your lips.

"Open. Wide."

When you didn't immediately react, Tommy spitted right in your face and this time the load landed on your nose and upper lip.

"I said open."

Joel was fucking you at a steady pace, the pain almost entirely vanished now and his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust which made it hard for your eyes not to flutter and for your mind to remain fully there, the prospect of just lying flat and still and giving yourself to Joel's deep pumps too seductive.

But you managed to part your swollen lips and immediately tasted the salty and familiar flavor on your tongue. Now that your mouth worked again your eyes had fallen shut which wasn't to their pleasing. They slapped your body almost simultaneously, Joel hitting you on your ass and Tommy on your cheek and a loud whine was muffled by Tommy's length.

"None of that, babygirl. We talked about it, haven't we?" Joel commented and connected his thumb with your clit.

"Just got one fuckin' job. Keepin' those pretty legs spread and your eyes and lips open an' we're pleased."

Although Tommy was now thrusting his cock into your mouth, you were looking at Joel, which filled him with a primal and profane satisfaction. Who would have thought that you would like him so much, even after he had obviously caused you so much pain by entering you with what was certainly not enough preparation? A thought flickered in his head, a pleasing and delightful one that Joel didn't even dare to finish, too scared that he was fooling himself. But what if you had liked him before? What if you had dreamt about him the way he had or even just spent a few more minutes a day thinking about him than any other of the men in Jackson? You certainly seemed to like him and Joel could sense that in more ways than one.

Not only did you not break eye contact with him for a second, but he could swear that your hands would have been searching for his bare skin if they hadn't been trapped by Tommy. His younger brother was kneeling right next to your head, his left knee pinning your wrists to the bed while his right touched your neck every time he thrust forward to bury himself deep in your throat.

Joel continued for a couple of minutes, savouring the warmth and tightness of your pussy while brushing over your trobbing swollen pearl until he just couldn't restrain anymore and cleared his throat.

"Let go of 'er hands, Tommy," he growled and gently traced your side boob.

"Why," his brother barked, gripping your head so you couldn't move while he steadily rolled his hips, the tip of his dick grazing over the inside of your cheek. "Don't want 'er 'lil hands everywhere. Wanna keep 'er still."

"I'll take them," Joel insisted and bit his bottom lip at the way you greedily swallowed, struggling as Tommy's manhood twitched in your mouth and once again triggered your gag reflexes.

"C'mon, Tommy."

Eventually he gave in and raised his knee so Joel could reach up and grab your hands to clamp them against your stomach, softly applying pressure while your pupils once again franctically danced over his expression until your lids twitched and tears appeared on your waterline at his brother's punishing pace in your mouth.

"Easy…," Joel soothed you and lightly touched the side of your neck to calm your trembling and jolting. "Don't fight it. It's gonna be better if you let it happen, babygirl."

Broken sobs and whimpers left your throat, but you tried to listen to Joel's advice and opened up wide for Tommy who triumphantly smiled at the wet sound that was created when his dripping dick slid past your lips.

"Good fuckin' girl… Jesus, you have to try it as well. She's goddamn amazing." He laughed and it was a high, hollow sound. "Look at how she's takin' it all. I don't want 'er to do anythin' else from now on but suck dick. Every guy on this planet should try her at least once."

The brothers exchanged a satisfied glance before Tommy reached down to your mould to slap your sensitive skin.

"How's her pussy? Seems to be tight, mhm?"

Joel tilted his head at you, flicking your clit to the side to elicit more of those muffled moans that he was convinced weren't caused by pain at this point, and then inhaled deeply.

"A goddamn dream. Most perfect pussy I've ever had. Could've sworn she was a virgin… Maybe all her boys just have tiny dicks and that's also why she can't fuckin' handle all this."

Both men erupted into a rich, resonant laughter, deep and husky like the distant rumbling of thunder and it rang in your head in the most arousing way. Who would have thought that you would like this kind of treatment? Not that you were the most experienced person in the world, but you certainly had tried yourself out with different boys, but none of them had even just lightly slapped your ass. The sex with them was vanilla and soft and frankly, a little boring. Definitely nothing in comparison to this. This was a thrilling, sensational, captivating experience and even the occasional discomfort and pain made your head spin in a way you had never experienced before. They talked you down like you were a dumb pet, like you merely served for their pleasure and they tossed you around like your feelings didn't matter at all and somehow it turned you on so much, your pussy clenched around Joel every few seconds which didn't go unnoticed by him.

"She's squeezing me so tightly, Tommy. Fuckin' Christ, she's lovin' this. What a slut," he groaned and chortled when you flinched at his hand coming down on your clit.

"Let's switch," said Tommy suddenly and pulled out faster than you could process, your mouth agape even long after he had removed his length. All of your senses worked a little slower than usual and you could only silently watch as Tommy crawled to kneel next to Joel, who sighed at the loss of body contact as he pulled out of your other hole as well. Now was the first time in a while that you were free to move, but you noticed that you were too exhausted and tired to lift a limb.

You could just lay still, your heavy lids fluttering and your stomach twisting with a mixture of longing and overstimulation while Joel took his place next to your head where Tommy had previously kneeled and the younger brother situated himself between your parted legs.

"Now she'll learn how a real man fucks," Tommy hissed, his face drawn with amusement, and caught his brother's eyes that rolled at his comment.

"Very funny," Joel said and then tapped his tip against your bottom lip.

You were a little frightened because you had already learned that he was even thicker than Tommy, but you calmed yourself with the thought that Joel didn't enjoy your suffering half as much as his brother. Or at least he looked out for your well-being and made sure that he wasn't giving you more than you could handle.

"Open those sweet lips, angel," he whispered almost like he only wanted you to hear these words and then glided his tip in just in the same moment as Tommy entered you in one go. You were prepared for it by Joel's thick girth, but the stretch was still prominent as he was far from being careful with you.

"S'okay… Just give it a moment, sweetheart," Joel soothed your yelp and just like Tommy had previously done for him, held you down by pressing a hand on your collarbone.

Tommy soon started moving and split your pussy open with deep and forceful thrusts that each pushed you up against the bed, but Joel made sure he kept you in place for his brother. He patiently waited until your breathing calmed down and your heavy panting went evenly and then once he believed you to be ready, started moving in your mouth too. Not that his way of feeding you his dick was in any way comparable to Tommy's. Joel allowed you to use your tongue to twirl it around his shaft rather than deepthroating you and you found such a liking in it that you even had enough strength to bring a hand to his base and hold on to his dick while bobbing your head around him.

"Yeah, you're bein' such a good girl…," Joel praised which made your heart pound with pride and you put even more effort into stimulating his dick in a way that would make him shower you with sweet words and pet names.

"See, Tommy? As soon as she has a real nice dick in 'er mouth she makes an effort."

Tommy grabbed your ass, nails painfully digging into the flesh of your ass and shook his head.

"No, no, no… She's just a cockslut who can't get enough. You're a pussy for lettin' 'er take control though. Should fuck 'er throat until she can't talk 'n' cry 'n' breathe. The moment she sobs, you're doin' something right."

Joel gently traced your hairline, his eyes on you, who seemed like you were deeply concentrated as you looked at your hand pumping his dick while your warm lips repeatedly slided up and down his length.

"Think she hasn't cried enough yet?" Joel chuckled and blindly reached to cup one of your breasts.

"Never," Tommy replied and then the next few minutes were filled with silence except for the sound of Tommy's hips crashing against yours, his balls slapping against your folds and the smacking noise that was created by your mouth drooling all over Joel's dick.

That was until a deep grunt left Tommy's mouth and he gripped your hips so tightly, you cringed under the touch.

"I'm gonna cum soon," he said under breath and ran the back of his hand over his forehead to wipe away the pooling sweat.

"Me too," Joel answered, his heart pounding loudly in his chest and his insides clenching and contracting every time the tip of your tongue touched his sensitive glans.

"You're gonna cum on 'er face? I'll mark 'er tits then."

Joel nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts racing and his throat completely dried out while he approached his orgasm in a record breaking amount of time and then suddenly wrapped a hand around his shaft, pulled out of your perfect warm mouth and pumped himself right above your face.

"Jesus… Oh my fuckin' god…," he growled and the next thing you felt were ropes of sticky, warm cum spilling onto your face.

It mostly landed on your chin, lips and cheeks, but you were still glad you had closed your eyes because the salty seed would surely have burned in your eyes. While you licked over your lips to have a taste of his cum, contently listening to Joel's moans and curses, you felt a hand groping your breast with such a force your body arched under Tommy's grip, but he was merciless as he squeezed your flesh in his palm and then, ignoring your painful whine released as well. He came all over your breasts and the feeling of the warm liquid spurting on your chest was an unfamiliar one, but not an unpleasant one.

"Holy fuckin'…" Tommy didn't finish the sentence because he dropped his head to his chest, breathing loudly and pressing a hand to his heart while he let go off his flaccid dick and sank back to sit with his thighs touching his calves.

Silence filled the room again and it allowed you to calm yourself a litte as well although you hadn't orgasmed. You swallowed a few times to do something about the burning sting in your dry throat and then found a more comfortable position by rolling on your side and bending your legs.

You hadn't even noticed that you had turned away from Joel until a large hand took hold of your knee and moved you to lay on your back again. A pair of brown eyes examined your face for any sign of discomfort, his hand stroking up and down your leg and his breathing still coming in harsh bursts while you coughed a few times.

"You alright?" Joel wanted to know and for some reason the concern in his eyes made your pussy throb.

"Yes," you softly whispered and then your gaze dropped to where he supported his weight on his palm, your hands quickly reaching for his wrist which made him grin.

In the meantime Tommy had sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and now peeked over his shoulder only to laugh at your painted body.

"I gotta take a picture of this," he said and lazily, his feet dragging over the floor, headed to a shelf, grabbed his camera and walked to the edge of the bed.

"Smile, babygirl," he chuckled and took a picture of your fucked out form that was beautifully decorated with both of their cum, Tommy thought.

"Dirty slut," he additionally murmured and then put the camera back on the shelf.

"Jesus…," Tommy sighed and began picking up his clothes from the floor while Joel was busy drawing soothing circles on top of your thigh.

"I'm hungry. I think I'm gonna head downstairs. You wanna come too? We can clean up this mess later," he then claimed referring to the dirty bed sheets and perhaps to you as well, but Joel shook his head and darted at you.

"I'm gonna make 'er cum, too. She deserves it."

His brother lifted an eyebrow while pulling his jeans up his legs.

"Mhm, okay. You need my help?" Tommy laughed, but Joel moved his head again.

"No, it's alright. You go and eat. We'll join when I'm done here."

[thechaoticcherub]

A Problem Pt 2

Part One

Pairing: Dad!Joel x reader Summary: You're each other's problems and that finally becomes clear. Warnings: NSFW 18+, INCEST, DDDNE, age gap, reader is 18, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), orgasms, size kink, daddy kink( iguess?), reader is a terror, not proofread or beta-ed oopps, Joel's POV Notes: here's part two! I hope it lives up to the hype, I liked writing it. I kinda went all over the place with it so idk. it's not tightened up at all and i'm pretty sure I talk about their foreheads pressed together A LOT and the POV jumps around a bit but you know, i'm tired. Enjoy!\

Tagging people who asked for a pt two: @ohmillerbaby @jiminstinypinky @bloodygoree @shivispunk @monicasblues @scened0ll @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @jakesmysterio @neobangverse @thottiewinemom @thebumbqueen @fallout-girl219 @dilflover-3

Tess had been a necessary distraction for Joel. He needed someone  to take his mind off his problem. This problem wasn’t a typical one. It wasn’t the mortgage needing to be paid, it wasn’t his brother needing to be bailed out of jail, it wasn’t the roofing guys not answering his numerous texts. Those were issues he needed to work out but they weren’t Joel Miller’s biggest  Problem. They weren’t what he needed Tess for. Joel’s biggest problem was also the love of his fucking life. Joel’s problem was a little demon child who lived in his house, occasionally still slept in his bed, and drained his bank account. Joel’s problem was created by him, raised by him. You. 

You were the problem that had plagued him for so long, had buried yourself into his loins and heart and refused to let go. You had always hated when he went on dates when you were younger. You threw fits until he came home. You would hate Tess and yet, you were the reason he needed to keep seeing Tess. To stave off his disgusting problem. The problem that Joel knew snooped through his bedroom when he wasn’t home, that washed his t-shirts for him. You were a Problem with light shining in your eyes and lips that teased him when you ran your tongue along them. 

So really, you were the reason Joel invited Tess over that night when you headed off to a sleepover at your friends house. Unfortunately, you were also the body he envisioned underneath him as he fucked Tess. He was a sick man. He had a beautiful women in his bed and yet his mind always wandered to his pretty little daughter. So when you walked into the room, throwing the door open, he half wondered if it was some kind of debauched fantasy he was having. But then you were shouting and running like the bratty little girl you had always been. 

Tess had made a remark about you knocking and it pissed Joel off, but at the same time, she had a point,  and he felt bad that this would be the first interaction Tess ever had with you.

You flung insults and anger when he followed you down the stairs and that didn’t surprise Joel at all. When Tess made it out the door, you tried your best to hurt him but you had never been tough enough to learn how to throw a punch. 

Joel knew he had to have the awkward conversation with you now, apologizing, mentioning his own needs, and you would stand there looking so…good. Being the subject of all his needs, his desires. You would continue to burn in his guts and the words he spoke would make you uncomfortable because obviously talking about your dad’s sex life was not something you would find appealing. 

Then he caught something, the way your eyes lingered on his undone pants, seemingly taking in the hair he was trying to cover by doing up his jeans. Your little tongue poked out and touched your bottom  lip, your eyes fixated for a moment. Then the things you said, 

“No, Daddy. I’ll never want that from boys in college.” 

“I hate that you were doin’ that with Tess.” 

If Joel didn’t know any better, he’d think- no. That was his imagination—wait, did you say, Tess? When Joel posed the question to you, the words hung in the air for a long time. You went still and your eyes darted from his face to his hands to the floor and back. You were trying to come up with a lie, Joel could see that.  You had lied to him enough times for him to know that. 

*

“I-“ You started, you were searching for a way out of this. A way to explain how you knew or a way to derail your father from his questioning but the only idea that came to mind was crazy. “What?” You asked him, to buy time. 

“How did you know her name is Tess?” he asked again, putting his hands on his hips, stepping back from you. You answered quickly, trying to brush past his question with your own question,

“I don’t know! But…but daddy, I don’t understand what you were doing…” You said, feigning innocence. 

“Oh you don’t know how you knew-wait..what?” Joel asked, confused, “You don’t know what it was we were-honey, c’mon now.” He said, looking down at you. The lines on his forehead creased further as his confusion took over. You stared back with wide eyes, praying he forgot about the Tess question. You were making rash decisions now, but hey, the only way forward was through so you pushed on,

“I-I mean…I do, I think.” You started, taking a step forward towards him. Joel was looking down at you in utter confusion, you sucked on your lower lip and then reached out and took his hand. “That’s…that’s sex, right, Daddy?” You asked and Joel let out a nervous laugh at that. Underneath the fake innocence you tried to smother the intense gleam of mischief, of manipulation. 

“Ye-yeah, honey…I don’t understand. You should know this, kid.” He said, “I mean, I could have been better about havin’ that conversation with you but I kinda thought school took care of that.” You were pulling his hand towards you and it wasn’t like he was resisting but you could feel his trepidation. 

“I just always thought…” You cut yourself off, stealing yourself to finally say it to come face to face with what you wanted and what you were sure would send your father spiraling. “I always thought that was somethin’ we were goin’ to do someday.” You tugged his hand up to your waist like you were going trying to make him hug you. Joel tugged his hand away instinctively,

“What!?” He asked. “No, babygirl…are you…you’re jokin’” He started to laugh and you furrowed your brow in anger. 

“No!” You said, “I’m not joking!” You snapped. “I thought that was something daddy’s did with their daughters! You always said I was your special girl!” You accused, glaring at the man in front of you. You watched something flicker across Joel’s face. Pain and desire. It was there, clear as day now. You and your dad shared a problem. 

“No. Baby, No. Where did you get this idea that…that…” He shook his head. 

“Aren’t I your special girl?” You asked. 

“Yes but…this…” he gestured between the two of you. “This wouldn’t be right. It’s not-“ You  interrupted him by standing up on your tip toes and pressing your lips into his. Joel’s whole body stiffened and he grabbed your shoulders, trying to push you away from him but you reached up, wrapping your arms around your dad’s neck and pulled yourself into him, pressing your body into his. 

You silently prayed this wouldn’t backfire. You hoped to God he wouldn’t shove you away and have you committed for trying to fuck your own father.  He didn’t. He melted. At first the kiss could have almost been something a father and daughter shared when the daughter was a lot younger but it quickly devolved into something so inappropriate it gave you butterflies. Thoughts of Tess vanished and Joel’s hands found your waist. His lips were rough and warm and you cherished your first kiss like it was made of gold and in your mind, it was. 

It was Joel who ripped away first. 

“No. Babygirl, No. This isn’t supposed to happen,” but even has he said it, he was caressing your cheek, stroking your hair back away from your face. 

“Yes it is.” You said before pressing your lips to his again, he kissed you back but then was pulling back once again. 

“This is wrong.” He said but it was his lips that engulfed yours this time. His arm tightened around your waist and he lifted you up so your feet dangled off the floor and he took a few steps into the living room, in front of the couch and let you down again. 

“But I like wrong, Daddy.” You said, staring up at him. “I’ve always  liked wrong.” You explained to him. It was quiet for a moment as he stared down at you, your eyes glinting in the dim light in the living room. Joel knew you were a sneaky little shit. You always had been but it had never occurred to him that it would manifest like this but if you were going to say you liked “wrong” he could give you “wrongness” in spades. 

“I think I like wrong too, babygirl.” He said and then you took his arms and pushed him back onto the couch so he was sitting down. He looked up at you and reached out to take your hands, to pull you close to him but you had other plans. You dropped down onto your knees in front of him, settling yourself between his knees. Before he could say anything you reached up and started to undo the pants he had so recently done back up. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel said, looking down at you on your knees in front of him. You got his pants undone  and your fingers ran through the wirey, course pubic hair there and your eyes traveled up his body to look into his eyes as you smiled. Joel let you tug his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free, “This…this is so wrong.” Joel said but it didn’t stop him from reaching out and running his fingers through your hair. You giggled, reaching out towards his cock, you had been wanting this for so long you could barely believe it was right there in front of you. As you wrapped your fingers around the base Joel shifted, his brow furrowed, 

“Where the fuck did you learn this darlin’?” He asked, sounding nervous for the answer. You just shrugged and you stuck your tongue out and very slowly and deliberately licked the tip of his cock. 

*

Watching his daughter get on her knees in front of him, and start licking his hard cock made Joel’s brain go haywire. How the fuck did you know just how to do that? You were supposed to be his good little girl who didn’t like boys, didn’t fuck around. Your mouth slid over his cock, little lips enveloping his cock-head and worry filled him. Had you been doing this with boys behind his back? Nights where you claimed to be at a friends house, had those been lies? Joel sat up and very suddenly grabbed your chin, tugging you off his cock with a quiet, wet, pop. He forced you to look up at him and you still looked like the picture of sweet innocence, even with your face flushed, your mouth wet, eyes wide. 

“Where did you learn it? You been with a bunch of boys I don’t know about?”he asked. He felt protective and jealous. You had been playing innocent, saying you thought that it was something the two of you would do together. Joel practically scoffed at the thought now.  “You tell the truth now,” he said, giving you a little shake. You didn’t falter though.  

“Well I watch porn sometimes, daddy. I’m sorry.” You said, your lip trembled slightly. “I’ve never been with a boy…I’ve…” your cheeks reddened, “I’ve just wanted you. Always. Only you.” Joel softened at your words. You weren’t lying. He could tell but God, it had made him nervous. This sickness inside him was making him paranoid…jealous. Something he had never been before. “And…well I wanted to make you like me better than Tess.” You continued and Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at you, still kneeling between his knees. Tess. Her name again. 

Joel looked down at you and without speaking, you both remembered the question from earlier. How do you know her name is Tess? Joel stared at you, his brow furrowing as he held your chin.  He watched as a smirk slid over your face, mischievous, sly and excited. Of course, you had known that Tess was coming over from the second you had left for your friends house for a fake sleepover. Joel nodded  slowly as the realization dawned on you. 

“You’re a brat, babygirl.” He said. Joel let go of your chin and grabbed your hair, pushing you down towards his cock. “You hated the idea of your daddy fucking someone else that bad, huh?” he asked. Your mouth wrapped back around the head of his cock but this time it was Joel’s hand guiding you down, pressing his cock into your mouth. 

*

You gagged as his cock plunged deeper into your mouth, he had seen porn but that didn’t prepare you for a cock being shoved into your throat. You struggled back but Joel held your head, not letting you off entirely. 

“Answer me, babygirl. You hated it so bad you had to ruin it, right?”he asked. You couldn’t speak with his cock in your mouth so you whimpered and nodded. “What was that, darlin? I can’t hear ya,” He mocked and you whined, managing a garbled, 

“Yeeeea,” around his cock. Joel chuckled and his fingers caressed in your hair as you caught your breath, your tongue working over the tip of his cock. You had never imagined you would ever actually get to be here, you had wanted it so bad you hadn’t ever stopped to think it would actually be possible. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and looked down into your eyes, 

“My sweet, destructive little girl.” Joel said softly, he leaned forward, bending to plant a kiss on the top of your head. You glowed with pride and warmth. This felt like everything you had ever wanted from him, this was supposed  to happen, it was meant to be, you and him. You were from him and now he got to take you properly as his own. “You need your good ole’ dad, don’t ya?” he asked into your ear, his fingers still in your hair. You nodded and he pulled back, “Get up here then,” he breathed and patted his knee. You stood up, looking down at him for a second, your heart pounding a million beats per second it felt like. You took in how he looked there, everything you had ever wanted. The man who had not only made you, raised you, taught you everything but had etched what it meant to need into every vein, crevice, line, pore in your body. His stubble was greying around his chin, flecks of gray in his mustache. His shirt was pulled up slightly, showing off his belly and his pants were still undone, cock resting against the soft part of his stomach. His arms were held out, ready to accept you into them, they’d feel just like they always had, holding you but it would be different, better, right now. So right for everything you needed and so, so wrong. 

You put your knee on the couch just outside his knee and then swung your other leg around to the other side, straddling him. The dress you were wearing pulled up and Joel helped it along, gathering it up around your waist before wrapping his arms around you. 

“You’re my good little girl, right?” he asked as you pressed your forehead into his. 

“Mhm,” you answered. 

“So Daddy gets to take your virginity, right?” he asked, confirming what he thought he already knew. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You breathed, his lips were so close to yours and you were tempted to subdue your nerves just by kissing him  but you let the space between you two linger for another moment, savoring the build up. 

“Good,” he said. “I want you to promise me that if I’m goin’ to have you, I’m goin’ to be the only one.” Joel’s hands were under your skirt now, working on tugging your undies down, “Lift your leg up for me baby,” he added, tapping the side of your thigh indicating which leg he was tugging your undies off of. You did what he said as you thought of his other words. He wanted to be your one and only and you would gladly agree but you knew what you had to ask for. Once you undies were dangling off of one leg, Joel’s fingers inched up the inside of your thigh, so close to feeling you for the first time. Heat was radiating off of your pussy and he was so close. Your breath hitched in your chest as he grazed his pointer finger along your lips. 

“Yes, daddy. I wont have anyone else…but you need to promise the same thing. Just me.” You said. Joel’s eyes opened, looking into yours, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling. His fingers stroking down your slit, towards your entrance, needing to feel just how tight you were. 

As his finger sunk into you, his eyebrows raised, your mouth fell open in a gasp and he nodded, “Yes, babygirl. I promise. Just you.” He said. Your dad’s finger curled inside of you, stroking a spot you had never been able to reach on your own. You melted into him, your mouth hanging open as he pumped his finger into you. There was nothing like this in the world. Nothing that could possibly compare to the one person you had loved your whole life pumping his finger in and out of you. 

“You like that, dont you?” he cooed to you as you pressed yourself down onto his finger. “Daddy hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you’re soaking my hand.” You could hear the smile in his voice even though your eyes had fluttered shut. 

“I want that, Dad.” You gasped, your clit was already aching with need, with neglect. You felt him maneuver his thumb  up to your clit, finding a rhythm to stroke it in tight circles while his middle finger pressed up into you. You were sure it could possibly get better but you knew his cock would be so much more. “Daddy, daddy…please will you put your cock in me?” You asked. 

“I don’t know if you’re ready for that, peanut.” He said. 

“I don’t care…I want you to take me.” You whined. “I want it Daddy’s cock to stretch me,” You moaned, barely cognizant of what you were saying. 

“It could hurt-“

“I want you to hurt me, daddy! Please.” You practically begged and Joel had never been able to resist that sound. The plaintive pleading of his daughter. How could he? How could he resist sinking his cock into your pussy when it was this tight and you were begging for it. Begging for the pain, the stretch and the relief of finally connecting the way you needed. Joel reached down to his cock, stroking it a few times. He watched as you looked between your bodies, your mouth hanging open as you watched him touch himself. You groaned and lifted your hips, trying to get him to get going.

“I know she needs it, “He breathed as he lined himself up with your cunt, notching the tip right at your entrance. “Take a breath for me, baby, daddy’s going to put him in and it’s goin’ to hurt.” He explained. 

“Yes, Dad! Please.” You whined and accepted his cock inside of you, the stretch of your cunt opening for him was an all encompassing feeling but that was exactly what you wanted. You wanted to feel it in your pussy, in your breasts, stomach, toes. Everything tightened up as he pushed himself deeper. “Oh god!” you moaned. 

“Look at me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on your dad, I got you.” He said as you felt every part of you open up for his cock. You opened your eyes, pressing your forehead into his, taking slow gulps of air. His eyes comforted you and sent sparks of excitement through you, making it tingle, making the pain feel so fucking good. 

“More,” you moaned as his hips started to rock up into you, pumping his cock into you. 

“Good girl,” he said, “You take Daddy’s cock, that’s right.” Joel said. He reached down between your bodies and started that same rhythm of tight circles around your clit. It made your head swim with pleasure. “That’s right,” Joel said, “Dad will take care of you.” He said. 

You felt like it would be impossible to cum from your first time, but you had underestimated the power of your dad’s ministrations to your clit. His attention was so good, your eyes on his was so wrong, and so right, exactly what you had always wanted that you felt yourself building up to an orgasm unlike any other you had ever had. Your heart lept into your throat as you realized how close you were, you cunt tightened around his cock. 

“Oh hold on, pretty girl, you wait for Daddy to cum,” Joel growled, you let out a whine, shaking your head. 

“I can’t, dad! I can’t! I’m so close-“ You moaned, grinding your hips down. His movements around your clit slowed and you felt your clit pulse with need. “Daddy! Please!” Joel’s hips moved faster, sloppier. 

“You can wait, Dad’s goin’ to cum too. I wanna fill you up while you cum, honey.” Joel’s voice was ragged and needy. You whined louder as he pounded into you, bruising your cervix with every thrust while his fingers teased around and around your clitoris, closing you in on your release. 

“Daddy, please! I can’t hold it, I need it,” you whined. With a final thrust of his hips, Joel was coming and his fingers continued to stroke across your clit, pushing you over the edge. You felt the spasms of his cock inside you, filling you with the same seed you came from and your own orgasm split through you, making you shake and moan until you finally collapsed into his chest. “Daddy,” you sobbed. “Daddy, I’m all yours.” You said. 

“I know,” Joel whispered, he reached down and gathered your hair up in his hands, holding it off your neck. “You’ll always be mine.” He said. “My babygirl, my little problem.” He said it and you couldn’t stop the smirk creeping in. You had a problem too. It was your dad and how much you longed for his cock, you didn’t think that problem was ever going to resolve. 

[bjlipss]

— bug, part x.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. lil jealousy stuff heheh

part ix <- part x -> part xi

it starts with a girl. obviously.

she’s not even doing anything, really—just smiling a little too much. twirling her hair with slow, practiced fingers. leaning way too close as she asks sukuna about their group project for history, like her understanding of the assignment hinges on breathing the same air as him.

it’s normal. harmless. probably.

but from where you’re sitting—two tables over in the campus library, your laptop open but untouched—it looks less harmless and more like she’s trying to crawl into his lap in slow motion.

and sukuna—well.

he’s just sitting there.

not smiling. not leaning back. not flirting. but not exactly recoiling, either. he’s nodding, saying something low that makes her giggle, flipping a page in that beat-up notebook he always carries. letting her exist in his proximity like it’s no big deal.

and maybe it isn’t.

maybe it’s just you projecting your insecurities onto some totally random moment, just because you don’t dress like her or smile like her — all perfect and white-teethed, and maybe your hair is a little frizzy compared to hers and maybe she just looks better with him—

maybe you’re just being stupid.

but when you glance down at your own notebook and realize you’ve been absently doodling sukuna being eaten by a giant squid girl with hearts in her cartoon eyes and a sparkly bow on her head…

you decide you’re allowed to be a little bit stupid.

—

you don’t say anything. of course not.

you’re chill. you’re calm. you’re a collected, well-adjusted adult who doesn’t throw tantrums over one (admittedly pretty) girl leaning too close to your maybe-boyfriend-maybe-not in a public space.

but you do:

jab your straw into your juice box like it personally offended you;

roll your eyes at nothing whenever sukuna speaks;

walk one full step ahead of him instead of beside him after you pack up your things;

and answer all his questions with clipped little “uh-huh”s and “yep”s like you’ve been possessed by a very cold, very unimpressed ghost.

sukuna, being the ridiculously perceptive bastard that he is, notices immediately.

“okay,” he says flatly, halfway across campus. “what’s your problem.”

you keep walking. glare at the pavement like it’s got answers. “i don’t have one.”

“you do.”

“i don’t.”

he stops walking, boots scuffing the path.

you keep going. three whole steps before your stubbornness falters and you stop, too, arms crossed tight over your chest. you don’t look at him.

“…are you mad at me?” he asks, like he can’t believe it.

you scoff. “no.”

“then who the fuck are you mad at?”

there’s a pause. a too-long pause. and then—

“that girl from the library,” you mutter.

sukuna blinks.

“what girl?”

you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “the one who was all over you during your group project thing.”

his face doesn’t change, but his eyes narrow a little.

“she wasn’t all over me,” he says slowly.

“she was,” you insist, mortified even as the words come out of your mouth. “you didn’t see her? the hair twirling? the leaning? she was practically in your lap!”

he stares.

you huff, cheeks hot now, fists balled in the sleeves of your hoodie. “she was flirting.”

sukuna blinks again.

and then—snorts.

a sharp, sudden sound that escapes before he can stop it.

“you’re jealous?” he asks, eyes lighting up with something dangerously close to glee.

“no—!”

“you’re totally jealous.”

“shut up,” you mumble, face hot enough to fry an egg. “i’m not.”

“you are,” he says smugly, stepping in front of you. “you’re jealous.”

“i said shut up.”

but he’s not shutting up. he’s grinning. and not in a mean, smug, condescending way, either—which would honestly be easier to deal with. no. this grin is soft. fond. like he thinks this is adorable. like he’s fighting back a laugh, and losing.

and somehow, that’s worse.

“you think someone else could take me from you?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing but laced with something warmer.

you look up.

he’s close now. closer than he needs to be. close enough that you can smell his cologne—warm and smoky and familiar. close enough that his eyes feel like they’re peeling you open, reading every line of your face like it’s the answer to something he’s been wondering about for a long time.

you swallow. hard.

“you’re an idiot,” you mutter, deflating a little.

he tilts his head, still watching you. “you’re the only one who calls me baby,” he says quietly. “the only one who draws bats and angry little knives in my notes. the only one i sit through those awful art lectures for. the only one i even like being around.”

you stare up at him, heart suddenly loud in your ears.

he leans down, nose brushing yours. his hand comes up to gently tug the edge of your hoodie sleeve, thumb brushing your wrist like it’s instinct.

“nobody else has a chance,” he murmurs.

you bite your lip, eyes fluttering half-closed.

and then—because you’re still kind of a brat—you whisper:

“she had really shiny hair, though.”

he groans—low and rough in his throat—and then he kisses you. firm, slow, decisive. like he’s trying to burn the memory of her out of your head entirely. like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to.

you squeak against his mouth in surprise, hands fisting in his hoodie—but you melt fast. tilt your head, kiss him back, soft and needy and a little breathless.

he pulls away a little too fast.

you blink up at him, dazed.

“you’re mine.” he mutters. i’m yours too, is silent.

you nod, breath catching. “okay.”

and the squid girl in your notebook dies an unceremonious death that night when you scribble over her with seventeen little hearts and one very smug-looking sukuna in the middle.

[reidmotif]

Off the Record

Summary: Reader is hellbent on not confessing while the BAU is interrogating her. Spencer Reid finds an.. unconventional tactic that'll break her.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: f!receiving oral, f!masturbation, mentions of typical CM violence, o-denial, slight dbcon, pinv sex, rough sex/make-out, semi-public sex.

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

There's reward in going unnoticed. 

Some would obviously say otherwise. There’s an argument to be made that it’s better to make your presence known, to announce who you are to the world with no apology or shame. 

After all, if no one sees you, truly sees you, what separates your existence from those who live and those who were never here to begin with? 

And of course, this may be true for some, but what do you say to those who live an existence fated to stay under the cover of darkness? To seal the horrors in Pandora’s Box out of mercy for a world that was never ready for you in the first place? 

Despite your reasons for staying quiet, Spencer Reid seemed determined to break you. 

“You’re not making this any easier on yourself, you know?” Spencer muttered, sitting across from you in the dim light of the interrogation room. His exhaustion was evident, the prolonged questioning taking a toll on his psyche.

 “You’d save yourself a lot of trouble if you just confessed.” 

His voice was low and tired, the hours wearing him thin. 

“Where’s the fun in that, Agent Reid?” You respond, cocking an eyebrow, your hands crossed over your chest. You pause, before adding: “Besides. Nothing to confess.” 

“Dr Reid.” He firmly corrects.

You’re defiant, consistently repeating the same lines you’d flung at every agent that had approached you for the past sixteen hours, since the moment you’d been torn away from the safety of your apartment. 

It was too bad. Even on what seemed to be a hard day, Spencer Reid was dreadfully handsome. 

Spencer let a deep exhale exit his nose, a testament to his growing frustration, and a half-hearted attempt to ground himself. “Liam Brown, Noah Williams, Theodore Smith.” He says, pushing various crime scene pictures towards you over the table. “All victims of a prolific black widow we’ve been chasing for months.” 

The images are gruesome, meant to provoke you. You give a response, but perhaps not the one they intended. Disgust slips into your expression before you can stop yourself, but you look away in the end, unwilling to yield and give yourself away. Nobody needed to know that you felt no pity for the men on the table. 

“A connection isn’t the same as probable cause, and I know my rights.” You snap, your body language making it clear that you were nowhere near giving them the answers you wanted.  “You can’t hold me any longer than forty-eight hours.” 

Spencer rubs a hand over his face, clearly exasperated. With no further words exchanged between the two of you, he rises from his chair, allowing the metal furniture to scrape softly against the floor, before disappearing to the other side of the one-way mirror that stood in front of you.

 You didn’t need to see him to know that his gaze was trained on you, even then. 

 Waiting for the moment you’d snap. 

Too bad he’d never get what he wanted. 

Several minutes pass by whilst you’re alone in the room. The air wraps around you, tension making a home through every inch of you as your thoughts run wild in the silence. 

What was your endgame here? Could you really outsmart the FBI? They still had about thirty-one hours with you. What would they do? 

Before you can answer any of your own questions, Spencer re-enters, but something’s shifted this time. The previous fatigue that plagued him just minutes ago was no longer there, but rather replaced with a defiance and intensity that mirrored your own. You’re already getting ready to fight, to match the shift in his demeanor, but he doesn’t give you the  chance.  

“Get up,” He barks out, his voice sharp and full of command that wasn’t previously there.

You narrow your eyes, still trying to maintain your resistance in the face of the new persona he seemed to be sporting. “Am I free to go?” 

He laughs, but it’s a sound completely devoid of humor.

 “Did I say that? No.” He answers his own question, sharply. “Get up. I won’t repeat myself.” 

Despite your desire to resist on principle, his tone carries a threat you can’t quite name yet. An involuntary shiver that passes through your body, and suddenly it seems like you’re better off complying, rather than sticking to your old patterns. 

Your body reacts. You’re unsure if you’re being led by fear, instinct, or something darker, but regardless of what it is, you’re compelled to listen to him, slowly rising to your feet. 

He wastes absolutely no time, gripping your arm with a bruising force as he leads you out of the stale room, his movements swift and purposeful. 

The cold metal of the cuffs bite into your wrists, a physical and unignorable manifestation of his regulation over your current predicament.  No matter what kind of show you put on, you weren’t the one in control. 

The halls around you stretch endlessly. Sterile, blank walls stare back at you, as if mocking you for ever entering in the first place. Each corner looks like the last, every turn erasing the one before it. You’re led deeper and deeper within the bones of the building, further and further away from prying eyes and pesky cameras. 

He doesn’t want you found. These hallways would never allow you to leave. He had you trapped.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of movement with no end in sight, you’re met with an elevator. It’s unmarked, and immediately you can tell you’re not supposed to be here. It’s a service elevator, the type meant to carry cargo, not people. 

And yet here you are.

There’s a foreboding silence as Spencer presses the button with a decisive jab to call the machinery. The doors creak open ominously, and he shoves you into the claustrophobic space without ceremony.

He’s so close you can feel his hot breath against the bare skin of your neck, the firm press of his body anchoring you in place, serving as an oppressive weight that reminds you there’s no escape. 

The thick silence between the two of you stretches as the elevator shudders to life. It’s the type of quiet that makes your body buzz with uneasy anticipation for what’s to come.

This isn’t protocol. You knew that, at this point. Whatever he was leading to you, you knew it couldn’t fare well for you. As the doors open to your destination, the ultimate question lingers in your chest. 

What was he going to do to you? 

The elevator doors hiss open, and instead of another line of sterile corridors, you’re met with the warm night air, the type of heat that only summer could provide. You blink, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in scenery and the darkness, until your eyes adjust and you process where you are. 

The roof? 

You barely have anytime to register what’s occurred before Spencer is pulling you forward. You hear the elevator doors close with a soft, final clink behind you, and know you’re well and truly stuck here now. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask, voice barely audible. 

Spencer doesn’t stop moving, dragging you towards the parapet. “Thought we could use some fresh air. You’ve been inside for a while now.” 

The words are sweet, falling from his mouth easily, but the tone is all wrong. While you might be persuaded to believe in his consideration for your well-being, the sincerity of the statement is voided by the controlled cadence he delivers with it. It almost sounds rehearsed, a calculated and careful manipulation in an attempt to gain your trust. 

You’re absolutely sure he’s not as truthful about his intentions as he’d like you to believe. 

The space he’s leading you on is wide and industrial, filled with empty crates and encircled by dark, thick forestry on all sides. The pale moonlight spills across the rooftop, giving you a clearer view of your surroundings. 

You wouldn’t say it, of course, but it also got you a better look at Spencer’s expression. It doesn’t help, though. His lips are set in a straight line, eyes fixed ahead, face unreadable within the low light. Damn it. 

“I come up here to think.” Spencer says quietly, almost to himself. “The quiet makes everything easier.” He murmurs. 

His grip loosens around you as you reach the guardrail, but you’re much too on guard to make any sudden movements. You don’t slip away, opting to stick right beside him, close enough that you can still feel the body heat emanating from his person. 

“Why am I here?” You ask, voice a bit quiet to match the serenity of your location. 

“I figured you might need to think too.” He says, voice deep, taking in the view.  “You’ve got a tough decision to make, you know.” He says, head turning so his eyes can lock onto yours.

You ignore the implications of his statement, opting to narrow your eyes instead.  “Are we even allowed to be up here?” 

That earns you a quiet laugh under his breath. “Now you care about the rules? You do realize why you’re here in the first place, right?” 

The irony isn’t lost on you, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of playing into his hand. “Not everyone plays by the same rules.” You retort, meeting his gaze with a steady look of your own.  

He pauses, licking his lips, whilst nodding in a noncommittal manner. “I agree to some extent.” 

He gives another long pause, before adding, “And yes, you’re right. We aren’t supposed to be here. But there aren’t any cameras up here, and I doubt anyone’s missing you.” 

His eyes focus on you, then. “I think you and I can agree that not everything worth doing isn’t always.. allowed.” 

That catches your attention. “What do you mean?”

He stalks closer to you, chuckling at your sudden piqued interest. “See.” He begins. “You want something. And I think I can give it to you.” 

The words strike something in you, and suddenly you feel too exposed. You don’t respond for a moment, before finding your voice again, in a mumbled, hoarse noise. 

“I want something?” 

He steps even closer, eyes fixed on you with a focus that borders on intimate. “Don’t play dumb. I saw it the second I walked in. Pupils blown out, your thighs pressing together under the table.” He gives an uncharacteristic smirk, as if he can’t help his pride at this moment.  

“You don’t do a very good job of hiding when you’re attracted to someone.” 

You blink, immediately flustered, feeling much more exposed than you did a moment ago. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. You’re attracted to me.” He repeats a hint of cockiness in his speech. 

“If you think I’m fucking you in exchange for a confession, you’re wrong.” You snark back, trying to build up some defense against the (very true) accusations he laid at your feet. 

“So you’re not attracted to me?” He replies, same, smug smile still gracing his features. 

“No.” You scoff, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t mind me checking then.” He says, his hubris overwhelmingly obvious. 

Again, as is custom with him, you’re given no time to figure out what he even means before he’s on his knees in record time, nimble fingers hovering over the metal button of your jeans. He looks up at you, and you lick your lips, giving him a small, imperceptible nod on impulse. 

He wastes no time quickly pulling the denim past your hips, before grinning wildly at the sight that faced him. 

“You’re wet.” He murmurs, knuckles trailing over the wet patch that had settled in between your thighs. 

His fingers find your clit through the fabric, and he rubs them against it, the lace of your panties creating the most delicious friction between your folds. You shudder, your cuffed hands darting out to grab the metal railing to steady yourself. 

“Mm. And you say you’re not attracted to me.” He says, arrogance radiating off him in waves, practically singing the words to you.

“Shut up.” You garble out, not wanting to admit just how good this felt, despite the overwhelming evidence against you at that moment. 

“What? Are you always this wet?” He chuckles, pulling his fingers away, depriving you of your growing orgasm. Your eyes snap open at the loss of pleasure. 

“Why…” You whine, looking down at him from where he was currently situated between your thighs. 

“Say you want this.” He says, voice firm.

“I..” You start, voice quiet. 

You don’t want to. You couldn’t fall for him. Couldn’t give up what you’d worked so hard to build. But then your eyes meet his, and you see it. The undeniable hunger. The promise of a pleasure deeper than anything you could ever give yourself. You sigh heavily, before surrendering to it, not wanting to deny yourself of what this man so clearly has to offer. 

“I want this.” 

“Good fucking girl.” He murmurs, voice full of praise. He moves to slide your underwear down your thighs, motioning for you to step out of your jeans and to spread your legs, your thighs and sex completely bared to him. 

And then his tongue is everywhere, lapping over your core, slowly, from your entrance to your clit. He starts gently, allowing the tip of the wet muscle to circle  around the throbbing bud, before sucking it into his mouth, the suction driving you delirious. 

“Ahh.” You moan, your head lolling backwards, your eyes rolling to the back into your head. This man’s mouth was heaven sent. 

He pulls back from you, a lopsided grin on his face. “That’s right. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear you.” 

Exhibitionist.

He guides your thigh to be hiked over his shoulder, and with no further words exchanged between the two of you, starts to eat you out with renewed vigor. He enthusiastically devours you from below, his face buried in your pussy as he drinks your arousal in like a man starved. 

You’re an absolute mess above him. As much as it infuriates you to admit it, he’s undeniably good at this, and your orgasm is fast approaching. Maybe it’s the sight of him, his wavy brown hair between your thighs, and how every so often you catch a glimpse of his expression, eyes closed as if he was experiencing the highest form of heaven simply by eating you out.

The warm, wet muscle thrusts into your entrance, wrapping around you and exploring every inch of you with a heartfelt desire to leave no part of your sex untouched. 

“Oh god. Oh god! Dr Reid. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.” You moan out, unashamed. Why would you be? Your words were lost to the night that surrounded you two, swallowed by the darkness that concealed all of his ministries. 

He doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer. You’re right there, and just before you find yourself falling into that endless pit of pleasure, he pulls back, leaving you on the precipice of a little death. 

Motherfucker. 

You pant, in shock and still relentlessly needy for your release. “You- you stopped.” You say, voice shaky. 

“I did. Ready to talk?” He asks, a grin on his face. His mouth is glistening with your arousal, and he licks it off his lips. The sight is erotic enough to make your legs shake again, the flame of desire in you rising higher and higher.

But you see through his game, and you feel that familiar pride rise hot within your chest. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Your voice sharp and hiss-like. 

“I’d rather just fuck you.” He says cheekily, and you believe he’s going to go behind you but instead, he hauls you up, and crashes your lips on his. 

You immediately melt into the kiss with no hesitation, the fight draining out of you in favor of your need for this man. You desperately wish your hands were unbound so you could pull him closer, but the cuffs remind you that it’s his mercy you’re at. 

 In the end, it doesn’t matter though, because Spencer is doing all the work for you, pressing his body towards yours, as his tongue manages to invade your mouth. You taste your heady release on him, and moan, your back arching in a desperate attempt for more.

“Sorry.” He mumbles lips brushing against yours as he pulls back, almost sheepishly. “Had to do that at least once.”

 It’s almost endearing, the way he’s acting. Eating you out was no trouble for him at all, but kissing you is what made him shy. The contrast has you giggling despite everything, and he flashes you a crooked smile in return. 

Then, you feel it. The press of his bulge, hard and insistent, straining the fabric of his slacks. His hands slide up your back, gentle and firm all in the same, while he bends you over against the parapet. He steps in close behind you, and the quiet sounds of his belt being undone reach your ears. 

You know exactly where this is leading. 

Your eyes are fixed ahead as you tense in anticipation for him, and then feel his cock, sliding and teasing you, collecting the wetness that had remained between your folds.

He’s big, and just the feeling of it makes you go weak in the knees. 

He slides into you with a smooth, singulair thrust, and immediately sets a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against yours. You can hear the sound of flesh on flesh, the sound creating the perfect background to the debauchery you two were indulging in. You can hear his grunts behind you, the way his breath goes heavy with every hump he deals into you. 

“God, so wet, so-” He moans, unable to form a coherent sentence. A rush of pride runs through you, knowing you’re the one able to make him feel this good, that it was you that was unraveling him and dragging those desperate, pretty sounds from his parted lips. 

You arch your back in an attempt to take him deeper, moans and whimpers escaping you with every drag of his thick cock inside of you. How was someone so hellbent on your downfall so fucking good at making you feel this way? You involuntarily clench around him when the head of his dick nudges against that spot deep inside of you, the action causing a throaty yelp to escape from you. 

“God, you like that? Can feel you getting close.” He says, his voice with a slight edge to it. 

“Yes. Fuck- love this.” You moan, unable to deny the truth of how wonderful he made you feel. 

He hears it. Smirks. “You wanna come?” 

You nod, moaning obscenely. “Yes, please. Let me come.” 

You push your hips back against his, encouraging him to go harder, faster, and to finally take you over that edge, and he obliges, reveling in your greed. 

“Tell me what I want to know.” He breathes, low and deep. “Come on. I know you can.” 

Your mind reels. You’ve managed to hold back for so long, to maintain the facade, and it was never your intention to give it up like this. But with every thrust, your resistance crumbles more and more. He was fucking you dumb.

“I- I arrange the kills.” You moan. “I don’t murder anyone- I just, oh god. I help!” 

You can practically feel his smirk, and his movements faltering as he nears his own release. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

You want to throw back an insult, something clever, but instead, all that comes out of your mouth is a long, wrecked moan, your cunt clenching rhythmically around him as you tremble around him. In a daze, you can feel him reaching his breaking point as well, a loud groan slipping from him as his hips hold you in place, his warmth filling your deepest point. 

His chest presses against your back, his breath ragged. 

“You should get a lawyer.” He mumbles, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Appreciate it.” You say, dazed, and oddly.. content? You should regret this, but the feeling of his cum dripping down your thighs makes you forget that instantly. 

“You should thank me.” He murmurs, lips brushing against your shoulder.

“Why?” You murmur, confused.

He chuckles slowly. "You're in our custody now. Which means I get to keep you close."

You can’t say you’re mad about that. 

would you believe me if i said this is the most unsure ive EVER been on a fic. even more than my first attempt at writing a whump. anyway. i hope you guys liked this fic... please interact if you did? ive said this before but reblogs are the lifeblood of Tumblr and if you want my work to reach more people.. that is the way <3 and omg if you didn't like it. please give me feedback. anyway. thank you so so much for reading!!!! i so appreciate it regardless!! okay also this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins "stuck together" challenge so. go check that out as well!! okay bye!!!

[seokminfilm]

not alone — lee seokmin

PAIRING 𐂴 lee seokmin x reader

TAGS & WARNINGS 𐂴 non-idol au, hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety, mentions of cuts/blood (reader scratches their knuckles hard enough to draw blood ☹), kissing, physical touch, crying, soft seokmin hours are back!!, protective seokmin

SUMMARY 𐂴 nothing could go unnoticed by seokmin, especially when it came to you.

LYR'S SIDENOTES 𐂴 requested by my dear dear augustine (@hanniescookie)!! this is going to be a drabble of sorts (idk when the next long fic will be tbh...still trying to figure out some things) but i'm gonna pack as much comfort and sweetness as i can into it! love this genre of seokmin (soft seokmin ftw) and i hope you guys do too! love you all 💗

(edit: you can't really call this a drabble because it's the same length as most of my normal fics are 🧍lmao anyways)

NOW PLAYING 𐂴 ひとりじゃない (seventeen)

WORD COUNT 542 𐂴 FOR @kstrucknet

as seokmin sat on the couch next to you, he glanced down at your busy hands, frowning slightly as he saw your fingers scratch your delicate skin.

the sizzle of food and discussion from seokmin's family rang in the background of your ears, but it all sounded fuzzy to you—the anxiety building up in your head was enough to blur all of it out. you felt frozen, unable to move or do anything as you spaced out.

your fingers had a mind of their own, scratching at your knuckles without remorse as they began to turn red. you didn't think you were doing it too obviously, but seokmin knew.

he had noticed the moment you entered his parent's home; you were nervous about meeting them, and even if it didn't show on your face, it showed with how vicariously you scratched at your soft knuckles.

seokmin couldn't stand it, seeing you so nervous and worked up. it made him angry, mainly because you hurt yourself. seeing those cuts well up on your knuckles made his heart break.

seokmin couldn't sit in silence while you made yourself suffer—he wouldn't.

"please don't do that." seokmin's voice is pained, and he looks at you with worry in his eyes as he grabs both of your hands.

"do what?" you ask, hoping he hasn't caught on to your coping mechanism. sure, it hurt, but at least it was keeping you focused on something.

"baby, you're scratching at your knuckles again." seokmin points out, and your head falls in shame, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

seokmin watches you with a soft expression, hand going to your back as he guides you to stand up. "let's get some fresh air."

"mom, we're going outside for a second." seokmin leads you to the door after getting the okay from his mother, and the two of you sit on the steps of the house, letting the quietness of the neighborhood soak up all the unsaid words and anxiety.

"baby, i hate seeing you hurt yourself like that. you scratch so hard you draw blood," seokmin frowns, not because he's angry at you, but because he's angry at the anxiety eating at you.

"i'm sorry, i'm just..." you pause, wind hitting your face and nearly knocking the fleeting breath from you. "i'm really nervous."

"i know you are, and that's okay. you don't have to hurt yourself because of that, though." seokmin runs a hand through your hair, hand sliding under your jaw to cup your cheek.

smiling, tears cloud your vision, and you nod, falling into seokmin as he kisses your forehead. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize." seokmin's voice is warm yet firm, and you stare up at him, nodding. "we're going to have fun. plus, my parents already love you anyway."

nodding again, you let seokmin cup your cheeks once more while kissing you. his lips are warm and sugary on yours as the setting sun washes over the both of you and when you pull away, you see seokmin in a whole new light.

nothing went unnoticed by him. he knew what you were feeling and how you would deal with it. you didn't have to go through it alone. seokmin was always right there.

[eternalguk]

pink hearts and black clouds || jjk. — 02 teaser

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : tbc

↠ Warnings : none for teaser (there will be smut in the chapter)

↠ A/n : Hi there ; I’m back! I don’t know if anyone even remembers this series, but I’ll be posting chapter 2 of PHBC over the weekend. As a thank you for the love I have received, I wanted to post a teaser 🫶🏻 I hope you enjoy this little snippet. I have missed these two so much! If you would like to be on the taglist, please comment below :) and if they are a new couple for you, I have tagged chapter 1 and the masterlist below where you will find a link to the prologue and teaser - incase you want to get a feel for the series before reading~ Feel free to share some feedback and what you would like to see from our chaotically different lovers 🦢!

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 02 : Lace and Chains

prev. || next  || masterlist

You tug on Jungkook’s arm, your lace-trimmed beige cardigan brushing against his tattooed sleeve. "Stop sulking and hand out some flyers!"

He doesn't move. "Why did I agree to this?"

"Because you love me," you say with your trademark wink.

Jungkook groans but walks over anyway, taking a stack of flyers from your hands. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Believe it, Daddy," Taehyung teases, earning a glare from Jungkook.

"Shut up."

Taehyung just laughs, scrambling for his phone to take more pictures of you posing with your flyers.

"Make sure you get my good side!" you call out, striking a pose.

"They're all your good side," Jungkook mutters under his breath, though no one hears him.

"Okay, next we need to practice my speech," you say, clapping your hands together and squealing like a child who has been let loose in a candy store.

"Speech?" Jungkook repeats, already dreading it.

"Yeah? For when I win," you explain, but not without sending a glare Jungkook's way.

Obviously there was going to be a speech! And obviously you were going to win!

Jimin's eyes light up. "Oh, now this l've gotta see."

Stay tuned to find out more 🦢!

[ediblechainsaw]

Your Devoted, part two!!

Part one

Stalker!König x fem!reader

Cw. Badly translated German, shitty writing, König cums in his pants, and oral sex (f receiving)

As always, if you have any ideas please ask!!

Enjoy!!!

Its been over two weeks since that man left that tip, and it actually seems like your life is going better. The one rude customer that liked to verbally abuse you? He hasn't came in in a while. That gang of men that hang out down the street, that you pass every day on your walk home from work? They no longer catcall you, or even look at you as you walk past. Your shitty next door neighbor that blasts music into the early hours of the morning? You haven't heard a sound from his apartment.

It's actually releiving, like you're being repayed for all the times you were wronged or mistreated.

The only concerning thing is that things keep appearing in your home. Money in the front pocket of your jeans when your sure there wasn't any. Groceries in your fridge and cabinets, all the brands and kinds you usually buy. Your pet food being delivered just when you need it the most. Your favorite candy bar, in the middle of your coffee table.

Things you don't remember doing, but actually benefit you. You wonder if it is that guys doing, but who would go out of their way to make life easier for you? Wouldn't he have better things to do than waste his energy on you?

Well, you aren't exactly complaining. Coming home after a hard day in working customer service and seeing your favorite snack sitting on your coffee table? It was almost.. attractive.

You find yourself on your couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, snack in hand and your mind flickering back to that guy. The overtipped. Your.. Devoted.

Gorgeous wasnt even the word to describe him; tall with line backer shoulders, sharp features, short light hair and peircing eyes, muscles and that accent. Damn. You had never been much of an accent girl, but damn were you weak kneed by just hearing his voice.

He hasn't come back since, hasn't came in for another cup of coffee. The only sign of life from him is the things left in your apartment while you're gone.

So expect the surprise when you hear a loud crash from your bedroom.

A crash, curse, and figure walking down the hallway, limping slightly.

Him, your adorer. And he looks as surprised to see you on your couch as you do, seeing him in your hallway.

You stare at him, blink, then swallow. Your body reacts in a way that it never has towards a man. You suck in a sharp breath, hands trembling slightly but not with fear. With an emotion more intense, more captivating.

You're still as a statue, maybe even more still, as he slowly walks over to where you sit on your worn in couch, feet no longer propped on the coffee table. The only noise is the aound of your shaky, quick breathing and his slow, even breaths as he kneels between your legs, his hands on his knees and eyes holding a thousand promises.

"Hallo, meine Göttin." His voice is soft and deep, and that accent is just as drugging as when you heard it weeks ago. "I apologize, I did not know you were home."

You wonder to yourself if you're hallucinating. Maybe someone spiked your coffee earier.

"Are you afraid?"

Finally, you find your voice, "uh, yeah. Obviously."

He laughs softly, deep and amused, "no need to be. I am not here to hurt you, engel."

In your chest, your heart beats so quickly that you can't tell if its skipping beats or just beating too quickly. "How.. how do I know that?"

"Meine engel, I am your devoted. I cherish you. I would cut my own hand off before I try to hurt you," his words are soft, genuine, but you can't help but be suspicious. Especially when he's saying this about you.

"You could just be saying that."

He makes a soft noise, you can't tell whether its unhappy or amused. His hands, large and skilled, massage your feet softly. "Let me show you, then, meine Göttin, yes?"

You don't answer, don't tell him yes or no, but as he massages your feet and up your calves, you find yourself realzing into your couch cushions. While you want to close your eyes and fully relax, you can't bring yourself to take your eyes off of him. Especially not when he lowers his lips to your knees and kisses softly, eyes fixed on yours, deep and full of desire. You shiver with anticipation, skin on fire from his lips. Almost hesitantly, you reach of and run your fingers through his hair.

König's eyes flutter shut for a moment, a soft, pleased noise sounding from his lips and he tilts his head into your hand. "Would you like more, meine engel? Mm?"

As if possessed, you nod. The fear you thought filled you, the hesitation to give yourself to this man, is erased, replaced by an overwhelming need for him.

He presses another kiss to your knee as a thank you, then trails his lips up your thigh and iver the fabric of your shorts. Its hard to tell who moans, especially since your mind blanks when you feel his hot breath against your core through the fabric of your shorts. Shivers wreak your body, and König holds your hips down with his hands, humming softly and cooing compliments, both in English and German. His fingers hook onto the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down your hips and sliding them off your legs. He leans back on his legs, admiring you. Smooth skin, legs spread, face flushed, pink lips parted and chest rising and falling woth every breath.

He leans back forward, your thin pair of panties the only thing between him and your cunt as he presses his face against the more vulnerable part of your body. Sucking in a loud breath of air, you grab his hair in your hands, your body reacting instinctively as you raise your hips closer to his face, chasing the feeling.

He moans, the vibrations adding to the pleasure spreading through your stomach. His hands slip from your waist to cup your ass, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch for better access. Slowly, teasingly, he pulls your panties off. He looks up at you, eyes begging for permission, and you nod breathlessly.

With permission, he dives in.

While you've been given oral before, nothing would've prepared you for the way he eats you out. Relentlessly, passionately, like he's been starving for years. He slurps up your juices like he's stranded in the desert amd your the only water he's had in days. His tongue presses flat against your clit before he tilts your hips more to lick from your labia to your clit, before entering his tongue inside of you.

You loose yourself in it, in his tongue inside of your and nose pressing against your clit, spit and juices covering his mouth and leaking onto the couch as you clutch at his head. You can't even muster a sentence, the only noises leaving your mouth being moans and whimpers, or the occasional plea for more.

König is more that happy to give you more. His pants are so tight around his throbbing dick, the pressure boarderline painful as he makes you come on his tongue. He thrust into nothing, eyes rolling back in his head as he releases in his pants without even being touched, just the sounds of your beautiful noises sending him ober the edge.

He doesn't stop eating you out, milking you and licking every bit of come leaking from your greedy pussy. Eventually, shaking and overwhelmed, you tug at his hair. Its then that he lifts his head, his lower dace covered in your arousal and you moan softly.

"Do you believe me now, meine Götten?"

Drained for your orgasm, bones liquid and body weak, all you can do is nod and listen as he laughs softly. He scoops your up in his arms, carrying you with ease to your bedroom and laying you down on the bed. König slips under the covers next to you, pulling you to him and making sure that you're comfortable.

"Meine engel, so pretty for me," he murmurs into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your head. "Thank you for letting me prove to you that I mean no harm. I am sorry to not introduce myself before, I am König."

You tell him your name, tired and not thinking completely straight. He laughs, "I know that, engel. But it is nice to officially meet you."

You mumble something back, nuzzling into his chest and falling asleep.

During the night, König decides that your his, and when you wake up in the morning he wastes no time kissing you and informing you of that.

And how could you say no to such a devoted man?

[stonesparrow]

Disregarding the whole “yeah of course they draw everyone with consistent hairstyles because that’s what visual arts mediums Do and acknowledging that characters are getting regular cuts would be tedious” the fact remains that Yuzuriha would have to intentionally be keeping her hair short until the epilogue herself, or asking for help from others.

I wonder if at first it was like…almost an intimidation tactic as much as it was convenience. Like a message to Tsukasa saying “I won’t forget this. What you took from me.” Not just her hair but the life of someone she loved, her feelings of safety and autonomy and childhood innocence.

But then after he gets like, yknow, fridged and everyone learned his Sympathetic Backstory (tm) perhaps the watsonian reason for keeping the style really would just be “it’s easier to wash.” But at the same time…

Do you think Senku feels a slight stab in his heart whenever he sees it? Because it’s a reminder to him too, of her almost dying…and the fact that the last words she might have heard were him denying that he cares about her at all. A bluff, sure, and they both know it, but to have that be his last memory of her…

His failure, to keep her close at hand. His words, light and dismissive of her life.

His choice to keep that fire burning.

I wonder if at some point she needled it out of him that it bothered him a little, even though he could see the logic in keeping it short. Obviously he’s not going to ask her to grow it out just because he’s haunted by thoughts of what could have happened, and he didn’t even react when they reunited after a year and her hair was still short.

Maybe she’d invite him to help her cut her hair next time. So he could feel that this was her choice, a blade near her neck, but completely under control and safe.

[chimielie]

cw: business major!down HORRIBLE!oliver x f!reader. a couple mentions of sex (obviously. it’s oliver). people who love each other just like a disturbing amount.

oliver doesn’t even know why he decided to go back to school.

he needs to have backup income someday, he reasons, if one of the other football freaks he grew up with decides to shoot him in the kneecap someday and he manages to spend all the money he’s made from being the best fucking player of all time. it has nothing to do with the two-year business degree your school offers, neatly solving the problem that had been created when you up and decided to move countries for graduate school.

the nerve of you, seriously.

he (and everyone else) had had his doubts about whether he’d stick to it, but it turns out university is really easy, or at least it is for him. most of his classes are online and his professors are all a little starstruck (thank god you would only go places with good football, good little girlfriend that you are), so he skates by on minimal effort.

the only exception is accounting. he sucks at accounting, but it’s mostly the professor’s fault because she’s actually evil. he swears she’s gotta be an isagi fan or something because she has it out for him. her class is so shitty he actually has to study for it.

oliver’s pretty sure he’s never studied in his life ever.

you are siding with the devil and insisting that he can’t just drop out right before his final semester, which is totally uncaring and callous by the way, so he’s stuck burning the midnight oil with printouts of financial statements and a headache like 40 kicking drills straight to the skull.

oliver stares at the statement of cash flows until the number start swimming before his eyes. he groans and drops his forehead to the kitchen table. you’re in bed already and he’s been stuck out here for hours. what the hell happened to him? he used to be a fuckboy and now he’s just letting you rest peacefully while he tortures himself calculating diluted earnings per share?

he won’t stand for this. he’s gonna get up and abandon his studying and when he inevitably fails his final, he’ll eat you out until you forget your name before he confesses so you don’t have the will to scold him for not being able to commit.

he likes this plan. he should start practicing that last part now, actually. it’s been a whole six hours and he’s starting to get the shakes—you’d tell him it was the four cups of coffee, but you’re not even a doctor yet.

as his chair scrapes the floor while he moves to get up, his phone screen lights up white-blue. a message from you reads you still up? we need to talk.

he knocks the chair over as he sprints to the bedroom, slamming open the door.

“what?”

“oh, hey, baby,” you say, your gorgeous face illuminated by your phone. your eyes are half-closed, puffy with sleep, but you’re smiling the same as you always do when you see him. his heart drops to his stomach. how long has he been mistaking this mask for fondness? how long has he been fooling himself for your love?

“what do you mean you want to talk?” he says, hovering awkwardly next to the bed. he wants to grab you and stop you from whatever you’re about to say. he wants to apologize but he knows that starting in when he doesn’t even know what he did is wrong.

a little anger creeps in. he doesn’t even know what he did!

whatever it is, you’re probably right. he folds his arms tightly over his chest against the thought.

“i just wanted to wish you good luck on your exam,” you say, putting down your phone and sitting up on your knees, stretching up to put your hands on his shoulders and kiss his lips lightly. “i heard you giving up out there,” your grin is demonic. “thought i’d shock you awake.”

oliver stands there, dumbfounded. you take the opportunity to slide your hands to the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while you wait for him to process.

“you are evil,” he accuses. “and i love you very much and i remember now why i let you trick me into settling down and stalking you internationally.”

“love you too, baby,” you hum against his lips. he has enough presence of mind to reciprocate now, putting his big hands on you, sliding one up your shirt, finding solace the longer he kisses you.

“have they given you your degree in psychology yet?” he asks, smirking a little at your dazed expression. yeah, he can totally still knock you off your feet. he adjusts the plan in his head a little: he’ll ace the exam and then you’ll reward him by letting him eat you out until you forget your name. he congratulates himself on this incredible idea silently. “you could seriously write a thesis on manipulating and torturing me.”

“yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, sinking back into the bed. “go kick some ass on your final.”

he salutes you on his way out, flipping on the lights so you’ll have to get out from under the covers if you want to sleep. a guy’s gotta have a little revenge, he thinks.

“oli!” you call after him. he pauses, turns around. you collide with his chest, sliding on the hardwood floor in fuzzy socks. “you know i’ll be proud of you no matter how you do. it’s, like, insane that you’re even trying.”

his heart melts. he rocks you back and forth slightly, squeezing you into his chest.

“i know,” oliver grins. “don’t be stupid.”

[stardustdiiving]

i would LOVE to know your headcanons on how the archons interact with each other!! (if u want to share ofc)

I HAVE. SO MANY THOUGHTS on this topic and have attempted to organize them the best I can. Here’s like, the layout of how I decided to do this

The context I imagine these headcanons take place in

A little section for each archon and my individual thoughts on how they interact with everyone else

Enjoy the multiple thousand words under the cut

Context these headcanons take place in

So obviously, there’s a lot of different contexts I can imagine the Archons interacting in. Two of them could cameo in a light hearted event like we’ve seen happen with Zhongli & Venti, or…of course, something more serious and plot heavy, because I do feel it’s inevitable Genshin will give us some Avengers Assemble moment with the Seven late into the game JISNXIXJS. When it comes to headcanon stuff, though, when I think of Genshin character interactions I find it most intuitive to put the characters in a casual and lighthearted sort of setting because this is likely what’s needed for the characters’ charm to be on full display.

So for the sake of this post, I’m going to pretend that all the Archons have basically decided to restart the original 7’s tradition of meeting up with each other to hang out—in Liyue or otherwise. I like to imagine that these meetings start as a way for all of Archons to get to know each other, instead of something they all decide to start doing after they become friends because…I don’t know, Traveler or someone suddenly decided it would be great if they all finally met and had a dinner party together or something.

Additionally…just for full indulgence here, I want to imagine that in this situation the Archons are allowed to bring friends to these meetings—especially notable immortals from their immediate social circles who would probably be allowed to see Venti and Zhongli walking around as their real identities and such. This is honestly how I kinda imagine original 7 meetings went too—if they’re gathering in Liyue it doesn’t feel beyond me to imagine maybe some Jueyun Karst adepti are allowed to hang out every so often. I want the setup here to feel casual, therefore I’m allowing like Ei to bring her wife Yae Miko with her because Miko wanted to see Ganyu + also Ei isn’t very social and is relying on Miko to buffer for her SJSICJCDN

Venti

friendly & used to interacting with other archons—presence probably really helps set the vibe. this is great bc like 1/3 of the group has social anxiety

Zhongli — #oldmanyaoiwins

Ei — he’s like “oh it’s Makoto's more introverted sister who seems scary but toootally has a soft spot haha :)". Based off what we know about Makoto I feel he probably got along a bit better with her, but I think he’s fine being civil/friendly with Ei…she’s just probably not the archon he gets along with the most yk

Nahida — you know Venti would love Nahida. What makes this even better is its canon: he says in his voice line for her he “gets along very well with the dendro archon”. This is incredibly endearing to think about and I’m desperate to see them interact bc it would be so cute. But im also kind of haunted by the implications of venti being friends with Rukkhadevata. I feel the idea of just completely forgetting a friend would Venti in particular pretty sad…I like the idea he gets a vague, unnerving sense of Deja vu when he’s around Nahida sometimes but is like hm. Don’t like that. (Though i wouldn’t put it past Venti to be suspiciously knowledgeable about Irminsul things)

Furina —has a very cute voiceline about wanting her invited to windsblume. I feel Venti would have a very specific kind of empathy for Furina’s relationship w/ facade & performance and make an effort to be very nice to her

Mavuika — Wants to go drinking with her. That's great Venti I'm glad you found another Archon who loves alcohol and war trauma repression. (I think they’d get along just fine in casual settings!)

Zhongli

similar to Venti, he's chill & used to interacting w/ other archons. Wouldn't feel unsure of his place there whatsoever. Knows exactly what’s up

Venti — #oldmanyaoiwins

Ei — I dont think he minds Ei, & would be cordial with her in his usual Zhongli way, but there's probably not much chemistry here. Eyebrow raise at some of her life choices

Nahida — would enjoy talking to Nahida because they both love philosophically pondering things. there's a charm to this when you compare Zhongli's extensive lived experience as the eldest Archon with Nahida's eagerness to experience the world as the youngest Archon being notable elements of their characters. (old post I made about this here)

Furina — Canonically goes out of his way to make his respect for her known in voice lines + few interactions in 2024 Lantern Rite, which is very charming. I imagine Zhongli would especially respect Furina’s resolve & commitment to save Fontaine as the God of Contracts, you know? Old Man Rex Lapis wants you to know he thinks you're cool & that you should practice self confidence

Mavuika —??? There would be something so funny about this. Zhongli's civility born out of old man autism & Mavuika's civility born out of her being overly emotionally stable would give their hypothetical interactions such an unintentionally funny awkwardness in my mind. They'd vibe

Ei

Overwhelmingly I imagine Ei would feel Really Awkward about interacting w/ other gods. I think she'd learn to have a good time but would struggle to form really close bonds with any of them individually, at least at first. I’ve always imagined she maybe shadowed Makoto whenever she attended Archon meetups in the past, so in the back of her mind trying to socialize as the Archon feels awkward and more like “Makoto’s thing”. She’s trying her best

Venti — canonically doesnt like him which is so funny to me, & also makes complete sense because i think Venti’s whimsy would just baffle and confuse her. Yae Miko, however, canonically does get along with Venti, which gives me this fantastic mental image of Ei being very sad her wife says she can't blow Barbados up with lightning for being overstimulating to be around because she finds him funny and says it would "totally kill the vibe” of the archon meetup. I really enjoy this coexisting with my earlier note that Makoto probably also got along with Venti. Someone help her

Zhongli — again there’s probably not much going on here but I like to imagine she just thinks Zhongli is kind of weird & needing to exist in physical proximity to him and Venti bantering with each other is a deeply harrowing experience for her

Nahida — I Really love that her voiceline abt Nahida is "aw :) she seems like a very gentle god. I like how she's capable of psychological warfare but chooses not to" it's really funny. I enjoy the idea she finds Nahida easier to talk to than some of the other archons and likes sharing desserts with her. Just generally thinks Nahida is 2 apples tall and very polite/pleasant to be around

Furina — Has a very sweet voiceline where she really empathizes with furina over the 500 years she spent fighting the Shogun. I like to imagine Ei is able to pick up on Furina's nervousness at being around other Archons & kinda tries to connect with her/be welcoming to her, even though that isn’t something that Ei’s very used to doing. Which would be kind of sweet

Mavuika — Similarly to Zhongli there would be something unintentionally funny with this. Ei I feel would be torn between resonating with Mavuika’s experience handling the burden of a War and kind of fascinated by Mavuika’s ability to be charismatic in a leadership position. She’s like I have no idea how you’re doing that but that is okay 💜 are you interested in having 20 friendly spars in a row I think it would be fun :) (honestly? Mavuika is probably the individual Archon Ei would have the easiest time getting along with)

Nahida

strongly believe she’d have social anxiety about meeting the other gods for the first time. Her voicelines about the Seven kinda suggest she’d be worried about fitting in & getting a bad grade in Archon Socializing. She probably warms up fast once she gets to know everyone, especially when she realizes everyone already really likes her and is looking forward to meeting her (which I don’t think she’d expect…cute)

Venti — Has a voiceline wondering if she should ask the other archons to play hopscotch w/ her in an attempt to get to know them. I think if she did this alot of them would ne like “uhh…” & Nahida would get so nervous she’s totally killing the vibe until suddenly Venti mows everyone else down to grab her shoulders and go well BUER MY BFF OF COURSE I'LL PLAY HOPSCOTCH WITH YOU!!!!! and she'd be like :D !!!!! and latch onto Venti immediately. As I said in Venti’s section there is no debating that Nahida and Venti would get along they would both be ecstatic to have someone matching them in Whimsy

Zhongli — To Nahida Zhongli is probably just like this funny old man who will happily infodump to her about the wide range of things he's knowledgeable about for 6 hours straight anytime she asks. Like she knows he's Rex Lapis. She’s just very glad Rex Lapis is autism grandpa 9000 as a person

Ei — I think Nahida would get along fine with Ei but i also think it would be extremely funny if Ei's like, tendency for emotional unawareness just stresses Nahida out conceptually. I want a situation where Nahida understands Ei as a person and doesn’t dislike her per se but she’s cursed with getting exactly why Wanderer and Ei’s relationship is Like That. In my mind this is paired with Ei being very friendly and nice to Nahida specifically because i think it would make Wanderer feel like this

Furina — She’d love Furina tbh. Both of them are smart/sensitive/have spent alot of their lives anxious about meeting the expectations of their people and I think it would be cute to see them hang out :) Nahida probably just finds Furina's presence fun and enjoys hanging out with her

Mavuika — Nahida would think Mavuika is cool & nice and be happy to have her visit Sumeru but also probably feel kind of compelled to study her under a petri dish for her quirky millennial wine aunt demeanor

Furina

So I imagine the other archons view Furina as like, "fellow member of the Seven whos also a human" but not "another archon"—I think Furina would find it stressful to ne treated as an Archon after everything so everyone else would probably like, happily welcome her as part of the group but treat her as a human w/ that in mind. I think this would help Furina be a lot more comfortable interacting w them, but I think she'd also just be frazzled to be considered "one of them" and very nervous/intimidated by everyone & what they think of her at first. I can see her being worried they'd be offended by the "faking being a god" thing too. This would stop once she realizes all of them feel entirely positively and respectful of her but I think even that would be a bit overwhelming at first. I think she’d warm up eventually but just inherently has a lot of baggage with the idea of being “one of the Seven” that would probably inevitably come up in a situation like this…like, I imagine pre-MoTG Furina was probably terrified of the idea of interacting with an actual Archon in fear of them seeing through her act

Venti — I think she'd almost be like…overwhelmed (positively) by Venti, who would probably be being very friendly/welcoming of her as a fellow archon. Once she processes he's entirely sincere in his friendliness & theyre able to connect over their talents in performance arts I think they got along great though! This is assuming a situation she gets to know Venti’s identity…more plausibly I imagine she gets the vibe something about this very nice mondstadt bard she just met is Off (like she kinda sensed something odd about Zhongli) but not be fully let in on the secret.

Zhongli — "THAT'S Rex Lapis? Oh o__o ;; explains why Neuvilette was trying so hard to find him…aha…”

Ei — I’m so sorry but I think it would be really funny if Furina was just a little scared of Ei. Like as I said in Ei’s section I imagine Ei trying to be nice to Furina & connect with her while being just completely oblivious to the fact Furina is kinda worried Ei will strike her down with divine lightning. JJDNDJJDNDJDJDHD. She doesn’t dislike Ei or anything Ei just strikes me as someone easy to find intimidating even when she’s not trying to be

Nahida — I think if Nahida reached out to connect with her over their shared experiences of being rejected/alienated by their people for being too humanly vulnerable it would genuinely mean a lot to Furina & they'd hit it off. I think she’d generally like Nahida but also..I will not lie. I think it would be funny if Furina was also kind of conceptually freaked out by Nahida. Like I think in practice it’s mostly fine but Nahida is probably a little too uncomfortably good at reading Furina so Furina is like okay as someone with deep rooted intimacy issues I am a little stressed out by the conditionally omnipotent mind-reading baby present in this establishment

Mavuika — I think she'd find Mavuika's presence grounding to be around but maybe struggle a bit to start conversation with her, at least at first. I imagine Furina would feel a sense of anxious camaraderie with Mavuika as another human archon but at the same time I feel like if they met pre-MoTG it would've been a bit of a mindfuck for Furina to encounter another human archon, especially one who just seems to have a lot more genuine self-assurance about it than her

Mavuika

Mavuika interacting with the other archons amuses me because I think she's just like disproportionately normal and well adjusted compared to everyone else. I think she engages the others pretty confidently and casually. If you wanted to do something fun with this I think it would be interesting if she gets this weird sense she almost fits in a little too well with the other archons, despite being human. Almost like an inverse of how I think Furina would always feel a bit weird about being considered one of the Seven, even by the other archons

Venti — Would probably rock with Venti's whimsy and enjoy drinking with him. Just thinks he's a solid (if not sort of strange) guy but I think Venti's potiental to mess with Mavuika outmatches Mavuika's capacity to mess with Venti…which would result in her being the target of hijinks. I think she needs this though

Zhongli — I want to say she'd be like "fuck yeah grandpa explain those rock facts in excruciating detail" about Zhongli but I think her saying this to Zhongli's face directly is a bit outside the bounds of Mavuika's flavor of quirkiness. I do feel it's the correct sentiment but she'd probably be a bit more eloquent about it. I feel she'd enjoy his sense of humor and the way he messes with people

Ei — I think they vibe over shared backgrounds in war/combat and Mavuika would have a fun time sparring with her but Ei leaves a very “huh! Interesting" kind impression on Mavuika. Their main common bond is both of them are kind of awkward to socialize with because they're too used to being entirely focused on The War

Nahida — This would be cute. Mavuika is probably just like "awwww haha little guy" and would likely enjoy hoisting Nahida up on her shoulders so she can feel tall. “Cool smart kid who’s nice to talk to” kind of situation. Tbh of this depends on the specifics of how Mavuika interacts with children because while I think she’d obviously be diplomatic and respectful of Nahida as a fellow Archon (tm) i feel you could do something interesting with how Mavuika being human and having very human bonds may impact how she views “peers” even in like an Archon setting, especially as someone who had younger siblings…hmmm

Furina — Would also be cute, I think Mavuika would be pretty thrilled there's another human Archon in the vicinity and intuitively really empathize with Furina. Probably prioritizes approaching Furina because she just really wants to see if they hit it off

I think that’s most of it…there’s like a perpetual archons sitcom happening in my mind. Im less interested in them being this like tightknit established friend group and more this funny opportunity for a lot of different genshin social circles to interact. The fact they’d all have varying levels of chemistry with each other but have an incentive to like, get along/be cordial is really amusing to me

[graceisinthelibrary]

This drabble is for @royalbesties who asked for prompt no 8. of the drabble list #15. The prompt was "Wanna test it for yourself?"

Siegfried Farnon admittedly liked his drink, but in this special case he didn’t need any strong liquor to be drunk. On this warm evening in July he found himself drunk on love. 

Her glittering eyes, the dimples that graced her beautiful face, those cheekbones that cut right through his heart… he wasn’t tipsy. He was plastered. Gone. Beyond help. 

“Want to test it for yourself?” The glass she handed him was filled with her own summer wine. A housemade wine made of various fruits and the certain “Je ne sais quoi” as she phrased it - meaning that it was her secret ingredient that she wouldn’t reveal to the Almighty himself. 

“I’m not sure,” he said, pretending to be wary of the contents. 

“I won’t poison you,” she said, making it obvious that the idea had crossed her mind more than once. The mischievous expression in her eyes amused and besotted him even further. Why oh why did he have no control over himself when it came to her? 

He endlessly reminded himself of her position and his own. There were lines they shouldn't cross and yet they had crossed most of them countless times. He had always blamed the things they had in common: their age, the service for King and Country during their war, their losses that had shaped them so cruelly… but it wasn’t just that. Blaming their circumstances for their bond didn’t do them justice. There was something beneath all of it that linked them together. Something more beautiful than their past would suggest, something lasting and deep that they both didn’t dare to name. 

He sniffed at the wine and the sweetness of summer filled his nostrils. The sweetness that reminded him of her. These days she was using a soap that gave him shivers every time he smelled it in the bathroom or when he walked along the upper hallway. The way that led straight to her bedroom door. The guiding fragance was an instrument of torture and every so often he imagined how he would dive his nose into her hair or kiss the one spot at her neck, knowing it she would react with gooseflesh and a soft moan that gave away her own desire for him…

He did it again. Clearing his throat, he raised the glass to his mouth and sipped from it. The taste was bewitching. Not as sweet as he had imagined, but that made it all the better. 

“Strawberries,” he said as he eyed the red liquid. “And raspberries…” 

“Very good,” she praised him. “What else?” 

“Elderberry?” He drank more and every drop was as perfect as she was. 

“Syrup from last year.” She smiled, happy that he liked her “brew”. “It were a good year for fruit,” she explained and leaned over to give him a refill. Her blouse, light blue and with a wider collar than the one she usually wore, fell a bit open. The sight of her naked skin and the subtle rim of her bra that he spotted was too much for him. 

“Obviously…” Suddenly it felt very hot in the kitchen and he fiddled with his tie and his tight collar. 

“Is it too strong for you?” She asked with a chuckle. The question was a challenge - one he couldn’t ignore. 

“Don’t you know me at all?” He returned the question, trying to sound as brash as possible. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. 

“Sometimes I feel I know you too well…” And she did know his every weakness - at least the obvious ones: his big ego, his moods, his forgetfulness to name the more charming vices. He was sure if she knew about his secret desires, his naughty visions or his internal struggle when he looked at her bedroom door after he came home from a late night call, she would probably drown him in her summer brew. 

He picked up his glass and drank more from the wine and the delicious taste took over his whole existence. He watched her as she whirled around her kitchen and mourned profoundly when she slipped into her pinny, covering her magnificent curves in the practical garment. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t allow Carmody to taste it,” Siegfried suggested, pointing at the carafe on the table. 

“Why ever not?” She chuckled. 

“It could… fuel certain… ideas - like a love potion. What’s the name of the land girl that has turned his head?” 

“Doris,” she said. “She’s a nice lass. I think she would be good for him. He needs someone carefree and honest who won’t play games with him.” 

Although he overall agreed with her assessment, he was intrigued. “And what do we need?” 

Pondering over his question she poured herself a second glass of the wine and tilted her head. “Someone gentle…maybe a bit…daring, but not too much.” With a sigh she put down the glass. “What do you think?” 

“Sometimes I wonder if I already have everything I need…,” he mused. 

“I weren’t talking about family,” she said. 

“Me neither.” Feeling bold now that this woman’s summer brew had spread through his veins, he rose. With deliberate steps he closed the distance between them and only stopped when they stood an inch apart. 

“Maybe I am a fool,” he began. “But I think I have to kiss you.” 

“Oh, you are a fool,” she replied with a smile that played around her lips and danced in her eyes. “But I very much want you to kiss me… maybe that makes fools of both of us.” 

As his heart raced with bliss, he thought about all the things they had in common and cupped her face with both of his hands.  

“I don’t think I’m fooling myself when I admit that I’m deeply in love with you.” 

“So kiss me and let’s be fools together,” she whispered and leaned in to receive the kiss she had been waiting for. 

[kiyomitakada]

hi everyone i have just dug up my pitch for death note musical 2: musical boogaloo from the depths of My Drafts. would you like to hear about it. of course you do here it is

kiyomi is the one who gets the death note

in this adaptation i’m making her kill only politicians. why? because fuck you that’s why (and death note musical changed so many of the characters that i think i am justified in this)

mikami, who idolized the former kira, is really mad that there is now a Pretender To The Throne. he has decided to seek this person out no matter what and somehow acquire the power for himself instead, because he will use it Properly

he expresses this opinion to his good friend kiyomi takada over their weekly dinner meeting. kiyomi is normal about it.

near and mello are doing exactly what they were doing in the manga. near did reconstruct L’s whole case even though kira went inactive because he wants to know who killed L. mello is in the mafia still

(there is no watari-equivalent in the original musical so im going to say watari doesn’t exist but roger & the orphan making factory do)

(that could be a great willy wonka variant. Roger Ruvie & The Orphan Making Factory.)

soichiro retired from the police amidst the fallout from the kira investigation. he has not been doing good. sachiko made him enroll in therapy.

sayu, on the other hand, is still desperate to believe that her brother wasn’t kira — that L was kira and went to kill light but not before light shot and killed him in self defense…?

(this is in fact the more reasonable explanation. two people dead, one of gunshot wounds, the other of a heart attack; obviously the one without a heart attack was kira. obviously!)

(for some reason her dad doesn't buy this.)

so anyway she’s a cop now

(we’re allowing a longer timeskip let’s say 10 years)

pause in mourning for sayu becoming a cop

the task force immediately forms again once the new kira appears, since they all really want closure. sayu manages to force her way in as well despite her parents’ fervent pleas for her to Not Do That. the task force mostly treats her as a grieving young girl which drives her insane

the new kira is pressuring the government to support their new reign, like what happened in yotsuba arc, so the task force is unofficial and a secret

a month after the new kira shows up, beloved idol misa amane vanishes

because mello kidnapped her. that’s why. mihael “mello” “serial kidnapper” keehl knew from the records that L tortured her and decided she must be relevant.

musical misa unfortunately is a moeblob so she was genuinely just trying to get on with her life even though she dreams about scattering dust every night

mello figures out from this that light yagami was the primary suspect from the original investigation but realizes pretty quickly she genuinely doesn’t know anything else

this does allow him to zero in on sayu yagami however because the task force’s member list is not obtainable information but the npa personnel list sure is

mello offers to let misa go, obviously under threat to her life if she ever reveals what happened etc., but she decides that actually she wants to know what’s going on as well. her life as an idol is miserable anyway.

…………..that’s all i got for plot im sorry if i start a kickstarter scam will you pay me for more ideas

re: the musical aspect:

sayu and misa both sing solos that very obviously leave space where light is supposed to sing, because i liked that the original musical made them parallels

mikami’s songs are all solos. gospel music backing like with misa’s songs.

near and mello duet constantly but the spotlight is always only on one of them until the finale where near is explaining mello’s plan (sorry yeah mello dies in this i don’t know how but he does) (he’s very killable can you blame me. he inherited it from lawliet), at which point near finally sings simultaneously with an apparition of mello until they reach “together we can surpass—” and near finishes “L.” alone

miscellaneous:

midora’s the one who dropped the death note. in this universe kiyomi got it rather than c-kira

midora has never done something like this before and she heard from ryuk that rem died by getting too close to her human so after a very brief explanation of the rules midora just flies back to the shinigami realm and watches from there. this drives kiyomi up a wall

i really, really want mikami to kill god (ryuk). i think he deserves it. it would be healthy for him.

(no not by making ryuk fall in love. he sets that bastard on fire or something)

the theme of this musical is Succession. kiyomi is facing immense internal pressure to do what the original kira did but she can’t stand having as much blood on her hands. mikami & his god, sayu & light, near/mello & L, so on and so forth

misa is not in the above list because (as in the original musical) she is the exception to the rule

the finale takes place when kiyomi’s hosting the red and white song battle show. for maximum coolness.

misa doing spy things during the rehearsal for kiyomi’s show… breaking into her room… setting cameras…

i don’t know how the politics of this musical are going to turn out to be. in my head kiyomi is extremely politically minded but she’s also a milquetoast liberal. centrist accelerationism and all that. ideally she would get enough power over the current right-wing government that she can enact policies herself and then start slipping back into the exact same right-wing shit. but i have read exactly 0 theory so i don’t know how i would pull this off

reading marx so i can write death note musical 2 musical boogaloo

anyway the first musical kind of didn’t go into any of that (much less than the manga does as far as i remember) so at least there’s no precedent

oh also and this is important. musical!sayu is the kind of vengeful that makes her perfect for being a cop (derogatory). she’s kind of like matsuda. she’s doing this For Light (the way matsuda shot light For Soichiro) not because she actually has any meaningful objection against kira the entity. i’m sure this will be fine.

i feel like i haven’t talked enough about near… i don’t know how much he could glean from the case. there’s no watari around to press the self destruct button but maybe L just didn’t keep notes in the first place.

i think it consumes him though. it’s illogical because the kira case is over and if you can’t win the game you’re nothing but a loser, but also he can’t tell if L won or not and that drives him mad although he’s very outwardly calm about it.

it just occurred to me that if you somehow only know death note through the musical it’d be kind of insane to show up to the sequel musical just to hear “oh yeah by the way there was an unethical orphanage to replace the detective guy from the first musical, obviously, we all know about the unethical orphanage”

[mossyswritingcorner]

Hey yall, this is my first little writing thing I’m posting on tumblr, so please lemme know if you want to see more of this. I really wanted to write abt PV’s Viridescent Daydream AU costume as an x reader(mainly inspired by the art by @pronouns-d-ace and @the-cookie-dragons(my GOATs), might include viripureshadow(probably with a Sage of Truth shadow milk)later on as like a throuple type thing if I’m feeling it). Might be kinda OOC, but this was the vibe I got for Viri PV from his voicelines. And for context, reader is fae PV’s royal advisor. Enjoy :)

Man is absolutely WHIPPED for you

After being hit by the love potion(which I hc to function more like a truth serum that brings hidden feelings to light, for better or worse), Faerie King PV feels mind turn to mush at the sight of you standing there, your iced brows furrowed with concern as he wavers from the dizzying daze rolling over him.

The first few days are the hardest for you both, with every inch of Pure Vanilla’s dough screaming for your warmth, his lifetimes of ruling and duty giving way to the giddy naïveté of a first love until even your voice is enough to make his silver spun wings quiver.

It isn’t long before he’s needily knocking at the door to your quarters under the cover of night, the growing restlessness spurning him on, looking upon you with shining eyes and a quivering lip, like a cakehound pup left out in the rain. From there, he quickly succumbs to word vomiting all the praises and prose and poetry which he drafted and dismissed in love letters he never let you see, professing all his adoration and affections for you. Yet, the sparkle in your iced eyes seems to falter the longer he speaks, shifting from hopeful happiness to strained guilt and pity. Did he say something wrong? Did you not feel the same? Were his words not enough to impress you?

Finding your king at your doorstep in the ungodly hours of the night was strange enough, but the sudden love confession entirely unlike the quietly reserved Pure Vanilla you knew and the pinkened sheen lining the edges of his frosted irises told you everything you feared; Pure Vanilla was under a love potion - none of this was real. His delirious desperation was born of magic alteration, a measly prank surely concocted by one of the teasing faeries of the court to enchant the king, one your heart mistook for truth. Your king couldn’t possibly feel the same way you did for him, the potion was merely confusing him, twisting his obviously platonic feelings into something perfectly primed to crush your soul.

And the worst part is that you knew it was far from malicious, Pure Vanilla was helpless under the force of such magic. In his current state, he’d be stuck spewing these romantic serenades until his own magic managed to painstakingly unwind the stitched spell over his soul - which for a lesser cookie would take years at least, yet the faerie king’s well of magic accumulated over centuries of life would most likely unravel the enchantment in roughly a month.

A month of this torture, which would usually be regarded as a mere drop in the endless ocean of time the fae cookie’s lifespan afforded, but every second your heartstrings were unintentionally teased by Pure Vanilla’s state only served to make the sting of his true indifference lying just underneath ache that much more.

This was not your king, Pure Vanilla cookie, he was a passing fantasy, a fading apparition, a Viridescent Daydream.

And so, you steel yourself with a deep sigh, forcing a fake smile onto your frosted smile, “Let’s get you back to bed, your majesty.”

And with that, his hopeful smile shifts into a petulant pout((not at all helping with how damn cute he looks like that)), “What’s wrong, my dear? Do you not feel the same?” He questions quickly, his hands coming to clasp one of your own in his.

The sudden touch makes your breath stutter, his warm dough pressed against your own while he looks at you with such sweetness, yet you force yourself to slip your hand out from his hold, “You’re not yourself at the moment, your majesty. You’re clearly displaying symptoms of a love potion’s influence, and don’t truly understand what you are telling me. It would be best for you to rest in your chambers until your mind returns to you.”

And witches, the broken look he gives you after your words cuts straight through your dough, “You don’t believe my words are true? My heart sings for you, truly. You must believe me, my dearest, there is no enchantment that could falsify the love I hold for you..”

You tear your eyes away from Pure Vanilla’s display, finding it much harder to still your racing heart, “…I will find the culprits and have them punished accordingly, your majesty, for now, you must return to your chambers.” You reply, trying to change the subject as you retreat from him, which he was having absolutely none of.

“Wait, please! I will prove it to you! You will have faith in my affections, and I don’t care how long it takes. Even if it is just to dismiss me entirely, you will know that I speak only the truth in my jam.”

“Your majesty-“ you begin to interject, but he’s placing his hand on your shoulder and blinking his big, sad eyes at you in a way you could never resist before when he was right of mind.

“Please…I can’t bear to be without you any longer…let me prove it to you…let me stay.”

And with that, you relent, “…I suppose I should keep an eye on you to ensure no more tricks muddle your mind further.” You sigh begrudgingly, opening the door to your room for him to enter, which he does eagerly.

From there, it’s puppy dog adoration and neediness that you never knew the cookie was even capable of.

He’ll sing your praises from sunrise to sunset, and then only halt his words to nestle next to you in bed and drift off to sleep under the cover of moonlight.

He HAS to be touching you in some capacity, be it a hand on your waist, his head on your shoulder, or his knee pressed against your own, and will immediately resort to pouting once you pull away

His hand will twitch with the urge to chase your warmth, but he hesitates to pull you back by his side; he doesn’t want to frighten off his future queen, does he?

He loves you so, his faithful advisor so diligent in caring for the kingdom, and he’s sure you’ll be an absolute blessing ruling by his side, as his wife.

He dreams of silver flowers decorating your icing and a pretty white dress adorning your dough as he takes you as his treasured bride for all of eternity, yet the daydreams are only the illusions of a cookie whose heart is overcome by the empassioned light of love he always dismissed in favor of his kind contenance. Pure Vanilla cookie was a king first and foremost, and he was anything but selfish enough to fawn over you as openly as he wished.

You had stood by his side for years, so many hardships overcome with your aid, and now he couldn’t help the sown seed of his affection for you to blossom in verbal praises and clingy touches. Magic was the only avenue for his true yearnings to be released, and he will continue to fight to make you see his truth, and how essential you were to it.

[arioess]

・┈ ALIEN MATTERS ( prologue )

𖥔 ⁺ . pairing: alien!seonghwa x reader

𖥔 ⁺ . genre: sci-fi, fluff, adventure

𖥔 ⁺ . a/n: hi! it’s my first time writing on here!! i thought it’d be fun to give some more depth to my c.ai characters. i plan to use this platform more often and write more freely in the future. im not confident in my writing though wjejejsd. feel free to interact with this post too, i’d love that! my bot is linked if you wanna check it out. take your time reading, tysm mwah x

𖥔 ⁺ . my bot: https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/zjan3qau

( prologue starts here )

all you could think about was getting home. you’d visited your grandma in the rural part of the state, driving for miles on empty roads with no sign of life.

it was dark, but since you’d left in the morning, you had a few more hours to drive.

you drove on, until...

there, in the middle of the road, stood a figure. a man (?), at first glance. but as the headlights illuminated him more clearly, you saw—he had strange green antennas. you slammed the brakes, stopping abruptly.

he stood facing the car, his head tilted slightly.

"blebp-bloopbloo?" the man spoke in his strange, foreign tongue.

what in the fresh hell...?

you had no idea what the creature was saying—and honestly, you were scared.

okay. obviously, you’re really fucking tired, so here were the options:

A) run it over.

B) cry.

C) scream and ditch your car.

D) confront it.

the pulsing migraine in your skull throbbed harder the longer you considered. so, by pure mental exhaustion, you defaulted to the last option.

yes. you, a severely sleep-deprived human, decided to confront a damn creature that would most likely eat you alive.

this figure wouldn’t move out of the way, so really, you didn’t have a choice.

reluctantly, you got out of the car, but left it running since your headlights were the only source of light.

as you got closer, the figure had pink hair and honey-tanned skin, with decent clothes (?). you’d definitely mistake him for a human if it weren’t for the antennas.

“h-hey, you!” you called out, walking up slowly, trying to seem bold, but even you knew the figure probably sensed that your heart was in your ass.

startled by your sudden approach, he took a step back, looking ready to run. antennas perked up, pulsing once in surprise.

“boobloob!” he exclaimed, his face showing a mix of fear and defiance.

now you felt bad. the man-creature-thing didn’t seem harmful. you lowered your guard slightly.

eventually, you stopped in front of him—probably still several inches away.

the “man” stood his ground, chest puffed out slightly like he was trying to look bigger. his antennas quivered as he watched you carefully, eyes darting around. he spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“bzzz… blooblep?” he said, a hint of pleading in his tone.

it was funny because you were a few inches shorter than him, and he was trying to intimidate you. it was cute…

you spoke up, “i don’t understand what you’re saying.”

he looked at you in confusion, tilting his head again in an almost cute manner. after a pause, he lifted his hand and tapped at a strange accessory on his wrist.

“blorp…” he mumbled, eyes flicking between the device and your face, clearly trying to get a point across.

“what’s that..?” you muttered, squinting at the bracelet.

as you leaned closer to examine it, he spoke again, tone eager.

“blorp… blip-bleep,” the alien motioned toward the bracelet, trying once again to help you understand.

your migraine wasn’t making this easier. you stepped a little closer, now within arm’s reach.

you could finally see him more clearly. his silver-grey eyes were wide and expressive, framed by long dark lashes. that tanned complexion was flawless, almost doll-like in its smoothness. a pair of thick brows framed his gaze, and faint freckles were scattered across the bridge of his nose.

he seemed to notice your stare, face warming up slightly. the tips of his antennas twitched, an involuntary reaction. clearly, the attraction wasn’t one-sided. still, he kept gesturing to the bracelet, focused.

you glanced at the device again. then it clicked. maybe you were supposed to touch it.

he lifted it gently, pointing at the etched symbols that glowed faintly. then, he pointed to himself.

“bzzzblorp…?” he said, watching your face closely.

your hand hovered with hesitance, then touched it.

the bracelet pulsed lightly under your fingertips, its glow brightening just a bit. that seemed to encourage him.

“bzzblep-bloop…” the stranger said softly, guiding your hand to rest fully on the device.

you flinched, but left it there.

“can you understand me now?” you asked, watching him closely.

his eyes widened. something in your voice must’ve made sense to him. he nodded quickly, and a flicker of understanding lit up his face. he spoke, hesitant but hopeful.

“you… you human talk. you understand me?” he asked. his accent was thick, but the bracelet had clearly started working.

you nearly passed out. this couldn’t be real.

“y-yes, i do.”

a wave of relief washed over him. he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. when he spoke again, his voice was steadier.

“you… you understand me…” he repeated, still dazed.

you finally asked what had been on your mind: “now why are you blocking the road?!” it came out sharper than intended.

the alien winced slightly, taking a step back, but didn’t flee. he steadied himself, then answered slowly.

“i… i crash here. ufo broken.”

his tone turned a little sad. he gestured behind him. you followed his motion to the trees, where a faint trail of smoke rose from a crumpled mess of metal just beyond the brush.

should you check it out… or ditch him?

the choice is yours.

[zosanniz]

Hiiii Dee, I wanted to ask if you could write Zoro, Shanks, Crocodile and Katakuri x gn reader, where the character is having a reeeeeally bad, terrible, not good week and the reader comforts them and is soft and sweet with them until they feel better. Thank you lots!!!!!!

Erm .. spoilers for cross guild in crocs part. Croc might also be kinda ooc ?

From start to finish, this week was an absolute disaster for poor Zoro. Whatever curse was put upon him, he wanted gone. It has taken its toll, and by the time it hit Friday he was beyond exhausted, having no patience for Sanji, Usopp, and Luffy’s usual bullshit. It was plain as day, seeing the veins on his temples, and even on his arms, pulsing and bulging. You knew you had to do something, this poor man had rage building inside of him.

Normally he’d let it out on Sanji and then he was fine, calm once more. But you could tell that really wasn’t helping and pissing him off more. And well, he does have the habit of drinking away his feelings, it’s feels good in the moment but only makes the problem persist and fester, waiting for the day he’ll either address it or die from liver failure.

But you know how your boyfriend is, and you know he’s not gonna just talk about whatever happened this week that’s bothering him so much. Knowing him, it’s probably everything. It’s not like him to get this worked up, after all.

So you make him sit down and give him a massage! You figure it’s the best way for him to unwind and maybe let out a shred of vulnerability like any normal human being. Which is not something he is a fan of doing. He immediately rejects your idea, claiming he’s fine. Not that you believe that, and he knows you don’t believe that. So he just lets you have your way, and sits grumpily with his arms crossed as you start massaging his shoulders.

You massage his shoulders, then to his upper back. This seems to melt away some of his stress, but the moment you gently message his temples, he finally lets out a sigh. You don’t tease him, or comment on how he obviously has a pounding headache because he’s been drinking like a mad man all week. You watch him close his eyes, and finally unwind.

You know he may not open up till later tonight, but seeing him finally relax is all you really need.

Shanks is not having the best week, which was a rarity. Well, maybe other people would consider many of shanks’s weeks terrible but he’s a bit too light hearted to really sweat the small things. So he really doesn’t get too upset about things often enough.

That being said Shanks doesn’t pick fights with pirates unless he feels it’s really necessary. Theres too many things, too many people at risk, for him to go around picking fights for no reason. It would be irresponsible of him to not consider the people he cares about around him that could get caught in the crossfire.

And sure, he’s got good haki to predict that for him, but Shanks cares about you too much to even consider taking the risk. He just gets too anxious about that sorta thing even if logically it’ll be fine. Beckman and Yassop certainly tease him for being so overprotective, but he really can’t help himself.

That being said, he’s had to deal with blatant disrespect all week from these shitty, nobody pirates in town. Did they have a death wish? Were they so overconfident they could defeat Shanks because he hasn’t done anything to intimidate them, coming across as friendly, despite the burning rage in him?

It really doesn’t help his first mate and Yassop have been totally teasing the hell out of him for his obvious jealousy. These men, these pirates, have been flirting with you all week, right in front of him. Spilling drinks all over him, purposefully. Claiming they could do better than him, treat you better, that they’re far more serious than him. Even insisting you were just some toy for shanks till the next cutie comes around.

You didn’t take it seriously, you know how Shanks feels for you. Still, he’s pissed at the suggestion he doesn’t absolutely adore every inch of you. That he wouldn’t burn the entire world just to see you smile. Shanks would put up with the most humiliating crap just to have your eyes on him.

You fell for Shanks for his kindness. NOT because he’s some ruthless pirate. Yes, he’s a pirate. An emperor of the sea, but he is not willing to resort to violence unless it’s needed. And he certainly won’t do it if it means losing your respect. So shanks deals with it for awhile. The crew needs supplies, and a place to hang around for a bit.

This week has been god awful, and you’ve started to notice he hasn’t really been drinking and having fun like usual. You didn’t comment on it, knowing Shanks usually came to you to vent if something (on the rare occasion) really bothered him. But he never did due to his own embarrassment on the situation.

You assumed he didn’t like the pirates here, and that’s probably why. But you didn’t fully connect the dots as to why he didn’t like them.

But finally the crew was leaving this village, and Shanks has never been more relieved in his life by it. Laying in your shared bed that night, he doesn’t tell you what’s up, just wraps an arm around you with an adorable pouty look on his face.

You just sign with a smile, tucking some hair behind his ear. Gentle hands cupping his cheeks, kissing his forehead.

“Pamper me.” Shanks mumbles, closing his eyes.

And who are you to deny him?

Your husband was a man of mystery for as long as you’ve known him. He was not a man that likes opening up about deeper emotions and perhaps that speaks to his own personal traumas. You’ve never tried to pry. It’s less about a lack of trust, and more about a lack of wanting to think about it, or talk about it. For so long he’s considered emotions a waste of time and a hinderance. Something that holds him back from becoming as great as he can be.

He makes an exception for you, of course. Like a snake you have snuck into his heart when you were supposed to simply be an accomplice and nothing more. He just doesn’t have it in him to stab you and get it over with, so he keeps you around. Allowing his aching feelings to grow worse. Even with a ring on his finger he refuses to tell you, but he will express it through gift giving and pet names.

Along with his inability to tell you he loves you like an emotionally constipated 14 year old boy, he also has a hard time telling you when he’s angry with you. Good thing that never happens. He might tell others he’s “disappointed” in them, or perhaps he’ll even state they’re pissing him off, but it’s not expressed in a traditional manner. And he has a harder time expressing that with you because he does love you, and he doesn’t wanna actually intimidate you or anything. With others that doesn’t really matter, but you’re different.

So telling you he’s had a long ass, frustrating week, was hard to relay. Crocodile is a man that’s well put together, but the body language speaks volumes. Buggy can be an insufferable prick sometimes, in his early opinion. And he was about ready to kill him outright.

He thinks maybe a long shower and a day off tomorrow might help, but he’s still incredibly tense.

Crocodile isn’t sure how he ended up with a partner so sweet it makes him sick to his stomach, but here he is…

He groans quietly once he’s fully dressed, seeing you in front of him with sparkles in your eyes. And hearts floating around your head like a lovesick idiot.

He rolls his eyes, turning his head so you can’t see the affectionate smile that tugs on his lips at the sheer sight of you after a long day. “The hell you so happy about?”

The tension from this week, is gone.

You always make things so frustratingly easy.

Katakuri always tries to be so tough for everyone, you included. But at the end of the day you’re one of the only people he would allow to see him at his most vulnerable. Still, he’s your husband and he has a personal duty to keep you safe, happy, and healthy. You don’t need to be worrying for him. Especially over something as silly as a bad week. If he couldn’t handle something so minuscule, he wouldn’t be the son of Linlin, would he?

Katakuri clenches his eyes shut. Dammit. You told him to stop doing that. Treating his problems like they’re small. Like they don’t matter. You get really upset when he does that, but old habits die hard.

Brûlée looks at her brother with barely masked concern, letting out an exasperated sigh with a roll of her eyes. The action makes Katakuri slowly glance at his sister. To which she says, back turned to him as she leaves, “couples should be honest with one another..”

He knows she’s right. As much as he doesn’t like to admit that. You’ve always been honest, vulnerable, with him.

So later that day you lie in his rather large bed together as you feed him donuts with a comforting smile, as if you already knew something was bothering him all week.

“I’m sorry,” Katakuri murmured, but you just shake your head and smile. “No need, wanna talk about it?”

“If you don’t mind.” Katakuri murmured. You make it sound so easy, though.

“I just..” Katakuri slowly muttered, “I feel like people have this perception of me.” Katakuri says, and you slowly nod to indicate you’re listening to him. “That’s my doing, of course..” Katakuri says, “but I feel like I constantly need to be that pedestal people put me on, my own family put me on, and it’s tiring.” Katakuri spoke. “If I had the choice, I’d always choose this outcome. After all, it’s made me stronger and I’ve been able to protect the people I love..” Katakuri sighs..

“It’s just that if I ever show any sign of weakness, even to those that supposedly care for me, well, they no longer do.” Katakuri slowly says.

You have a feeling that might be just a byproduct of how his mother has raised them all. Her love for them is very conditional. But that’s not something you say. You know that’s not just something your husband will accept. Maybe one day down the line but, you don’t expect that to happen for a long time. And you’re not sure what telling him that would do, or fix.

You cup his cheek, which feels large in your considerably smaller hand. “Well, no matter what, I’m always here.” You say. You feel like your words are small, barely comforting. But for a man that isn’t used to unconditional love, even when he’s weak and uncool, means everything to him.

He closes his eyes.

“Thank you, my dear.”