#this is like..... a fraction of a fraction of a second

[rorysverse]

sweatshirt

pairing: jack abbot x gn!reader summary: you fall asleep during a shift and jack watches over you word count: 1.1k tags: soft moments , mutual pining a/n: for those of us who think long looks are the equivalent of sex scenes

Jack finds you on accident. At least, that’s what he’ll claim later. Truth is, he’s been pacing. The trauma team cleared out. The surgery board’s empty. And the only thing Jack has to show for the last three hours is a splintered coffee stirrer and a half-written report that makes no damn sense. Somewhere along the way, he misplaces a patient chart - again. He knows it’s somewhere nearby. He just doesn’t care enough to keep looking.

But when he walks past the half-ajar door of the back supply room, he slows. The lights are off, except for the faint lamp someone forgot to shut down. It's barely enough to see by, but he steps in anyway, boots quiet against the tile.

And then he sees you.

You’re curled on your side, tangled in a mess of fabric and fatigue, one cheek pressed to a scrub pack like it’s a pillow. Your arms are pulled close, one knee bent toward your chest. You’re still in your work uniform - smeared with blood (someone else's, hopefully), sweat, and coffee.

Jack pauses. He doesn't speak. Doesn't even breathe for a second.

There’s something about the quiet of you. Something that catches him off guard. He sees people unconscious every day, but not like this. Not peaceful. Not soft. Not someone like you, who’s usually all sharp reflexes and half-joked sarcasm and kind eyes even when things are falling apart.

Jack moves closer before he realizes he’s doing it. He kneels beside you. His hand hovers for a moment, fingers twitching like he’s going to brush your hair back from your face - but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands again and shrugs out of his hoodie. It’s old. Worn soft from too many on-calls and late nights. The cuffs are stretched, and the front pocket has a faint tear near the seam. He drapes it carefully over your body, making sure it covers your arms, your shoulders, your curled-up knees.

You don’t wake. So, he pulls over a chair. Sits, and stays.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

You wake to warmth. A quiet kind of warmth - not sun, not heat - but something softer. Familiar. You shift and blink slowly, vision swimming as the hazy edges of the room come into focus. You sit up, sluggish and confused, and the hoodie slinks off your body like second skin. It smells like soap and eucalyptus and coffee. A little like hospitals, and a lot like someone you’ve stood too close to too many times without admitting how it made you feel.

Jack.

He’s sitting nearby in a scuffed rolling chair, legs stretched out, a manila chart folder open in his lap. He’s reading something under the lamp’s glow, his expression pinched in concentration. There’s a smear of ink on his knuckle and a shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.

You clear your throat, the sound low and scratchy in the quiet.

Jack looks up immediately. Like he’d been waiting for you to say something. Like maybe he'd been listening for your breathing to change, for your lashes to flutter, for any sign that you'd wake up and he could stop pretending to read that damn chart.

“You drool in your sleep,” he says, deadpan.

You blink, still heavy-limbed and swimming in the warmth of his hoodie. “Excuse me?”

He shuts the folder with a soft snap and leans back in his chair like this is the most casual conversation you’ve ever had. Like he hasn’t been sitting in silence with you for… what, an hour? Two?

“Figured I should tell you before the entire surgical team finds out,” he adds. “Get ahead of the scandal.”

You squint at him, then swipe the sleeve of his hoodie across your mouth instinctively. “I do not drool.”

“Floor begs to differ.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Barely. A fraction of a smile that dies before it can settle on his face.

You lean back against the wall, sighing out a laugh that sounds more like relief. “What time is it?”

“Close to five.”

You grimace and push a hand through your hair, fingers snagging on dried sweat and tangled strands. “Shit. I was supposed to help Eli restock the med closet.”

Jack lifts one shoulder in a shrug, but there’s something deliberately casual in the motion. Like he's downplaying something he absolutely did not downplay at the time. “Handled.”

You frown. “You restocked?”

“I supervised.”

“You hate inventory,” you say, voice full of disbelief.

Jack turns his face away slightly, toward the lamp, like the glow makes it easier to avoid looking at you straight on.

“Didn’t want you waking up just to fall over again.”

It lands heavier than you expect. The words aren’t playful. They aren’t sarcastic. They’re… honest. Your heart stutters once. You try to hide it by shifting in your seat, adjusting the hoodie around your shoulders.

You look at him a second longer than you mean to. He’s tired. You can see it in the way he’s slouched in the chair, the lines at the corners of his eyes, the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But he’s watching you now - not impatient, not judgmental. Just… watching. Like he’s memorizing this moment. Like he doesn’t want to forget how you look in his hoodie, rumpled and soft in the middle of a world that demands steel and fire.

“You didn’t have to,” you murmur.

“I know.”

You could leave it there. But you don’t.

“You didn’t have to stay, either.”

Jack exhales, long and quiet. Then he lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck. You watch the motion, the stretch of tendons in his arm, the way his jaw ticks when he doesn’t speak right away.

Finally: “Didn’t seem right, leaving you alone like that.”

You feel something crawl into your throat - unspoken and delicate and stupidly hopeful. Something that tastes like I care. Like stay. Like I notice you even when no one else does. You swallow it down before it shows on your face.

Jack stands slowly, rolling his neck until it pops. You watch him - every line of tension, every unspoken thing left hanging between you.

“Come on,” he says, voice rough with fatigue. “Coffee’s probably drinkable by now.”

And when he turns to leave, he doesn’t look back. But he doesn’t walk fast either. He leaves space beside him. Just enough for you to follow.

“You sleep okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

He doesn’t answer. But when you pass him your coffee a few minutes later - too sweet, barely warm - he takes a sip without complaint. And when you hand him back his hoodie, he shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next time you wear it, it’s two weeks later. Graveyard shift again. You’re dead on your feet, and Jack’s yelling at someone over a misfiled toxicology screen. But when he sees you walk past wearing his hoodie, he shuts up mid-sentence. He doesn’t say anything. But his expression softens.

[alwaysanangelneverag0d]

Everything starts here

based off this prompt(thank u anon)

masterlist

a/n:sorry this is late y’all my life got crazy busy and extremely stressful i had no free time to sit down and write:(.THIS IS FREAKY AF THO).Might be some mistakes as well,didn’t do a huge proof read

content:Fluff then straight FILTH,sub!pxdom!a,mommy kink(i’m ovulating),fingering,oral sex,scissoring,faceriding,choking,spitting,edging,overstimulation,hair pulling..i think that’s it if i missed anything lmk

Wc:8.0k

————————————————————————-

Paige Bueckers might have been the luckiest woman on earth.

Not because of the cameras flashing in her direction.

No it’s because she was here—on Azzi’s night—as her girlfriend.

Draft night. The accumulation of Azzi’s hard work. Her blood,sweat,tears and damn near everything else. Paige had watched her grind for this moment with a quiet intensity few people understood—and now the payoff was soon to come. The Valkyries had the number one pick.And everyone knew who’s name they were calling

And Paige?Well..she looked great tonight. But more importantly she looked like she belonged next to greatness.

Brittany had chosen a simple sleek suit for Paige. Deep navy with cream piping at the edges,the kind that whispered power-it had been tailored to frame her shoulders,nipped in at the waist as if it had been perfectly made for her. The jacket produced a slight shine under the lights,just enough to catch the eye,but not enough to outshine Azzi.

She’d skipped the tie as Brittany suggested. Too stiff. Instead,she left the first two buttons of her shirt undone. Not enough to be obvious but enough to relax,just enough to make Azzi look twice. Her pants were cropped a fraction above her ankles—hugging her hips without clinging. The matte black Louis Vuitton loafers were her silent flex—not that Paige cared about labels,but damn..they made her walk different.

She decided to keep her hair in a classic slickback bun. Nothing too complex. Just simple. It was Azzi’s night

Her jewelry was another story though.

She had chosen small gold hoops—light,flashy,and clean.

She wore two rings. On her index finger sat another promise ring she and Azzi had picked out together—small but heavy with meaning. A 14k gold band with a slim row of topaz—Azzi’s birthstone—resting flush against metal as if it had always belonged there. She hadn’t taken it off since the day they bought them.

The second ring chosen by Brittany weeks before—minimalist perfection .A plain,gold band brushed with titanium. It was bare except for the words engraved on the inside proof not promise

And lastly the necklace.

The silver chain rested beneath her collar,barely visible unless you looked for it. But Azzi would look. The silver chain sat right over her neck—the same one azzi had given to her as a “good luck charm” the summer before her first year in college. Paige had never stopped wearing it outside of basketball. Not really. Not when she left for Connecticut. Not when they were trying to pretend they were just friends who occasionally slept together. And especially not now,on the night Azzi was finally stepping foot into the league.

She’d seen glimpses here and there of Azzi’s outfit in the group chat they shared. A cream coloured dress meant to match the dark navy of Paige's suit

When she opened the door to the room,She saw Azzi before Azzi saw her—Posing for photos as they were taken by the photographer in the lit room.

Which was good—-hell maybe even necessary. Because if Azzi had looked at her in that moment,Paige knew she would’ve cracked. Right there on the carpeted floor,cameras lingering in the room,the chaos of getting draft ready humming around them—Paige would’ve folded under the weight of her. Probably would have crossed the room and kissed her so passionately that it would make even the most hopeless romantic gag.

Azzi’s dress was cream.

Not exactly stark white. But soft and warm like sunlit silk. It wrapped around her frame in a way that made Paige forget her own name for a mere second. The dress gave her power and presence,but everything else about it was quiet yet deliberate—cinched at the waist ,fabric catching just enough light to glow like it was lit from within. The hem of the dress hit midcalf. Showing just enough skin to make Paige choke on a breath—caramel skin contrasting the color in a way that made her want to do things she couldn’t do in public. And the gold button accents down one side? Yeah. The image was gonna live rent free in her mind for a long,long time.

She wasn’t covered in jewelry—simplicity had always been her style. Just a pair of gold droop earrings that danced when she moved,and a matching cuff around one wrist. Minimal. But elegant. Deadly to paige

She turned slightly adjusting her clutch,and Paige caught a glimpse of her back—defined yet soft muscle dipped clean down her spine. Paige’s jaw tightened. She stared

God how was this the same girl she used to watch fall asleep on her shoulder with a hoodie over her face?

She looked grown.

She looked like everything Paige had spent years trying to not want loudly.

Like a woman who was born to play in the league.

Like the kind of woman you rewatched interviews of time and time again—-just to hear her voice.

Like everything Paige used to dream about when they were stuck between almost and never.

The moment she had dreamed about since she and Azzi were on the same team in a U16 tournament. It was here.

And then Azzi turned fully—as if she sensed Paige watching. Looked past the assistants smoothing down the hem of her dress

And she smiled

Soft—almost shy.

But Paige caught it—the real one,the smile only reserved for just her. She thought she couldn’t fall even more in love then she already was—but in that moment she did.

Azzi made her way towards Paige ,heels clicking softly against carpet. Her smile grew,Paige’s chest tightened at the sight. She took in a moment to admire Azzi’s hair for the night.

Azzi had worn it down—long stunning goddess braids cascading over her shoulders and down her back like ink poured in slow motion. The braids framed her face like a halo,highlighting the sharp line of her cheekbones,the softness of her lips,the strength of her jaw.

Paige’s knees suddenly felt weaker than they ever have.

She had seen Azzi sweaty in a practice shirt,bare faced and sleepy on long flights,laughing in oversized t-shirts over FaceTime. Even seen her with the same hairstyle. But she had never seen her like this—elevated,radiant,ethereal.

There was power in it. In the way Azzi wore her beauty through pride.

And yet she still looked at Paige like she was the one who hung the stars.

She nearly forgot how to breathe.

“You clean up nice Bueckers”Azzi whispered when she neared close enough for her to hear it,eyes flicking down to the navy suit Paige wore,the undone buttons,the chain peaking out of the collar.

Paige gave her a slow once over in return—not caring who was watching “You think so?”

Azzi smirked”You wore that suit on purpose” her voice was soft—but it carried an undertone that was only shared in moments of lust.

“I wore it just for you.”

Then Azzi moved

She stepped forward slowly and slid her arms around Paige’s neck-not rushed, just real,as if it was second nature. Her fingertips grazed the hair along Paige’s nape,warm and soft,then settled there.

The press of her body was grounding. Paige froze for half a second—like she was 17 again and Azzi Fudd had just wrapped her arms around her. Then instincts kicked in and her hands moved towards Azzi’s waist,settling just above the curve of her ass. Fingers brushing the edge of the dress where fabric met skin.

She felt the rise and fall of Azzi’s chest.

In that moment everything else disappeared. The makeup artists kept moving in the background. The camera clicked with a shutter again. Brittany murmured something to Azzi’s assistant. But Paige heard none of it.

Azzi was close enough now that her breath was right over her ear,light and steady. Her cheek lightly brushed Paige’s temple—and Paige closed her eyes at the familiar sensation. The scent of her,the way her nails lightly pressed at the back of her neck like she needed to be touching her there.

“Are you trying to kill me before the draft even starts?”Paige whispered— loud enough for only the two of them to pick up on.

She felt Azzi’s lips curve against her skin.

“No,I’m trying to make sure you remember what’s waiting for you after this.”

Paige squeezed her waist tightly at this,letting her thumbs rub along the exposed skin on her back.

She leaned in and whispered with a low sultry tone

“If you keep talking like that…”She paused her voice dragging with heat “I’ma make you regret wearing something I can’t rip clean off.”

She felt Azzi’s breath hitch at this,nails pressing hard into the pale skin of her neck.

They stood in silence after that longer than they should've.Long enough for a makeup artist to clear their throat.But neither of them pulled away quite yet.Azzi leaned back far enough to look her in the eyes

“I’d say we look pretty coordinated tonight” she said softly, fingers still brushing the skin of Paige’s neck.

“We do” she paused”Brittany did her thing”

Azzi just gave her a smile—dimples on full display.

Azzi sighed “I would kiss you right now if it didn’t smudge my lipstick.”

Paige just laughed at this “Lipstick can always be reapplied ma” she moved a hand towards Azzi’s face,cupping her cheek bone “Come here.”

Azzi unwrapped her arms around Paige’s neck and shoved her playfully

“I had to sit in that chair for hours getting this done no way im letting you mess it up”

Paige groaned mumbling under her breath “I’ve been banned from kissing..what kind of girlfriend would so such a cruel thing”

Azzi just rolled her eyes at this and grabbed Paige’s arm

“Let’s get our photos taken together before someone drags us over there”

And Paige just followed behind her.Eyes lingering maybe a little too long on the curve of Azzi’s ass

Yeah.She was definitely the luckiest woman on earth.

————————————————————————

She was seated at Azzi’s draft table,tucked between her parents and Geno,half—listening to Tim chat about the upcoming WNBA season.Paige nodded at the right moments ,but her eyes kept drifting—drawn like a magnet to the woman beside her.

Azzi sat nearly still,but Paige caught the way her teeth tugged anxiously at the soft skin of her bottom lip.

Without a word Paige slipped her hand under the table,resting it gently on Azzi’s upper thigh.She squeezed

Without a word Paoge slipped her hand under the table,resting it gently on Azzi’s upper thigh.She squeezed

Azzi didn’t speak just t turned her head and gave her that look.

The one that made Paige feel like her chest would split open from how much love it was holding.The one she’d spend the rest of her life chasing.No cameras.Just Azzi and those eyes,full of everything they’d survived to get to this point.

Then the commissioner stepped up to the mic.The entire arena hushed as she greeted the crowd.

Paige didn’t look at the stage.She just looked at Azzi.

“With the number one pick in the WNBA draft” the commissioners voice echoed off the walls. “The Golden State Valkyries select…Azzi Fudd, University of Connecticut"

A wave of cheers and applause broke out.Accompanied by the shuttering of cameras.The sounds felt distant to Paige like she was underwater

Azzi rose slowly from her seat,braids slipping back over her shoulders as she stood.

And them,without hesitation she turned to Paige first

She didn’t think.Just wrapped her arms around her tightly and held on.

Azzi’s arms wove tightly around her back.Paige felt the silk dress against her chest,the slight tremble of Azzi’s breath,the heat of the skin where her hand met her bare back.For a second nothing else mattered but them.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Paige whispered into her ear

Azzi didn’t say anything, just nodded into her shoulder,silent but soft.

Then she turned to hug Tim,Katie,then Geno—who was definitely crying,and definitely getting teased for it later.

And then was walking towards the stage.

Paige sat down and watched as Azzi took the crisp Valkyries jersey with her name in bold print—holding it with the quiet grace she always carried.The quiet grace Paige had fallen in love with the moment they met.The crowd roared and Azzi smiled—wide,with those dimples anyone could fall in love with.

Paige had to bite the inside of her cheek hard—-almost enough to draw blood.

Because at that moment?

She wanted to run up there.She wanted to kiss her stupid.She wanted to press her forhead to Azzi’s head and tell her how much she deserved this,how much she earned this.She wanted to rewind every second of this night just to feel it again.

Instead she just sat perfectly still.Eyes burning with tears

She had dreamed of this night more than her own.Dreamed of watching the woman she loved—after injury,after doubt ,after the world kept asking if she would come back—finally step into the light that was meant for her.

She was sure she had never felt more proud in her life

Azzi Fudd.Number one pick

The love of her life.

Her Valk.

——————————————————————-

A week later Azzi had been invited to a private tour of the Valkyries Facility.She had insisted Paige accompany her.Even though Paige would soon be an opponent.She still wanted her moral support to steady her nerves(which she would never tell Paige was the reason).

The Valkyries facility was pristene—new wood,new glass,new history waiting to be made.Azzi tried to act unphased as she walked through the wide double doors,but her chest was tight with nerves she hadn’t expected.The last few days had been a blur—the draft,press,fittings,cameras,and now here she was,officially part of the W.

She glanced beside her as Paige followed her in,sunglasses tucked into her collar, a relaxed half smirk on her face like she owned the place,even though it wasn’t her team’s practice court.

“You’re not gonna like it too much right?” Azzi teased under her breath.”I still have to play against you.”

Paige just grinned “Im just here to be a supportive girlfriend.Totally neutral”

Azzi gave her a look

“Fine” Paige added.”I’ll clap quietly when you get you in a shot.Maybe”.

They didn’t get much further before a familiar voice called out from across the hallway.

“Well,well,well.Look who brought her ex-teamate-slash rival to work”

Azzi turned to see Kate Martin Jogging over, a wide grin stretched across her face.Tiffany Hayes and Veronica Burton weren’t far behind,looking equally amused

“I didn’t bring a rival” Azzi said,trying to steady her voice.

Tiffany raised an eyebrow “That looks like Paige Bueckers to me.Pretty sure she cooked us last season”

“She had 24” Kate added,helpful yet annoying”We lost in OT”

Azzi groaned

“She’s not here to spy” she said “She’s here for moral support.And i wanted her to see the facility.”

“Mhmmm” Tiffany said,eyeing Paige”And how moral is that support,exactly?”

Paige stepped forward,hand on Azzi’s hip,a spark of mischief bouncing in her eyes”You know i offered to keep it professional.But someone begged me to come”

Azzi shot her a glare “I did not beg.”

She’s not here to spy” she said “She’s here for moral support.And i want her to see the facility.”

Kate whistled”Damn its like that”

Azzi just shook her head in annoyance

Veronica nudged her “They’re just saying—bold move bringing in your former backcourt partner info enemy territory.Not sure Coach would approve”

“I already cleared it” Azzi said and turned,starting down towards another hallway”Tours happening anyways.If anyone wants to act normal for 5 minutes”

Behind her Veronica whispered loud enough for everyone to hear,”Act normal?Girl that was us being polite”

Paige laughed,low and pleased,jogging to catch up with her agitated girlfriend.

“I think they already love you” she said as she fell into stride with Azzi.

“I don’t know.They seemed kind of standoffish” Azzi muttered,biting her lip.

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly “They were teasing.Everyone loves you” She paused smiling “Though no way they will love you as much as I do”

Azzi laughed,mumbling a returned I love you.She reached over enclosing her hand in Paige’s

It was a new court.A new team.

Yet Paige still felt like her home

——————————————————————

Paige hated to admit it but the Valks facility was immaculate.High ceilings,sleek floors—a clear sign of a new building.Azzi was practically glowing as she walked through it all—the hardwood court stretching beneath her feet,the rafters where banners filled with accomplishments would be hung in the future.Watched as she introduced herself to team staff—a nervous smile tugging at her lips.

Paige stood a little to the side,on the edge of these moments,trying her best to not look too obvious.But she couldn’t help it.Azzi was radiant,her energy infected as she toured the facility like it was made for her.She’d always been so calm,so composed on the court,but in this moment,in this space—her new space—she looked giddy.

Paige’s eyes traced every movement,every flicker of excitement on her face.When Azzi reached the locker room,she ran her fingers over the new locked with her name embroidered on it,the plaque catching the light.Azzi’s fingers lingered for a moment,brushing across the surface, like she couldn’t believe it was real.Paige had seen her confident,focused,driven, and excited.But now she was amazed…She was seeing it,living it,all for the first time.

Azzi grinned at the nameplate shaking her head slightly,”This is crazy” she whispered to herself,but Paige caught it—and something in her chest swelled. Azzi was so genuine in this moment.So unguarded.Her excitement was as bright as her smile,and Paige was lost in it.

When Azzi turned and caught Paige looking she blinked for a second—as if she had just realized Paige was watching her.There was no embarrassment,no hesitation,it felt for a second like the whole room disappeared.The way her lips parted, just enough to speak.The way her eyes softened,in the the way they only did when she looked at Paige.

“You okay baby?” Azzi asked,the spark still in her eyes,her voice still laced with excitement.

Paige swallowed,forcing herself to breathe again.”Yeah” she said,but a tear escaped the corner of her eye

Her emotions were a traitor

“Im just so fucking proud of you” she choked

Azzi’s smile widened,and her heart skipped a beat,smiling knowing she was this loved.

“Thanks P” she said softly,eyes never leaving Paige “It still feels like a dream.”

Paige’s chest tightened,as she looked at Azzi standing there,so full of life,so full of hope in this moment.Her heart was full of something that somehow felt stronger then love,it almost hurt.

Azzi turned back to the locker for a minute,then shot a look over her shoulder,meeting Paige’s gaze again.”I’m just…I never thought I'd be here.You know?After everything.”

Paige didn’t say anything for a couple seconds,too caught up in the rawness. of it all,but she shook her head,her smile softening

“I know” she said quietly”I know exactly how you feel”

Azzi smiled—turning back in the direction of the court she would soon call hers.”I can’t wait to get out there”

Paige didn’t move.She didn’t need to.Just watched,her heart swelled with something so deep and soft for Azzi that it made everything else blur.

It was the same feeling Paige had when they were together,back at UConn .But here in this moment,Paige bathed in it—Azzi was living her dream right here,and it was something Paige would never grow tired of watching.

Azzi walked back towards her new home court with that same quiet confidence,but there was something different about her today.She was more than just a rookie.She was home.And Paige standing in the background,was once again reminded that she was already in love with the way Azzi moved through the world,the way she embraced her victories,no matter how small.And Paige vowed in that moment to be there for every single victory—always watching in awe.Proud.Always in Azzi’s corner

——————————————————————

A few weeks later,Azzi found herself in the depply cursed ritual known as moving.

Boxes were stacked like a skyline around her brand new apartment,the scent of fresh paint still lingering in the air.Sweat clung to her temple,her hair hung low and clinging to her back in the effort.She’d forgotten how much she loathed this process.The hauling.The lifting.The chaos of unpacking cardboard.

Good thing she had a tall,annoyingly helpful hot blonde girlfriend who made a sport out of it.

“Bet you wish you had guns like these” Paige teased,attempting to lift a heavy box with one arm like she was in a strongman competition.Her biceps flexed under the strain,and she flashed Azzi that cocky smile—the one that always walked the fine line between charming and maddening.

Azzi raised an eyebrow,failing to bite back the smile at her lips.”Less flexing,more unpacking,Captain Biceps”

The taller girl chuckled,clearly undeterred and shot her a wink.”The sooner we finish the sooner we can break in your new bed.”

Azzi rolled her eyes,turning away so Paige wouldn’t catch the way her cheeks flushed—embarrassed that a groan worthy line was so effective.

They settled into a silent rhythm,the kind that came with knowing each other for years,Unpacking turned into a simple waltz of lifting,folding,and tossing memories into new places.Occasionally they’d bump hips,exhange a heavy glance, and maybe sneak a few makeout sessions during breaks that were definitely longer then necessary.

At one point Azzi left to grab her water bottle from the kitchen.But when she returned to the living room and caught sight of Paige her knees buckled.

Paige had peeled off her white t-shirt and slipped on the brand new Valkyries jersey Azzi had intended on giving her.It hung on her frame,brushing the tops of her black corduroy shorts.She stood in the middle of the room doing a dramatic pose in front of the mirror they left propped against the wall,flexing again.This time in Valkyries purple

Azzi froze,throat dry.Paige glanced up at the sound of her footstep,grinning like a fool.

What ya think princess” Paige paused,spinning on socked feet “Purples my colour huh”

Azzi rolled her eyes “Wearing the opposition's colors is a bold move. Even for you.”

Paige just laughed and closed the distance between them,wrapping her arms low above Azzi’s waist.Her hands—predictably,found Azzi’s ass,and Azzi didn’t even bother swatting them away this time.Instead she braced herself against Paige’s solid bicep,her fingers digging into the muscle with intent.

“You like me wearing your jersey baby?” Paige whispered,her tone suddenly gone of playfulness.

“ Does it make you wet?”.Azzi nearly collapsed at this.She didn’t answer,just grabbed Paige’s face aggressively before smashing their lips together.The kiss started off slowly at first,molten and unhurried —-as if their mouths had forgotten they weren’t starving.But it quickly grew heated as her tongue forced its way past Paige’s lips.She couldn't help but let out a moan,moving her hands to grip Paige's skin under the fabric of the jersey.

Paige broke the kiss and moved towards Azzi’s neck,lips biting into caramel skin—-then tracing gentle strokes of her tongue to contrast the harshness.Azzi surrendered to the sensation a breathless moan of Paige’s name leaving her lips.

Paige grinned against her skin.In that moment clarity struck Azzi.Tonight she wanted to be in charge

With sudden strength Azzi grabbed Paige’s bun and tugged hard,pulling her girlfriend’s mouth away from her neck.Paige whimpered but quickly shifted gears,her voice dropping into a low tone

“C’mon mama,quit playing.Let me take care of you” she whined,gripping Azzi’s ass tighter,trying to prove a point.Azzi’s breath hitched but her resolve hardened.

“No.”she remarked,low and final.

Paige’s eyes widened in confusion “What?”

“I’m in charge tonight” Azzi declared,one hand gripping Paige’s jaw,the other still tangled in her hair.Paige let out a soft frustrated whine.

“Youre gonna let me do whatever I want,and you’re gonna listen.Does that sound good baby?”

Paige nodded,suddenly too desperate for words.And Azzi hadn’t even really touched her yet

Azzi crushed their lips together again—no hesitation this time.The kiss was fierce.Hard.Messy hungry.She guided them toward the black leather couch,still gripping Paige’s bun.When they reached the couch,she released her grip,their mouths wet with shared lust.

“Take you clothes off.”

Paige didn’t respond.She just followed instruction.Fingers clutching the waistband of her shorts,sliding them slowly down to her ankles,Her boxers followed,legs trembling under Azzi’s stare.She reached for the hem of the Valkyries jersey but Azzi quickly stopped her.

“Keep it on” she commanded,voice thick and rough “I want you to wear it while I ruin you”

Paige nesrly collapsed backwards onto the couch.Azzi chuckled,loving Paige’s desperation.She pushed Paige onto the cushions,watching with heated eyes as she shed her croptop,revealing black lace that barely contained her curves.

Her hands slipped into the waistband of her own shorts,peeling them off until she stood before Paige in nothing but a matching dark set.

Straddling Paige’s lap,Azzi crushed their lips together again

Paige’s hands instinctively moved towards Azzi’s hips but Azzi slapped them away with a playful tut.

“Who said you could touch?

“But—“

Azzi silenced her with a hand over her mouth.”Can you be a good girl for me?”

Her fingers danced Paige’s scalp,the power of dominance humming through her veins.The rare kind Paige rarely let her hold.

Azzi’s lips found Paoge’s neck with a deep hunger,seeking a pulse point.Her teeth bit hard on pale skin.Then slow and calculated,she traced the mark with her tongue,licking up the entire length of her throat—teasing,claiming and owning.

She quickly sat up—effectively no longer straddling Paige.

Azzi rolled her eyes “Wearing the opposition's colors is a bold move. Even for you.”

Paige just laughed and closed the distance between them,wrapping her arms low above Azzi’s waist.Her hands—predictably,found Azzi’s ass,and Azzi didn’t even bother swatting them away this time.Instead she braced herself against Paige’s solid bicep,her fingers digging into the muscle with intent

“You like me wearing your jersey baby?” Paige whispered,her tone suddenly gone of playfulness.

“ Does it make you wet?”.Azzi nearly collapsed at this.She didn’t answer,just grabbed Paige’s face aggressively before smashing their lips together.The kiss started off slowly at first,molten and unhurried —-as if their mouths had forgotten they weren’t starving.But it quickly grew heated as her tongue forced its way past Paige’s lips.She couldn't help but let out a moan,moving her hands to grip Paige's skin under the fabric of the jersey.

Paige broke the kiss and moved towards Azzi’s neck,lips biting into caramel skin—-then tracing gentle strokes of her tongue to contrast the harsh harshness.Azzi surrendered to the sensation a breathless moan of Paige’s name leaving her lips.

Paige grinned against her skin.In that moment clarity struck Azzi.Tonight she wanted to be in charge

With sudden strength Azzi grabbed Paige’s bun and tugged hard,pulling her girlfriend’s mouth away from her neck.Paige whimpered but quickly shifted gears,her voice dropping into a low tone

“C’mon mama,quit playing.Let me take care of you” she whined,gripping Azzi’s ass tighter,trying to prove a point.Azzi’s breath hitched but her resolve hardened.

“No.”she remarked,low and final.

Paige’s eyes widened in confusion “What?”

“I’m in charge tonight” Azzi declared,one hand gripping Paige’s jaw,the other still tangled in her hair.Paige let out a soft frustrated whine.

“Youre gonna let me do whatever I want,and you’re gonna listen.Does that sound good baby?”

Paige nodded,suddenly too desperate for words.And Azzi hadn’t even really touched her yet

Azzi crushed their lips together again—no hesitation this time.The kiss was fierce.Hard.Messy hungry.She guided them toward the black leather couch,still gripping Paige’s bun.When they reached the couch,she released her grip,their mouths wet with shared lust.

“Take you clothes off.”

Paige didn’t respond.She just followed instruction.Fingers clutching the waistband of her shorts,sliding them slowly down to her ankles,Her boxers followed,legs trembling under Azzi’s stare.She reached for the hem of the Valkyries jersey but Azzi quickly stopped her.

“Keep it on” she commanded,voice thick and rough “I want you to wear it while I ruin you”

Paige nearly collapsed backwards onto the couch.Azzi chuckled,loving Paige’s desperation.She pushed Paige onto the cushions,watching with heated eyes as she shed her croptop,revealing black lace that barely contained her curves.

Her hands slipped into the waistband of her own shorts,peeling them off until she stood before Paige in nothing but a matching dark set.

Straddling Paige’s lap,Azzi crushed their lips together again

Paige’s hands instinctively moved towards Azzi’s hips but Azzi slapped them away with a playful tut.

“Who said you could touch?

“But—“

Azzi silenced her with a hand over her mouth.”Can you be a good girl for me?”

Her fingers danced Paige’s scalp,the power of dominance humming through her veins.The rare kind Paige rarely let her hold.

Azzi’s lips found Paoge’s neck with a deep hunger,seeking a pulse point.Her teeth bit hard on pale skin.Then slow and calculated,she traced the mark with her tongue,licking up the entire length of her throat—teasing,claiming and owning.

She quickly sat up—effectively no longer straddling Paige.

She quickly settled on her knees between Paige’s legs.Paige was already trembling for her,thighs parted,folds glistening in the light of the room.The Valkyries jersey was ridden up to her hips.Leaving her cunt in perfect view

“Fuck baby…” azzi murmured,fingers grazing the pale skin of Paige’s thighs “This pussy is so soaked for me”.Paige whimpered clawing her fingers imto the leather of the couch.Azzi leaned in pressing a soft kiss just abive her mound.Then another.Then a third one much closer now.She dragged her tongue slowly through Paige’s folds,groaning as she tasted her—tangy and warm,just for her.

“God,you taste like heaven”Azzi rasped,nose brushing against Paige’s clit. Paige let out a choked noise,hips twitcjing into Azzi’s mouth

“Baby please”she whined,voice thin and needy.”Stop teasing me”

But Azzi didn’t respond with words.Instead,she tightened her grip on her thighs and spread them wider—staring up at her like she was about to destroy her.Which she was

“Beg.” Azzi stated simply

Paige’s head fell back,frustration evident in her tone”Please…fuck,Az,I need your mouth.I need you inside me—dont make me wait anymore”

“Good girl”

She dove in with no warning.Just her mouth devouring Paige’s pussy,tongue parting her folds in slow deliberate strokes.Paige gasped,arching up,but Azzi was ready—she flattened her tongue and licked up over and around her clit in tight circles before closing her lips around it and sucking hard.

Paige cried out

Her hands shot to Azzi’s head,fingers twisting into her hair,but Azzi caught her wrists and pinned them to the couch.

“Stay still”

Paige nodded frantically,panting as her legs quivered.Azzi released her wrists but didn’t break her rhythm—she licked paige with a steady intensity,tongue dragging slow then quick,relentless and then tender,building Paige’s orgasm with every motion.

She didn’t relent.She didn’t stop.She just stared up at Paige,pupils blown wide,as if this is what she was made for.

“Fuck,fuck Azzi your—tongue—“ Paige babbled,eyes fluttering,voice catching with each moan

Azzi growled low against her,causing Paige’s hips to twitch up in response.She switched her angle,tongue fucking deep into Paige’s entrance now,slow and watm—whilst her thumb circled her clit with maddened precision.

“You look so pretty when you’re falling apart for me” Azzi whsipered pulling back to speak—her mouth covered in Paige’s arousal.

“G-god fuck baby—“ Paige let out a wanton moan tilitiing her head back and closing her eyes..

“Keep those eyes open for me baby.I want to see you”.Azzi let go of Paige’s thigh in favour of spreading Paige’s folds open with her fingers—- allowing her tongue to go deeper inside her gummy walls.

Paige bit her lip hard—nearly drawing blood as she felt the coil in her stomach tighten.

“Fuck Azzi…just like that” she whimpered”Im so close baby”.She shook her head into Paige’s core as she fucked her with her tongue.Paige’s breaths started to quicken .Then Azzi hit a particularly spongey spot inside Paige—making her let out a guttural moan in response.

“Im so close Az,please dont stop—fuck,I’m gonna—-”

But Azzi pulled away.Completely

Paige let out an animalistic noise—somewhere between a sob and scream.Her whole body tensed—desperate,soaked and feral

“Why—“ she panted voice wrecked “Why’d you stop”

Azzi rose up slowly,abs tensing with the effort

“Because i want to watch you cum with my name on your back”.Paige just nodded—still panting from her stolen orgasm.

She grabbed Paige by the throat to force her into a sloppy kiss—Paigr moaned at the taste of her own arousal.Tongue darting outside to taste herself as much as she could. Azzi pulled back—a string of saliva connecting their mouths.

“Get up baby and bend over the couch for me”Azzi stroked her cheek.Paige’s lips were bitten and swollen—eyes glossy.

She rose,shaky on her legs,and bent over the arm of the couch,her breaths shallow.The Valkyries jersey clung to her back,sweat soaked and twisted enough for “FUDD” to stand out across her back in bold purple letters.

Azzi quickly followed,standing behind Paige.Azzi took a moment—maybe too long—just to stare.

The jersey,the curve of Paige’s spine,her ass perched perfectly,thighs trembling with anticipation.She was dripping down her legs.Waiting.Submitting.

Azzi hummed in approval,stepping forward to run her palms up Paige’s thighs,slow and reverent.”You wearing my name like this?Baby…you’re asking to get ruined.”

Paige whimpered pressing her forhead into the leather cushion “Please.Azzi.I need you.”

Azzi tucked paige’s jersey higher,folding it into Paige’s sports bra to keep the view clear.Then she spread Paige’s legs wider with a nudge of her thigh,biting her lip at the sight of her soaked,twitching cunt.

She hummed in satisfaction,thumb stroking along Paige’s ass before pulling back to give it a quick slap.Paige’s hips pressed back at the action—a whimper falling from her lips

“Arch more for me baby” Paige pressed her body further down into the couch at Azzi’s request—recieving another slap to the ass in response.

“Look at this pussy..” Azzi breathed.She dragged two fingers through Paige’s folds,fluid coating her fingers instantly.” So fucking wet.Is that all for me?”

Paige nodded furiously,gasping as Azzi teased her entrance with the pad of her fingers.

Azzi smirked then thrust inside—two fingers driving deep into her in one fluid motion.

Paige cried out,hands clawing into the leather.

Azzi didn’t give her time to adjust.She set a punishing rhythm right away,knuckle-deep strokes curling upward with each thrust,fingers fucking into Paige with intent,her palm brushing her clit on every pass.

“God,Mommy—fuck—“Paige sobbed,the words tumbling out as her hips rocked back against her hand “S-so deep”

Azzi leaned over,chest brushing Paige’s back,lips ghosting over her ear”You’re taking me so well baby,so tight for me.”

Paige had long since given up on being quiet— letting out loud guttural whines and babbling nonsensically.With every thrust she met Paige’s clit—red swollen and throbbing from the denial of the previous orgasm.With her other hand she traced the letters of her last name on Paige’s back—her name on full display as she ruined Paige.

She reached up and grabbed a handful of Paige’s now messy bun,yanking her head back so their eyes could meet in the reflection of the mirror left leaning on the wall across the room.

“Look at yourself. wearing my name like a slut.Are you my slut baby?”Paige’s eyes darkened at this she tried to get the words out but nothing came—-it was if she was too fucked out to speak.She moved her hand to roughly grip Paige’s cheekbones at this—-fingers still destroying Paige’s walls.

“I asked you a question baby” Paige moaned—eyes watering

“Y-yes fuck mommy I’m such a slut for you.” Paige moaned,gaze glassy,breath’s coming out in stutters.Her thighs were shaking,knees buckling between the pleasure.

The sounds in the room were absolutely filthy.Nothing but the sound of Paige’s slick filled the space—the creek of the couch as Azzi's fingers pounded into her.

“You close?” Azzi asked,voice low,almost teasing,she slid in a third finger without warning.

Paige screamed.

Her body jerked,hips grinding back frantically as her walls clenched around Azzi’s hand.She couldn’t answer.Just nodded over and over,face flushed eyes rolling back.

Azzi’s free hand came around to harshly circle her clit,quick and relentless.”Come for me.Now” she growled into Paige’s neck “Soak my fucking fingers.”

Paige shattered.

Her whole body convulsed,legs giving out as her orgasm hit her like a freight train.She cried Azzi’s name over and over,walls pulsing around her fingers,slick gushing down her thighs.

Azzi didn’t stop.

She kept fucking her through it relentless and deep,even as Paige whined,trembled—attempting to twist away from the overstimulation.Azzi’s hand reached back up and tighted around her hair.She yanked sharply,forcing her head back so their eyes locked—wild,desperate and starving.

Paige whimpered her mouth parting as Azzi leaned down and spat deliberately into her waiting mouth.The taste was raw,possesive

“Swallow” Azzi growled.

Paige obeyed without hesitation,swallowing the spit with a shaky gulp,eyes wide and completely undone.

Good girl” she pushed paige’s face into the couch cushion—muffling her loud moans.She felt Paige’s walls tighten around her—curling her fingers into Paige’s gummy spot.She drove harder—fighting the resistance of Paige's walls sucking her in.

“Stop mommy its too much” Paige gasped,desperation and want battling for control in her voice.But her hips betrayed her,chasing Azz’s fingers with frantic desperation.

Azzi just smirked “No baby.one more.You’re begging arent you?She’s still begging for me”

Paige nodded shakily letting out a breathless” Ok”

Azzi pulled back and removed her fingers out—slow and slick,strings of arousal clinging between her hand’s and Paige’s pulsing heat.

Paige groaned at the stark emptiness.Pushing her hips back and meeting Azzi’s eyes

“God” Azzi whimpered,bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean.Paige whimpered at the slurping noise,at the look in Azzi's eyes—ravenous and in control.

Azzi dropped to her knees behind her,hands spreading Paige’s cheeks apart.She could see her twitching,the aftermath of the overstimulation written all over her body.The wetness had accumulated down to her thighs.

And yet she was still wet.Still throbbing

“She’s not done” Azzi murmured almost to herself “This pussy’s crying for me.”

Without warning she drove back in.

Her tongue licked through Paige’s folds with a purpose that was almost brutal.She flattened it against her entrance and dragged up in one long stroke before wrapping her lips around her clir and sucking.Hard

Paige shrieked.

Her hands clawed at the cushions,nails digging in desperately

“A-Azzi fuck,please,I can’t” she sobbed hips jerking in attempt to move away.

Instead Azzi held her down.Moving a muscled arm around her waist,the other gripping her thigh.

“You can” Azzi growled into her “You will.”

Her tongue flicked against Paige’s clit in tight,rushed strokes,her rhythm merciless.Then she dipped down again,thrusting her tongue into Paige’s cunt like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—like she’d die without it.

The blonde’s body twitched with overstimulation.Her head shook side to side in denial,but her hips still pushed back again—chasing every lick,every breath.She was unraveling.

“I’m gonna cum again” Paige gasped,voice high pitched and frantic.”I c-cant stop—Az,baby please—“

Azzi just hummed as a response.The vibrations pushing Paige over.

Her orgasm tore through her body like a tidal wave.She came hard,shaking,sobbing,gasping for air as her thighs clamped around Azzi’s head.Azzi held her through it,tongue still lapping through her folds,face and neck now entirely covered in Paige’s arousal.

When she finally collapsed,limp over the armrest,Azzi eased back,face soaked,shining with Paige’s release.She wiped Paige’s arousal off her face with her fingers and stared at her girlfriend— absolutely wrecked,body glistening.

Azzi leaned over and pulled her gently off the armrest,her touch a shocking contrast to how ruthless she had just been to her.Paige landed in a messy sprawl on the cushions,legs still trembling,lips parted and wet with spit.

She sat next to Paige and pulled her head gently into her lap and forced her mouth open

Paige knew exactly what to do

She sucked Azzi’s fingers clean,her tongue tracing every ridge and dip with eager devotion,swallowing every drop.Azzi slid her fingers deeper into Paige’s mouth,watching the way she gagged and drooled over them.

When satisfied she pulled her fingers free with a loud pop and with her other hand stroked Paige’s sweat damp hair.Whispering praise and sweet i love you’s into her ear as Paige settled,tears still streaking down her flushed face.

Paige closed her eyes.Finally feeling her soul come back into her body.

“Holy fuck,ma” Paige murmured after a long moment,voice hoarse “I should’ve worn that Jersey sooner if I knew i’d get your like that.”

Azzi laughed softly,pressing a tender kiss to Paige’s damp hair

“You did so good for me baby” she cooed,fingers still threading through Paige’s hair.

She helped Paige up,peeling the sweat soaked Valkryies jersey and bra from her glistening frame.

“Lets go clean up” Azzi murmured, voice tender,but low and steady.

Paige shook her head “I need to taste you” she pausied to lick her lips and lock eyes with Azzi.”Please”

Azzi hummed a slow approving sound,then nodded

“You want me to sit on that pretty face of yours? Azzi teased

Paige moaned softly in response,nodding eagerly as she sank back into the couch,skin meeting cold leather.Azzi straddled Paige’s hips first,then shifted forward,letting her wet heat brush against Paige’s defined abs.Her thighs trembled slightly at this,her arousal sticking to Paige’ skin.

“Take off the bra”Paige murmured

Azzi obliged,unclasping the delicate black lace and tossing it aside.Paige stared openly at her breasts,the way they moved slightly with the rise and fall of Azzi’s chest—the way her nipples peaked in the cold air of the room.

“You’re unreal” Paige whispered,like she didn’t even mean to say it outloud

Azzi then leaned down and kissed her.Not rough like before.This time slowing.Lingering,tongues brushing and lips catching

Azzi ground down against Paige’s abdomen,letting out soft whimpers muffled by their locked mouths.Then she pulled away, breath short.

Azzi hovered her slick,heated core above Paige’s eager mouth

Paige stuck out her tongue,teasing the damp fabric of Azzi’s thong before Azzi pushed the lace aside snd settled fully onto Paige’s waiting mouth.She let out a strangled groan at the firm contact of her girlfriend’s tongue.

Paige moaned like she was the one being ate.

Without hesitation she dove in,tongue swirling through Azzi’s folds like she was starved.Her moans of pleasure mixed in with the salty sweetness—hands finding Azzi’s ass,digging in,pulling her down deeper.Azzi didn’t protest—just this once—and began to rock her hips,riding Paige’s mouth in grinding circles.

Azzi’s fingers gripped Paige’s messy hair harshly,steadying her as she rocked back and forth slowly,riding the rhythm of Paige’s tongue. Paige took Azzi’s swollen clit into her mouth,nibbling then soothing it with lazy,sensuous swirls of her tongue.

Azzi’s fingers dug into Paige’s hair harder,moaning and fighting to hold onto the dominant power she claimed in their tangled heat.

“Does my pussy taste good baby?” Azzi’s voice broke with a teasing whine just as Paige’s tongue slipped deeper,flicking inside her slick canal.

Muffled by her girlfriend,Paige nodded eagerly and let out a low hum.Sending vibrations through Azzi’s core that that twisted the coil building in her stomach.

She loosened her hold on Paige’s hair and began teasing her own nipples—pinching and rolling them in time with the grinding of her hips against Paige’s face.

Paige groaned and slapped Azzi’s ass,making her let out a sharp,breathy gasp—fighting to keep control as Paige’s tongue didn’t miss a single inch,lapping and savouring every drop of her essence.

Azzi’s breath hitched as she neared the edge.

“Fuck keep eating my pussy like that,p” she gasped,rolling her nipples between her fingertips.Her hips bucked greedily against Paige’s face.

“I’m gonna fucking come for you.”

Paige didn’t relent,her movement fierce and eager,coaxing Azz over the edge with mounting moans that bounced off the walls.

Azzi crumbled with a loud,ragged moan,grinding through the peak of her orgasm before collapsing down onto Paige’s chest,attempting to gather her stuttered breathing.

Paige lay beneath her,thumb stroking Azzi’s bare back.Mouth parted in a dazed out haze,her pale skin gleaming in the soft glow of the room’s light

She couldn’t resist.Azzi stuck out her tongue and carefully cleaned every inch of Paige’s face,not missing a single drop of her own arousal.

Paige bucked her hips at this,and Azzi grinned,pressing a teasing kiss to the column of her neck

They lay there for a few minutes in silence,coming down from the intensity.

Then Azzi looked up at Paige—eyes still full of hunger

“Can you give me another baby?”Azzi smirked wickedly,her fingers tweaking Paige’s hardened nipples.Her voice dipped low and needy,dripping in lust.”I wanna cum on your pussy.”

Paige threw her head back at the filthy promise,breath hitching and eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Azzi took this as a yes

With slow deliberate movements, Azzi shifted her hips,sliding one of Paige’s legs up and resting it firmly on her shoulder,angling herself perfectly. The heat of Azzi’s core pressed hard against Paige’s, slick with their shared arousal. The contact sent an immediate shock through them, and a loud primal moan tore from their lips simultaneously.

Azzi started off slow, grinding in calculated circles, letting the friction build and tease. But as time passed, she quickened the pace,hips rocking with growing urgency. Their puffy clits collided repeatedly in a maddening tempo—each brush sending goosebumps of pleasure riveting through their bodies. The air around them thickened with the scent of arousal. Heavy breaths and wet sounds,the relentless friction creating a symphony of choked moans and ragged gasps.

Paige’s hands stayed firmly planted on the leather, hands gripping the edges so tight her knuckles whitened. She wasn’t sure if she had permission to touch Azzi yet—so she restrained herself, eyes locked on the way Azzi’s breasts bounced with every passionate grind.

Azzi’s voice pierced through the silence,breathless and light “You wanna feel them baby?”

Paige whispered a trembling “Yes.”

Azzi grinned cunningly, pulling Paige up slightly just enough to force her mouth onto her hardened nipples.Paige’s teeth grazed the sensitive peaks, biting and tugging with growing desperation.Azzi moaned, her fingers digging deeper into Paige’s shoulders as she pushed her deeper into pleasure.

“Do you love making mommy feel good?” Azzi purred, her hand suddenly closing around Paige’s throat, applying just enough pressure to elicit a shuddering whimper.

She pushed Paige’s head back down and guided her hands towards her ass. Paige caught the hint in an instant, wrapping her fingers around the softness and helping the curly headed girl grind harder and faster against her.

Paige let out a loud broken whine, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks again as the band inside her stomach snapped tighter and tighter.

“Mommy,I’m gonna come” she groaned, hands gripping Azzi’s ass with enough force to leave half moon marks.

Azzi responded,voice equally thick with need and desire “Me too baby.Hold it for me—I’m almost there.”

Their bodies moved in perfected sync, driving against each other with wild, unfiltered abandon.

“Hmmpphh—I’m cumming on this pussy” Azzi whimpered, her voice cracking with raw emotion.”Come with me honey.”

Their orgasms crashed into each other like tidal waves—moans mixing in breathless harmony as their control shattered. Azzi collapsed fully knto Paige’s chest, both girls shaking and gasping, sweat and slick lingering on their skin.

For a long moment neither of them spoke—just the sound of steadying breaths and the warmth of skin pressed to skin

Azzi finally sighed, voice low and amused “I might need a new couch after this.”

Paige let out a hoarse laugh “Totally worth it though.”She leaned down and kissed at the skin of Azzi’s temple,a tender comparison to the wildness moments before.

“We need to get up and shower. We can’t sleep like this baby” Azzi murmured, yet nuzzled deeper into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“I know” Paige whisperd back, palm rubbing slowly against Azzi’s bare skin.”Let’s just chill here a little longer.”

Paige wanted to imprint this moment deep into her memory—the feel of Azzi’s skin, the taste of her mouth, the comfort of her voice. Nights like this would soon be rare,separated by miles and clashing schedules. But no matter where it took them, they were chasing the same dream.

Together.

Just like Paige had imagined ever since that first day they met.

[colouredbyd]

Midnight Zoomies

remus lupin x cat!animagi!reader

summary: in which you, a chaotic orange cat animagus known as snickers, unleash midnight zoomies on the gryffindor dorm, dragging padfoot into absolute mayhem and wrecking everything in sight.

warnings: chaos, mild blood (cat scratch), property destruction, biting, mild language, human-cat playfighting, emotionally dramatic sirius, extremely feral orange cat energy, remus chronic suffering.

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: this tiktok is literally snickers and padfoot wth?? masterlist

Remus was particularly accustomed to the chaos that punctuated his life at Hogwarts—the unruly Marauders, the unpredictable phases of the moon, and the relentless demands of both magic and mortality.

Yet, nothing in his experience – no amount of weariness or forewarning – had prepared him for the spectacle that awaited behind the worn door of the Gryffindor dormitory after a long, grueling night of study.

The moment the door1 creaked open, an uproarious cacophony assaulted his senses.

Books and parchment littered the floor like casualties of a minor explosion. A startled owl screeched and flapped against the far wall, desperate to escape the pandemonium.

Amid the wreckage, two figures blazed with frenetic energy: Snickers, the fiery orange blur of a cat animagus possessed by the most intense zoomies anyone had ever witnessed, and Padfoot, a dark shadow of equal parts menace and mirth, darting and bounding with predatory zeal.

James sat perched atop the dresser, arms folded, laughter bubbling from his lips as if he were witnessing the most entertaining spectacle in years.

“Remus! You missed the highlight reel—Snickers just launched herself off the bed and knocked over the whole lampstand. Padfoot’s been chasing her tail for the past five minutes.”

Snickers skidded across the floor, knocking a stack of books into the air. One fluttered down to land on James’s head, eliciting a dramatic groan.

Without pause, you streaked between Remus’s legs and shot upward like a comet, claws scrabbling at the ceiling tapestry.

Padfoot was instantly on your tail, teeth bared in a playful snarl.

“James, why aren’t you breaking this up?” Remus demanded, trying to keep his voice steady over the uproar.

James shrugged, grinning unabashedly. “And ruin the fun? No way.”

A low growl sounded from the corner, and you responded with a triumphant yowl as you vaulted toward a precarious stack of quills.

Padfoot intercepted you mid-air, sending both of you crashing into a pile of scattered robes. The ensuing tumble sent Remus staggering backward, narrowly avoiding a flying textbook.

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breath hitching. “I just—after today’s exam, I was hoping for some peace.

“Peace died the moment Snickers remembered she’s a cat with a rocket strapped to her back,” James said with a wink. “Seriously, moony, I think she’s been holding all this energy in since the last full moon.”

Snickers (you) exploded into another frenzy, darting from wall to wall, a streak of orange lightning barely visible in the dim light.

Padfoot yipped and leapt after you, knocking into the dresser and sending a cascade of socks raining down like confetti.

Remus didn’t even make it fully to the chair.

He’d aimed for it—honestly, he had—but between the pile of exploded parchment, the mangled remains of what he hoped was just a textbook, and the streak of orange that rocketed under his feet, he never stood a chance.

One foot slipped, the other tangled in a sock, and suddenly he was flat on his back, blinking up at the canopy.

You zipped past his head, your claws skidding dramatically against the wood floor, tail puffed up like a bottlebrush, pupils blown wide with ecstasy.

“I will hex both of you!” Remus snapped, pointing furiously at you as you vaulted off James’s trunk, ricocheted onto Padfoot’s back mid-run, and used him like a trampoline, vanishing under the bed in a blaze of orange rage.

Padfoot howled and spun in three tight circles, eyes wild.

“Don’t you dare—” Remus warned, finger still raised.

Too late. Padfoot launched after you with the reckless momentuml, disappearing under the bed with a guttural growl and a flurry of socks.

“Padfoot, get out from under there! And you—” he pointed to the bed frame, where the tip of your tail flicked defiantly out from beneath.

“Come out before I charm your paws to the floor!”

Another crash answered him from beneath the bed.

“WHAT are you doing?” Remus shouted from the floor, voice cracked and betrayed.

James was doubled over on his bed, face purple with laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You just got demolished, Moony—by a ten-pound feline!”

Padfoot reemerged with your tail in his mouth. You were yowling furiously, limbs flailing like a spaghetti demon, fur puffed in seven directions.

“Let her go, you maniac—!” Remus scrambled up, just in time for Padfoot to tear through the room in a victory lap, dragging you along the floor like some kind of orange war banner.

James was now on the floor, laughing so hard he wheezed, slapping the stone tiles.

Remus sighed, ducking as a pillow launched itself from the bed and exploded into a storm of feathers.

You broke free with an acrobatic twist, rebounded off the wall, and scaled James’s curtains.

From the top of the bedpost, you looked down with imperial menace, panting, fur standing on end.

Padfoot barked again and lunged up after you, but missed and headbutted the wardrobe.

There was a long silence.

Then a crash.

Then the wardrobe tipped sideways and slammed into the floor.

Padfoot didn’t pause to assess the wreckage. The wardrobe had barely finished slamming to the floor when he snarled—low and guttural—and launched himself at you.

You barely had time to adjust your footing on the bedpost before he collided with the frame below, sending the whole canopy rattling.

He jumped again, this time with intent, claws scrabbling, teeth flashing.

His weight rocked the structure, and before you could leap away, he caught your leg in his mouth.

“PADFOOT—!” Remus’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp with panic. He was already on his feet, wand half-raised, eyes wide. “Let go! What are you doing?!”

You twisted in his grip, yowling in protest, your ears flattened, body writhing like liquid fury. He didn’t release and so you raked your claws across his snout with a hiss.

Padfoot reeled back with a yelp, fur bristling, blood blooming where your claws had connected.

And then—shift—he was Sirius again, all limbs and wild black hair.

“You psychopath!” he barked, staggering backward and rubbing at the scratch on his nose. “You clawed me across the face!”

“You tackled her!” Remus shot back, storming forward now, eyes flicking between the two of you, trying to determine if he needed to physically intervene. “She’s half your size, Sirius—what the hell was that?!”

“She bit me first!” Sirius shouted. “And look at her!”

You were still vibrating at the top of the bedpost, fur puffed, eyes blazing, tail whipping side to side like a live fuse.

“She’s got demon energy! That’s not a cat!.”

And then you moved.

You leapt off the post in a blinding flash of orange and took off across the room like your tail was on fire, skidding across a pile of quills, then rebounding off a chair.

“Oh, hell no—” Sirius dove after you, crawling under the bed, swearing violently. “Come back here, you absolute gremlin—”

Remus reached out a hand to stop him but missed. James was back to wheezing on the floor.

“This is better than the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match,” he gasped.

You darted out from beneath the bed just as Sirius lunged again, sending both of you toppling into the curtains. The fabric ripped, Sirius cursed as yoy tore out of the mess and leapt onto his back.

“OW—bloody hell—she’s on me again—Remus! Help!”

But Remus didn’t move.

Yiu shifted mid-pounce, landing on Sirius’s back in human form, knocking the wind out of him as he crashed forward with a grunt.

“What the—?!” He tried to turn over, arms flailing, but you hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down again.

“Not so fast, mutt,” you growled, grinning into his ear.

“Oh, now you’ve done it—” Sirius flipped under you, wrestling playfully, his hands grabbing at your waist as he tried to flip you back. “You think you can scratch me and tackle me?”

“Yes, I can!” you shot back, elbowing his ribs.

“Gods, you’re feral,” he wheezed.

“You attacked me!”

“You attacked me first!”

“You bit my tail!”

Remus groaned, rubbing both hands over his face. “Can we please go one night without bloodshed?”

You rolled off him, flopping back on the floor, hair a mess, breath heaving. Sirius followed, lying beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

Then, suddenly, Sirius scrambled to his feet with dramatic flair and sprinted across the room.

“Moony!” he wailed, arms outstretched like a tragic widow. “Your girlfriend is so mean to me!”

Remus barely had time to react before Sirius flung himself forward and latched onto him like a lifeline. “She scratched me! She bit me!”

“You dragged me across the floor by my tail!” you barked from the other side of the room, indignant, hair wild, one sock still stuck to your elbow.

“What was I supposed to do? Purr?!”

Remus, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He stood there with Sirius clinging to him like a particularly dramatic scarf and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“She’s literally still vibrating,” Sirius whispered, clinging harder. “I think she’s rabid.”

You gaped. “I’m rabid?! You’re the one who went full wolf-on-steroids—Remus, tell him he’s wrong! Tell him I’m not rabid.”

Remus looked between the two of you, the absolute carnage of the dorm, his slashed-up bag in the corner, and said, “I think I’d like to transfer schools.”

James snorted into the pillow he was using to hide his laughter.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Just hold me while she reloads.”

“Oh my god—” You stomped across the room, snatched Sirius by the collar, and yanked him off Remus with zero effort. “That’s my boyfriend, thank you.”

Remuss finally let the corner of his mouth lift, soft and a little stunned, like he couldn’t believe the storm had finally passed. “Do I get a say in any of this, or…?”

“No!” you and Sirius said in unison.

Then you laughed. Loud and unfiltered and stupidly happy. And Sirius was laughing too, leaning against your shoulder now, his bruised ribs forgotten.

And somehow, even surrounded by feathers, overturned furniture, and two emotionally unstable friends arguing over rights, everything felt exactly right.

[dollyforever]

my void success story!!

I'm feeling inspired and I just had a yummy lunch with my brother and the sun is shining so let me tell you about my manifestations and my void state journey from 5 days ago.

so, I made a post about a ritual I made to let go of your old reality, and allow endless manifestations to flow into your life effortlessly. I decided to wait some days to try it myself, because I wanted to feel very sure of my decision. As I said, this ritual is for real. Once you decide you are stepping into a different, new life and version of yourself, life won't be the same as before. Anyway, 5 days later (i miscalculated before sorry) I said, okay, let's do this. and so I did. As I was falling asleep, I meditated, and it was like nothing I've ever felt before. It was like... I don't know. something shifted inside and outside of me. For a split second, I entered the void and I forgot to manifest anything specific, so I just wished for a lucky life. when I was done, and as I fell asleep, I noticed how a massive weight had been released from my body. Like, any possible issues and worries I had before, were gone.

the next morning I woke up and I made coffee and the birds were chirping louder than usual and the house was quieter than usual. no parents screaming, no brother being annoying. and I felt so light, and so peaceful and so immensely happy. It's a feeling I can't put into words. and so, I posted on Tumblr, because I was excited about my new life.

That same day, just one hour later after that post, I found my dream apartment in my dream city where I'll go to study next year. I saw it just 4 minutes after the sweet woman renting it posted it on the apartment app thing. I texted her, and talked to my mom, and to my satisfaction, my parents instantly agreed, since the price was absolutely perfect. the apartment is sooo dreamy and big and it's in such a safe area, and ALL of the things in my manifestation list (I had made a list months before to manifest this apartment) were crossed.

ok, so I was absolutely ECSTATIC because finally, I had found my dream apartment and I said, alright, now let's search for my dream vintage clothes for uni next year. Let me tell you. I found the CUTEST rarest Abercrombie and Hollister pieces for SO CHEAP!!!! And I bought them obviously. and I sold so many clothes I didn't want anymore. I also found my dream discontinued perfume getting sold for a fraction of the original price.

Anyway, since the day was going so well, I decided to call two friends who I'm not super close with to ask them to hang out, and so we did that same afternoon. I don't want to go into detail, but basically I came out of that hang out feeling so incredibly happy and grateful for my new close friends.

Then, I got a message from a boy I met a year ago in the summer saying he was coming to my city in a few days and that we should hang out. And we did!!! It was so nice, we went to different museums and talked about art and literature and painted with watercolors in the old part of the city.

And now, around bit less than a week after this whole thing, my parents surprised me with a MacBook Air (I'm typing from it right now!!!!) my old computer was sooo laggy and horrible, and I was really hoping for a new one, specifically from apple. And they gave them free AirPods for buying it, which my brother kept :).

okay. I seriously did not make this post to brag or anything at all in that matter. I want to tell you that before this, I had been feeling super stuck and unmotivated in my journey. I feel unstoppable now. and I am so excited to manifest even more things and enter the void again. I'm still super interested in shifting (obvi) but life has felt so beautiful, I don't even wish to leave. Though I am excited to enter new realities, of course. That's a story for another day.

love, doll

[back2bluesidex]

Parisian Heartbreak - KTH [Teaser]

Pairing: Idol!Taehyung X Actress, Fem!Reader

Theme: exes au, exes to ? au

Total Word Count: 2k

Teaser Word Count: 500

Summary:

Paris is the city of love, but meeting Kim Taehyung in Paris only reminds you of a heartbreak.

Masterlist (1) (2) | Patreon

Warning: angst, douche Taehyung. more will be added.

A.N: 👀

“Have you been doing well?” Taehyung leans down and speaks right into your ear. The fine hairs of your neck stand in protest to the proximity. 

“Yes. very fine indeed.” you reply, letting your voice sound harsh. He should know how bitter you feel about everything he did to you, everything he is doing right now. 

But he only giggles - pushing you towards the edge more and more. 

You almost turn your head to offer him a pointed look but before you could, Taehyung starts speaking again, “there’s a camera pointing right at us. Behave a little friendly, should we?” 

Easing the frown that formed between your brows just a few seconds ago, you smile at his direction, “sure. I almost forgot how cautious you are about your reputation. So much so that you don’t even think twice before breaking someone’s heart and leaving them scrambling with one single text.” 

Taehyung’s expression falters only for a fraction of a second. He doesn’t appear to be regretting anything, not a lot anyway. 

Your memories reel back to one of the darkest periods of your life - last year when a random netizen accused you of mistreating a waiter. The discreetly taken video went viral and you were declared an ungrateful bitch overnight. 

It took only two days for the truth to be revealed. The waiter that you apparently misbehaved with is actually a kid from your old neighbourhood and he ran away from his home a few months ago. 

You have known him since he was an infant, before you were famous. So, out of a sense of responsibility you started scolding him the moment recognition striked. However, the entire scenario was misinterpreted as the audio wasn’t clear enough. 

Things resolved once the boy went ahead and clarified everything via his own social media accounts. Your reputation, though severely damaged, was restored. 

Nevertheless, you lost a lot of things in those two days. 

You lost five brand deals and were dropped out of a project. But most importantly, you lost Taehyung in a heartbeat. 

The night the video went viral, you came home to a text from Taehyung on your personal cell. He wrote three words, one sentence and broke you like a house made of cards. 

“Let’s end it here.” and he did. 

You never replied, never made any effort to reach out to him. If he was the one to leave, he should be the one to come back. 

Much to your dismay, he never did. 

“About that… I had no other option.” Taehyung looks away, stares at the runaway. 

“We weren’t even official, Taehyung. There were only rumours and yet, you had no other option? You want me to believe that?” your smile stays on your face although moisture starts gathering around your lashes. 

He doesn’t reply. 

You wave at your manager. Once he arrives you ask him the way to the restroom.

[lacydaydream]

Devil On My Shoulder, Angel in My Lap

⤷ mark meachum

mark meachum x fem!reader

estelle yapping: so sorry this took so long! this is based off this request. I hope I did your idea the justice it deserves!

summary: Mark knows it’s wrong— he shouldn’t be fantasizing about the youngest detective. But after a one-seat-short op, he finds himself at war with his own mind.

cw: age gap [ mark is 20+ years older ]. slow burn. kinda religious imagery. swearing. descriptions of violence. mentions of drugs. gun violence. mark gets pissed off. sexual content. vaginal fingering. oral (f receiving), dom!Mark. possessive!Mark. mentions of spanking. praise kink. pet names [ kid, angel, needy girl, ]. very slight corruption kink. dirty talk. grinding. kinda enemies to lovers.

word count: 8.8k

Mark was going to Hell.

It was as simple as that. There was a designated demon down in the land of eternal damnation waiting for his dumb ass to die and stumble through the flames. The Devil himself was probably flicking through pages of torture methods, picking out his favorites to inflict upon Mark’s soul.

He knew he was going to Hell– he knew it three months ago when the newest recruit transferred to the LAPD. He had just gotten back from his latest UC job, a drug dealing case finally closed after three months. The ink still hadn’t dried on his damn report. He had walked into the station, settling down in the detectives’ bullpen and his eyes laid upon the most tantalizing sight.

Smooth skin, bright smile, eyes as bright as the goddamn sun. The newest detective. And, of course, the youngest. You were a damn baby. A little girl. Barely thirty years old, skin glowing from the triumph of getting the ‘tap’ so young.

Mark remembered that morning you introduced yourself. You’d gone around to each desk, grinning and practically jumping around like a bunny. It was obvious that you still had the mentality that everything happened for a reason– the job hadn’t made you question your morals and position in the universe yet. You hadn’t gotten a ‘puppy’ yet. You hadn’t rushed against time to save a life only for you to fail, just a fraction of a second before crossing the finish line.

Maybe he was envious. Not too long ago, he’d probably been in your very same place. Though he doubted he pranced around the precinct handing out lip gloss smiles like sticks of gum. He had once been young like you. Ready to take on the world, show anyone who disagreed with him the damn door. But that was before he’d lost his first case. Before the countdown in his head started ticking.

Maybe it had just been too long since he’d seen a woman– really seen one. He’d spent the last three months neck deep in lies. Undercover Work was just that: dancing around a stage playing a character so unlike yourself. You breathed someone else’s name, wore someone else’s clothes, lived in a different mind. One wrongly blocked move, one misread line, would be fatal. If you weren’t always in character– even for a second– your life would be the price. It was as simple as that. He checked in with the chief every twelve hours– logging into a hidden flip phone he’d hidden behind a busted tile in the motel bathroom he was stationed at. Mark hadn’t stepped into sunlight in weeks. Five million in meth was about to hit the LA streets, and Mark had been up to his neck in case files and meetings with felons, determined to stop it.

When he’d first seen the sweet smile pulling the corners of your lips up, he’d cursed the sky. You were absolutely stunning. You were like the water in the middle of a desert handcrafted by the Gods’ and he was the wandering man, parched on the verge of death. And he was going to Hell.

Because you were way too young. Hell, you could have been his daughter if he was a little less careful back in the 90’s. Your age was reflected in the way you acted around the team– bright eyed and bushy tailed. You’d even brought in homemade cupcakes when one of the members’ birthday rolled around.

He cursed himself for thinking about you. He hated himself for it. For the mornings he woke up hard, hips rutting into the mattress like a damn dog. He cursed himself when stepping into a cold shower, trying to wash away the carnal sin that stuck to his skin. He felt disgusted in his own skin. He was far too old for you– and dying, no less. Mark had decided to keep his distance from you.

That was safe. He could keep his eyes and perverted mind from wandering to you.

The universe– being the cruel mistress she was, holding a smoke between her delicate fingertips, always needed a laugh. Something to get her through the endless days of hopeless souls wandering aimlessly in the currents of her beautiful creations– had other plans. Of course, she had other plans.

One of your CIs– some twitchy kid who had barely made it off the street with your help, who Mark was sure was going to be your ‘puppy’ – had come into the station shaking like a damn leaf. He had information on some mid-level mafioso trying to run smack out onto the streets. Said the guy had good muscle and a big mouth– bragging about a drop happening that Friday at a butcher shop downtown in Compton.

The chief granted them the go-ahead, and the squad hit the ground running. Tech combed through burner numbers, sifting through texts until they came upon coded messages they were able to crack. You and Mark ended up taking shifts in the interrogation room, squeezing low level drug-runners until one of them cracked. By the end of the week, they had the confirmed time, place, name, and had gone through a box of coffee pods. All they needed to do was catch the bastard.

The universe never seemed to be done with Mark, though.

Once he had helped all the equipment into the van, making sure the stingray device were squared away, he himself clamored in along with the team. You were late. Probably off yapping at your CI, giving him last minute warnings or addresses to community centers like the bleeding heart you were.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Mark grumbled, hands on his hips as his eyes narrowed at the van’s interior.

Sanchez. Carter. Mattel. Zinger. Shaw. All seated. All buckled in. All looking down at their devices, checking in with command before they left the station. Just one seat left– his. One seat is missing.

Mark turns to look up at the front, gaze searing into the men at the front of the van. Gaze hot enough to melt steel. “The hell happened to the seventh seat?”

Just for the universe to punish him– because obviously, he hadn’t gotten enough in his almost fifty years of life– you came running over. Hair bouncing in the wind, an apologetic smile already plastered across your glossy lips.

“Sorry, man,” the guy up front said, looking back to see you standing perched in the van. He shrugged. “Command said seven. Van’s only got six seats with belts, though. If one of you don’t mind sitting in the back with the rest of the equipment-”

“I’ll just sit on Mark’s lap.” Your voice comes out rushed, the time crunch catching you on edge. You were out of breath from running from the station, cheeks slightly flushed.

Mark’s stomach dropped out of his feet. His jaw ticked. He’s about to stand– already halfway out of his seat. About to offer up his seat, try not to jump into the back like his ass was on fire. “Don’t-”

But he was too late. He seemed to always be just a second too late these days.

You were settling on his thighs with the kind of careless warmth that had his skin burning through his jeans. You sit down with ease. Like this was a normal occurrence- like you hadn’t just punched the air from his lungs.

You were so warm. Smelled like sweet vanilla as your hair brushed against his chin. The scent swirled around him, bordering on intoxication. The van started up and you shifted slightly, hip brushing up against his abdomen. Mark stayed still. Stone still. The greatest hurricane couldn’t get him to flinch. His hands rested on the sides of his thighs, careful not to touch you at all, his fists clenched. Knuckles white.

“Relax, Meachum.” You whisper, a half-teasing lilt in your voice. God, your voice was like music in his ears. Soft. SLow. Melodic. “It’s ten minutes. You can pretend to not hate people for that long.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t– not when the smell of your shampoo was invading his senses like a virus. If he was a younger man, and maybe a lot stupider, he would have enjoyed this.

But now, he kept his eyes burning the floor below him. Body wound up taught. Like even the smallest of movements would be his undoing. Now he just counted down the seconds to get to the drop spot.

Yeah, he was going to hell. Straight shot express.

The van started, the engine turned over and purred. For lack of a better idea, his gaze moved over to look out the small window. The sun was dipping under LA, faint pinks and orange hues being painted across the sky. Mark’s jaw tightened. He tried not to feel the warm weight of you on his thighs. Tried to think of anything else.

He couldn’t think of how soft you felt. How sweet you smelled. He needed to count tiles. Count the streetlights that passed. Count his sins.

He steered his mind towards the case. It was a simple sting. Get there, camp out. Wait for this Danver Haskell to show up. Mark had never heard of this kid before– and he’d been under cover in enough prisons to hear the names of every mafioso in the area. Haskell was a name he’d heard before. This kid was probably a son. Nepotism never seemed to find a place to cease, apparently. Then they’d be able to stop the whole thing. Put some criminals exactly where they belong and keep a lethal drug off the streets.

Mark’s attention faded back in, catching the last bits of the conversation between you and Carter.

“–I hear Rosemary’s makes a good Sex on the Beach.” Your voice flows over the thrumming in his ears, conversing about after-work festivities as if you weren’t seated on his lap. As if he wasn’t fighting off demons.

His eyes shut for a moment, groaning internally. He could imagine that– no. No. He chastised himself for what felt like the millionth time in the past month, forcing himself to think about how he was practically drinking when you were born. He was twenty years your senior. Had enough life experience that would take your sweetened soul and darken it, make it shrivel like a dried plum. Any ideas floating around in his mind had to be squashed. Maybe take a damn blow torch to them. It was so wrong.

Detective Carter nods, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “And they’ve never had a fake ID incident.” She adds, motioning with a smile as she speaks.

Without really meaning to, you lean in as Carter talks. That’s just who you are– the type of person who gives their full attention to the person you’re speaking with. You’re a bleeding heart, emotions proud on your sleeve. And you knew when to turn it off– when to change your soft gaze to one hot enough to malt steel in an interrogation.

Mark fights away the urge to brush his hand against your hip, keeping you steady as you talk. Every little movement you make is like a whip on his clothed skin, warmth blooming wherever you’re touching him.

“Even better.” The soft smile was evident in your voice. Your fingers drum absentmindedly against your knee, the same rhythm you used at your desk, hunched over a case file trying to decipher the notes. Mark hated how he noticed.

Mark could practically see the face you were making. Even if he was only faced with the top of the back of your head. He could see the way your eyes twinkled like stars on a cool summer night, the gentle look in your eyes. The way your lips curled up delicately, painting a smile across your features that was so gorgeous a grown man could fall to his knees. He lets out a low grumble from his throat.

Because you were so close to him, you could feel it before you heard it. His chest rumbled, sending soft vibrations through your shirt and reverberating through your back. Mark was a pretty grumpy guy. He had been one when you first joined the detectives unit a few months ago– and he hadn’t changed his tune. So, it wasn’t obscene for you to interpret his grumble for one of annoyance. Or him just continuing with his grump streak.

“You always so grumpy around the thought of team building?” You ask him quietly, voice laced with a teasing lilt.

Mark doesn’t answer. Not verbally. His jaw is set so tight he’s sure his teeth would crack. He only grunts in response.

“Guess so,” You murmur, a soft laugh leaving your lips. The sound was breathy and utterly heart wrenching. You gently shift on his thighs, slightly concerned about the prolonged period of settling your weight on top of him. Not that Mark was thinking about that. Not even a little.

The singular movement was hell. You were settled further up his thighs, and he almost swore aloud.

Then the van hit a pothole.

Obviously, the taxes the LA citizens were paying were not being put to good use. The van jolted in tandem with your body. You practically launched off him, jostling around like you were on a roller coaster. His hands flew out before he could stop to think. One hand on your hip. The other around your stomach. Your back pressed right up against his chest, fully flushed up against him.

Heat. Everywhere. Burning his skin, almost lighting his clothes on fire. His veins burned and the air was punched from his lungs for the second time in five minutes. His pulse roared in his ears.

Mark’s hands had yet to move.

“Shit, sorry.” You murmur softly, color rising up your cheeks. His hands were like hot pokers jammed into your side, not only startling but dangerous.

He’s a wall of pure heat and muscle. His arms caging you feel protective, pure strength simmering just below his leather jacket. Heat floods from your cheeks down through your veins, goosebumps kissing all over your skin. Every quip and sensical thought dissipated from your mind at the speed of light.

You don’t make a move to move his hands away.

Mark grunts again, grip tightening on your hip before he reluctantly lets go. Count your sins, Meachum. He repeats the thought over and over like a mantra in his mind.

But it was harder and harder to keep track of which ones were already on that list.

“Careful now, kid.” His voice is rough like gravel in your ear, low and dangerous.

You fight back a shiver that wants to run up your spine. His voice is the kind of low only used well after midnight, shadows casting along walls to silence the sins playing out in the dark.

Mark's eyes burn through your very soul. Deep pools of emerald green lit up by the dim lighting in the van study you, his pupils dilating and constricting quickly. His gaze is heavy. It’s the kind of gaze that strips you bare and spreads you open in just a simple look.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your skin feels like it’s being set aflame. Your breath had been caught in your throat, lodged so far you could have drowned. And still. Neither of you move.

“You two alright over there?” Sanchez speaks up, perfectly groomed brow raising to a comical height. A smirk tugs up the corner of his mouth. “Need a minute?”

Mark rips his hands from you like they’d been burned. But it was too late. He could still feel the shape of your body on his palms, engraving your body heat into his skin's memory. Still could hear how your breath had caught. How a blossom of flush rose to your skin.

Your head turns, severing the contact you had with him finally. You blink rapidly. Try to catch your breath, chest rising and falling painfully fast. Try not to want to have contact with his skin again. Try not to think about the loss of his body heat feeling like stepping into a cold shower.

“We’re all good.” Your voice comes out raspier than you intended. Almost paper-thin.

Mark notices.

Count your damn sins, Meachum. His mind plays the singular phrase on a loop through his mind.

“Good,” Sanchez says, voice dipping into a more grounded, low and serious tone. The shift cuts through the leftover haze in the van like a knife. “We’re a minute out.”

The mood changes immediately. Like someone flipped a switch, each person settling into silent professionalism. The conversation dies out. No one moves. Mark stills beneath you– tense and unmoving. You don’t have to see his face to know his expression had morphed into a stone-set scowl. There isn’t even a breath that dares to break the silence.

There’s a glance between the detectives– a silent current of steadiness through the tension. Focus. Readiness. The kind of still that only happens before a storm. Calmness that is only won through dozens of high stress situations.

The van makes a sharp turn down onto the street where the drop is going down, swallowed by the darkness of flickering street lights. The butcher shops’ lights were on– conveniently the only building on the block with their lights on. The glow of the lights are too bright– too deliberate. Parked cars line the block.

When the van is parked, the team moves like clockwork. Sanchez fired up their stingray. Carter peered out the window for a lookout. Everyone moved in sync, practiced to perfection.

Mark gently taps your hip. A grunt leaves his lips– his version of polite. Not subtle. Not gentle. But understood. Your breath catches. Your heart was still stuffed in your throat, the feeling of his hands engraved in your skin.

You stand, jumping into action. A feeling of embarrassment starts within your chest. Mark was a poison apple– shiny and tempting on the outside, rotten underneath. A local legend at the station.

packed with whispers from other cops of infidelity and reports detailing his ‘cowboy’ behavior. He’s a short fuse. Something you should stay far away from. Not something to be in your head about. No less remembering the way his hands felt around you. Or the gruffness of his voice.

You take a second to collect yourself. Distraction– in any capacity– was lethal. Even in situations as by the book as these. It only takes a second for things to go sideways– for the world to turn upside down. So you needed to get Mark and his hands out of your head.

There’s a second where everything is silent. Then, Carter turns her head slightly. “They’re here.”

Out through the window, you can see a man dressed in dark clothing outside approaching the butcher shop. Real twitchy looking kid. His head kept looking around almost as if he was ready to jump eight feet in the air at the sound of a mouse.

Like in any other op, you and Mark are the first ones to slip out of the van. You proved yourself to be a great shot– just his luck, huh? – and the chief liked the way you worked with Meachum.

You and Mark are the first to move out in the sticky night air, backs pressing to the building across the street from the butcher shop. The glow from the flickering sign above the shop bathes the cracked pavement in red, looking like dried-blood on concrete.

Carter’s voice crackles to life through your ear piece. “Remember– wait for the handoff. Product and money need to be in play. Then we move.”

Mark doesn’t respond. He never did when he was in the zone– just a hard expression and chiseled jaw set tightly. But your hand comes up to click against the earpiece to signal you had heard her. Your eyes scan the alley, mind remember every dumpster and fire escape from memory after looking at hours of surveillance and briefing.

As your eyes adjust to the light, you feel your whole body go rigid. The kid standing outside was your CI. The kid you had pulled up from hell and given a rope. Skinny, bathed in the shrouded cover of night. His eyes flitted everywhere, like he expected to get shot before he even had a second to speak. Then you feel it– the horrible nagging feeling in your gut. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Mark,” Your words are muttered, hand that’s not holding your gun, tapping his arm lightly. You fight through the small jolt of heat that floods your system at the touch.

His eyes are already on the boy. His jaw is set so tight you’re sure his teeth would crack. His eyes were flickering over the street and alleyway, mapping out a plan of escape or ruin. You could see the gears turning in his mind as he clicked the comms of his ear piece. “Problem.” Mark grunts, voice a low husk. “The kid’s CI is here.”

There’s silence. The three seconds leave you wanting to scream– or run across the street yourself and whack the boy for acting so stupidly. You couldn’t even rationalize how this was happening. How he was standing there, ready to deliver the drugs. He had brought the tip in for you– aiding in the crusade against drug use in LA– while now being the one to be handling the drugs.

“Got eyes.” Carter murmurs, voice sounding more on edge. “Continue on. Three o’clock– silver Chrysler. Three suspects are exiting.”

You swallow down any nerves. The grip you have on your gun tightens. And if Meachum had noticed when his eyes glanced over at you, he didn’t make any reason for you to believe he had.

You spot them, too. Danver Haskell is leading the pack. Early twenties, thick gold chain and stupid sunglasses pulled on even in the dark. Nepotism’s prodigal son. Two muscle types are behind him– beefy, broad shouldered, already looking for a reason to use their guns.

They approach the kid slowly. All the confidence drips out of them as the exchange plays out in front of the shop. The shop was never open– it was just a front. Probably for this Haskell characters’ family.

You feel Mark shifting beside you, arm grazing your shoulder. His voice buzzes low in your ear. “Do not move until that bag passes hands.” He says it like he was expecting something stupid to happen. As if he hadn’t been out in the field with you before– experiencing how you handle things. How you weren’t just a new detective– you earned your way to this rank and he obviously couldn’t see it.

You force a nod– though he couldn’t even see it– and fix your eyes on the kid’s fingers. You want to trust that he had things under control. But he’s nervous. Too nervous.

He must have known you were there. The kid must have gone to the station in order to get himself out of having to actually allow it to run out into the streets. Because that would be him singing off on hundreds of death certificates.

The kid reaches into his jacket and produces a key. His lips move as he says something to Danver. Then, Haskell pulls out a wad of cash. A neatly rolled thick stack of bills. Wrapped in a rubber band. Your CI drops the key into Haskell's hand. Haskell drops the cash.

“Move out.” Carter commands softly, voice cutting through the air like a whip crack. “Now.”

Mark’s already lunging, gun drawn. He charges across the street with the precision of a man who’d done this a thousand times. Even with the major hiccup in place, he handled it like it had been part of the plan the entire time. You follow behind. The others flood from the van, shouting over each other as they move in perfect sync.

“LAPD! Hands in the air!”

“Drop your weapon!”

“Get on the ground!”

Chaos. Scuffling feet. Clinking of guns and handcuffs.

One of the idiotic muscle heads reaches for the gun on his side and you watch as Carter tackles him. Zinger grabs the other guy, pushing him down against the cement. He’s being pinned to the pavement and you hear the distinct clicking of handcuffs. It’s going well– the textbook display of a successful op.

Until you spot the kid.

He’s panicked. Wide-eyes, head jerking towards the alley way like a rabbit sensing a trap. His eyes land on you– locking with your tense gaze. You had been pointing your gun towards one of the meat heads, assisting Zinger with the arrest. Adrenaline surged through your veins. One of the suspects– fucking Haskell– bolts. He sprints down the side of the building, disappearing into the shadows.

As if sensing he was next, your CI starts to move. You instinctively follow him– too quickly.

Mark shouts out your name.

But it was too late. You had already broken formation, darting over to grasp the kid’s arm. You wanted to yell at him for being an idiot and throwing away the months of work he’d accomplished. And you wanted to make sure he was okay. You try to pull him to safety behind a car, breathless as you speak. “Hey, hey– it’s okay. Breathe, kid.”

You’re not as close to the car as you’d hoped. Or thought. Accidentally, you’d gotten right in Carter’s line of sight for the runner she’s chasing after. There’s a heartbeat of confusion. She slows to make sure to not bump into you, sending you and the kid sprawling over the cracked sidewalk.

But that’s all it takes.

He’d disappeared into the maze of the alley. Leaving the three of you standing and gawking around like doofuses. Haskell was gone. Slipped through your fingers like water running down a drain. The mistake you’d made doesn’t hit until you hear her grunt. “He’s gone. We need a BOLO.”

The world slows. Everything you’d worked for that whole week was ruined in the space of a second. A misstep. A colossal mistake of your CI and yourself– you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get emotional. You should have treated him like any other apparent 10-80.

Your grip on the kid tightens and you glance around, catching Mark’s gaze. His jaw is a slab of stone. His gaze is pure hellfire. If you had waited another second, you were sure smoke would start coming out of his ears. Though his gun is still raised, his gaze was sharper than any bullet.

But he says nothing. Not here. Not now. He just turns his back and barks orders like a man built from ice and hard rules. “Zinger, bag the money. Shaw, secure the kid. Carter, call it in. Rest of us’ll sweep the perimeter.”

His words slam against your skull. Make your breath stop short. He was pissed– in the silent, just a second from lighting everyone on fire kind of way. You don’t speak. Don’t dare to. Your chest tightens with the collision of guilt and pain.

The ride back to the station is silent. The deadly kind. The kind that made every move would set off the bomb that was Mark Meachum. The silence fell tight like a noose, tightening around your neck as anxiety rose up your veins.

The bullpen is quiet when you return.

Everyone was still fighting to breathe through the thick disappointment, tension, and something far worse– silence. It had been so close. The op was almost wrapped. Clean cut. But just a second of emotion– being a human being– had given way to a suspect to get away.

You felt it festering under your skin, melting into your bones.

And Mark doesn’t wait.

The second the team stumbles the very last of their equipment in, Mark grabs your arm. His grip isn’t harsh– firm– as he tugs you towards the empty briefing room at the end of the hallway. The door swings shut behind you with an echoing thud.

Your heart falls out through your feet.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice was raised, anger and disappointment roared in his eyes. Guilt gnawed at his chest.

He had known exactly what it was. It was you being the sweet person you were– dropping your own guard to help someone. But that had made you vulnerable– the whole team vulnerable. You acted on impulse. Used your heart instead of your head. Your actions reflected just how new you were to being a detective– how young you still were. You were going to make petulant decisions and he should have been there to make sure you didn’t– not fantasizing about spreading you out beneath him.

His jaw set. “You had one job.” His voice is low. Measured. Not too loud– but furious enough in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You would have taken him screaming at you over this.

“Mark–” You start, blinking as your chest screams.

“You broke formation,’ he snarls, his jaw so tight you could see the vein in his neck straining. “We had it. It was done– and what? You just tossed protocol out the window?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to quell the pressure building in your chest. “He was my CI. My responsibility! I thought-”

“You thought, huh?” Mark cuts over you, voice dangerously rough. “That’s what you call it? Running off like some fuckin’ rookie?”

He’s livid. His eyes were dark with anger, glinting in the dim light. They burned like a fire. And his words hit like a slap to the face. Mark’s broad shoulders tense, hands flexing at his side as they fold in and out of fists. He looked like a bomb ticking down to zero.

He gets closer, his anger reaching a crescendo. “Act like the fuckin’ detective you are.”

That makes you flinch. Just barely. A half-step back. A twitch in your shoulders. But it’s enough.

Mark freezes. His eyes roam over your figure, analyzing your body language. He knew he’d let his anger get the better of him. Gone too far. The fire behind his eyes diminished, like someone had just dropped a gallon of water over it. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“Shit,” he mutters, thumb and pointer and middle finger coming up to massage his forehead. Try to relive some of the tension there. Cool down. Step out of himself and look at the situation for what it was– something that any detective or cop has done once in their career. “I didn’t mean to–”

You cut him off, breath catching in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

But anger twists inside your chest. And you can’t hold back the things you’ve always wanted to yell at him back.

“You’ve been on my ass since I got here.” Your own voice comes out foreign in your throat, a level of anger and annoyance you’d never heard from yourself. Every moment of his blatant disrespect flashed through your mind, coiling around your brain with a vice grip. Your hands trembled slightly as your voice raised. “You snap at me. Ignore me. Act like I’m the biggest burden for the LAPD.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “That ain’t–”

“I made one mistake tonight.” Your voice is firm, trembling slightly from anger. “One. But I’ve done everything right before that, and you still treat me like a problem!” Your voice wavers. Your skin is flushed red from how worked up you’d gotten– bright cherry red cheeks and a frown pulling your lips down. “So, tell me, Mark. What could I possibly have done that made you hate me so much?”

The words echo in the silence.

Mark wants to punch a wall. He felt a weight on top of his chest, smothering him and forcing his breath to be shallow. Your words ricocheted off the walls in his mind. He wanted to scream. He didn’t hate you– how could he hate the angel standing in front of him? He was battling his demons and it obviously had seeped out in the way he was treating you.

Which he knew was wrong.

He stares at you. Hard. His jaw twitches. Then, something in his eyes shifts. His expression crumbles. “I don’t hate you, sweetheart.”

Mark curses himself for calling you that. He should turn and walk away. Walk until his feet bleed and his body's too old to move. Just staying far away from you– and your soft skin, and bright eyes that are looking up at him with sincerity swirling in them. He should be on his way to a confessional booth, if he was religious. Count up all his sins– starting with you. But he doesn’t. Because he’s a weak man.

Your huff. “Then what is this, Meachum?”

The air shifts. A knife couldn’t slice through the tension swimming in the atmosphere. Mark takes a step forward, being pulled towards you by an unmistakable force. Then another. His voice drops to a rasp– something deep in his chest. Dangerous. Shaky like he knows it’s wrong.

“I don’t hate you.” He repeats. “I’m trying not to slam you against that wall and kiss you stupid.”

Silence.

Your heart slams against your ribs. The air had been knocked right from your lungs. Heat bloomed across your skin once again– this time hotter than before back in the van. Mark is staring you down like a predator watching its prey, waiting for the right time to pounce.

Before you can even begin to think of who can see, be angry with how he treated you, or how wrong all of this probably was, you advanced the lingering space. His scent engulfed you immediately. His strong masculine scent flooded your senses, wrapping around your brain like a disease. Your fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt and pulled him down towards you.

His lips crash against yours. You step closer into the heat radiating off of him– lips clashing desperately, angry, aching. He stiffed for a second– stunned. Then, he growls and melts like wax.

His large hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. The other curls around your waist, grip on your hip bruising. The kiss deepens, months of repressed tension and dirty fantasies exploding. His mouth is hot, urgent, and the perfect amount of rough.

The second the gasp leaves your lips, he’s walking you backwards towards the wall. He growls when he feels your back hit the wall, bumping against your chest. If there was a God, Mark was gladly giving him the middle finger. Screw morals. He couldn’t consider them when you were grasping onto his shirt like a lifeline.

The world had narrowed. The only thing you could think about was him. His hands. His mouth. The way his body caged yours in against the wall, tall frame towering over you. You could feel flames start to lick up your veins, setting your skin on fire.

Mark’s thoughts were ricocheting off the walls of his mind, each getting increasingly darker than the last. Please, Lord, forgive me, his mind rattled off, grasping at your hip tighter. For all the ways I want to defile this woman.

When you break apart, gasping for air, his forehead falls against yours. His expression is pained– like he was holding himself back. His voice is raw. “This is bad.”

You nod weakly, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Yep.” Your voice is a whisper, lowered to a tone that has him reeling.

“Tell me to stop.” He warns, head dipping to run his nose along the column of your throat. He takes in the sweet scent of your skin, wanting nothing more than to get drunk off you. “You’re too good for me, angel. Too young. Fuck, tell me to stop. Please.”

His voice was ragad, rough as a knife as it split through your head. You know you should probably tell him to stop. There’s nothing good that can come of making out– or more– at the office. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see. But, the thrumming between your ears was too loud. The building ache down your thighs was getting too hard to ignore.

You don’t tell him to stop.

“Come home with me, Mark.” Your voice is soft, paper-thin. Your hand presses against his chest. Feeling the erratic beating of his heart banging against his ribs.

And damn him all to hell. He was already going– might as well enjoy the last good thing he’ll get.

“Okay.” He murmurs back, thumb circling your hip bone.

The drive to your place is a whirlwind of lingering glances and Mark’s hand on your thigh. Every few minutes, he’d glide his hand up higher. Massage the meat of your thigh. Grinning every time your breath hitches. 

He was already aching in his jeans– the decision to wear them suddenly being the worst one in his life. Still, as his length strains against the fabric, his mind drifts to the morality of all this. Was he really about to do this? Should he be doing this? What the hell was going to happen in the morning when the two of you have to go back to work–

His thoughts are cut off by your hand. The soft, almost shy touch of your hand running up his thigh. Payback. His grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles turning white. His jaw sets. Dazzling green eyes look over at you, darkened by a hunger anyone could recognize from a mile away. 

His gaze burns through your soul– spreading you open with a simple look. Your thighs clench together.

Mark notices. 

He throws the law out the window, slamming his foot down on the pedal. At every turn, his voice comes out roughly to ask which one to take. When your hand came up to the seam of his thigh, Mark had completely lost it. The small shred of control he had was quickly thinning. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, angel.” A command. Dark, rough, and entirely too hot.

His reaction only spurs you on. As the streetlights paint his face in reds and oranges, you lean over and press a kiss under his jaw. You can feel the pressure building in his jeans, hard against your fingertips. “What are you gonna do?”

A feral growl rips from his throat, turning into your driveway. He slams on the brake. The car lurches, your body jolting forward and a gasp leaving your lips. Mark commanded people at his job… and he obviously didn’t stop commanding in any other aspects of his life. 

“Outta the car, sweetheart.” His voice was low, a dangerous sort of smooth. Calm. 

Your heart thumps against your ribcage. 

Mark was by your side before you were even able to get a foot on the ground. His hand pressed firmly against your back. His presence felt like a dark cloud, festering with dark desire. You let him lead you towards the door. You let him curl his fingers in the fabric of your button up, heat shooting down to your core.

The door swings open and Mark’s quick to pin you against the door, hand gently cradling your head to not hurt. Your body thumps lightly against the wood. Mark cages you in like a man who's been starved for months. And you were the five course meal. His mouth trails to the line of your jaw, peppering kisses and nibbles. 

His hands skim beneath your button up– calloused fingers brushing against bare skin, revenant like a prayer. He gently maps the slope of your spine, the feel of your hips, every inch of your skin like he’s trying to commit you to his memory. 

Because he was. This would be his only slice of Heaven he’d ever get a taste of– the atrocities he was about to commit would send him barreling to eternal damnation. Despite all of that, he still touched you like you’d break. 

“I ain’t got no reason to be so close to heaven– somethin’ I’ll fuckin’ ruin.” His voice is quiet, almost breaking. It was rough– something raw aching to leave his chest. 

Your own hands that had been groping at him found his hips, pulling him towards you until you were flush together. You feel the weight of him against your thigh, the jean fabric doing nothing to hide his size. “I’m not breakable.” 

Something in him snaps. Every second his patience wavered, thinning to a point of absolution. Then, he’s kissing you– really kissing you. His fingers are curling in your hair and his tongue is swiping your bottom lip, begging for permission. 

A soft whimper leaves your lips. He grins into the kiss, licking into you like a man starved. He tastes like mint and something dangerous, a taste you’d gladly get drunk on. A grunt leaves his chest and you swallow it, swollen lips clashing against his. It’s hungry. It’s messy. It feels like Heaven and hell all at once– a war being waged as his fingers come up to hook between the buttons of your blouse. 

Before you can register just what he was doing, he was yanking your shirt apart. The buttons of your button up scatter across your floor, the sound of light clattering being heard under your gasp. The cool air hits your chest like cold water splashing against your skin. His warm hands are quick to snub the cold, feeling your body under his hands. He cups your breast and you shiver. 

He nibbles against your neck, licking and kissing the mark away. Every bit of pleasure and pain melds together to make your head feel fuzzy. All the while, his hand is skimming everywhere he can get it. Mark squeezes your breast softly, kneading your flesh. Even through the lace of your bra, he can feel your nipple pebbling. 

“I’m not gentle.” He mutters into your neck, finally pausing his assault. 

Varying ideas flashed through your mind. You were fucked. This man was gonna make sure you weren’t walking in the morning. And damn you to hell if that didn’t turn you on even more. You roll your hips against his, searching for some much needed friction to soothe the ache between your legs. “I don’t want gentle.” 

Mark finally breaks. Whatever it was that had him tied down to this stratosphere snaps. It’s like a rabid animal had been released– and you were his first meal. 

He acts fast. Precise. His hands are on your waist and he’s spinning you, making you brace your hands against the wood of the door. A gasp leaves your lips at the sudden roughness. His fingers and hooking into your black slacks and yanking them down your legs. The fabric crumples in a puddle around your ankles. 

Mark curses, falling to his knees as if he’s about to pray. His hands roam up your thighs, the sensation sprouting goosebumps all over your legs. His fingers feel like pure sin as they curl around your thighs, peppering kisses behind your knees and up the back of your thighs. 

A wicked grin captures his lips as you shiver, your legs wobbling in anticipation. When his eyes are level with your clothed cunt, he almost creams his jeans just seeing the wet spot on your cotton panties. His hand grasps your asscheek, thumb running along your slit. 

Your head whips over your shoulder, chest heaving as you watch him. His brows are furrowed in concentration. A feral look is swirling in his eyes, dark green and surely dangerous. He’s sitting on his haunches as his thumb continues stroking you through your panties. Every little touch sends jolts of electricity through your body. 

“Tell me, angel,” he whispers, eyes trained on the mess gathering between your thighs. “Do boys your age eat pussy?”

The question forces a blush to rise on your cheeks. You shift your weight, bending over slightly to push your ass closer to his face. A jerk of embarrassment rises in your abdomen, swirling around in your insides and shooting straight down to your aching core. 

“S-sometimes.” Your word is a gasp, the feeling of him pressing his thumb against your entrance. You watch him pull his hand away, thumb glistening with your essence. He sticks his tongue out and laps at his thumb, growling when he tastes you.

“Poor baby.” He mutters, working fast to hook his digits into the sides of your panties and tear them down to follow your slacks. “Should be fuckin’ drowning in you.” His tongue darts out to lick a stripe over your cunt. 

The feeling of his tongue and his words force a whimper from your lips. Your nails scratch down the wood of the door, grasping and pawing at nothing for balance. “Shit, Mark!” 

He groans into your cunt, the vibrations sending pleasure shooting up your veins. “Like fuckin’ Heaven.” Mark turns his face to nip at your thighs, kissing the soft skin to chase away any ache. One of his hands snakes up your waist to hold you closer. His hand curls around your thigh and holds your legs open for himself. “Stupid little boys don’t know how to treat a woman.”

He wasn’t even talking to you– simply giving his annoyance a voice. He hadn’t been with anyone younger than him in.. well, ever. So hearing this blasphemy of boys not wanting to go down on their partners’ absolutely baffled and enraged him. It probably shouldn’t piss him off. But honestly? He didn’t give a shit. You had a slice of heaven between your legs and he wanted to worship you. Then defile you.. over, and over again.

His mouth assaults your cunt, tongue licking and flicking against your clit like a starved man. It’s messy. Your essence drips down his chin as he delves into you. Each time you moan or jolt, he’s grinning like a psychopath. Mark moans at your taste and the way you wither above him. 

His hand moves from your thigh to slap your ass– a little tap to keep your focus– when you try to back yourself closer to his mouth. It’s a warning. A whimper falls from your lips, forehead lightly thudding against the door. His tongue licks all over your slit, through your folds and teases your entrance. Every swipe of his tongue felt like magic. Every wanton moan he pulled from you only egged him on. 

When his fingers press into you without warning, your walls clench around his digits. His fingers are thick and he’s buried himself up to his last knuckle, ivory fingers shining with your juices every time he pumps them in and out of you. His mouth had finally paused its assault on your cunt. He takes just a second to take in a deep breath. 

His head dips back between your legs to find your clit. His lips suction onto your bundle of nerves, sucking with passion. Like a man on a mission to have you screaming his name. His tongue flicks over your clit, loving the way your hips were bucking and your breathing had grown ragged. 

His digits crook to the side just right, finding that magical spot inside you. Your hips grind down against his face, not even caring about the repercussions. His fingers were pounding and curling into your– effortlessly sending you to the next stratosphere. Your mouth was moving and throwing out syllables that had no real weight attached to it. With just his fingers, Mark was managing to fuck you stupid. 

“Needy girl.” He mutters roughly, fingers crooking and curling. “Doin’ all that work f’me. Fuckin’ yourself on my fingers.” He chuckles, watching your hips press backwards each time his digits slid through your walls. “Makin’ a mess, Angel.”

Whimpers leave your throat, mouth dropped open because you couldn’t find the strength to close it. His words were absolutely filthy and each one shot electricity through your veins. “Feel that, angel?” He asks you, curling his fingers with precision. “Drippin’ all down my wrist.” The asshole laughs. Laughs. Your walls clench around his fingers, chasing after the pleasure he’s supplying you with. “Got me all messy– oh, look at that, it’s all down your thighs.”

The coil in your abdomen was bound to snap in an instance. Every stroke and curl of his fingers paired with faux sympathetic mocking falling from his lips pushed you closer to the edge. Your legs had started shaking. It felt like your legs were turning into jello– or maybe giving bambi a run for his money. Because you sure felt like a baby deer with the way you kept slipping down the door. 

Mark’s words infected your very bloodstream, wrapping around your brain like sin washed silk. You’d never been so turned on in your life. The memories of him grumbling about having to bring you along on opps had been replaced– the vision of him on his knees being the only reverie ricocheting around in your mind. 

“You always like this? Or is it just for me?” His voice was a taunt wrapped in silk. You already knew a smug smirk was turning the corners of his lips up. It’s the same smirk he adorns in interrogation rooms, knowing the suspect was digging themselves a grave. 

When a broken moan slips past your lips he tuts. 

“Gotta tell me, angel. This all for me?” His fingers slow to a tortuous pace, the grin evident in his voice. 

“Fuck– Mark, yes, it’s for you.” Your voice is broken, panting as if you’d run a mile. Every nerve in your body was on edge– ready to explode with your impending orgasm. Being forced to say it felt degrading. Your chest tightens at the feeling. Still, despite it, his words had forced you closer to the edge. 

“I know.” He says smugly, finally pounding his fingers into you the way he had been. “You’re gonna cume for me too, yeah? C’mon, angel, gush that pretty pussy all over me.” The grin plastered across his face twists his words into something that has your nails scraping against the doorframe. 

His head dips, quickly finding your clit once more. He suctions his lips around it, harshly sucking it between his lips. A broken moan of his name leaves your lips. Your body shakes. White hot pleasure shoots down your veins, your hips rocking against his fingers and his mouth. 

Mark is quick to hold your legs open as he feasts upon your cunt. His fingers slip from your entrance and he laps at your puffy folds. Every little touch sends your body jerking towards the door, trying to get away from his hot mouth. 

He grunts, gasping your hips and pressing you right onto his face. He doesn’t stop dragging his tongue from your entrance up to your clit until you’re crying– begging him to stop. 

Mark rises to his feet slowly, pressing his hips against your ass. The hardness in his jeans is aching to be let out– aching to ruin you. But Mark pauses for just a second. If he was going to hell he wanted to go out as a devout feminist. 

“Listen here, angel.” He whispers in your ear, rutting and rolling his hips against you. “I need that pretty voice now.” He kisses your neck, hands holding you upright. “Need you to tell me you want this. Because I want to fuckin’ ruin you.”

Your heart stops. His voice is a rough rasp in your ear, fingers trembling against your skin from restraint.

His nose nuzzles into your neck. His actions are affectionate but every word falling from his magical lips are pure filth. “I want to ruin you for every other man, sweetheart. I want you wobbling around after I’ve fucked every thought from that pretty brain. I want to mark up every inch of your skin– show every little boy they weren’t man enough to take you home. Have you cum for them.”

Your head thumps against his shoulder, your body already heating up from his words. You wanted it, too. He could have asked you for anything and you would have agreed– jumping into the dark abyss without remorse.  Your thighs were already clenching together, heat thundering under your skin.

“Because, angel.” He murmurs, hand sliding down your abdomen to cup your heat. “I want this to be just for me. I’m not gentle. I take what I want– and I need you to want it, too. Do you understand me?”

In just three seconds, you had willingly sold your soul. And the worst part was this: you didn’t want it back.

“Yes, I understand.”

divider by @viviansturns

estelle yapps some more: hello, love! you can find my other works here. my requests are currently open at the time of posting this! if you’d like, join the taglist.

taglist: @poisonivy2267 @ladykitana90 @lyarr24

[yesihaveaobsession]

alastor (hazbin hotel) x female!reader

Summary: The reader (you) joins Alastor on a mysterious nighttime walk through Hell, witnessing the fear and admiration he stirs while a quiet connection begins to grow between them.

A/N- Alastor fic is out! Hope y'all enjoy! :) ALSO, I'm gonna be trying something that is a Tom Ellis fic so stay tuned!

You weren’t exactly sure what possessed you to say yes. Maybe it was the teasing lilt in his voice, the way his grin seemed to curl just a touch more when he asked, “Care to accompany me on a little outing, my dear?” Or maybe it was pure curiosity. Alastor never explained where he went or what he did when he wandered Hell’s winding streets alone.

Despite others telling you not to go, you naturally agreed.

The moment your arm threaded through his, you noticed it—the subtle shift in the atmosphere. One second, Hell’s usual buzz of noise and chaos surrounded you, the acrid scent of brimstone and burning oil thick in the air, and the next… silence.

Well, almost.

Your heels tapped along the cracked sidewalks as you kept—or at least tried to keep—stride with him, but it was hard to ignore the way people reacted as you passed.

Some stared, wide-eyed and pale, pressing their backs to the walls of buildings like they were trying to disappear into the brick itself. Their eyes flicked nervously from Alastor’s glowing red gaze to the confident way he walked, and some even crossed the street entirely.

Others, though… they flocked.

Demons with radiant smiles and arms outstretched approached him like old friends at a reunion, some even linking arms or falling into step beside him with laughter and fond greetings. One called out, “Mon chéri, you’ve returned!” as if he were royalty. And yet, their voices all held a strange undertone—admiration, yes, but also caution. Like he was fire. Beautiful and warm… right until you got too close.

You glanced up at him. He seemed… content.

Not proud. Not smug. Just content. Like this was exactly how the world should react to him.

“So,” you said quietly, afraid you'd say the wrong thing as you both walked under a flickering streetlamp, the light buzzing faintly like an old radio, “you inspire very mixed feelings.”

Alastor’s grin didn’t falter. “Ah, fear and fascination—the twin flames of respect, wouldn’t you agree?” He turned to look at you, eyes gleaming like embers. “People remember those who leave an impression.”

You hummed. “And which do you prefer?”

He let out a radio-static laugh. Not loud, not manic—just a smooth, rich chuckle that rippled through the air like a warm crackle. “Oh, darling, why not both? A little spark here, a little shiver there—keeps the dance lively, don’t you think?”

He led you into a small courtyard you didn’t even know existed, nestled between two towering buildings. It was eerily quiet—surprisingly so, especially for Hell. No noise but the gentle buzz of old neon signs and the low hum of a distant radio playing a tune from a forgotten decade. The scent of ash and something sweet—maybe caramelized fruit? Hung in the air and it mixing with the faint chill that brushed your skin like a whispered secret.

Alastor plucked a flower growing from the cracked stone and handed it to you with a playful bow. “For my lovely companion. You’ve been delightfully brave tonight.”

You took it, your fingers brushing against his clawed hand. A strange flutter caught your chest, one you didn’t expect to feel tonight. “You make it sound like I followed you into a lion’s den.”

He straightened, smile still sharp. “Have you not?”

His eyes held yours for a beat longer than they needed to. Not threatening. Not soft either. Just… deliberate. Curious. Studying you like he was trying to understand why you weren’t like the others. Why you hadn’t bolted the first chance you got.

You didn’t pull away. You held your ground.

Something in his expression flickered. Just a fraction. Like a radio signal caught between stations—there, and gone. But then he turned again, offering his arm.

“Shall we continue?”

You nodded and looped your arm back through his.

And as you walked deeper into the neon-drenched night, you couldn’t help but feel a warm thrill of something new—a feeling that perhaps you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[wonderlandwalker]

Chain of Command

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐭𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: abby anderson x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.8k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: learning new things about the woman you love is always interesting, but this one in particular makes you be a little shit about it. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mdni, smut, longing, poorly proofread, brainrot

𝐚/𝐧: got posessed with this idea so here's a quick fic to get it out of my system (it didn't work) also I wanted to ask, does guys prefer my longer fics over the shorter ones? Been getting in my own head about it a lot recently idk

It all started when she had you pinned in the training yard, her knee wedged between your thighs, her grip unyielding as she corrected your stance for the third time.

The packed dirt beneath you was still damp from last night’s rain, the earthy scent of it rising with every shift of your bodies, mingling with the salt of sweat on her skin. She’d just come off patrol—you could still smell the gunpowder clinging to her and the faint iron tang of a split knuckle she hadn’t bothered to bandage. The weight of the WLF’s demands sat coiled in the line of her shoulders, in the tightness of her jaw, but she’d promised to train you, and Abby always kept her promises, even when she’d rather be dragging you back to bed, her teeth at your throat and her hands mapping every inch of you like territory she owns. 

You should’ve been paying attention.

But the late afternoon sun gilded the sweat on her collarbones, catching the faint tremor in her arms as she moved. You felt it then—the shift. The way her fingers lingered a second too long on your wrist, callouses catching against your pulse point, and the way her palm burnt through the thin fabric of your shirt as she steadied your hip. And her breath—sharp, uneven—when you leaned back into her, just to test the waters, just to see if she’d push you away or pull you closer. ⁠The light caught the damp strands of hair stuck to her temples and the sharp line of her throat as she swallowed. So when she huffed, “This isn’t a fucking joke,” you just grinned up at her, all lazy provocation, and murmured:

“Whatever you say, Sergeant.”

You expected her to roll her eyes. To call you a pain in her ass and haul you up for another drill, her patience fraying but fond, that familiar exasperation curling at the edges of her mouth. You’d seen it a hundred times before—the way she’d bite back a smile, the way her grip would tighten just a fraction before she let you go.

Instead her hips press into yours with sudden, deliberate intent, the rough grind of her thigh sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight to your core. 

Your pulse roars in your ears, your body arching instinctively against hers before you can stop yourself. Her fingers twitch around your wrists, her grip tightening like she is fighting the urge to flip you over and take you, to pin you harder, deeper.

Her pupils are swallowed by the blue of her irises, her chest rising fast above you, and for one dizzying second, you swear you feel the heat of her—the unspoken promise of friction, of her mouth on yours, of the way she’d sound when she finally let go— Then her eyes flicker down to your mouth, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough because you’ve seen that look before—right before she gives in, right before she lets herself indulge—but never like this. Never with her lips parted on a silent gasp, her chest heaving like she’d just run a mile in full gear. Never because you had dragged this out of her with nothing but a title and a smirk.

Oh.

Abby Anderson—the woman who can snap a man’s neck with her thighs, who snarls orders like they are scripture, and who fucks you with the same single-minded intensity she brings to every fight—likes that.

And she hates that she likes it.

The silence between you stretches, taut as a bowstring, vibrating with the things she refuses to say. Her knuckles bleach white where she braces herself above you, tendons standing sharp against her skin. Her breath comes uneven, ragged—each exhale a battle lost. You can see the war in her: pride wrestling with want, discipline crumbling under the weight of how badly she wishes to shut you up the only way she knows how. With her hands. Her teeth. The brutal, clamouring press of her body pinning yours into the dirt until neither of you can remember why this was a bad idea.

Teasing Abby wasn’t new territory. You know her in the way people only can after years of shared silence and shared violence—the exact pitch of her sigh when you steal the last protein bar from the ration box, the way her scowl will soften (just for a heartbeat, just for you) when you press a kiss to her scarred knuckles after a long day. You know the rhythm of her breathing when she sleeps, the hitch before a nightmare, the way her muscles coil like a spring before a fight. You’ve memorised the rare, vulnerable laugh she’ll let slip when you catch her off guard, the sound rough and bright, like sunlight breaking through Seattle’s perpetual grey.

You know her, in all her stubborn, relentless glory—the way she carries her grief like armour, the way she loves like it is a battle she refuses to lose.

Which is why you also knew she’d never admit to this.

Not unless you drag it out of her.

You tested the waters first—light, playful, like poking a wolf just to see if it would snap.

"Mornin’, Sarge."

Your voice is still rough with sleep, the words a lazy drawl as you lean against the counter, watching her with a grin that borders on contemptuous. The early light cuts through the blinds, striping her shoulders in gold as she reaches for her coffee. And just like that—her fingers stall around the mug.

A split-second hesitation, so slight most people would’ve missed it.

But you know her. Know the way her breath hitches—a tiny, aborted sound, like she’s been sucker-punched. Know the way her jaw tightens, teeth grinding hard enough to ache, biting back a groan that would’ve ruined her. Her knuckles whiten, grip threatening to crack the ceramic, and you can see it—the images flashing behind her eyes like a lightning storm: flipping the table, hauling you up against the counter, her hips grinding into yours until you forgot how to breathe, until all you could choke out is—

But Abby Anderson doesn’t break that easily.

She swallows hard, the muscles in her throat working as she forces herself to take a slow, measured sip. "Morning," she mutters back, her voice low and rough.

So you got bolder.

You whisper it against her pulse when she’s half-asleep, lips brushing the scar on her neck, feeling the muscle there twitch under your mouth. Your breath ghosts over her skin, hot and teasing, and she shudders—just once, just enough for you to know she’s awake, that she’s listening.

You sigh it, saccharine-sweet, when she corrects your posture in the training ring, relishing the way her hands tighten on your waist—a second too long, a touch too possessive. Her fingers dig in, blunt and demanding, like she’s memorising the curve of your hips for later. And when you lean into her touch, just to be difficult, her exhale is ragged against your ear, her voice a low, warning growl.

You live for the way her eyes darken when you drag out the word in public—slow, deliberate, a secret just for the two of you. The way her breath catches, the way her teeth bare for half a second before she schools her expression back into something neutral. 

It’s art, really. The way her pupils swallow the light, leaving her gaze black with something between fury and hunger. The way her jaw flexes, like she’s physically stopping herself from slamming you against the nearest wall.

In the mess hall, crowded between off-duty WLF soldiers, you lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear as you murmur, "Save me a seat, Sergeant."

Her grip on the tray creaks, fingers denting the metal hard enough to leave imprints. The muscles in her forearms stand out in stark relief, tendons flexing like she’s imagining them wrapped around your throat instead—not to hurt, but to hold you still while she takes what she’s been denying herself. Her cheeks flush under her freckles, a furious, uneven red, and when she finally looks at you, her gaze is wild, untamed, like she’s one wrong move away from dragging you out of here.

And she probably should know better by now. Should’ve built up an immunity to the way you pronounced that fucking title, like it was something filthy—something hers. But here she is, pulse hammering in her throat like a trapped bird, her body reacting like she’s still some green recruit who’s never been touched.

God, she wants to wreck you.

Wants to flip the tray, scatter cutlery across the floor with a clatter that silences the room, and drag you onto the table by your belt loops—let everyone see what happens when you push her too far. Wants to bite the word back into your mouth until you gasp it against her lips like a plea, until your nails carve half-moons into her shoulders and your thighs tremble around her hips.

But she can’t.

Not here. Not with a dozen eyes watching, with the weight of that damn rank strapped to her like armour—like a chain. So she does the only thing she can: she burns. Jaw locked, knuckles white around her fork, her body coiled with want so fierce it’s a miracle the air doesn’t smoulder between you.

Abby is always the one giving orders, the one taking control—fucking you with that military precision until you’re a shaking, whimpering mess beneath her.

Every movement calculated, every touch deliberate—like she’s mapping out a battle plan on your skin. She knows exactly how to make you unravel, how to reduce you to gasps and pleading moans with nothing but the slow, relentless grind of her hips or the sharp bite of her teeth against your collarbone.

But now?

Now you have the upper hand.

Just a little. Just enough.

Enough to make her lose focus during drills, her strikes coming a half-second too late because her mind is elsewhere—on you, on your mouth, on the way you’d whimper if she shut you up the way she wants to. (With her hand fisted in your hair. With her knee pressing between your thighs. With her voice, rough and final, growling, "That’s enough."

Enough to make her breath hitch when you whisper "Yes, ma’am" against her ear in the middle of a conversation, your lips brushing her skin like a brand. The way her entire body locks up, muscles tensing like she’s bracing for impact—like those two words are a detonation she wasn’t prepared for.

It even makes Manny squint at her, eyebrows shooting up when Abby suddenly chokes on air, her grip tightening around her water bottle hard enough to crack the plastic.

"The fuck’s wrong with you?" he asks, but Abby just grits her teeth, her fingers flexing like she’s imagining putting them to better use.

And she will growl—

A sound that starts deep in her chest, rough enough to scrape your nerves raw. 

She will glare, her eyes dark as a winter storm, the kind that freezes men mid-step. She will mutter threats under her breath—"Keep pushing me, and you’ll regret it"—words that shouldn’t make your stomach flip, but God, they do.

But she never stops you.

Because beneath the frustration, beneath the barely leashed want that has her fingers twitching for your throat, there’s something worse. Something that makes her bite her tongue hard enough to taste copper when you smirk at her across the firing range, your lips shaping "Sarge" like a bullet meant just for her. Something that has her shifting in her seat during mission briefings, her boot heel grinding into the floor when your foot accidentally brushes her calf under the table—lingering—until her thigh tenses, until she has to clench her jaw to stop the low, traitorous noise building in her throat.

She hates this.

Hates the way your voice wraps around that fucking word, turning it into something filthy—something that slithers under her skin and stays, throbbing like a fresh bruise. Hates how easily you unravel her, how you’ve turned her own discipline against her, weaponised it until she’s aching in the middle of a goddamn patrol, her stomach tight, her pulse ragged, her mind replaying the way you’d whisper it against her ear if she ever let you close enough.

It doesn’t take much more for her self-control to shatter.

Just a few more teasing looks—lips curled, lashes lowered—just for her. A few more well-timed sergeants hissed where others might hear, syllables dripping with challenge. Just one more smirk as your fingers pluck at that loose thread on your sleeve like you're unravelling her along with it—

Then she snaps.

One second, you're taunting her across the armoury. The next, her hand is fisted in your shirt, yanking you into a supply closet so fast the door slams hard enough to shake dust from the hinges. The impact rattles shelves, sending bandages cascading to the floor in a flutter of white—but Abby doesn't even blink.

She cages you against the wall, her body a furnace of muscle, her teeth already at your throat—not biting, no—but pressing just hard enough to make your pulse kick against her tongue. Her palm smothers your gasp, callouses scraping your jaw as she leans in, her breath scalding your ear:

"You think this shit is funny?"

Her knee slots between your thighs, rough, pinning you in place as her free hand finds your hip—digs in—claiming the gasp she stole right back from your lungs. ⁠Her voice is a razor’s edge, low and lethal, and the way she says it—

Like she’s this close to breaking you in half—splitting you open—sends a jolt of white-hot arousal straight to your core, so sharp it borders on pain. Her knee presses between your thighs, hard, relentless, the rough fabric of her pants dragging against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the friction wrings a whine from your lips, high and desperate. You writhe, but she doesn’t let up, her breath scalding against your ear as she growls:

"You want me to put you in your place, is that it?"

All you can do is nod, frantic, your hips jerking against her leg like you’re trying to chase the pressure, to grind down until the ache turns sweet. The sound you make is muffled under her hand, but she feels it, the vibration against her palm making her snarl, her grip tightening like she’s debating whether to silence you or force another one out of you.⁠ 

Her words are crisp, exact— Not requests. Orders. The kind of tone that snaps spines straight in the training yard, that makes veterans flinch. The kind that liquefies your muscles before your brain even processes the command.

"Arch your back."

You obey instantly, your body moving before your mind catches up, her hand already mapping your stomach like territory to conquer. No hesitation as she slips beneath your waistband, calloused fingers claiming you with the same ruthless efficiency she clears a room.

"Hold still."

A decree. A joke. Her fingers move inside you with brutal precision, curling just how she knows you like it. You choke on a sob, teeth sinking into her palm hard enough to leave marks as she sets a rhythm that would shame a metronome.

"That's it."

Her voice is smoke and gunpowder, lips dragging along your jugular like she's considering where to bite next. "Take it."

You're close, so fucking close—hips stuttering, nails carving trenches into her biceps, that coil in your gut winding tighter and tighter, a broken noise catching in your chest as she smirks against your skin—

Your hips buck, desperate, but she pins you harder against the door, her forearm an iron bar across your stomach. The denial burns worse than the friction.

Her teeth graze your earlobe—a punishment. A promise. The damp heat of her breath slithers into your ear as she growls: "Say 'please'."

And, God—you’ve never obeyed an order so fast in your life.

[streamdotpng]

For you,

"You need to stop lazing in my bed," Enid hissed the moment she stepped inside.

Wednesday didn’t move. Just laid there like she'd been waiting. A stark slash of black ink bleeding through the pastels, body buried under a mess of plushies and patchwork quilts that didn’t suit her at all. She was a blot in a colorful painting, eye catching.

"Why would I?" she asked, voice soft, deliberate. One pale hand free to toy with the leg of a spider plush nestled near her head, its velvet arms curling against her hair like it belonged there. A black widow. "I quite enjoy the feeling of being suffocated."

Enid stared at her for a beat longer than necessary before slamming the door shut behind her. The lock clicked under her fingers like second nature.

“I’m going to suffocate you for real if you keep pulling this shit.”

Wednesday didn’t blink. Her fingers kept moving, slow and meticulous as she played. Her whole posture radiated comfort. No, entitlement. Like the bed, the room, the whole damn world belonged to her.

And the worst part? She looked good like that, out of uniform and draped in clothes Enid was pretty sure were hers. Even buried under plush toys and pastel quilts, she still managed to look-

Enid shook her head hard, trying to knock the thought loose.

“Weren’t you the one who said,” Wednesday continued, not at all looking at her, “that whatever is yours is mine?”

Enid gritted her teeth.

“I was a kid,” she snapped, dropping her bag. “I was being courteous. Something you clearly don't know about.”

Wednesday hummed that same low, noncommittal sound that always made Enid feel like she was the one being ridiculous. Wednesday didn’t so much as sit up, she just kept twirling the plushie's leg between two fingers.

Enid exhaled sharply, the weight of the day finally sinking into her bones. School. Clubs. Her parents’ latest call. The hollow ache of pretending to be fine. She didn’t have the energy for Wednesday’s thing, not tonight.

She turned her back to Wednesday, her jaw tight as she kicked off her shoes with more force than necessary. Her tie came loose with one sharp tug. The motion of slipping out of her coat and hanging it on the chair was mechanical. Habit.

It was easier not to look.

“Scoot.”

A pause.

“What?”

Enid rolled her eyes as she undid the buttons on her sleeves. “Are you deaf now? I said move.”

She turned just in time to see Wednesday watching her, really watching. Not curious. Not smug. Focused.

It made her skin prickle. Not with discomfort but something worse.

“Make me,” Wednesday said finally, voice dipping into something heavier. Her eyes didn’t waver, it never does.

Enid’s throat tightened. She knew that look. That tone. She forced herself to scoff.

“Whatever. There’s no point in talking with you.”

Wednesday’s eyebrows lifted, just a fraction. Not expecting that.

Well, she won't be expecting this then.

With a speed Enid didn't know she possessed, she grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked it up without care. Plushies thudded to the floor like casualties with Wednesday blinking at her with wide eyes.

Enid didn’t wait, didn't try to think more on why Wednesday is in her clothes. She focused on climbing into the new space, shoving her way in and pushing Wednesday toward the wall, their bodies pressed too close. Closer than they ever have been since then.

“You like tight spaces, don’t you?” she muttered, glaring at her as a burn warmed her ears. Her eyes flicked down, once, to where Wednesday’s knee brushed hers beneath the cover. “Well. You better enjoy this, you little freak.”

Wednesday said nothing, not a single thing. Just stared at her with that strange stillness she always had when things were going exactly the way she wanted.

Enid turned over before Wednesday could catch her face. She could feel the warmth beside her, the almost touch of a shoulder brushing her back, the quiet rise of breath, the faint trace of Wednesday still clinging to the pillow.

It was awful.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Enid slept better than she ever did that night.

[tsuemi]

jealous olderbf!rin bcs i said so . . .

tw: aged up characters—rin is a bit older than reader, suggestive but no smut, jealousy, heavy undertones, mature language and js rin being hawt 🫦

it was past 6:00 pm when rin pulled into the university parking lot.

his matte black porsche purred low as he parked under a shaded tree, fingers still gripping the wheel while his sharp teal eyes scanned the campus grounds. his dark green hair was pushed back just enough to show his face — chiseled jawline, cold expression — he looked unfairly handsome. expensive.

he leaned back in the driver’s seat, one arm draped lazily over the steering wheel while the other tapped against his thigh. he wore a black button-down shirt — the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, veins prominent. the shirt clung to his chest just right, tucked into tailored slacks that made his legs look even longer.

he wasn’t trying to look good. but fuck, he did. he was here to pick up his girlfriend — you — because he’d promised dinner. no paparazzi. no teammates. just the two of you. it was your idea, and though rin pretended to roll his eyes when you asked him to come fetch you like a chauffeur, he didn’t hesitate. not when it was you.

you were the complete opposite of him.

warm where he was cold. bubbly where he was stoic. soft where he was sharp.

it pissed him off sometimes — how you got under his skin so easily — but he was addicted to the chaos.

his jaw clenched as he checked the time on his watch again. 6:11.

then he saw you. you were laughing — laughing — at something some guy next to you said.

a little older-looking. tall, lean. wearing a stupid white polo and glasses that tried too hard to look intellectual.

rin watched the guy casually nudge your shoulder with his own, smirking like he had the right. like he knew you.

you didn’t even notice rin yet.

and that pissed him off more than he expected.

he forced himself to stay still, eyes narrowing just a fraction. anyone else would’ve missed the change in his expression — but rin’s quiet fury wasn’t for show. it simmered beneath the surface like a livewire.

you were still walking with that guy. still talking. still fucking smiling.

he clicked his tongue, low and annoyed.

the moment you finally spotted his car, your eyes lit up — bright and warm — and rin saw it. saw the way you instinctively reached for your bag, quickening your steps toward him.

the guy beside you noticed too. his hand brushed your back as if to say goodbye, and rin caught that shit. every fucking second of it.

you opened the passenger door with a breathless grin.

“rin!”

he didn’t answer at first. just stared at you.

“…you’re late,” he muttered.

you blinked. “by five minutes?”

“six.”

he said it flatly, but his gaze was pointed — like a blade pressed against skin.

you laughed it off, sliding into the seat. the short denim skirt you wore rode up as you crossed your legs, and rin’s eyes flicked down for half a second before starting the engine.

as he pulled out of the lot, his voice came, quiet but edged.

“who was that?”

you blinked. “huh?”

“the guy with the glasses.”

“oh! just a senior. we’re in the same org. he’s nice.”

“nice?” rin echoed, tone bone-dry.

“yeah. he’s funny.”

“funny?”

you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “you good?”

“i’m fine.”

you frowned. “you don’t sound fine.”

“i don’t like how he touched you.”

you blinked. “it was just a pat. he does that to everyone—”

“he’s not ‘everyone’ to you.”

that shut you up.

you bit your lip, stealing a glance at rin’s profile. jaw tense. veins prominent on his hands as he gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary. the air in the car thickened — not with anger, but with tension. possessive. quiet. heavy.

“…are you jealous?” you teased.

he didn’t look at you, but his voice dipped lower.

“you’re mine. don’t make me repeat it.”

your thighs clenched at the way he said it — so matter-of-fact. like it was law. like your body belonged to him and only him. and honestly? it fucking did.

you smirked, unable to help yourself. “you get possessive when you wear black.”

rin glanced at you from the corner of his eye — slow, deliberate. his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth.

“don’t push me.”

“or what?”

he made a low sound — part scoff, part laugh. “keep acting cute and i’ll fuck you in the backseat before we even get to dinner.”

your breath hitched. he wasn’t loud about it. he didn’t raise his voice. but that was what made it worse. rin didn’t need to say shit twice. when he meant something, it came out like a promise.

you shifted in your seat, heat curling in your stomach.

“i didn’t know you got off on seeing me talk to other guys.”

“shut up.”

you smiled smugly.

the car ride continued in silence for a few more minutes. rin parked in front of the restaurant — some sleek, private rooftop place — then turned off the engine. you started to unbuckle your seatbelt when rin leaned over you suddenly, one hand gripping the side of your seat.

you stilled.

he was close. his face inches from yours. teal eyes dark and unreadable.

“you don’t fucking get it,” he murmured, voice low. “you walk around like that. all soft and pretty. wearing shit that shows off your legs. smiling at random guys like they’ve got a chance.”

your heart thumped wildly in your chest.

“you’re mine, y/n. no one else gets to touch you. you get that?”

you nodded quickly, your voice barely a whisper. “y-yeah…”

his hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, close to touching your clothed pussy.

“then act like it.”

you gasped — heat flooding between your legs — but rin was already pulling back, calm as ever, like he didn’t just light your entire body on fire.

“let’s go,” he said, stepping out of the car and slamming the door.

you sat there for a few seconds, legs trembling.

and holy shit — did that made you wet.

🍥 he's so ugh i want him so bad pls 😫 jealous rin >> also, i'm posting a part two of this and its smut 🤠 ty for reading !

[offdxty]

Kane has never been held like this, has never experienced closeness in such a way - knows of the concept, touch as a whole, was embraced by Lena before and had embraced her back, once she'd made it back out of the shimmer and back to the facility.

But this?

Nothing can compare to what this is - the way Harrow's arms curl around his body, pull him in, even lift his legs so that the whole of his weight comes to a rest on top of the man's lap. Nothing can compare to the feeling of safety that floods him in return, of being cared for, protected, secure. It triggers an emotion to rise inside Kane, not-Kane, it, that he would describe as outright primal - a deep need of sorts, pure want for the shared connection, the touch of another living being that is offered to him in such a personal, almost intimate way.

Where Kane had felt violated and dehumanized before, he now feels the exact opposite, despite the other being even closer than that security guard had ever been in the first place; He feels seen in a way that's hard to put into words, acknowledged beyond anything that has ever been given to him...

Even though those hands feel cool against his body, his scalp, there's a shared warmth existing that seems to soak right into his skin - through tissue and bone, reaching his heart to wrap it into a blanket of sorts, soft and gentle, loving, adoring. And Kane's arms wrap around Harrow in return, do so out of reflex, his instinct making him act and seek out what he craves to have, what he needs to keep breathing, to keep existing, to stay alive.

His bruises hurt because of the way Kane bends his upper torso, chest expanding with every shaky breath and every sob that's leaving him - but he doesn't care, doesn't think about it; This embrace, this hug, is everything he could ever need at this very moment - cancels out the pain inside his bones, inside his lungs, on his face.

You didn't do anything wrong, is what Harrow says with his voice so quiet and low - so beautiful and kind, so gentle and nourishing - and Kane lets out another sob, another hiccup, as his face presses into the crook of a neck. He says he's sorry, and, once again, Kane, not-Kane, it, shudders with the cry that pushes through his body, forced from a set of sore lungs.

You're not a thing - another sob. You're not something - a hiccup, a little softer, close to a whine.

You’re a person. You’re a person, Kane. Alright? You’re a man. A very, very good man.

Fingers hurting from how firmly they're curled against Harrow's back, holding onto the fabric of his shirt, Kane breathes - inhales, exhales - as he takes it in, soaks it up, his heart aching with how much he's longing for it - to be a man, a living person rather than a thing. Despite it all, even though this has happened, Harrow didn't change his opinion about him; Kane swallows, takes in the scent of skin and laundry detergent, of something that's just so purely Harrow...

It comforts him in the same way as that cup of chamomile tea did, two days ago.

He had missed the other. Kane had missed him so, so much.

"---I don't know..." A whisper breathed to that neck, followed by a sniff taken through a stuffy nose - lips move against the bare tissue as he speaks, eyes closed, body twitching whenever an involuntary gasp shakes him to the very core. "...What if I'm not? Maybe he's--- maybe he's right..."

For the briefest moment, a mere fraction of a second, Kane's head pushes up, subtly so - not to get away, to get distance between them, but rather to deepen the connection of that mouth to his hairline instead. Just because the act of it feels so... deep. So... human. So utterly, unmistakably human.

Arthur moved the moment Kane reached.

He didn’t move fast, god - he didn’t want to shatter whatever delicate threads were holding the other man together, but he moved immediately and quietly. He didn’t ask permission, he didn’t want to - thoughts of that were pushed out of his mind when faced with this, with this deeper emotion, with the sight of tears on Kane’s face. 

The mug was set to the side, on the floor, silent but quick. Arthur moved himself fully, after, drawn not by thought but by something instinctual; something that had always been in him, deep and old, buried in his bones. His arms were around Kane before he even had the time to consider if it was wise to do; one arm was wrapped firmly around the man’s back, the other curling beneath Kane’s knees, effortlessly pulling the man into his lap. 

He held the man close, pulling Kane against his chest - and he just held him. 

God. He held him. Tighter than he should have, and yet not nearly tight enough. One hand found Kane’s head, fingers burying into the dark hair as if it were something familiar, grounding; he just pulled the man ever closer, his face tilting down, nose tucked against the crown of Kane’s skull. His own jaw was clenched, his throat ached, but he didn’t cry. He wouldn’t allow himself to, not right now - but he ached. 

Every broken word from Kane, every repeat that the man was sorry, all cut him deeper than anything he had felt in decades. Not just guilt, but grief; a raw, gnawing grief for what he had allowed to happen. For every sob, for every strike, for every single thing that Six had done, all because Arthur had been so careless with his actions. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Arthur whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. “Kane. Kane - listen to me. Okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

His hand gently cupped the back of Kane’s head, just holding him, running his fingers through those soft curls that Six had been so careless with - Arthur’s hands were colder, but they were soft, delicate and kind. 

“This isn’t your fault. None of it, okay? None of it.” He didn’t know if the man could even hear him. Possibly not - it might be best to just let him cry it out, to allow him to drain all of those negative thoughts that were filling his mind. 

But Arthur didn’t want to say nothing. He couldn’t. “I brought you there. I told you that it’d be safe - you trusted me, it’s not your fault.” The words sat heavy in his chest; but he didn’t let go. He just held, remaining firm, wanting to be something that Kane could anchor to; he was cold, still dosed and semi-disconnected from his body, but he could feel the other man. He could feel his arms wrapped around him, could feel every hiccuped breath, every tear that soaked into his clothes. 

He’d failed.

Arthur had failed so deeply, so terribly, so horrifically - he had failed the facility just as severely as he had failed Kane. And what was there, in that? A loss, because of his failure to choose a side? All of this had developed so quickly - he held no proof that Kane was a living thing. He held no proof that this wasn’t just manipulation. He held no proof of anything - and yet he turned his head, pressing his lips gently against Kane’s hairline. 

It wasn’t a kiss, and it wasn’t even something sweet - just a gesture to promise that he was there, that he had chosen the other over anything else. A promise that he saw Kane for what he was - an apology for what had happened. 

His arms tightened. “I am so sorry.” 

Arthur didn’t cry. He couldn’t - but it felt like part of him was bleeding anyways, like something inside of his chest was tearing open. A new truth settling into place, pained and horrible and real. 

He had a mistake. No - it wasn’t fair to call it that. He had provoked, and he had allowed harm to come to Kane.

And yet, still, Kane wasn’t pushing him away. 

Arthur didn’t dare speak of escape. But the thought of it, the whisper, bloomed in his gut. 

“You’re not a thing,” Arthur said finally, a gentle whisper against Kane’s head. His hand moved up and down his back in soft strokes, grounding and gentle. “You’re not something. You’re a person. You’re a person, Kane. Alright? You’re a man. A very, very good man.” 

[invaderzia1]

SKIPS SHADLEY HEADCANONS

Mainly before he’s realized

I think Skips got into most of his favorite bands because of the previous homeowners. They had a son who listened to 2010’s emo and metalcore, Skips always hung out in his room to hear more. Took a lot of notes on his clothes and the friends he kept around, which is why he looks like a 2010’s emo kid. Felt really comfortable in that style, so he made sure to perfect that look. Was so sad when that family did end up leaving.

Skips has been alive for a long time and has been alone for most of it. He had his online friends in the 2000’s, but they slowly stopped using DOL and he was back to being alone again. So he’s extra clingy with you. Like super touchy to remind himself you are here and with him. Probably needs a lot of reassurance too, but wont ask.

Comes up behind you and will poke you without saying anything. Scares the absolute fuck out of you, but he just wants you to know he’s here.

Messages you a lot on thiscord. Sometimes he’s just writing as if it’s his diary. “Today I saw a butterfly, Penumbra.” Other times, he wants your attention when you’ve used up the dateviators for the day. Asks Mac to message you often, which they find both annoying and cute of him.

9 times out of 10, he is watching you in whatever room you are in. Even if you don’t have the dateviators on, you can tell because there is always one shadow that doesn’t move.

Any time you play video games with him that lets him make his own character, he’s making a back story for them. Will shyly ask you if your characters are friends or not, and how they relate into the lore of his character. Wants to here in depth about your own characters lore.

If he sees you bleed, he freaks out. But he gets quiet and stares at you with wide eyes while almost hyperventilating. After seeing what happened to Zoey, he’s so cautious about things going wrong for you.

DO! NOT! SHOW! HIM! FINAL!DESTINATION!!! It will freak him the fuck out, even if you explain it’s not real. Like this will become his nightmare (same with the rest of the house if you romance them, but we aren’t talking about them right now.) He can handle most horror movies, but that series is his nightmare. God forbid when he is realized you try to drive behind a log truck or take him to an amusement park, he’ll be so paranoid.

When you get sick, he gets anxious. Makes sure Curt and Rod close the curtains so there’s more shadow in the room so he can take care of you. Tells Betty and Dorian to make sure you don’t get up from bed if he’s not there to stop you. Though he doesn’t fully understand what humans need to make them feel better, tries his best to make sure you are rested. It’s the most he’s ever interacted with the rest of the house.

Forgets you have to eat sometimes. Upsets him for like a fraction of a second that you’re leaving him, until he realizes you’ve been hanging out for 6 hours without interruption and your stomach is growling.

Also forgets how cold he is compared to humans. He’ll come up and try to hug you, then get confused why you jumped ten feet away. If you buy one of those giant heating pads and put it between y’all, it’ll almost feel like you are cuddling another human.

Authors note: I have more to share about him AND Curt & Rod

[writtensweethearts]

Second Best

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.5k+ CW: steve being a dick for a little, angst A/N: can you tell i love angst... also guys this was a year in the making, i wrote half of this last summer in the middle of the night and almost exactly one year later in the middle of the night, i finally finished it. anyways comments, reblogs, likes, are all appreciated, love u!!!

"Nancy's coming over with Jonathan."

Your hands paused over the DVD collection you’d been thumbing through. A fraction of a beat before your eyes met Steve’s, pointedly ignoring Eddie’s staring. 

“Oh. Okay,” you hesitate, not knowing how to respond to the abrupt announcement, “I hope they’re okay with Dawn of the Dead.”

“Yeah I, uh, I think it’s okay. Not sure if Nancy’s really into that though.” You nod, hoping the movement doesn’t reflect how tense you feel.

You knew Steve well enough, even in moments like this where you wished you didn’t. You knew that though Nancy was coming with Jonathan, Steve invited her with a slight hope. Steve wasn’t an unfaithful lover, anyone who knew the boy would know that, behind his big bravado, he was soft hearted and kind smiles. He wouldn’t intentionally force himself between their relationship, but you could see it in his lingering stares that he wasn’t over the girl as he claimed to be. 

In the distance you hear a slight beep, pulling you out of your thoughts. You stood, legs stretching and table slightly groaning at the weight of your palms pushing yourself up, heading towards the kitchen to grab the finished popcorn, Eddie hot on your heels. Pouring the contents of the hot paper bag into a bowl, you could feel his watchful gaze. 

“All right, spit it out.” You say distractedly

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” exclaimed the boy, warily glancing at you over the kitchen counter.

“You didn’t have to, I could see it written on your face.” You turn towards him, bowl of popcorn in hand, “You’re looking at me like my dog died.”

His ears tinted pink, shy smile creeping the corners of his mouth, “Sorry, guess I’m a bit obvious, huh?” 

You grinned, enjoying the rare bashfulness from the metal head, “It’s all right, and i’m okay. Just was unexpected, you know?”

He nods, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know either.”

“I know. If you did then I’d definitely know.” 

He smiles at that, all warm and sticky with fondness, you take his wrist, leading him towards back towards the sofa, bowl safely tucked into your side.

Walking back into the room, the two of you fall onto the couch, Eddie squishing you between him and Steve. You giggle as he presses his weight into you, a sly attempt to push you closer to the other boy, and you push him off, fighting a growing heat crawling up your neck. 

You turn to Steve, expecting him to be fussing over his hair or the way he sat, all in anticipation for Nancy’s arrival, only to be surprised to find him already staring at you. Caught off guard, your breath comes out hitched, “What?” Turmoil paints his face, he looks away from you, decidedly turning his gaze to Eddie, and back to the screen. “Nothing.”

His dismissal makes you cringe inwardly, casting a glance to Eddie, in a silent exchange to say, “What’s his issue?” You get a small shrug in response.

But you don't linger on the thought as Nancy and Jonathan arrive moments after, sitting together on a blanket laid in front of the screen. Few words were exchanged before Steve pressed play, and as silence fell amongst everyone, you tilt your head to look at him. He stares straight ahead, but the tension in his jaw tells you he knows you’re watching. Instead, you turn away and watch the opening scenes begin.

You wished desperately Robin was here, needing another person to break the tension in the air, but she was likely still out at a diner with her date. You weren’t sure what had happened in the short time you and Eddie were in the kitchen, but the shift in atmosphere began to feel suffocating. In an attempt to ignore the boy next to you, you turn to Eddie, whispering a question about the character on the screen. He breaks out in hushed murmurs, explaining the backstory and plot to help you better understand when a third voice joins in.

“Number one rule guys, stop talking during the movie. You can whisper all you want when it’s done.”

Surprised, your heads swivel over to look at Steve, who’d already turned his attention back to the screen. You didn’t understand his animosity, but looking forward at the couple only a few feet ahead, you excused Steve’s irritation as a manifestation of his hurt. In an attempt to brush off the harshness in his attitude, you refocused on the movie, sharing the popcorn solely with Eddie in a small, petty, attempt of rebellion. You’d been excited for tonight, ready to see the gore and horror of the new film with friends, but now you were simply excited to go home.

As the end credits fill the screen, you stretched your legs out, ignoring the pin pricks as you stand, ready to call it a night. In a clipped, rushed voice, you call out, “I think I should head out first," You ignore the protests from your friends, watching Steve's abnormal silence, "it's getting late, but i’ll see you all soon!” You give Nancy and Eddie a hug, promising to call when you arrive home, and an awkward wave towards both Jonathan and Steve. You’re gathering your bag when you feel a presence next to you. Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulder before pitching his head low, “I’ll walk you to your car.” Before you have the chance to thank him, you feel a hand circle your waist. 

“No need Munson, I got this.” 

You stare up at Steve as if he’d grown two heads, barely registering Eddie’s wary glance to you. “Alright..” Is all he says in reply, taking your silence as a signal of confirmation, and walking away.

Steve bends down, pulling the door open for you before trailing behind. You wait, walking in silence to your car, parked crookedly in the driveway. When you reach the driver’s side door, you turn to face him. A beat passes as you wait for him to say something, anything, but when you’re met with nothing, you turn to open your door pushing out a half hearted, “Thanks, night Steve.” You’re ready to lay in bed, to sleep away the tension in your stomach, but a hand reaches out and stops you from pulling the door wider. You feel your skin raise at the feel of his breath, ghosting near your neck, as he whispers your name. You’re afraid to turn around, you could hear the pain in his voice, the agony, over what you did not know. His nearness made you dizzy, and you close your eyes for a moment before turning around, pushing his chest to create a safe distance.

He stares down at the spot you’d pushed him, confusion and irritation stirring onto his expression.

“So Munson can touch you but I get near you and suddenly your upset?” He bites out. 

The regret on his face is instant.

Your breath comes out shallow, face flushed from anger and shock.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that,” He flusters, “Shit, shit, i’m sorry I just… I’m just upset and it was dumb and…” He trails off as he stares at you.

“Upset about what Steve? What did I do tonight for you to act like such a prick?” You scoff out, your anger bubbling over, “I get it, you’re upset about Nancy and Jonathan but seriously Steve? Taking it out on me and Eddie is just a low blow and you know it. I mean seriously-” You’re cut off as he raises his voice, reaching out to take your hand, begging you to just understand,

“I don’t know, okay! I don’t know. All I know is I hate seeing his arm around you. I hate seeing him make you laugh with his stupid jokes and his stupid hair. And it just… Something about it makes me feel sick. He doesn’t get to do those things with you, it’s supposed to be me and you,” He grips your hand tighter, “Me and you forever, don’t you remember?”

You stare into his pleading eyes, and suddenly everything clicks. He was jealous. Jealous of Eddie, jealous over you. The idea of it felt laughable, unbelievable. Yet your eyes water, your heart so badly wanting to do nothing but hold him, accept his admission. It’d been everything you dared not to dream about, the day he’d finally see you. To find you special, funny, beautiful. But this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.

“Steve.. You can’t just… You can’t just come barging in as if you own me. Eddie’s just a friend yes, but you don’t have the right-” Your voice wavers, your resolve crumbling, “You can’t. Not after all this time, I’ve spent so long waiting, waiting for you, comparing myself to Nancy or all those other girls. And I… I’m sorry but I won’t simply accept because you’ve suddenly decided you don’t enjoy seeing someone else be with me, especially not when you’re not completely over her, I refuse to be a second option. You and I both know I deserve more than that.” You close your eyes, a meek attempt to shield yourself from watching his expression morph into something akin to regret, to guilt, to pity. Turning, you blink away tears, crawling into your car, you look back at a frozen Steve. “Call me when you actually figure things out. Goodnight Steve.”

And as you peel out of the driveway, you watch the distance grow, and the outline of him watching you go, unmoving.

[velvetparagraphs]

Paper Constellations

finnick odair x f!reader oneshot — fluff

wc: 1.3k

It’s been three months since you were rescued from the Capitol.

Your condition hadn’t spiraled to the depths of Peeta’s hijacking or Johanna’s torment, but you were far from okay. You still flinched at sudden sounds. You still whispered to yourself when you thought no one was listening. You still woke up with the taste of fear in your mouth.

Most nights, sleep was a passing stranger and when it did come, it never stayed for long.

You’d taken to wandering District Thirteen's dim hallways in the dead of night. Slipping silently out of your room, you’d curl into forgotten corners or shadowed corridors, chasing a moment of peace the sterile walls of your assigned quarters couldn’t offer.

The medics had started logging your disappearances, the guards growing used to the quiet panic of your absence. But Finnick… Finnick noticed before they did.

He always noticed.

It took him exactly one minute and forty-three seconds after the first alert to be out the door, lacing his boots with practiced ease and muttering something half-hearted about overreacting — though his eyes were sharp with worry.

He hated the idea of you being corralled back like a broken animal, hated the way the medics held your arms too tight, their hands too clinical. So he made it his job to find you first.

And after that, they let him.

Because when Finnick found you, you came back willingly.

That morning, it’s barely light out when he pushes open your door, just a fraction. No one else would. No one else dares.

He doesn't knock — you don’t like the sound but he announces his presence anyway, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he says softly, his shadow stretching across the floor as he steps in. “You awake?”

You are.

You’re curled up on your bed, legs crossed, hair slightly askew like you’d been tossing and turning until you finally gave up. Around you, the blankets are wrinkled and your lap is overflowing with tiny, delicate paper stars. A kaleidoscope of soft pastels and faded Capitol wrappers — remnants of old things, folded into something new. Into something safe.

He takes it all in: the clusters of jars on your shelf, filled to the brim. The stars scattered across your pillow. The way your fingers tremble as they crease another one — white with a thin silver stripe. You don’t look up.

Finnick crosses the room slowly, like if he moves too fast he’ll shatter the stillness of it all. He crouches next to your bed, arms folded on the mattress, chin resting atop them.

“Bad dreams?” he murmurs.

You pause. Then shake your head.

"No bad dreams, then? That's good darling but do you mind telling me what's wrong?"

You look at him and then at the growing pile of paper stars on your lap, biting the insides of your cheeks before speaking softly. "No bad dreams... but I woke up early for some reason and couldn't go back to sleep." You say with a subtle frown forming on your lips which does not go unnoticed by him.

He sees it now — how your shoulders are hunched, hands still shaking even after what must be hundreds of folds. Normally, the paper stars help. Normally, the ritual is enough to calm the static in your chest. But not today.

“Can I stay?” he asks.

You nod again.

He climbs into bed behind you, moving carefully so he doesn’t crush any stars, and sits with his legs around yours, back against the headboard. You don’t even hesitate. You lean back instantly, resting your head just over his heart, listening. Counting the steady thump-thump-thump like it’s a lighthouse in a fogstorm.

He’s warm. You feel the tension in your limbs start to ease.

His hand finds yours gently, palm up.

“Show me how?” he asks. “I want to learn.”

You blink slowly. Then wordlessly place a strip of paper in his hand, guiding his fingers to fold the edges just right. He fumbles a little. His folds aren’t as sharp. His first star is slightly lopsided.

But it’s beautiful anyway.

You make two more in the time it takes him to make one, but he keeps going. Not because he likes crafting — he doesn’t — but because he likes you. And right now, paper stars are your language.

He wants to speak it.

After a while, the silence between you shifts. No longer sharp and suffocating, but soft and breathable. Safe. The paper rustles with every fold, your breathing evens out, and Finnick just keeps going. He brushes his thumb gently over your knuckles when you pause. Presses a kiss to the top of your head when you shudder. Holds you like he’s done this a hundred times and will do it a hundred more.

“Y’know,” he says quietly, tipping his head toward the jars lined on your shelves, “you��ve got enough stars to fill a sky.”

You hum, sleep tugging at your eyes. You glance at your room's surroundings and then at your lap — dozens of jars, packed with colors and crinkles, each one a small sigh folded into paper. For a moment, something flickers across your face. Embarrassment, maybe. Self-consciousness.

“They’re just…” you start, voice low, “…but they’re only paper stars. It's for children... I'm doing something childish and dumb"

Your fingers still on the crease of another strip.

Finnick’s smile is small, but it’s the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes. He shakes his head gently, as if he can’t believe you don’t see it.

“I think it’s brave,” he says, reaching for another strip. “Takes strength to make something soft when everything else is trying to harden you.”

You don’t say anything but your shoulders relax a little, and the next star you fold doesn’t tremble in your hands.

He shifts behind you, his heartbeat steady against your ear, arms loose around you as the 'morning light' — the brighter more lively fluorescent lights that's scattered all around the grey walls of District Thirteen begins to trickle in through the cracks of the door. You stay like that for a while — not needing to talk, not needing to be anything but here, with him.

“Let’s make a whole galaxy,” he murmurs.

And so you do. Folded gently, piece by piece, in the quiet hush of morning.

Your very own paper constellation.

[szas0mega]

Roses and Recklessness — Joshua Pearce

a/n: I haven’t proofread this AT ALL so I apologize for any mistakes. I just wanted to get my fanfic out there because there are literally none for him!! We all need to do better LOLLL

Pairing: Joshua Pearce x Blackf!reader

Summary: Against your liking, Joshua has pushed himself back on the track after his horrifying crash that traumatized you both.

C/W: Mentions of trauma, burns from car accident

Word Count: 3.6k

The blood-curdling scream that escaped your throat was enough to break glass. The way you felt like you had genuinely ripped your vocal cords out was only a fraction of the heartache you had felt in that moment.

The collective gasps around you had only added fuel to the fire. It was pouring outside in Emilia-Romagna, which contributed to the predicament that you were in.

Well, not you. But Joshua, your boyfriend. He was on his 53rd lap, and he was so close to placing first. To finishing. Safely.

Of course, luck would have it that Joshua was so close but now set back so far.

But then there was a mishap on the track. He had skidded so hard that his car flipped, leading him to spin out in the air until he landed in the grass off the track. Seconds later, the car was set aflame.

What felt like hours had passed with Joshua still inside. And you felt a piece of your soul shatter. You thought you had lost him. Even when Sonny had jumped out of his own and retrieved him from the vehicle, Joshua didn’t move. You thought it was over. You were stood with Joshua’s mom, both of you hyperventilating, panicking, and pulling at the metal fence in front of you.

You had started to run towards the race engineers. You were wailing at this point, searching for any way to get to your boyfriend. You wanted to touch him, check his pulse, and reassure yourself that your worst fears were not coming to fruition right in front of you.

Ruben, the team owner, had pulled you to his chest to keep you from entering the track. He tried to console you, but nothing was processing. All you saw was a blaze of fire, brightening the whole track with its ferocity and peril to your boyfriend.

The sweat and rain was slick on your skin, coupled with Ruben’s tight grip on your body, you felt like you wanted to submerge yourself underwater. Your hair had become considerably more frizzy as the humidity and busyness of the arena had gotten to you. You didn’t know what you could do to calm yourself. You wouldn’t feel calm until you had Joshua in your arms.

All you could do to preserve your sanity was recite Joshua’s name on your tongue like a prayer. You probably looked insane, but everyone around you knew. They knew about your relationship, about your current fear. They knew but couldn’t understand.

They could never understand that you almost lost the love of your life right in front of your eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was over three weeks ago. Joshua had sustained multiple second-degree burns. It was a miracle that that was the worst of the accident. He left mildly concussed but promised to be back on the track in two months.

And he was furious.

He was thrown into the same routine of physical therapy and recovery every day, reducing his lavish lifestyle to that of a pathetic man. He hated it.

He felt worthless. All he wanted to do was get back on the track.

The only light at the end of the day for him was you. You bandaged his injuries every morning, you sat with him during his PT sessions, and you lulled him back to sleep on nights when he suddenly woke up from nightmares reliving the accident. You even drove him around from place to place in fear of his getting behind the wheel.

And he was eternally grateful for your presence in his life, but sometimes he treated you as collateral, letting his frustrations out on you. He never meant it though.

It was early Tuesday morning, and you were helping him with his bandages. Your curls piled into a bun atop your head. You adorned a white wifebeater and short shorts, Joshua’s favorite look on you. Across from you sat Josh, shirtless and in his black and red boxers.

“How’d you sleep baby?” You asked, unraveling the burn bandages from the pack. You kissed his shoulder, seeing that he was zoned out.

You didn’t know if it was because it was early or because he was depressed, but you wanted to help him.

He murmured something indiscernible, rubbing his eyes either in frustration or exhaustion.

You spoke again, speaking as softly as possible to not abruptly disturb the silence.

“I think today, after your PT session, you should go for a walk on the beach. I heard that there are a lot of ben-“

“I’m going back to the track today,” he cut you off. Your eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden admission from him.

Your eyes widened. There was no way. It was way too soon. There’s no way he was even mentally or physically ready to get back into that car.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” You projected your voice, not as soft as it was before. “Your accident was three weeks ago… y-you’re not fully healed.”

He kissed his teeth and stood up and walked away from you. He began pacing around his living room, the soft carpet allowing him to steady himself without getting overstimulated.

“Babe, I need to do this. I need to get back out there. The Canadian Grand Prix is in two weeks and I just… I know I can do this.” he exclaimed in one breath, with a hopeful smile on his lips.

You looked at him like a madman on steroids. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He just started returning back to his old self, laughing wholeheartedly at his favorite shows and eating his favorite things.

You had just started to see him smile. You couldn’t lose that again. At least not this soon.

“Josh, you don’t understand. It hasn’t even been a month. You haven’t even fully healed physically. Let alone the mental trauma of being back in that car,” you argued, quickly getting up from your seat on the couch to stand in front of him.

His eyebrows furrowed, clearly trying to find a way to calmly speak to you without raising his voice.

“Y/n, you don’t get it. I’ve been itching to get out there ag-“

“Josh, you’re not ready!” You yelled as the anxiety of him driving again overcame you. You tried to reason with him, but the fear of it all became too much.

The silence that ensued was deafening. You both stared at each other. His eye contact was intense as you looked between his eyes and his lips.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry for yelling b-“

“How do you know what the fuck is best for me?” He confidently asserted, making you look up from the ground to him.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, physically taken aback by his insane questioning. He never cursed at you before. How dare he think that what you were suggesting was nothing short of reasonable? You knew that he didn’t understand the complexity and jeopardy of getting back in the car.

“All you’ve done for the last few weeks is coddle me, y/n! You don’t even let me drive myself to the grocery store. How am I supposed to know if I’m ready if y-you’re… you’re holding me back?!”

And that was all it took. You felt misunderstood entirely and, quite frankly, heartbroken. Did he see you as a nuisance in his recovery this whole time? Did he even know how much you cared for him and his career?

Tears welled in your eyes as you backed away from him. You could see his facial expression softening, the weight of his words leaving a palpable impact on you. He didn’t mean it, but the anger from being off the track for nearly a month caught up to him.

“Y-you don’t even know what seeing you there, lying there next to your burning car… w-what that did to me, do you?” you started.

You couldn’t even look at him as you continued, with his silence serving as an indication of his attention on you.

“I-I thought I lost you. I genuinely felt myself in the process of losing you. And you think that I’m intentionally holding you back? For what? For my own greed? I’m doing this so that you don’t have to experience the trauma of that day again!” You yelled, your shout echoing off of his kettle black walls.

You hadn’t noticed the tears that had fallen from your eyes now. You only noticed once he started to inch closer to you, his hands reaching out to wipe your cheeks.

But you had been too angry. Too upset and emotional to let him touch you.

“If you want to go out on the track, fine, it seems that I can’t stop you,” you muttered, making your way to his room where you collected as many of your belongings as you could. “Just don’t expect me to be here waiting for you.”

Joshua’s mouth dropped. Before he could think twice, he began following quickly behind you to stop you.

“Y/n, y/n wait,” he tried to grab your hand to stop you. But the look you gave him was enough to keep him in his place.

“You didn’t mean that,” he uttered, with hopeful eyes that almost broke you.

You ignored him, though, because you knew it wasn’t true. You didn’t even bother trying to lie. You knew you could never leave him for something he couldn’t control. It wasn’t his fault that he got into the accident. Your anger was misdirected, stemming from the fear of losing him again.

After a few minutes of walking around collecting your things, you finally dressed yourself in a pair of Josh’s sweats and his oversized black sweatshirt. Even when you wanted space from him, you couldn’t tear away, his natural scent and cologne engulfing you in the most comforting way.

As you made your way to the door, your hand on the handle, you paused to look back at him. He stood in the middle of his living room, looking back at you with a solemn expression on his face. To avoid crying, you muttered a quick “stay safe” before letting yourself out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was now two o’clock, and you had spent the last few hours trying to grieve over your fight from earlier. You’d seen him angry before, but never directed at you in that way.

You had done some cleaning around your apartment, trying to distract yourself from the reality that Joshua was probably on the track by now. You had tried so hard to understand his side of wanting to get back out there, but you also knew he probably didn’t fully recognize the PTSD that would come from being on the track so soon.

Should you stop by? Should you be there to support him? You thought to yourself. You’d hate him for him to believe that you didn’t care about his well-being.

At the same time, you were hurt by his words. You didn’t want your presence at the track to be seen as a sign of complacency with his attitude, thereby subjugating yourself to that kind of treatment in the future.

Before you could vacillate between the two options further, your phone began to buzz.

Sonny Hayes, your phone read. Sonny only called you when it pertained to Josh. Your face dropped as your mind thought of the worst reasons for him to be calling. You brushed the few curls from your face before answering the call.

“Did you know JP was coming back to the track today?” Sonny questioned you.

“I tried to stop him, but to no avail, Son,” you replied, hand running over your face. “How is he, though? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, just looked a bit disheveled. Couldn’t tell if it was because of the track or something at home. But now it makes more sense,” Sonny responded. You could hear the revving of an engine in the back, which you could only assume was your boyfriend.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to do, Sonny,” you replied. “I’ve never seen him this unmotivated and lost. I don’t want him to cr-“

“You should be here, y/n,” Sonny interjected.

“What?” you replied with a sarcastic chuckle.

“You know you’re going to come down here, y/n. Let’s not kid ourselves here,” he pompously replied, leading you to let out a sarcastic laugh that escaped you.

“He’s scared, and you know it. You also know that you love him too much to leave him alone and afraid like this. He needs you more than you both realize,” Sonny concluded. Your heart ached at the thought of him being alone. Scared.

“You didn’t hear him today, Son. He was so angry with me. He said that I was holding him back from recovering,” You choked up remembering the fight from earlier. You just wanted to hold him, kiss him, and be there for him when he eventually recovered from this. You didn’t want him to think of you as an obstacle but as a support system.

“That kid loves you more than this damn sport,” Sonny remarked, effectively shutting you up. “He’s just going through stages of recovery, believe me. He needs you here.”

You wiped the tears that had fallen, trying your hardest to avoid Sonny hearing you sniffle. Joshua loving you more than his career sounded outlandish to you, but you did know that he loved you. And for that, you knew you had to be there for him, despite your disagreement from earlier.

A few seconds of silence had passed before you spoke up again, eventually conceding.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” you muttered, standing up from your seat on the couch.

“Atta kid, see you soon,” Sonny said before hanging up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After getting yourself emotionally and physically prepared to leave, you arrived at the APX GP training facility. You wore a brown cable knit sweater and a faded blue jean skirt because of the wind. You had taken your curls down and placed them into two small space buns, with curls falling from the sides. You had a headache from the events of the day, including the two breakdowns, so you wore your black frames instead of contacts.

After walking through the building, greeting staff and pit crew workers, you’d made it to the track. You had seen Sonny and Ruben standing next to each other in deep conversation. To the right sat Kate McKenna, the lead race engineer for APX. She was nose deep in work, probably instructing Joshua through his laps on the track. Once you had made it closer, she looked up from her computer, with a gracious smile adorning her lips.

Sonny looked up and made his way to you shortly after, giving you a small hug.

“He has a few laps left. Why don’t you wait for him inside?” Sonny suggested. You took the advice and made your way to Joshua’s changing room. You figured you’d need the privacy for the conversation you were both going to have.

After at least twenty minutes of scrolling through your socials and responding to your sister, you heard the door handle twist in the space. A second later, Joshua emerged abruptly into his room. He looked as handsome as ever in his white training kit, but his facial expression reflected quite the opposite. He had slammed the door behind him and leaned back harshly.

His chest had been rising and falling in quick intervals, his eyes wide. He hadn’t even noticed you yet, but you were quick to see what was happening. He was having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” you cautiously whispered as you rushed to him. His wide eyes bounced to your presence and softened only slightly. You practically jumped across the room with your arms wide, ready to take him in your embrace.

Similarly, he rushed to you and met you halfway. His head found its way to the crook of your neck. The force he met you with made you stumble back, leading you both to fall back against the closet door in his room. Your left hand made its way to his neck while your right hand softly rubbed his back in up and down motions.

You felt that the height difference was probably too much for him, so you dragged him to slide down the wall to the floor with you. His legs had then entangled themselves with yours, his head finding its way deeper into your neck. What felt like hours had passed when you felt your neck wet with tears. He was crying.

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok. Let it out,” you lulled as his entire body shuddered further. His arms had encaged you between him and the wall, and you’d never wanted to leave.

He began muttering unintelligible phrases over and over again. You were confused, but wanted to make sure he was calm before prodding further.

After a few moments, you lifted his head from your neck with both hands. When your eyes locked, you felt a deep pang in your chest. His eyes were bloodshot red, his cheeks stained with tears. You brought your thumbs to his face to wipe his tears away as you felt your own eyes well up.

“I-I’m so sorry, y/n,” he croaked, his breakdown making his voice slightly scratchy. “I-I wasn’t ready. I got behind the wheel, and then all I saw was fire. I felt like I was brought back there. I physically felt like I was back there,” he pronounced, eyes bouncing between your own and the floor.

“And then I saw you. A-and my mom. And I felt so selfish, so guilty for putting you through that,” he continued, leading tears to escape you. You grabbed his hands and rubbed your thumbs over his knuckles, hoping to calm him.

It physically hurt you to hear him like this, but you knew the confession would help him.

“I want to race again. It’s my calling, but I’m not sure if I can overcome this. What if I can’t get back on the track without seeing that again? What if I-“

You brought your lips to his soft ones. You thought you could let him continue, but your heart couldn’t handle his self-doubt.

He kissed you back with a ferocity that you both hadn’t felt since before the accident. He missed you desperately. He missed what he provided for you before the accident.

You felt his tongue slide its way into your mouth, and you moaned. You felt his hand grasp your chin, angling your face for better access. As good as this felt, as much as you missed this, missed him, you pulled away after a minute. You didn’t want to take advantage of his fragile state.

“Baby, I’m sorry. For everything. I-I love you,” he concluded, eyes fixated on your lips. He brought your hands to his lips, kissing both of them twice.

“Josh, you didn’t do this on purpose. You’ve been taken from your passion out of the blue and in the most traumatizing way. I don’t blame you for wanting to get back out there,” you responded, hands on either side of his face. His left hand had begun to rub circles on your thigh as he looked down, avoiding eye contact.

“No, I’m sorry for not thinking about how this was affecting you,” he deflected, shocking you.

“Getting flashbacks from the accident today made me realize that what you saw was just as horrible as it was for me. I didn’t even make space for that, and I’m sorry,” he continued. “Despite my stubbornness and trauma, you still took care of me. You still loved me. And I want you to know that I appreciate it all.”

Your heart warmed at the thought that amidst the pandemonium of today, he still made space for you. You briefly connected your lips with his once more before you could be sucked back into another makeout session.

“Well, you are pretty stubborn,” you smirked, making Josh laugh lightly. “I know you, Josh. I know that you appreciate it, there’s no need to apologize,” you reassured him, happy to see him in a much calmer state than when he initially entered.

“As for getting back out there, you will. You’re the best damn F1 driver out there. You will not be set back by this accident because you’re Joshua fucking Pearce. You love this sport more than life itself, and I know you won’t let yourself be kept away from it forever. Step by step, you’ll get out there and be better than you ever were before,” you added, looking him right in the eye.

You brought his head to your lips, giving him a light kiss on the forehead. He retracted and did the same to you, bringing your head to his shoulder after. You both lay with your backs to the wall, his right hand now rubbing circles on your knees that were brought to your chest.

You both had fallen into a comfortable silence. You locked your fingers with his left hand, providing reassuring squeezes every few seconds. Before breaking the moment of silence, you lifted your head from his shoulder. You made sure to lock eyes with him before uttering what had been on your mind for the last few minutes.

“Oh, and by the way, I could never stop loving you, Josh,” you remarked, full seriousness in your tone.

A full-toothed smile made its way to his lips before he sarcastically replied:

“Oh, but of course… because I’m Joshua fucking Pearce,” he smirked.

You felt a laugh escape from your throat as you lightly slapped his arm, causing him to pull you further into his embrace.

[thegirlwiththebraids]

The Cupcake

Being close with Enid makes Wednesday more compassionate. Not necessarily with anyone else, but certainly with Enid.

When the cafeteria hosted a fundraiser bake sale during lunch one afternoon, Enid pounced on the opportunity to buy a cupcake.

Only when she went to tap her dining dollars card, it immediately declined.

“Ugh! I forgot to ask my mom to reload it for me after last time…”

She took one more quick glance at the table, upset that she wouldn’t have a sweet treat to get her through the second half of the school day.

She sighed and walked over to her seat.

Wednesday, who was not far behind her, watched as the sad little scene played out.

Just as she was picking up her fork, Enid was interrupted by a perfect little cupcake, topped with pink icing and white sprinkles, being placed directly in front of her.

She blinked in surprise and turned to look over her shoulder, only to find no one there.

Whipping back in the opposite direction, she was startled by the sight of Wednesday, already having taken the seat next to her in a fraction of a second.

Her eyes sparkled as a wide grin spread across her face. She knew better than to make a huge deal over the gesture, but her grateful stare was obviously catching Wednesday’s attention though she pretended not to notice.

A playful nudge on the shoulder finally caused the seer to glance up in her direction.

She mouthed a subtle “thank you”, her grin giving way to a sweet smile that was just so Enid.

She didn’t know what it was. Truly she didn’t. But that smile…it suddenly had the seer biting back her own expression as she felt her lips curve upwards.

Wednesday could count on half of one hand the amount of people who could ever make her smile out of anything other than deviousness.

But Enid…gentle, kindhearted Enid who could hold her own up against any evil that came her way…Bright, bubbly Enid whose entire day could be made by a two dollar cupcake…

Slowly, she started to accept that she’d likely lose every battle with that smile. She pondered the idea that maybe she’d be willing to take that loss if it meant getting to see it more often.

Enid had just a split second to catch a glimpse of Wednesday’s face before she forced herself back into composure.

By the time she finished thinking about that first, tiny little dimple exposing smile, she’d forgotten all about the cupcake.