#this is the first thing all day that made me laugh out loud when i heard it!

[bluetimeombre]

۶ৎ Mess of a man.

| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!

[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]

Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything

"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.

Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."

He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.

Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.

"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.

Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."

Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.

Yeah... that was why he was going...

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The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.

It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.

But none of them did anything for him.

Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"

They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.

Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.

Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."

You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.

Joel was done. He knew it immediately.

You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.

Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.

You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.

And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.

This was some cruel joke.

As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.

Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.

Like a present to be un-wrapped...

"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.

"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.

Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.

You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."

He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.

Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."

Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.

"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."

Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi there," he drawled.

You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.

"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.

"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"

You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."

"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.

"Jo-el," you draw out his name.

Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.

He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"

"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"

Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."

Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.

Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.

"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.

"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"

"I'm glad I did," he said.

You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."

Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?

"I should be good," you muse.

Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.

You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."

Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."

He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.

"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.

God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...

You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"

You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"

Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.

"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."

It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.

The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"

"Maybe."

You didn't miss a beat.

Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.

Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.

He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."

"So should I start calling you daddy?"

He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."

"You started it looking at me like that."

Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."

You shrug. "And i'm not at work."

Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.

You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."

"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."

You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.

His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."

"Enlighten me, Joel."

His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.

But the words failed with him.

It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.

You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.

Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.

"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."

You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.

You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.

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You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.

You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.

Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?

Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.

But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.

You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.

As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-

A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.

You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.

You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-

"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.

You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."

He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."

You nod. "I want it."

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.

You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."

"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."

Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.

Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.

Not there.

Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.

"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.

You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"

"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."

You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.

"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"

You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."

"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.

Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.

You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"

"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."

Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.

He just needed.

"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."

He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.

You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.

His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.

"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.

You moaned.

"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."

"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."

Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."

The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.

All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.

But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.

Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."

His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.

You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."

"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.

You hum out a moan, head tilted back.

Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."

"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.

Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Miller."

"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."

You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.

"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."

Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.

Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.

"So good for me... such a good girl,"

"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."

"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."

At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.

His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.

"Shit- ah- fuck!"

Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"

You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.

Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."

Slowly, he retracts his fingers.

"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."

You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.

You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.

"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."

The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.

Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.

He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."

Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."

He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."

"Tell me. Please."

Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"

He opened his eyes, peeking at you.

You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.

"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"

You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.

He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."

"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"

Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.

But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.

You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.

You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.

First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.

Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.

"You really gonna tease me?"

"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.

Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.

You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.

He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?

"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.

He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.

Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"

He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.

You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.

"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"

You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.

This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.

But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.

He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.

Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."

The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.

And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.

Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.

He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.

Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.

Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"

"Yes," you answered, breathless.

Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"

"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.

"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"

For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.

"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.

Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."

He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.

"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"

"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."

You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."

"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.

"Yes, yes."

"What have I said about speaking up?"

You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"

With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.

"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.

"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.

You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.

He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."

"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.

Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."

His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.

He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.

"Ah- shit!" you yelled.

"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.

"Joel!"

"Shit! You feel so good!"

Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.

Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.

"I'm gonna, arg-"

Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."

"Joel!"

"Hold it!"

He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.

The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.

The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.

You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.

Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."

"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.

His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"

"Yes," you nod.

For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.

Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."

He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'

Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.

He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"

You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.

Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."

"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."

"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."

Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.

You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.

"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"

"Inside, please," you mewl.

Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."

You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."

The words were heaven to his ears.

You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.

"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.

You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.

Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.

His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"

You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.

Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.

He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.

"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."

Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.

You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.

But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.

He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.

Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.

You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"

Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.

"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.

Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.

He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.

"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"

"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.

There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.

Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.

Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.

Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.

His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."

You'd made an absolute mess.

[imaginespazzi]

Everything Changes (They Stay the Same)

A series of stolen moments of peace in between a chaotic week

(In which an unreliable writer is really trying to beat the retirement allegations)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: 30 google-doc pages of pure fluff with hints of angst and hurt/comfort if you squint really hard

Words: 14.5K (we're soooo back)

TW: Swearing, drinking, alludes to sexual content.

A/N: Hi my lovelies :) Two fics in less than 48 hours? Who woulda ever thunk it? I can't lie this is so all over the place and we are all gonna ignore that I was trying to do a moment a day, and then fully forgot a day and I'm not abouta go back a month (because it's been a month since natty and the draft which is what this fic is technically about) to figure out which two days I accidentally blended into one. But this is fiction! So it doesn't really matter! Anyways, I got bored editing about 80% of the way in but I will eventually go back and fix the typos so feel free to make me aware of them. As always, live reactions are much appreciated so let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

April 6th 11:26 p.m.

Azzi will never admit it out loud -will never let it become the recipient of her teammates’ jovial teasing or something her girlfriend can flash that cocky smirk of hers about- but she’s kind of a little bit obsessed with staring at Paige. 

She always has been. 

Since she was fourteen and she’d spotted this lanky white girl getting up shots before the official tryouts for the U16 USA basketball team started. And Azzi had been mesmerized by the effortless concentration that had been present of Paige’s face, never deterred by when the ball would occasionally rim out. She’d stood by the doorway, watching -staring- much longer than necessary until one of the other girls had rushed past her, accidentally bumping her shoulder and shaking her out of her reverie. That’s the first time Paige had caught her gaze and she hadn’t made much of it then but Azzi’s slowly realized since, that there’s just something about the blond that draws her eyes towards her like a magnet, like everything else surrounding her is just a hazy blur and Paige is the only thing in focus. 

And tonight, it feels almost impossible to tear her eyes away from Paige. 

Because tonight Paige looks radiant, like the reason it’s dark outside is only because the sun itself is in the middle of this room, laughing her heart out with one arm casually slung around KK’s shoulder, bottle of champagne nursed in her left hand and that goddamn net still hung around her neck. She’s basked in the glow that comes from finally being unshackled from the chains of pressure and expectations and that dreaded fear of being the  greatest UConn player without a title that Paige had only ever voiced out loud with her head burrowed in the crevice between Azzi’s neck and shoulder. 

Tonight, all of that -all of the tired dark circles underneath her beautiful blue eyes and the frown lines that had once been present right under where her new national champion hat covers her forehead- is gone. 

Because tonight, Paige Bueckers is finally a national champion. 

And god, does the happiness that comes with that look so fucking great on her. 

“You’re staring,” Kaitlyn whispers from where she’s sitting next to Azzi on the couch, the two of them and Caroline perched on a loveseat that has the perfect view of their other more rambunctious teammates. 

And maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through her veins, or that stupid all-consuming feeling of love for her girlfriend that’s been overwhelming Azzi since the buzzer rang out at the end of the national championship game, but she doesn’t deny it. 

“That damn net looks ridiculous on her,” Azzi quips, trying to maintain some sort of dignity but there’s an underlying fondness to her tone that she can’t quite seem to mask; she isn’t really trying to hide it either.  

“She’s never taking it off,” Caroline says with a slight shake of her head, “she’s gonna wear it forever. It’s gonna be the third wheel in your relationship.”

“She deserves it,” Azzi's eyes soften, her gaze still locked on her girlfriend who’s now posing for the most ridiculous pictures with KK, Aubrey and their practice players, “she’s earned the right to never take it off.”

Kaitlyn lets out a teasing low whistle, nudging Azzi’s shoulder, “can’t believe Paige is the only one who gets the simp allegations when this is how you behave.”

“They’re as bad as each other,” Caroline supplies helpfully, holding up her red solo cup as she winks at Azzi, “I swear it’s gotten worse over time too.”

“It has not,” Azzi protests. 

Caroline snorts, “see Az, that would be more believable if you could at least look at me while saying it instead of being too busy ogling your girlfriend.”

A rose-colored blush begins to spread across Azzi’s cheeks as both Kaitlyn and Caroline cackle with laughter at what the latter had just pointed out. Because it’s true. She still hasn’t looked away. 

She can’t. 

And as if on cue, Paige turns around at that exact moment, just in time to catch the color fully seeping into Azzi’s cheeks. The blonde’s smirk is gradual, first just a quirk at the edge of her lips before stretching across the entirety of her face as she raises her eyebrow in question at Azzi. The younger girl bites her lip, her stomach swooping when she notices the way Paige’s eyes linger on the small action. She watches keenly as the blonde begins to saunter towards her -long, confident strides that shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as they are- and her body seems to lean forward in anticipation on its own accord. 

Azzi feels her breath hitch when Paige finally reaches her, one hand clutching the armrest as she towers over Azzi, leaning down just enough so their faces are levelled.

“You staring at me?” she asks with a lazy smile, her speech coming out slightly slurred. 

“You’re imagining things,” Azzi whispers, sporting her own half-grin as she blinks coquettishly up at the older girl. 

“Oh yeah?” Paige drawls out slowly before she’s tugging Azzi off the sofa, a pleased expression on her face when the brunette comes into her arms easily. Her hands settle on either side of Azzi’s hips as the younger girl interlocks her own hand behind Paige’s neck, her fingers playing with the net, “coulda sworn I felt your eyes on me.”

Azzi shrugs impishly, “must’ve been someone else.”

“Nah, can’t have been,” Paige shakes her head, “I know when it’s you looking at me. No one else looks at me like that.”

“And how do I look at you?” Azzi breathes out, stepping closer to her girlfriend so their chests are pressed against each other and they can feel the warmth radiating off of each other's bodies. 

“Like you love me,” Paige says softly, “I look at you the exact same way.”

Azzi’s heart flutters, the sincerity in the blonde’s voice quelling any chance of a smart retort as she reaches up to brush her lips lightly against Paige’s, “I do love you. Like a lot, a lot.’

Paige’s arms tighten around her waist as she presses their foreheads together, “I love you more. Like more than a lot, a lot.”

They stay like that for a moment, cocooned in each other's arms. The constantly moving world seems to still for a second, like it’s pausing just for the two of them to be able to catch their breaths before everything changes. 

But Azzi isn’t quite ready to think about that -about how today is the end of something and next week will be the beginning of something different- not yet. 

She just wants to think about now, about the girl in her arms and the dream that they’d once dreamed of together -laying side by side in a bed that was too small for two people while feeling emotions that were too big for how young they’d been- and how after years and years, plagued by uncertainty and adversity, they’d finally made that dream come true.

“I like your new necklace,” Azzi says finally, her voice low, just for the two of them to hear as she twists her fingers through the net draped around the older girl’s neck. 

Paige grins like a toddler who’s just been given their favorite candy, “yeah well, my favorite person won it for me.”

“It was a team effort,” Azzi says bashfully, quickly catching onto the meaning behind the older girl's words.

“Yeah but you were MOP baby,” Paige nudges their noses together, “my outstanding player.”

Azzi chuckles, “pretty sure the M stands for most actually.”

“Don’t care,” Paige shrugs cavalierly, “you’re still mine. There’s no one else I would’ve rather done this with- no one else I could’ve done this with, you know that right?”

“Yeah baby, yeah I do,” Azzi whispers, looping her arms back around Paige’s neck as it all seems to come rushing back to her, the gravity of what they’d achieved making her feel almost weightless in her girlfriend’s embrace, “we really did it Paige. We won. We fucking won the damn thing.”

Paige laughs breathlessly as she steals a kiss from Azzi’s lips, “yeah we did baby. Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd, national fucking champions. Together. Just like it was always meant to be.” 

April 7th 10:31 a.m.

Everything is too fucking loud. 

Paige clutches her head in her hands as the sound of her teammates screaming reverberates around the plane cabin. Normally, she’d be joining into the cacophony, if not at the forefront of it, but clearly she’s all cacophony-ed out after last night. Honestly, she’d known that the last two shots of vodka were pushing it a little but it had been four in the morning and when Diana Taurasi was encouraging you to throw back a shot, you didn’t really have the option to say no. And so Paige hadn’t said no. 

Now, as the world around her spins and her headache feels like it’s threatening to send her to an early grave, Paige wishes she’d said no, wishes she’d followed her sensible, responsible girlfriend to bed at a much more reasonable time like two a.m. instead of getting carried away in the still ongoing celebration and drinking herself into a killer hangover. 

Speaking of her girlfriend, Paige frowns as she glances at the seats next to her. The middle seat is occupied by the national championship trophy and don’t get her wrong, Paige loves that trophy and everything it stands for very much but it has to be said that it’s neither as soft nor as cuddly as Azzi and it definitely doesn’t smell as nice or feel as warm. 

She pouts harder when Kaitlyn slips into the aisle seat, feeling even more nauseous when she notices the bottle of champagne in the other girl's hand. Normally Paige is a very polite and kind person; normally she doesn’t just let those clingy intrusive thoughts of hers slip through her lips when she’s feeling just a little bit too needy for her girlfriend. But clearly today isn’t normal and before she can stop herself, Paige finds herself practically glaring at her innocent teammate. 

“Why are you sitting there?” she asks grumpily, “where’s Azzi?”

“Sheesh Bueckers, you’re rude when you’re hungover,” Kaitlyn gives her an unamused look. 

“I’m not hungover,” Paige lies adamantly, earning her an expected eyeroll. 

“And I’m not the smartest person on this team,” Kaitlyn says sarcastically, before tilting her head towards the girl walking up the aisle, “and relax Bueckers, I’m not stealing your girlfriend’s seat. Just wanted to have a little fun first.”

She continues to speak, something about taking a swig of champagne on live but Paige isn’t listening anymore, too entranced by the sight of her girlfriend as if it’s been years instead of minutes since she’d last seen Azzi. The younger girl is dressed in her typical UConn tracksuit, still sporting gameday braids that are getting a little loose under the blue cap on her head. Her eyes droop a little with residual tiredness but her smile -god that fucking smile, Paige thinks she’s not much of a writer but she could write sonnets about that smile- more than makes up for it as she flashes it too teammates and staff alike while making her way towards Paige and Kaitlyn. 

“Hi,” Azzi says softly, coming to a halt right in front of their seat, her eyes twinkling at Paige. 

“Hey baby,” Paige replies with a dopey grin, her head already feeling that much lighter at having her girlfriend near her. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Kaitlyn groans, looking rather disgusted -although there’s that typical underlying fondness to it that all of Paige and Azzi’s teammates seem to have around them- at the heart eyes her two friends are making at each other, “can y’all do that after I’ve gotten my championship video please?”

Azzi tears away her gaze first, holding her palm out for Kaitlyn to place her phone in, “alright, alright, how do you wanna do this Kait?”

Paige zones out for the rest of the conversation, bringing her cup of coffee closer to her face, inhaling the scent of it as she watches Azzi film Kaitlyn. There’s that goofy little smile on her girlfriend’s face as she videos their friend on live, her eyes sparkling with joy. It makes Paige’s heart ache in the best way possible because this -after everything she’s been through, everything they’ve been through- is what Azzi deserves. 

There aren’t enough words on this planet to describe just how incredibly proud of her girlfriend, Paige is. She knows that, last week in Spokane had been hard on Azzi, that she’d retreated too far into her own head after missed shot, after missed shot, even though she’d been impactful in other ways. But Azzi -true to the resilience bracelet dangling on her wrist- had pulled herself out of it. And it had been thrilling for Paige to be on the court with her this weekend as she’d risen like a phoenix from the ashes of her own self-doubt, to win them -to win Paige- the most important game of their season.

“And cut,” Azzi says dramatically as she ends the live and Paige re-focuses to see Kaitlyn’s face all scrunched up from the fact that the rather expensive champagne hadn’t gone down quite as smoothly this morning as it had last night. 

“You good?” Paige snickers snarkily as Kaitlyn glares at her, coughing to regain her composure. 

“Watch it Bueckers or maybe I won’t move for Azzi to sit here,” the transfer student says with a pointed look. 

“You wouldn’t because then I’d just whine your ear off about how much I miss her,” Paige smirks, pleased when it elicits that little laugh out of Azzi that she’s so in love with. 

Kaitlyn shakes her head in mock irritation as she slowly pulls herself out of the seat.

“You’re right, that does sound like torture. Be good kids,” she pats Azzi on the shoulder as she starts to make her way to a different seat, “keep your hands to yourself, don’t forget there’s other people on the plane.”

“No promises,” Paige calls out after her, a triumphant grin on her face as Azzi takes her rightful place in the seat next to the trophy. 

Azzi giggles as she buckles her seatbelt, leaning over the armrest so she can rub her thumb against her girlfriend’s cheek, “how’s your head doing? Better from this morning?”

Paige sighs dramatically, melting into the soft touch, “I still feel like I’m fucking dying,” she admits, “I’m never drinking again.”

“Oh of course not,” Azzi snorts, “not like you’ve ever said that before.”

“Hey you never know, I might actually mean it this time,” Paige defends herself half-heartedly but they both know it’s not true, not when there’s already a plan in motion for the team to party at Teds tonight after the championship rally at Gampel. 

“Whatever you say baby,” Azzi concedes gently, before she reaches down to her bag, unclipping her unicorn neck pillow to hand over to Paige, “here, it’ll make it more comfortable for you to get a nap in.”

The older girl frowns as she takes it, “I wanted to use your shoulder.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed babe, but there’s kinda something in between us,” Azzi says amusedly as she points at the national championship trophy that’s occupying the middle seat in between them. 

“Can’t believe I worked so hard for this, just for it to cockblock me,” Paige grumbles under her breath as she fastens the neck pillows around her shoulder, before holding her hand out to Azzi, “can you at least hold my hand?”

Azzi hesitates, “I was hoping to get some work done.”

“Baby please,” Paige whines, jutting her lower lip out at her girlfriend as she grabs Azzi’s hand and intertwines their fingers together, “just till I fall asleep? You know I can’t fall asleep without holding you.”

A little spark of sadness flashes in Azzi’s eyes -something like you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without me soon that Paige isn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet- but it’s gone as quick as it came and instead the younger girl squeezes her hand. 

“Okay, fine,” she relents, “go to sleep baby. I’m right here.”

And everything is still really fucking loud, but as she drifts off into a much-needed nap, Paige thinks that having Azzi next to her -her presence as steady and solid as it was when they’d first been on a plane together almost eight years ago- feels a lot like a moment of quiet in the chaos. 

April 8th 8:24 p.m.

Azzi isn’t sure if her skin is prickling from the vibration of the music echoing around the area, the tipsiness -elicited from a mix of alcohol and general elation- that hasn’t fully left her body in the last 48 hours, or simply the warmth of Paige’s fingers tapping to the beat against her exposed waist. The heat radiating from her girlfriend’s chest, pressed firmly against her back as they alternate between actually dancing and half-heartedly swaying to the songs, encompasses her entire body in the kind of comfort that Azzi has only ever really felt from being wrapped in Paige’s arms. 

“You having fun baby?” Paige’s breath is hot against her ear and Azzi shivers involuntarily, as she hums contentedly in response. 

“This is nice,” she says after a beat, shrinking further back into the safe haven of her girlfriend’s embrace, “I’ve missed this.”

Paige rests her chin against Azzi’s shoulder, taking advantage of the fact that they’re shrouded in only the dim glow reflecting off of the stage lights, as she nods in agreement, “me too. It’s been a while huh?”

“Yeah, it has,” Azzi concedes, letting her eyes close as she enjoys the serenity of good music and even better company. 

It really has been a rather long time since the two of them had gotten to simply exist like this, carefree and unburdened. The last few weeks -really ever since Christmas- their entire focus had been on basketball and winning the National Championship. And as much as the pressure to do so, had been the kind that had ultimately created a diamond, it had still come with it’s challenges. They’d been so immersed in the game -all of their time spent on the basketball court alone, together or with the team- that it feels like it’s been years since they’ve had a moment like this, a moment where, instead of being Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd, UConn superstars, they could just be Paige and Azzi, two twenty-something year olds who were truly, deeply, madly, irrevocably in love with each other. 

And then the thought hits Azzi. 

That she doesn’t quite know when they’ll get a moment like this again. 

Tomorrow, the championship media tour would start and then the draft and then- 

Well Azzi isn’t quite ready to confront what comes after the draft. Not yet. 

For now all she knows is that their schedules for the next couple of days are both filled to the brim with the expected TV appearances and brand and sponsorship photoshoots woven in between those commitments. She knows that they’ll be in the same city, together for a lot of it and she knows that in all the awaiting chaos, they’ll still find a way to steal a second of peace to be with each other. Just like they always have. But Azzi also knows that it still won’t be quite the same as this moment right here. Because this moment still feels like the before. 

The before, where Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd are still teammates separated by a mere staircase and all they have to do is say the word, for the other to come running. 

Tomorrow, they’ll start the inbetween. 

And then the after-

Azzi shakes her head -not wanting to dwell on that before she absolutely has to- as she shifts in Paige’s arms to turn her body around to face her girlfriend, hands instinctively locking around the older girl’s neck. She lets her gaze trickle down Paige’s face, taking in the way the older girl’s cerulean blue eyes sparkle with a ferocity stronger than the stars as she observes Azzi right back, the way even in the dark she can tell that Paige’s cheeks are flushed with that slight bashful pink color they only ever become when it’s the brunette who’s making her blush, the way the edges of the blonde’s lips are upturned sightly, like they’re just waiting for her to give them a reason to burst into that beautiful, dazzling, larger-than-life just for you smile of Paige’s that Azzi has been in love with longer than she’ll ever admit it. 

“You’re staring,” Paige teases, her voice loud enough only for Azzi to hear as her thumbs rub circles against either side of the brunette’s bare waist. 

“I’m observing,” Azzi corrects, “memorizing.”

Paige curls an eyebrow at that, “you scared you’re gonna forget me?”

It’s a joke, but there’s a hint of insecurity hidden in her tone, in the way her hands instinctively grip Azzi’s waist a little tighter, like she’s trying to anchor them together before the winds of change can blow either of them away.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” Azzi admits, her vulnerability accidentally slipping through the cracks before she can glue them shut, “not when you’re a part of me.”

And there it is. That smile. It blooms like a beautiful flower on Paige’s lips, the vines of it growing through her entire face until you can see them in the crinkles of her eyes. Even in the obsidian of the concert lighting, Paige glows like a shooting star that's headed straight for Azzi’s heart. And Azzi, welcomes the crash, welcomes the way it makes her chest hurt, makes it hard to breath in the best way possible. 

“Damn Fudd,” Paige whistles lowly, “you got lines.”

Azzi laughs, throwing her head back the way she only ever really does when it’s elicited by Paige, “I mean I gotta keep up with the ultimate rizzler somehow don’t I?”

They giggle quietly into each other’s space, the two of them lost in their own world, blissfully unaware of what's happening on stage or the quiet eye-rolls they've definitely been getting from their teammates around them. 

“You’re the biggest part of me,” Paige says after a beat, whispering it like it’s a secret confession only meant for Azzi’s ears, “you always have been, you always will be.”

Azzi doesn't say anything, she doesn’t need to. Instead she takes advantage of the dark and presses her lips against Paige’s. It’s chaste and delicate but it’s everything. 

It always is. It always will be. 

April 9th 1:47 p.m. 

The text lights up her phone screen when Paige needs it the most. 

She’s currently being fitted for her Jimmy Fallon appearance, waves of exhaustion radiating off her body even though it’s barely afternoon as she fights the urge to fall asleep while the makeup artist retouches up her face. Hectic days are no stranger to Paige, and she’s learned the importance of napping in cars between shoots, but that doesn’t mean the tiredness just magically goes away. Especially when she knows the next couple of days ahead of her are going to be filled with the same frantic rush. And it’s not that Paige isn’t thankful for it -not like she doesn’t know that, all of this is a privilege is a reward for all her hard work- but sometimes it all just feels too fast, like the pages are being turned in a frenzy before she can even finish reading them. 

She just wants it all to slow down, just for a second, just so she can catch the raindrops of her life before they fall and fade as they hit the ground. 

And somehow, as Paige unlocks her phone to look at the mirror selfie of Azzi in Cane’s uniform -tongue out, fingers thrown up in a peace sign- it almost -almost- feels like it does. 

They’ve been texting back and forth pretty much all day, and by all day, she really does mean since 4 a.m. which is when -after getting back close to midnight last night- Paige had, had to begrudgingly leave the warmth of her girlfriend snuggled into her chest, to get to New York in time for her way, way, too early morning interview. And of course Azzi, despite being just as tired, had woken up with her, had groggily gone through the checklist of things Paige needed to take with her, had given her a freshly brushed minty kiss right before she’d gotten on the car, and had been on facetime -although she had nearly dozed off a couple of times- almost the entire car ride, just to keep the blonde company until she reached Manhattan when they’d switch back to texting. 

But then there had been a slight lull in conversation, Paige becoming busy in the rush of her day and Azzi slowly beginning her own. And now, as if she’d sensed her girlfriend’s restlessness, could feel her spiraling into that trepid sense of overwhelmedness, Azzi had resumed it, just when Paige needed it the most, needed her anchor, the most. 

A: would you still love me if i said i was deciding to quite basketball to work at cane’s?

P: depends

would you give me free tenders?

Az: wow

so you’re saying your love is conditional?

P: i’m saying i’d love you just a little bit more if you gave me free chicken tenders 

i mean cane’s and my hot ass girlfriend, that’s the dream right?

A: that’s the dream? 

P: that’s the dream!

A: you’re a weirdo bueckers 

P: and yet you love me (don’t say debatable) 

so who’s really the weird one here? 

A: still you babe, still, definitely you 

P: oof definitely

that hurt baby 

A: you’ll survive 

P: only if you kiss it better 

i miss you by the way

if you even care 

A: it’s been like six hours 

P: oh so you don’t miss me?

cool cool cool cool COOL 

A: you’re so dramatic jfc 

P: oh OKAY 

a girl can’t even be sad about the fact that her girlfriend 

THE WOMAN SHE LOVES 

doesn’t even give a fuck that she’s DYING without her 

A: like i said 

so dramatic 

P: right right right so you hate me

got it.

A: oooooh fullstop and everything damn 

P: i’m not talking to you anymore BYE 

A: wait no

P: yes 

A: babyyyyyy

come backkkkk 

PAIGEEEEEEEEEEE

i’m sorryyyyy

you’re not dramatic 

you’re very not dramatic 

you’re very undramatic 

like the least dramatic person ever actually

and i miss you too

AND I LOVE YOU 

P: wow fudd

you’re like desperate for my attention or something huh? 

A: OH FUCK YOU 

P: i know YOU want to baby

Paige is grinning like a fool as she waits for Azzi to reply to that, a smile so bright she thinks there’s probably astronauts in space who are being blinded by it right now. She can’t help it. The knots of tension in her body are beginning to unravel, replaced by threads of a serene calmness that seems to have stitched itself to her skin just by talking to her girlfriend. Her person. Her happy place. 

A: skipping over that…

you doing okay? 

It’s in text form, but there’s still an underlying tone to it -a i know you’re not quite fine- that’s an acknowledgement of Azzi being in tune with Paige’s feelings and both an opening for her to talk about it now or a promise to be there to listen to her later. That’s the thing about having been with someone for years; Azzi knows Paige, she can read her -even from miles and miles away- like she’s the top line of a snellen chart at the optometrist’s office. And even years later, the knowledge of that simple fact makes Paige’s heart flutter with the feeling of being loved. 

P: i will be when you get here tonight 

A: i’ll be there soon baby

gonna set out for nyc as soon as my shift is over lol

can’t wait to see you 

P: work hard baby!

can’t wait for you to bring me tenders!

A: ....oh okay! 

i see what’s really important to you 

P: hey you know i love cane’s 

A: and here i thought you loved ME

P: i do 

just maybe a little less than my chicken tendies

A: fine 

then maybe i love you a little less than crinkle cut fries

P: aww you love me?

A: occasionally…

P: good enough for me! 

Paige catches herself smiling in the mirror, that enamored, goofy, grin that stretches her whole face, wiping away the traces of a frown that had once inhabited the same space. It’s still all a little -maybe even a lot- overwhelming, but she has a lifejacket now. Azzi won’t let her drown. 

P: hey az

A: yeah? 

P: thanks for checking in baby 

A: always baby 

P: i love you 

more than chicken tenders 

A: i love you too 

more than crinkle-cut fries 

April 10th 5:37 p.m.

The door to the hotel room creaks open and that familiar scent of Valentino whafts through the air, settling like the comfort of a worn out binkie against Azzi’s senses. She smushes her dorky grin into the pillow her face is already buried in, suddenly feeling a little more awake than she had just a couple seconds ago. After a multitude of media appearances, Azzi had returned back to their shared hotel room, only about twenty or so minutes ago, with a drained social battery and the cardinal urge to be nestled in her girlfriend’s strong arms. Considering said girlfriend hadn’t been back yet then, she’d settled for a hoodie that smelled like her and pillows that, while not as sturdy as Paige’s biceps, were soft enough to band-aid the ache for a little while. 

But now Paige is back. 

And Azzi doesn’t have to settle. 

She lifts her head to say as much, when -before the words can leave her mouth- the bed dips and suddenly there’s a warm weight being pressed against her back, slightly calloused hands finding their way under her body and then under her hoodie till they’re sprawled against her stomach. 

“Hi,” Paige whispers softly, her breath ticking against Azzi’s skin as she leaves a lingering kiss against the nape of the brunette’s neck, before burying her face in her shoulder as they let out matching contented sighs. 

“Hey,” the brunette whispers back, turning her face slightly just so she can give Paige a quick peck on her cheek. 

Azzi’s eyes close involuntarily as she lets herself be consumed by all things Paige, the essence of her girlfriend’s existence seeping into her veins and being pumped into her heart, like it’s the only thing keeping the most important organ in body alive. It used to terrify Azzi sometimes, this all-consuming love she knows she has only for Paige. She’d been so young when she’d first realized it, realized that missing and wanting and needing her best friend that fucking much couldn’t possibly be platonic. And god had that scared her. 

Because loving someone meant living with the fear of losing them too. 

But that doesn’t scare Azzi anymore. Not when she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this -the two of them and this little life their slowly beginning to build brick by brick- isn’t something she’ll ever lose.

This, the two of them, it’s a forever kind of thing.

“How was your day?” Paige murmurs against Azzi’s ear, fingers tracing delicate patterns against her taut stomach. 

“Exhausting,” Azzi replies, eyes still closed, “but nice. It’s a victory tour. Can’t really complain. How about you? How was your shoot?”

“Same ol’ same ol’. Nothing new. The camera loved me as always,” Paige’s cocky smirk prickles against Azzi’s skin and the younger girl shakes her head even though she’s just as confident that the pictures would in fact turn out perfect and that, Azzi would likely have to hide them in that secret little folder in her phone that’s filled to the brim with her favorite Paige photoshoot shots (and that she occasionally flicks through when she misses her girlfriend just a tad bit too much). 

“Or maybe it’s the hangover still making you delusional,” Azzi teases. 

Paige groans, pushing herself even further into her girlfriend if that’s even possible, clearly being bombarded with memories of the cruel headache she’d had to endure this morning, “please don’t remind me. Why’d you even let me drink last night?”

Azzi snorts into her pillow, “let you? Babe, since when have I ever been able to stop you from drinking? In fact, I’m pretty sure I did try last night after your third one and what did you do? You said, nah baby it’s just one more drink i’ll be fine,” she mocks, her mind flashing to her tipsy girlfriend last night who’d flashed that dopey grin at her while downing another shot she swore wouldn’t affect her the next morning. Azzi knew better. She always did. 

“What was I supposed to say when Alicia fucking Keys was handing me another drink Az?” Paige defends, “you don’t say no to Alicia fucking Keys.”

“I said no to Alicia fucking Keys just fine,” Azzi points out. 

“Yeah that’s cause you’re Azzi goddamn Fudd,” Paige presses a smile into the brunette’s shoulder, “you’re like the princess. The princess can say no to anyone.”

“Shut up,” Azzi grumbles, but her cheeks are stained red as she bites back her own grin at the pet name. 

They drift into a comfortable silence, their hearts beating in sync as their breathing starts to slow down a little, both of them on the precipice of sleep. It’s been nonstop since the championship -a different grind to what they’d been doing in-season but a grind nonetheless- and exhaustion rolls off of both of their bodies in waves. But right now, wrapped up in each other with every part of their bodies touching, it feels a little bit like they’re recharging, feeding off of each other’s strength before they go back out into the real world. 

“What if I skip this dinner thing and we order takeout and watch Frozen while we cuddle in bed?” Paige says after a beat, her tone wistful as Azzi lets out a soft laugh, her mind fluttering with memories of countless nights spent doing exactly that, 

She twists her body underneath Paige, so that they’re chest to chest and she can finally see her girlfriend’s face. And god, it’s been eight years she’s known Paige, almost eight years she’s been in love with her, but Azzi swears the blonde -with that fully toothed smile she claims as her own and sky blue eyes that look at her like they can see into her soul- still takes her breath away every single time she looks at her. She feels tongue-tied, this syrupy sweet feeling congesting her chest as she loops her arms around Paige’s neck, tugging her girlfriend closer so she can meld their lips together, lazy and slow and perfect. 

“So is that yes?” Paige mumbles against Azzi’s mouth, “I’ll even have room service bring us an ice-cream sundae.”

The brunette chuckles, her thumb caressing the older girl’s cheek as she shakes her head, “the ice-cream almost convinced me but unfortunately not baby. I have plans.”

Paige pouts, raising an eyebrow in mock offense, as she lifts herself off of Azzi just enough to be able to see her properly, “you have plans? With who?”

“Oh you know, just this cute girl who’s really funny,” Azzi teases, her eyes gleaming with mirth as Paige narrows her own. 

“What girl?” she asks, the possessive glint in her irises sparkling like sun rays hitting the surface of a tranquil blue ocean. 

“Just this girl,” Azzi says cavalierly, “but she’s amazing. Think I’m gonna wear that pink tank top-”

“Like hell you are,” Paige cuts her off, her voice gruff as she scowls down at Azzi, “pick something else. That’s my favorite top on you. No one else needs to see you out in it.”

“I know it is,” Azzi smirks, and then, deciding she’s done enough to elicit that jealous side of her girlfriend -who's still glaring at nothing in particular- that she finds rather insanely attractive, she figures she probably should put Paige out of her misery, “but KK said pink looks good on me so…”

Paige stares at her, mouth opening and closing as she processes Azzi’s world before she lets out a loud groan and buries her face in her girlfriend’s chest. 

“Oh fuck you,” she curses as Azzi trembles with laughter, her hands rubbing up and down the blonde’s back. 

“KK’s gonna die when I tell her about this.”

“Azzi no! Don’t you dare,” Paige whines, “don’t you care about your girlfriend’s dignity at all?”

“What dignity- OW did you just fucking bite me?” Azzi’s joking tone turns shrill as she feels her girlfriend nip sharply at her collarbone. 

Paige smirks lazily into her girlfriend’s skin, tongue darting out to soothe the patch of red forming on it like an artist putting on the finishing touches to their craft, “you’ve never seemed to mind that before.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, irritation melting into something completely different as Paige continues to press open-mouthed kisses to her neck. 

“Paige,” she breathes out and it’s meant to be a warning -a plea for her to stop- but it sounds like anything but. 

“My offer still stands baby,” Paige murmurs, “I don’t gotta go and you don’t gotta leave. We can just stay here. Together. Doing this.”

It takes all of Azzi’s willpower to not succumb to the sultry lilt in her girlfriend’s voice, to not let their bodies tangle into the sheets and let the night pass them by. She places her hands firmly on either side of Paige’s head, coaxing the blonde’s face away from her skin -both of them sighing in disappointment at the loss of contact- so they’re face to face agan. 

“You gotta go baby,” she says softly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, “it’s part of taking the next step, part of entering your new world.”

“I know,” Paige bites her lip, hesitating as she looks down at Azzi with a newfound vulnerability, a hidden crack in her confident exterior that only the brunette has ever been privy to, “I’m scared,” she confesses, “it’s gonna feel too real once I’m in there with all the vets and draftees.”

“Oh Paige,” Azzi whispers, her touch gentle and soothing as she runs index finger down Paige’s face, “it is real. This is real. Your dreams are coming true baby.”

“I know, I just-” Paige pauses as she leans her face into Azzi’s hand, melting into the familiarity of it, “it’s all gonna be different soon. That’s scary as fuck.”

Azzi nods in understanding, “yeah it is. But you’ve got this Paige. I know you do. And,” she nuzzles her nose against her girlfriends, “you’ve got me. That’s not gonna be different. Not now, not ever.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

April 12th 11:32 p.m.

Horsebarn hill smells like newly mowed grass and fresh spring flowers that have just started to bloom. The  gentle April breeze -like whispers of all the stories that have been told here- curdles around Paige as she sits criss-cross on a checkered pink blanket, one arm wrapped firmly around Azzi’s shoulder, the other nursing a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Her teammates are scattered across the grass on their own blankets, some with matching drinks, others with a late night snack. Their chatter mingles with the distant chirping of cicadas creating a soothing lullaby that almost threatens to put Paige -with the frantic rush of her past few days- to sleep. 

But she doesn’t dare let her eyes close, wanting to savor every single second before nightfall turns into daybreak and a moment turns into a memory. 

This is her team. Her family. 

And tonight is the last night that they will get like this, to be in this place -a familar space they’ve visited countless times, a space where they’ve woven threads of themselves into the grass that grows here- as individual pieces who belong together in the same puzzle before three of them -her, Aubrey and Kaitlyn- scatter to fit into a different jigsaw. 

A new start. 

Instinctively, Paige pulls Azzi closer to her, breathing in that familiar soft scent of the brunette’s lavender deodorant mixed with the coconut-y aroma of her body wash, that settles her nerves like a peace serum. Azzi doesn’t say anything -still laughing at KK and Ice who are doing some sort of dramatic reenactment of Aubrey and her new cheerleader girlfriend’s first date- but she shifts just enough to press her temple against Paige’s chin, a simple reminder that she’s here, ready to be whatever the blonde needs her to be. 

“That is not what happened,” Aubrey’s indignant voice carries out through the hill, much to the amusement of her teammates who all burst out into laughter, the sound like wind chimes ringing throughout a mountain, “y’all weren’t even there.”

“We didn’t have to be,” KK defends, her eyes shining with her patented mirth, “we know you Aubs.”

“It does sound like something you’d do Aubrey,” Carol says contemplatively, barely able to conceal her own smirk as she pats her friend comfortingly on the back

“CAROL,” Aubrey shrieks in betrayal, scooching away with a dramatic hand on her heart, “I cannot believe YOU would do this to me?”

“I swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” Caroline says solemnly, inciting another round of giggles from the group of girls as Aubrey shakes her head in exasperation. 

Paige thinks she’s a little bit in love with this moment, in the mundaneness of it that feels like any other night spent with her teammates and yet there’s still something about it -about these people that have loved her just as much through the losses as they have thought the big wins- that feels inexplicably special. Perhaps that’s just the bond forged by working towards and winning a championship together. Because it's certain that all of them will win more than just this -that’s who they are, winners at their core- but not like this, not this group, not all together, not as comets in the same once-in-a-lifetime meteor shower.

“Alright, alright enough bickering,” Paige’s voice sweeps over her team, still as commanding as over, their leader, “even though let’s be real Aubs, that definitely sounds like something you’d do.”

“I hate all of you,” Aubrey grunts. 

“Yeah, yeah we love you too,” Paige sends her oldest teammate a quick wink before turning her focus to the rest of them, “y’all we should do something. Something fun.”

Ice raises a skeptical eyebrow, “we are doing something. We’re eating and drinking and pissing Aubrey off. Sounds like hell of a fun night to me.”

Paige rolls her eyes, “no Isuneh, I mean like something special. We’re fucking National Champions we guys. We should do something to celebrate.”

“We did celebrate. Or were you so drunk that you don’t even remember that?” Sarah deadpans much to the amusement of their teammates and this time Paige finds herself the victim of the group’s shrill laughter as her youngest teammate goes on to mimic her intoxicated antics from the night they’d won the championship. 

“Baby,” the blonde whines like she’s been backstabbed when she feels Azzi’s body -still securely plush against her own- shake with her girlfriend’s own giggles, “you laughing at me too?”

“No, no, of course not. I would never,” Azzi says soothingly, turning her head slightly so she can kiss away the pout on Paige’s lips. 

“Oh my god get a fucking room,” Jana yells when the kiss inevitably goes from chaste to something deeper and the two of them break away reluctantly, still grinning at each other like the cheesy lovesick idiots they’ve never shied away from admitting they are. 

“We have one,” Azzi replies, shrugging as she settles back into Paige’s chest, a coy smirk on her face directed towards Paige’s roomates, “and you should know I plan to use it tonight, so either get headphones or get the fuck out of the apartment. Just saying.”

Paige snorts into her girlfriend’s hair as Jana scrunches her nose in disgust, pretending to puke into the grass and Allie lets out a dramatic sigh, rubbing her temples like a teenager who’s tired of their parent’s high jinks. 

“Why is it always us?” Jana complains, “why don’t you ever traumatize your roommates instead.”

“Absolutely not,” Ice puts her hands up in surrender, “I already lived through that last year,” she shudders at the memory, “they owe me compensation for that shit not a replay.”

“Oh please,” Aubrey says cavalierly, sitting with her hands splayed on the ground behind her back, “y’all think this is bad? Y’all don’t even know what we had to live through when Azzi first got here and these two were still being absolute dumbasses. I don’t remember what was louder. The fighting or the fucking.”

“And the fighting always lead to fucking,” Caroline commiserates before a contemplative expression overtakes her features, “or was it the other way round?”

“Shut up,” Paige grumbles, a red blush forming from the base of her neck to the tip of her ears as she hides her face against Azzi’s curls, “we were not that bad.”

“No we definitely were,” Azzi’s voice is steady, despite her own face being the same embarrassed shade as her girlfriend’s, as she gives Paige’s hand -wrapped around her waist- a gentle squeeze, “but we figured it out,” her eyes are soft as she turns around in the older girl’s arms to look at the blonde, “we always do.”

Paige brushes their lips together before pressing her forehead against the brunette’s, “always.”

And she’s dimly aware of her teammate’s making gagging sounds in the background, can practically feel the eye-rolls and thoughts of the two of you are sickening vibrating off of them but Paige doesn’t care. Because underneath it all is a fondness -perhaps even admiration- that none of the girls can really hide because no one is a bigger supporter of the Paige and Azzi story than the teammates that had lived through every chapter of it with them. 

“Alright enough,” it’s KK who eventually pulls them apart, her hand curling around Paige’s bicep to pull her back, eyes almost rolling to the back of her head when she notices the frown on the blonde’s face, “oh my lord, y’all don’t get tired of each other?”

“Nope,” Paige and Azzi replying in sync, glancing dopily at each other because, it’s been seven years of their lives being intertwined, four years of living in each other’s skin -so interwoven that it was hard to tell where Azzi began and where Paige ended- and yet, Paige thinks if there were more hours in the day, she’d still spend every single extra second as a chance to fall a little bit more in love Azzi. 

“Y’all are hopeless,” KK informs them (they don’t deny it) before she looks expectantly at Paige, “anyways P-boogs, you were saying something about celebrating?”

“Isn’t that what the parade tomorrow is for?” Ashlynn asks quizzically. 

“Yeah but that- that’s for everybody. The fans, the local media, all of them,” Paige replies earnestly, “we should do something for us- something just us. One last time.”

“Do your fangirls know their ultimate rizzler is such a sap P?” Ayanna teases but there’s wistfulness to her tone, one that reflects in the eyes of all of the girls as that last bittersweet phrase settles in the air, “what did you have in mind?”

Paige grins, “y’all see that tree over there,” she points to the large willow tree a couple meters away, one that looks out over the school like a protector; it’s the team somehow always ends up close to whenever they make their way up to Horsebarn hill, “I wanna carve our names into it. Something that’ll last forever.”

Ice lets out an amused snort, “trust you to come up with the most clichéd idea ever Bueckers. What are we in some feel-good 90’s teenage comedy movie?”

“Oooh I’d be the funny one,” KK supplies proudly, “like that one supporting character everyone remembers more than the main ones.”

“I think that’s the annoying one,” Ice mutters under her breath causing KK to glare at her. 

"You’d be a forgettable extra Isuneh,” the shorter girl hisses, “not even one of the ones with lines. Matter of fact, your name wouldn’t even be on the goddamn tree.”

“And someone would scratch your name off. So guess we’d both be off the fucking tree Kamorea,” Ice retorts immediately, crossing her arms over her chest as the two of them revert to their default of being in a state of constant bickering. 

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Caroline says, her voice as authoritative as ever as she fixes Ice and KK with her best warning motherly gaze before rising to her feet, “okay everyone go find yourself a sharp stick so we can carry out Paige’s clichéd idea.”

“Hey,” Paige pouts, “it’s not that cliché.”

“It definitely is,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes like it pains her to have to go along with this but the way she lights up when she finds a little twig with whetted edges -perfect for etching her mark into a tree- tells a different story. 

“I think it's a sweet baby,” Azzi whispers softly as she gently stands up, reaching out a hand to pull Paige up with her, “very cute, very you.”

“Yeah?” Paige nudges her girlfriend’s shoulder, their intertwined hands swinging between them as the two of them make their way towards the tree, picking up their own sticks along the way, “so sweet that you’ll carve your name next to mine?”

Azzi laughs, the sound of it pure and uninhibited  as it echoes through the night, “where else would my name go?”

Paige practically beams at her girlfriend’s answer as the two of them join the rest of their teammates by the tree, the group of girls gathering under the willows as they each take turns etching their signatures into the bark. They have their phones out as flashlights, illuminating the area just enough for whoever’s turn it is to be able to see what they’re marking out. And Paige thinks that if at this moment, anyone were to look up at the hill from the path at the bottom, it would look a little bit like the stars had fallen from the night sky so that a constellation could congregate on top of the hill. 

She’s the last person to carve her name onto the tree and Paige sucks in a sharp breath, eyes glossing over the names of the rest of her teammates -her found family- before she inches forward, finding Azzi’s name amidst the rest and with a smile -one filled with the memories of everything she’s achieved and the building excitement of everything else she will- Paige signs her name right next to her girlfriend’s, right underneath the National Champions 2025 - we fucking did it!

April 13th 9:47 p.m.

Azzi’s sitting on the bed, head perched against the headboard, legs criss-crossed as she types away at her phone, texting Mackenzie about the photoshoot she has tomorrow morning. Her eyebrows are knitted in concentration, tongue poking out of her lips occasionally as she goes over the details with a friend, meticulous planning how the rest of the day would go. She’s so caught up in her focus that it takes her a while to realize she's being stared at. 

And when she does finally look up, there’s Paige -standing in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail as she leans against the door to their en-suite bathroom- staring at her like Azzi’s the moon and Paige has scoured the entire night sky just to find that luminescence again. It’s how Paige has always looked at her, with an intensity that feels all-consuming -like the blonde is memorizing every single inch of her and hiding the snapshot of it away in a treasure chest, locked by a key that only she has. Azzi feels her breath catch in her throat as Paige’s gaze stays locked on her -unwavering and steady- with that patented just for Azzi smile curling against the corner of her lips. 

“I missed you,” Paige says finally, after a moment of them just staring at each other. 

Azzi lets out a quiet chuckle, “you were in the bathroom for a solid ten minutes. How could you have possibly missed me?”

“I miss you every second you’re not with me,” it’s one of those corny lines Paige has used on her a million times -one she’d normally roll her eyes at and make a quip at about her girlfriend being clingy-  but there’s an underlying tone to it tonight that makes Azzi sit up just a little bit straighter. 

“Paige,” Azzi says softly, shifting her body slightly, ready to reach out for her girlfriend, but the blonde shakes her head 

“I miss you every time you leave, every time we’re apart. Doesn’t matter if it’s for a couple seconds or minutes or hours or days or-” Paige swallows as she cuts herself off, her breathing uneven as she continues as Azzi feels her heart start to ache at where this is going, “it started when you left Minnesota that first summer we met. And I remember- I remember after I’d left you at the airport- it felt- it felt like something was missing. And all I could think about the entire car ride home is when you’d land and when I could facetime you again. Just so I could hear your voice and see your face, even if it was through a screen that time.”

“I didn’t even wait till I got home,” Azzi reminisces, letting out a watery giggle as flashback of a much younger version of her -an antsy fourteen year old who didn’t quite understand why she was already so desperate to call her new friend that she’d just seen a mere few hours ago- invades her mind, “I called you as soon as we got in the taxi. God I almost hung up when you didn’t pick up on the first ring.”

“I thought I was dreaming,” Paige admits, “I’d been staring at my phone the whole time waiting for you to call and then when you did, I fucking dropped it.”

“You were a dork,” Azzi teases, “still are.”

“You love it,” Paige smirks cockily before her expression softens, her throat scratchy as she continues, “I don’t know how we did it sometimes. All that distance. Seeing each other for a couple weeks here and there and then being apart for months. It killed me, you know that? Every single time we had to say goodbye? I fucking hated it.”

“I missed you as soon as you walked away each time,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, looking down at the mattress so Paige won’t see her eyes threatening to overflow with the tears that are brimming at her water line

And she can feel it -all of those emotions she’d kept at bay over the last few weeks, all of those realizations she’d refused to let herself have just yet, all of those fears and worries that she’d pushed away to deal with after- everything rushing up all at once, banging at the barricades of their cages as they yell to be let out, to be dealt with. Because there isn’t much time left. After tomorrow, after the draft, everything would start changing. And Azzi can’t change that. 

The silence around them is thick with tension, Paige’s eyes on Azzi and Azzi still staring down at the linen, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the comforter. She almost feels selfish for feeling this way; for not being stronger for Paige, for her girlfriend whose life would change a lot more than Azzi’s would. It’s Paige who’s going to have to move to a new city and leave this old life of hers behind, Paige who’s going to have to integrate into a different team in a much harder league, Paige who’s going to have all eyes on her as she embarks on a new journey. 

And Azzi knows, despite the façade of complete confidence that Paige puts up, that her girlfriend is still human and that humans get scared. She wants to be Paige’s anchor, her shield and she has been -has let herself burn in her own trepidation so she can protect her girlfriend from the fire of doubt- but tonight, everything feels too fucking hot. Azzi can feel her resolve crumbling and when she finally looks up, when she finally lets Paige catch a glimpse of her face -red with tears free-falling- she knows her girlfriend can feel it too. 

“I’m scared Paige,” Azzi whispers and they both know what she means, “everything’s gonna change.”

“Oh baby,” Paige’s tone is gentle yet wrecked as she almost trips over her own face to get to Azzi, immediately cupping the brunette’s face in between her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi’s voice comes out trembling -barely above a whisper- as she lets herself melt into her girlfriend’s touch. 

“God baby no,” Paige soothes, her thumbs brushing away the fast-falling drops rolling down the brunette’s cheeks, “why are you apologizing?”

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t want- fuck Paige- baby it’s the night before the best day of your life and I’m ruining it,” Azzi sobs; now that she’s let the tears out, it’s like they refuse to stop. 

“No you’re not,” Paige corrects her immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument, “you could never ruin anything for me baby. Just you being here, it makes it-,” she gives Azzi a wobbly smirk, “it makes tonight un-ruin-able or something.”

And in spite of the heaviness pinching at her ribs, Azzi finds herself letting out a watery chuckle, “I don’t think that’s a word.”

“It so is,” Paige says assertively, pulling Azzi onto her lap so that the younger girl is straddling her hips, her head instinctively burrowing itself into the safe space in the crevice between the blonde’s neck and shoulder as they breathe together in synch with each other’s heartbeat

A beat passes before Azzi speaks again, the vulnerability leaking through her voice despite it being muffled by Paige’s skin, “this is gonna be really fucking hard isn’t it?”

Paige’s arms instinctively tighten around the brunette, her hands that had been playing with her curls stilling as her body goes rigid under Azzi. It’s a thought that both of them have had -their eyes have even said it each other in the moments where the inevitability of their future had been to hard to ignore- but neither of them had, had the courage to actually say it out loud yet, to give that thought the wing to fly into the air and hang between them like a sword of reality waiting to cut through their mirage of wilful ignorance. 

But the sword has been unsheathed now. And the mirage has disappeared. 

“Yeah it is,” Paige says finally, her fingers slipping under Azzi’s shirt to caress her back, like she’s trying to soothe her girlfriend and keep herself sane just by being able to touch her, “it is scary and it is- it’s gonna be really fucking hard.”

Azzi whimpers, trying to push herself further into her girlfriend’s embrace, almost like she’s trying to sew them together by their skin with a thread that no force in the world could unbind. 

“But baby listen,” Paige coaxes Azzi’s face out of her chest, her thumbs resting on the younger girl’s jawling as she looks at her with that gentle gaze she reserves solely for her girlfriend, “no matter what- no matter how scary or hard it is- we’re gonna get through this. I know we are. Because you and me Az? We’re unbreakable- we’re un-ruin-able.”

Azzi lets out a wobbly laugh as she presses her forehead against the blonde’s, eyes closing instinctively as she breathes in the clean, calming, scent of Paige’s lavender body wash, “just cause you keep using it, doesn’t mean it’s suddenly gonna become a word, you know that right?”

“Yeah but it got you to smile twice so I’mma keep using it over and over again,” Paige shrugs, her nose nuzzling against Azzi’s. 

“You’re such a cornball Bueckers,” Azzi announces with a somewhat dramatic eye roll before she’s falling back into the pillows, tugging her girlfriend with her so she’s lying on her back, with Paige hovering right over her, cerulean blue eyes gleaming with love and promise as she smiles down at Azzi. 

“But here you are anyways,” Paige whispers as she presses her lips languidly to Azzi’s forehead, before moving down to her cheeks, then to her lips, “loving me,” she bites the lower one softly before moving onto Azzi’s neck and her collarbone, “wanting me,” her lips drift lower, gently lifting her shirt so she can leave a trail of delicate kisses starting at rib cage and then continuing down, a teasing smirk on her face, “needing me.”

“Paige,” Azzi moans, her fingers curling against the sheet as Paige settles between her legs, hands toying with the waistband of her sleep shorts as she looks expectantly up at the brunette. 

“What do you want, baby?” Paige asks, looking at Azzi like she’s already drunk off of her. 

“I want it slow,” Azzi says quietly, reaching a hand down to brush away a strand of unruly blonde hair, “I want you to make it last.”

“Whatever you want Az,” Paige promises, rising back up so she can pull Azzi into a searing hot kiss, “I’ll give you whatever you want baby.”

And she does. 

It’s slow and steady and perfect. They make love like they could make it last forever, like they have all the time in the world, like tonight won’t change into tomorrow unless they want it to. And when they finally fall apart, wrapped so tightly in each other arms, grounded by the feeling of being each other’s anchor, it feels like a vow; a vow to be un-ruin-able. 

April 14th 3:47 p.m.

Paige’s knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since she’d taken her seat on the hair and make-up chair. She’s acutely away of everything going on around her, of Haley’s curling iron putting the finishing touches on her hair, of Brittany making sure all of the pieces for her outfit change later on in the night are ready to be transported, of teammates -past and present- walking in and out of the room with praises of how good she looks and how proud they are of her. And Paige is thankful for all of them -is almost a little overwhelmed with how her village has come out to support her- but she can’t pretend that she’s not counting down the moments till her hair and make-up are done, till she can jump out of this chair and run down the hallway to her girlfriend. 

Beyond the quiet moment they’d shared when they’d woken up -at a far too early hour- this morning and a quick glimpse of each other before they’d been whisked away to get ready for the night, she hasn’t seen Azzi nearly enough today. They’d texted of course, like they always did when they were apart for longer than a minute. But no amount of messages back and forth could replace the exhilaration that came with actually being together, that came with being able to see her and touch her and feel her. 

God Paige is so fucking gone, has been since she was fifteen and she’d walked into the gym to see the most perfect arc on a three-point shot that she’d ever seen. And then her gaze had landed on the girl who’d taken the jumpshot. 

That was it. 

The moment Paige’s life had been permanently altered. 

And now that girl, the girl with the perfect jump shot but an even more perfect soul, was going to be by her side on the biggest night of her life so far, just like she had been for every milestone -every moment, big or small, happy or sad- since they’d met. 

Paige remembers when they’d first talked about being drafted and playing the W. Back then, it had felt like a dream, attainable but something that was still years and years away. But still, she’d been adamant, if not cocky, that she’d be a high first-round pick and Azzi -even though she’d started with a sarcastic quip and a teasing joke about you? nah Bueckers, you’d be lucky if you go late second round-had said with absolute certainty, her eyes sparkling with an emotion Paige couldn't quite decipher, that she was going to go number one overall.

And it had caught Paige off-guard, that fluttering in her stomach as her chest had expanded with pride. It wasn’t the first time someone had complimented her, wasn’t even the first time someone had said she’d go number one but there was a certain conviction in Azzi's voice that made Paige feel like she really believed it, believed in her. 

That belief was going to pay off tonight.

And Azzi -just like she’d promised, when they were just two girls lying on a blanket under the stars, pinkies brushing together as they’d talked about their future- would be right there to watch it happen. 

“Are we done yet?” Paige asks impatiently, looking imploringly at her entourage through the mirror. 

“Why?” Hayley’s eyes twinkle with mirth as she spritzes copious amounts setting spray against Paige’s hair, making the blond wheeze, “you have somewhere you need to be Bueckers?”

“Me? No. I got nothing to do,” Paige denies, “but Brittany has another client she has to go see I think and like you know, we shouldn’t keep her from doing that right Britt?”

Her stylist raises an amused eyebrow, “no one’s keeping me from seeing my other client Paige. In fact, you’re basically done and I’ve got your second look read to go, so I think I’m gonna go over and see her I think,” Brittany smirks as she walks towards the makeup chair, winking at Hayley, “but since you have nowhere to be yet, how about we do a little-”

“NO,” Paige shrinks back, a crimson blush creeping up her neck and overriding the artificial one at how loud her protest had come out, “I mean um- I already look great I think and you guys uh- you guys have worked so hard. We wouldn’t wanna ruin that by adding more and um- doing too much or something.”

Brittany laughs at her client’s rambling, shaking her head fondly at Paige’s familiar antiques as she comes to stand in front of the girl, “you’re a horrible liar.”

“I know,” Paige admits with a slight pout, “I just- I wanna see her.”

“She wants to see you too,” Brittany whispers like it’s a secret as she hands over her phone and Paige’s eyes light up when she sees her girlfriend’s name above a series of texts. 

Azzi: heyyyyyyy auntie B 

          just wondering how everything’s going over there?

          if you’re almost done?

          are you coming over soon? 

Paige laughs, a warm sensation wrapping itself around her heart at the desperation that mirrors her own, reflected in the texts. She can practically picture her girlfriend, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she’d likely overthought what to send to their stylist. 

“Y’all are just as bad as each other,” Brittany says, “but come on lovebird, let’s reunite you with your other half and put us all out of our misery.”

Paige grins like a child who’s just been told they’re being taken to disney world, standing up from her make-up chair so quickly that it makes her stumble a little bit, much to the entertainment of all the people around her. She catches a glance of herself, the finished product, in the mirror and can’t help the slightly arrogant smirk that crosses her face. 

She looks good. 

Fashion hadn’t initially been one of Paige’s passions but perhaps that was more because she wasn’t aware of what fashion could be for her before. She’d never understood the hype of the overly feminine dresses and jewelry her mother seemed to want her to wear but she’d done it with a smile until dressing herself like that had started to feel more like a punishment than an indulgence. And it hadn’t been until she’d started venturing into the more ambiguous style, into something that felt more her, that Paige had really begun to understand just how much she enjoyed dabbling in fashion, just how much she could use it as a venture to express herself, as a way to fall back in love with herself for who she is. 

By the time they make the short walk to Azzi’s dressing room, Paige’s palms are sweating. She feels like a highschooler who’s waiting to see their prom date. Ironic, because Paige hated every second of the day leading up to Azzi’s prom night, annoyed at the idea of someone else taking her girl as their date. Still, she’d played her part as a dutiful best friend, driving Azzi around to get her nails done, laughing with her as she'd gotten her hair and make-up done, taking candid pictures of her when she wasn’t looking and a couple more when she was. But every second had felt like torture, like a ticking timebomb waiting to explode the moment Azzi’d date had shown up at the Fudd’s doorstep. It wasn’t until Azzi had stepped into  his car -turning around to wave up at Paige with an uncertain smile- and the blonde had watched it drive away from the window of the guestroom, that she’d finally broken down. 

But then Azzi had come back early, a thousand and one excuses on her lips of why she’d skipped out on the after party, none of which really made sense but neither of her parents, and definitely not Paige herself, had called her out on it. And she hadn’t said the truth out loud that night -just gotten out of her dress and curled into bed next to Paige, putting on Love and Basketball for the hundredth time- but it had been enough, enough for Paige to know that it wasn’t all in her head, that Azzi felt the electricity that hummed between them too. 

The sweet scent of a citrus-y perfume engulfs her sense as Paige pushes open the door to her girlfriend’s room. She doesn’t quite recognize it, isn’t the one that Azzi normally uses, but something about it matches the brunette’s aura. Paige’s eyes scan the room, throwing the peace sign up at Amari who’s perched lazily on the bed and giving polite nods to the glam squad who are bustling around the space. She scrunches her face at not immediately catching sight of her girlfriend, her impatience catching up to her, until she hears it. 

Azzi’s voice. 

Coming from the direction of the bathroom; her tone carefree and light as she talks to who Paige assumes is Mackenzie. She hears the shutter of a camera, a quick work it girl, followed by her girlfriend’s familiar giggles and Paige feels her heart beat start to slow down, that calm she only feels when Azzi’s near her starting to seep through her skin like a the perfect hit of indica settling her frazzled nerves. 

“Baby,” she calls out, blushing at the fact that she can hear the sappy smile in her own voice, “c’mere. I wanna see you.”

On the bed Amari pretends to gag, “still as gross as ever I see.”

Paige flips her off, shifting her weight from side to side as she waits for Azzi to come out of the bathroom, desperate feeling like too mild a term to describe how badly she wants to see the brunette. 

And when she does- 

Fuck. 

It’s like they forget how to breathe at the same time, the world fading away as the two of them stare at each other, eyes wide, mouth parted, that same how did I get so fucking lucky expression written over both of their faces. And the thing is, Paige swears Azzi is the most gorgeous thing she’s laid her eyes on every day, thinks she’s the prettiest girl in the world even when she’s in nothing but that one old Georgetown shirt and her shorts covered in red hearts, with no makeup on. But tonight? 

God, tonight, Azzi is ethereal. 

Like nothing Paige has ever seen before. 

Like an angel fallen from heaven that was so gorgeous, she’d been banished by Aphrodite herself. 

Paige had seen the black dress on Azzi during her fittings, had already been enamored by the low cut neckline and the way the material went sheer at the bottom. But still, nothing could have prepared her for this final look. For the hair, wavy in a way Paige has never seen it before, the makeup that makes Azzi’s doe eyes pop and enunciates the plumpness of her lips, the minimal jewelry that enhances the entire outfit and makes Azzi look expensive. 

And Paige can’t tell if she’s floating or flying or falling, but she knows the ground has been snatched from underneath her in the best way possible. 

“Paige,” Azzi recovers first and Paige blinks -still dumbfounded- as her girlfriend glides across the room towards her and she’s struck with the fact that Azzi looks just as mesmerized as she does. 

“You look-” the brunette swallows, her hands moving like she doesn’t know where she wants to put them before they finally settle on the lapels of the older girl’s blazer, “fuck baby you look beautiful.”

“Me?” Paige finally finds her voice, her own hand moving to wrap around Azzi’s waist as she pulls her girlfriend closer, eyes still roaming all over her body, “baby have you fucking seen yourself.”

Azzi lowers her eyes bashfully, a soft pink color gracing her cheeks, “you like it?”

“No,” Paige says without hesitation, causing her girlfriend to look back up at her in confusion, “I hate it. I hate that you’re wearing it tonight. I hate that everyone else is gonna get to see you like this,” she continues possessively, eliciting a laugh from Azzi, “you look so fucking perfect baby, everyone’s gonna fall in love with you. I’m gonna end up in jail or something by the end of the night.”

“How do you think I feel,” Azzi bites back, pressing herself closer to Paige, “they’re already in love with you and then you’re gonna show up like that? I’ll be right there in jail with you at that point.”

“So what I’m hearing is that we should just stay here for the rest of the night? Just you and me and nobody else,” Paige smirks crookedly, “I mean I’mma get drafted even if I don't show up right?” 

Azzi shakes her head, tangling her fingers in the black cross chain dangling down the valley of her girlfriend’s chest, “tempting but no,” her eyes shine with pride, “I wanna watch your dreams come true tonight. I wanna hear your name called. I wanna see you walk on that stage and get handed that jersey. And I- I wanna be the one clapping the loudest when it all happens.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be anybody else,” Paige whispers, her voice trembling as she tightens her grip around Azzi’s waist, “you know that right baby? That I wouldn’t wanna live out any of my dreams with anybody else but you?”

“I know, me too,” Azzi nods, gently tapping their foreheads together, “I’m so proud of you P. So proud. And I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you more,” Paige says, somehow managing to press their bodies even closer together, “thank you for being here. Not just tonight. For all of it. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Always,” Azzi breathes out, “I’m always gonna be here. No matter what.”

It’s a promise Azzi intends to keep and a promise Paige plans on holding her to, forever. 

April 15th 5:35 a.m. 

Their hotel room is quiet now, the last of their friends having drunkenly departed to their respective rooms. The high of the night still lingers in the air, echoes of the cacophony that had surrounded them since they’d woken up this morning still ringing in their ears. The room is a mess to say the least, remnants of drunk shenanigans woven into the couch and carpet. It’s the scene of the after-after party that had only involved the people closest to them, a not-so-quiet affair that had happened rather spontaneously after the Nike event had ended and their little circle -none of them particular sober- had agreed to reconvene in Paige and Azzi’s room instead. Champagne had flowed, the music had been loud and the chatter had been practically incoherent. 

But God, had it been fun. 

The perfect celebration of a monumentally perfect night. 

And now it was just the two of them, tired, aching bodies lying side by side -Paige, with her eyes closed, on her back, one arm wrapped around Azzi’s who’s curled against her chest, the other propped under her head- as they finally get a moment to themselves. Neither of them have changed, but at some point Paige’s white shirt had ended up wrapped around Azzi’s body, leaving the blonde in nothing but her white camisole now. Azzi doesn’t remember how exactly that had happened but she’s not complaining, not when she’s now engulfed by the scent of all things Paige and she has a first-class view of her girlfriend’s toned arms. 

“So,” she begins quietly, her voice scratchy and hoarse from the occurrences of the night, “when are we going shopping for a cowboy hat and cowboy boots?”

Paige laughs, a deep belly rumble that Azzi’s can feel from where her fingers are splayed over the blonde’s stomach, “as soon as we get to Dallas baby.”

We. 

Azzi hides a smile into Paige’s chest at that. She likes when her girlfriend speaks about them like that, like the package deal they have been since they were fifteen years old. Her eyes flicker across the room to the Dallas Wings hat that’s perched on the mirror, a relic of what’s to come and the thrill of what had happened tonight. Everyone had known this was what was going to happen since December, a foregone conclusion but that hadn’t made the moment any less special. Not when Azzi has been waiting for it -praying on it even before she’d truly discovered her faith- since the first time Paige had confided in her -with uncharacteristic quiet vulnerability- that she hoped one day she’d go number one in the draft. 

And tonight, that had finally come to fruition. 

There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to describe how proud of Paige, Azzi is. She’s never doubted this moment would come, never doubted that this would be another mountain her girlfriend would conquer, but she knows -better than anyone- that the climb to the top had been riddled with obstacles. Hurdle after hurdle, Azzi had watched Paige jump over them all, maintaining a smile for the crowds but letting herself crumble in the brunette’s arms behind the scenes. And Azzi had held her, whispered reassurances into her ears until the blonde was fast asleep with tear-tracked cheeks and her own arms had hurt from holding Paige. But the idea of letting go had never once crossed Azzi’s mind. Instead she’d held her girlfriend a little tighter, had made herself stronger, so that whatever burden Paige was carrying, Azzi would always be there to make it lighter. 

Now here Paige is, a national champion, the #1 draft pick, a person who’d dared to dream despite it all, and the dreams had finally become a reality. 

And as she observes her girlfriend, eyes closed in peace with the smile of someone who’s really and truly happy, Azzi thinks no one deserved this more. 

“You’re staring,” Paige teases, eyelids still pressed shut as she brushes her hand up and down Azzi’s arm. 

The brunette bites her lip, only a little embarrassed at having been caught out, “I’m allowed to. You’re mine.”

“Oh?” Paige cracks open one eye, her lips stretching into that familiar arrogant smirk, “feeling a little possessive are we Az?”

“It’s the alcohol,” Azzi justifies with a grin, reaching up to steal a quick kiss from her girlfriend’s lips, “it makes me say the craziest things.”

Paige hums cavalierly before pulling Azzi fully on top of her, both eyes now open as she grins lazily up at the girl in her arms and it’s uncertain if the intoxication gleaming in them is from the ample amount of liquor coursing through her bloodstream or just the sheer amount of love she feels for her girlfriend.

“I like when you say crazy things,” she says softly, her thumb caressing the brunette’s cheeks, “especially things like that.”

“Like what?” Azzi breathes out. 

Paige’s tongue traces her bottom lip and Azzi finds herself following every movement, “like when you call me yours.”

“You are mine,” Azzi repeats, “and I’m yours.”

“I know,” Paige whispers as she brushes away a loose strand that had slipped out of the dark-haired girl’s bun, “and now the world knows it too.”

“You think so?” Azzi asks softly, a thrill inching up her spine at the idea of them officially being an open secret. 

“They should,” Paige snorts, “at least anybody with brain cells. I bet you, when I scroll through social media tomorrow morning, we’re gonna be all over it.”

Tonight hadn’t been a planned coming-out or anything; it wasn’t like they were trying to announce their relationship to the world. But they’d known what it would look like, what assumptions would be drawn from Azzi sitting pretty at Paige’s table, from her being the first person Paige hugged. They’d been acutely aware that this would firmly cross them over the threshold of being primarily known as best friends to people -as in the general public and not just a certain subsection of the internet who had already caught on long ago- questioning if there was more there. 

But that hadn’t been why they’d done this, albeit Azzi will admit that she likes the idea of being less hidden and the slightly possessive part of her enjoys the idea of people knowing, or at least speculating, that Paige is taken.  They’d done this because they deserved this moment together. They deserved to love each other out loud in the biggest of moment of Paige’s life, without fear, without inhibition, without giving a flying fuck about what anybody else would say. 

“Tonight was pretty amazing huh?” Paige says after a second, awe and tired blending into one smooth, low, cadence. 

Azzi doesn’t say anything for a while, just watches the girl underneath her, memorizing the marvel in her eyes, the joy that outlines every inch of her face. She presses a hand against Paige’s chest, exactly over where she knows her heart is, letting herself feel the rhythmic vibration of her pulse, like it’s the beat to her favorite song that she could listen to over and over again. 

“Was it everything you’d ever hoped for?” she asks finally. 

Paige chortles, “it was better.”

“I’m glad. You deserved it baby,” Azzi smiles, pressing her lips to Paige’s, letting it deepen for a second before she pulls away and rests her head against the older girl’s chest. 

“I can’t wait to do this again next year,” Paige says slowly, her hands rubbing up and down Azzi’s back as her words come out slightly slurred,“my turn to clap the loudest when you get picked number one.”

Azzi lets out a sleepy giggle, “alright hold on babe, we’re not quite there yet.”

“Nah,” Paige shakes her head, arms tightening their hold on the girl in her arms, “I already know.”

“Okay baby,” Azzi whispers, her eyes beginning to droop, powerless to the exhaustion shrouding every inch of her body, “can’t wait,” she yawns, burrowing herself further into her girlfriend’s warm embrace, “I love you. Good night P.”

“Good night Azzi,” Paige echoes back, reaching over the younger girl’s to turn the lights over, "love you more baby."

And as she slowly begins to succumb to the wiles of sleep, Azzi can’t help but think about how everything had changed tonight. They were going to spend a couple more days in New York, then a few more in Connecticut -maximizing their time together- before Paige would head off to Dallas, off to her new life. Azzi would follow her eventually, of course she would. But not forever, not to stay. 

Summers have always belonged to them. Since they’d met that fateful summer, they’d spend every single one together, attached at the hip. In the beginning, when they were still kids and less aware of how they felt, they’d still been apart for a few weeks but the last few summers? They’d barely been apart for a few days. But this summer would be different. Paige will be playing, traveling, learning the ropes of her new life and Azzi knows she needs to use this summer to get her prepared to do the same next year. Everything has changed. 

“Hey Az,” Paige whispers in the dark, her voice hesitant like she’s not sure if she say the next part, “next year when you get drafted, do you think- do you think maybe I could kiss you?”

Azzi hides her smile in the older girl’s chest. And she thinks everything has changed, but perhaps nothing has. 

Because she’s still Azzi, and Paige is still Paige, and the two of them are still the same, still them, still just two girls, desperately in love with each other, dreaming of their future together. 

“Yeah,” she answers finally, pressing a quick kiss against the side of Paige’s neck, “I think I’d like that.”

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Where the sun meets the flower (you'll always be my girasol)

4000 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - This may be heartbreaking but I promise you it'll be okay - Angst and Fluff - Mentions of Reader being sick. Please read with care.

Life can be cruel, so let's just be kind.

You first met her when you were seven.

It was the kind of summer where everything shimmered. Hot pavement under bare feet. The scent of rosemary and jasmine in the air, and the distant hum of children’s voices echoing down the narrow streets of Mollet del Vallès. You’d just moved there with your family. A blonde girl from a quieter town, your Catalan clumsy. Your smile shy but constant.

The first time she saw you, Alexia was sitting on the edge of the pavement. Her scraped knees stained with dirt, a half-deflated football at her side. She stared at you like you were something out of a storybook.

“You look like a girasol,” she said, casually, like it was obvious. Sunflower. You blinked. “Why?”

She shrugged, pushing her tangled hair from her face. “Because your hair’s like gold. And your smile....” She paused, thoughtful. “It looks at the world like it's sunlight.”

You’d never been called something so strange. So lovely.

From then on, you were girasol to her.

You became fast friends in the way only children can. Without questions or reservations. She showed you the best places to climb trees, the shortcut to the bakery that sold the softest ensaimadas, and how to trap lizards without hurting them.

She played football like she was born with it in her blood, and you used to sit cross-legged at the edge of the gravel pitch watching her with awe.

She was bold. Messy. Full of fight, joy and confidence.

You were quieter. Always watching. Always listening.

But she brought something out of you. Like the sun coaxes flowers to open. And when she laughed, she’d always look to see if you were laughing too.

You were still the quieter one, the one who sketched things more than said them out loud, but when Alexia was around, you lived a little louder. She had a way of making everything feel less heavy.

You’d laugh at her ridiculous impressions of your teachers. At the way she’d try to speak with an exaggerated Madrid accent just to annoy people in town. And when she laughed. She’d always glance your way, just to make sure you were laughing too.

That was the thing about Alexia. Even then, even as a child, she noticed you.

Really noticed you.

You were maybe nine the first time the sickness took hold in a way that scared everyone.

It started like a flu. Fever, chills, a cough. But it didn’t leave. Your body grew slower. Your limbs heavy. Days passed where you couldn’t get out of bed, your golden hair sticking to your skin with sweat. Your parents hovered in quiet worry, doctors came and went, and the house fell into a kind of stillness.

Except for Alexia.

She came anyway.

She'd show up at your door, sometimes muddy from training. Holding a small bunch of sunflowers in her hand. Often stolen from her mother's garden. Not always fresh, not always symmetrical but always bright.

“For my girasol,” she’d say with that stubborn smile. “So you don’t forget what you are.”

She’d sit beside your bed, unbothered by the silence or the tubes or the pale version of you lying there. Sometimes she’d talk about her matches. About school. About her sister messing up the TV remote. Other times, she’d bring a board game. Clue, Monopoly, once even Twister which made you laugh so hard it hurt.

And sometimes, she wouldn’t say anything at all. She’d just hold your hand, thumb running lightly over your knuckles as if to remind you she was real. That she was staying.

Even when your voice grew weak and your eyes stayed closed longer than they were open, Alexia still came.

You once asked her, hoarsely, “Why do you keep visiting me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because flowers still need sunlight. Even when they’re wilting.”

And even though you were the one laying in bed, it was her who made you feel warm.

The doctors never found a name for it.

Your illness was rare. Strange and shifting. It came and went like a tide, leaving you disoriented in its wake. Some weeks you were fine, more or less. You’d run in the fields behind your house, feel the sun on your skin, laugh without coughing. Other times it hit like a storm. Your body would ache with invisible bruises. Your chest tight, head pounding. Limbs refusing to move the way you wanted them to.

The uncertainty was the worst part.

Your parents kept charts. Specialists were called. Blood drawn. MRIs scanned. But none of it gave you something to point to. You weren’t dying, exactly. But you weren’t living the way a kid should.

And still... Alexia came.

Even when football took her across the city and school pulled her in different directions. Even when she got taller, sharper and the world began to expect more from her. She never stopped showing up. Not for birthdays. Not when you missed a week of school. Not when you were just tired of pretending you were okay.

She always knocked twice on your window before sneaking in, sunflower in hand. Sometimes it was a real one. Sometimes it was drawn in the corner of her notebook and torn out just for you.

“You’re still my girasol,” she’d say like that nickname could keep you warm even on the worst days.

You were sixteen when you told her.

It was a cool autumn afternoon. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the park benches where you sat side by side. Knees barely touching. She was telling you about a match in Barcelona, her face flushed with excitement. You listened, nodded, smiled in the right places. But your chest was tight with something unsaid.

“I like you,” you blurted, heart thudding hard in your ribs. “More than just like. I mean... like the way people in our class like each other. Like how the girls talk about boys.”

Alexia froze.

For a moment, the world held its breath. You could feel your face flush with heat, your throat tight with fear.

“I know it’s probably weird,” you added, voice shrinking. “Everyone else at school talks about boys. No one ever says...” You looked down at your hands. “No one says this.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then: her fingers found yours.

“No,” she said quietly. “It’s not weird.”

You looked up.

Her voice was steady now. Soft, but sure.

“I think I’ve felt it too. For a long time. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to feel it.”

You could barely breathe.

She smiled. Timidly this time. Not like the bold, fearless girl who stole sunflower petals and tackled boys twice her size on the pitch.

“For my girasol,” she whispered. “Of course I feel it.”

And in that moment, the park, the school, the world. It all fell away. There was only the warmth of her palm in yours. Only the gentle golden light between you. Only two girls sitting shoulder to shoulder on a fading afternoon. Beginning to fall into something neither of you had words for yet, but that had always... always been there.

You were 18 when you’d been thinking about prom for weeks.

It felt silly, maybe, with everything else going on. Your illness creeping up again. School coming to an end. The constant ache in your ribs and knees, but still… you wanted it.

You wanted to wear the rose gold dress your mother had bought you back in March. The one with the soft shimmer and the off-shoulder neckline that made you feel like a version of yourself untouched by hospital rooms and missed classes. You wanted to feel normal, even for just one night.

But mostly, you wanted to go with her.

With Alexia.

You’d rehearsed the question over and over again in your head. How to ask her. How to not sound like your heart was beating too fast just at the thought.

You said it one afternoon after her training. The both of you walking down to the bakery, fingers brushing.

“Would you maybe... if you’re not busy... want to come to prom? With me?” You paused. Swallowed hard. “I mean… as my girlfriend.”

Alexia blinked. Then smiled, slow and wide. “Pensaba que nunca lo dirías. Of course I will.”

The week of prom, you got sick.

Not the kind of sick you could ignore. Not the kind that passed in a day or two. Your body ached so badly you couldn’t stand without trembling. Your fever burned high, eyes glassy, skin too hot then too cold. Your rose gold dress hung untouched in the closet. Tags still on.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want to admit the truth.

But Alexia always knew.

She came to your door that evening dressed in a tailored dark suit. No tie. Her hair loose around her shoulders. In one hand, she held a small bouquet of white sunflowers. In the other: your dress.

You blinked, barely able to sit up.

“I told you I was coming to prom with you,” she said softly, stepping inside. “I didn’t say it had to be their prom.”

While your parents quietly lit candles in the kitchen and brought out cold drinks and soft music, Alexia turned your living room into something out of a fairy tale.

String lights draped across the ceiling. A playlist of slow songs hummed from the speakers. A little banner with letters cut out by hand: GIRASOL’S PROM.

She helped you out of bed slowly, carefully, her arms strong around your waist. She let you rest your weight on her. No rush. No pressure. She brought you to the mirror and zipped up your dress gently. Brushing your hair back, eyes shimmering.

“You look like magic,” she whispered, her voice thick.

You tried to smile, even though your body felt like it might fold beneath you.

“I can’t dance much,” you said ashamed.

“That’s okay,” she said. Wrapping her arms around your waist. “I only need a little.”

So you swayed.

Slowly. Gently. Under the twinkle of string lights and the soft hum of your favorite song. Her arms around you, her chin resting on your shoulder. The warmth of her breath against your skin. The soft kisses on your lips.

And when your knees buckled. When your legs couldn’t take it anymore, she caught you. Without panic. Without a word.

She held you. Sat on the floor with you. Your dress crumpled, your body trembling. Her suit jacket around your shoulders.

“Still the most beautiful girl at prom,” she said, kissing your temple.

You closed your eyes against her, and for a moment, there was no pain. Only the weight of her hand in yours. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The love she never made you ask for.

And as the night slipped on, you leaned into her chest and whispered, voice breaking:

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

She held you tighter.

“Nunca, my girasol. Nunca.”

You were twenty when you moved in with her.

It wasn’t some grand declaration. No dramatic scene of boxes and champagne and keys changing hands. It was slow, natural. Like everything between you and Alexia had always been.

You were spending most nights there anyway. Some mornings she’d wake up early to make you tea before training. Kissing your forehead and tucking the blankets tighter around you before slipping out the door in her cleats.

Other days, you’d be the one waiting at her kitchen table. Sketchbook in hand, while the sound of the front door closing signaled her return. Sweat still clinging to her collarbone, eyes lighting up the second they found you.

When she asked... when it finally became real, you were sitting on the couch with your legs tangled. Her arm around your shoulders. The sun melting through the blinds like syrup.

“I want you here,” she said simply, “for all the mornings. And the bad nights. And the good ones, too. I want to come home to my girasol.”

You looked at her. Eyes tired from another flare-up that week. Joints still sore. Heart heavy with fear of being a burden.

“You already have me,” you whispered. “Even when I’m hard to carry.”

She tucked her fingers under your chin. Her thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re not a weight,” she said. “You’re home.”

So you packed slowly.

Your books. Your favorite oversized sweater. A mug she always stole when you weren’t looking. She cleared a drawer for your medicine, rearranged her bathroom shelf so your creams and balms and gentle soaps fit beside her perfume and hair ties.

There were good days. Whole stretches where your body forgot to hurt. Where you walked with her down to the bakery like old times. Where you danced in the kitchen with bare feet and no fear.

And then there were the other days.

The ones where your lungs felt tight. Where your skin buzzed with invisible pain. Where the whole world felt like it was pulling away from you, and you couldn’t get out of bed.

But now… you didn’t have to face them alone.

Now she was there.

Holding you through the pain. Reading aloud to you when your eyes ached too much to focus. Whispering, “T’estimo tant, girasol,” over and over until the trembling stopped.

On the worst days, you’d wake up convinced she deserved better. Someone healthier. Easier. Lighter.

But she never left. Never looked at you like you were broken.

Only like you were hers.

You were twenty-five when your body gave out in a way it hadn’t before.

The warning signs had been there. Fatigue that clung no matter how long you slept. Aches that bloomed into something deeper. Breathing that came in shallow, frightened bursts. But you tried to hide it. You always did.

Alexia was twenty-six then.

In the prime of her career. FC Barcelona’s golden girl. Captain with fire in her veins and her name chanted in stadiums loud enough to shake the sky. She was winning trophies, giving interviews, wearing the armband like it was stitched to her soul.

And still... she was by your side.

Every night. Every morning. Every hour she could steal.

The hospital room was sterile and quiet, but she made it feel like home.

She brought your sunflower mug. Your favorite lotion. And a blanket that still smelled like her. She taped drawings you’d made years ago to the white walls. A photo of the two of you smiling in the kitchen. Her hair wet from the rain. Your eyes sleepy but glowing.

You hated how small you looked in the bed. How the tubes curled out of your arm. How her eyes sometimes slipped over the monitors. Reading things she didn't want to understand.

She sat beside you in her Barça jacket, half-zipped, fingers curled around yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered once. You weren’t even sure why. For being here. For being sick. For not being the girl who danced in her living room anymore.

Alexia shook her head. Leaned in close until her forehead rested against yours.

“No,” she whispered, voice firm. “You don’t apologize for existing. You don’t ever do that, my girasol.”

You closed your eyes, the heat of her touch grounding you.

“They need you,” you said, weakly. “The team. Spain. Barça.”

Her fingers threaded through yours. “And I need you.”

She said it like it was the easiest truth in the world.

Like trophies could wait. Like nothing outside this room was more important than your hand in hers.

There were matches she couldn't skip. Champions League, El Clásico. But even then, she’d call you from the locker room. Her face flushed. Still breathing hard from the final whistle. She’d grin into the camera and say, “That goal? It was for you.”

She’d hold the phone up to the stadium noise, just so you could hear them chanting her name. And then, quieter: “One day they’ll say your name like that too, when they see your art. When they know your story.”

You tried to believe her.

Because when Alexia spoke, the world always seemed a little more possible.

Even from a hospital bed.

Even on May 25th, 2024. The afternoon of the Women’s Champions League final.

You weren’t doing well.

Your body was fragile in a way that frightened even the doctors. You hadn’t eaten properly in days. The machines were louder than usual. Your chest ached with every breath. The nurses came in gently, speaking in low voices. Their hands moving with practiced care.

Alexia hadn’t wanted to go. She’d sat by your bed the week before, her hand in yours, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“I won’t leave you,” she said.

“You have to,” you whispered. “You have to play.”

But she shook her head. “I’m benched anyway. Still not cleared fully from training. Some strain. Minor, but…”

“Then go,” you said. You gripped her hand. “And when they need you... and they will need you... you go out there and do what you always do.”

She pressed her forehead to yours, silent for a long time.

“Score for me,” you whispered. “If you can.”

Her voice cracked. “I’ll score for us.”

The TV buzzed softly at the foot of your bed, tuned to the final. Your parents sat nearby, quiet and still. The nurse dimmed the lights. Just enough so you could see the pitch glowing blue and white through tired eyes.

Barcelona. Lyon. On the winning end 1-0 in the 89th minute. But it was still nerve wracking. Anything could happen.

Your breathing was shallow. You could feel your heart working too hard. But your eyes stayed on the screen, even when it blurred.

And then...

90’+2: SUBSTITUTION – ALEXIA PUTELLAS ON.

Your chest fluttered.

There she was, pulling her jersey over her head. Armband tight on her sleeve. Her ponytail swaying with every stride. Jaw set with quiet fire.

The commentators barely had time to finish saying she was still recovering.

“Likely just a symbolic sub,” they said. “But what a symbol.”

They didn’t know her like you did.

90’+4.

A scramble in the box. A deflection. And suddenly, she was there.

Right place. Right time. One touch with her left. A second to steady. And then...

Goal.

A bullet into the top corner. The stadium exploded. So did you.

Something inside your chest lurched. Not from the goal, but from something deeper. Like your body had been waiting for that moment to let go. To release everything it had held for weeks. For Months.

The room tilted.

Your fingers trembled.

The sound of the commentators faded, replaced by the distant echo of your name being called. A monitor screaming. And then...

Stillness.

A long, cold nothing.

Somewhere. Far away. Alexia was on her knees, eyes lifted to the sky. Kissing the crest on her jersey. Hands forming a heart she pointed toward the camera. Toward you.

Because somehow, she felt it. The moment your heart stuttered. The moment it stopped.

Because you were hers.

And she was always listening for your heartbeat. Even across oceans of sound.

The darkness wasn’t black.

It was warm, at first. Soft. Like a room without corners. Like floating in something that didn't press or pull, just held you.

There was no pain here. No machines. No IVs. No body to ache in. Just quiet.

And then... A flicker. A breath of light. Not light like the sun, but something softer. Golden, like the reflection of it. Like something remembered.

You were in bed. Your bed, the one in the apartment with the slightly creaky frame and the cotton sheets you’d picked out together in a sleepy shop in Gràcia.

The window was open. The curtains billowing in the breeze, and Alexia was there. Naked under the sheets. Golden skin aglow in the late morning light. Her bare back to you, tracing idle circles on your thigh with her fingertips.

You knew this moment. Or maybe you dreamed it. One of those days after you’d made love and the world had felt bearable. Like your body might stay soft and whole forever.

She was talking, but her voice was distant. Like you were underwater. Trying to hear through the surface. And then it sharpened. “Girasol,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please come back.”

She turned to you. Her eyes were wet, hair tangled from sleep, lips swollen from kissing. But her face... her face was terrified. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, and you felt it. Somehow, you felt it. The warmth of her palm. The tremble in her thumb.

“Please,” she said again, mouth pressed to your temple. “Come back to me. Just… one more minute. One more breath. That’s all I need.”

You wanted to answer. You tried. But your voice was nowhere.

Your body, nowhere.

Still, something in the way she held you. Desperate and reverent. Like you were something holy and disappearing. Cracked the silence open.

It hurt.

The ache of wanting her, of needing to move, to touch, to live... it burned through the soft dark like a flare in the night.

And then...

You remembered her goal. You remembered her eyes looking up after she scored, lips forming your name.

You remembered that you hadn’t said goodbye.

A sound.

Beeping.

A high-pitched, regular rhythm.

Then voices... Shouting... A rush of movement.

And for a while nothing for a long time.

Until a week later.

The light was soft when you opened your eyes. Not the glaring brightness of the hospital ceiling, but a golden kind of hush. Late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. A vase of sunflowers on the windowsill.

You blinked slowly.

It felt like the air had thickened while you slept, like time had melted and reformed in your absence.

And then... her.

Alexia.

Curled up on the small hospital couch. Barely asleep, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked like she hadn’t moved in hours. Still in sweats, her hair pulled back, face hollowed by days of holding her breath for you.

You shifted, and the soft rustle of sheets was enough.

She was at your side in a second. Eyes wide, mouth open like she couldn’t believe it.

“Hey,” you rasped. Your throat was dry, but your smile was real. “You’re here.”

Her face crumpled. A single sob broke out of her chest as she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands in yours. Her forehead against your arm.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t here,” she whispered. “I was on the pitch. When it happened. I was scoring a fucking goal, and you...” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I should’ve been here.”

You brushed your thumb across her knuckles.

“It was a perfect goal,” you murmured.

She looked up at you. Wet lashes. Disbelief swimming in her eyes. “You saw it?”

“I saw you come on. I saw the pass. You didn’t even look, just hit it like you knew. Like you felt it.”

Alexia swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“I did,” she said. “I felt… something. Like everything in me told me to turn and shoot. Like you were right there.”

“I was,” you whispered.

Her hands trembled around yours.

“It wasn’t just a goal,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “You brought me back.”

Alexia leaned forward, pressing her lips to your temple, lingering there like a prayer. “Girasol… I would’ve traded that goal. All of it. Just to hear you say my name again.”

You turned to her slowly, cheeks damp with tears neither of you had noticed falling.

“But you didn’t have to,” you said. “Because I’m still here.”

And in that moment, she held you like you were the victory.

Not the medal.

Not the stadium.

You.

Her girasol.

[my-body-likes-you-in-control]

Enough Credits (Pt. 2)

After that, I decided Max was getting a bit obsessed and so I decided the best thing to do was to put some distance between us.

I had enough credits from all my previous swaps—including the ones with Max—to stay out of my body for a little over two months. I figured that if I kept moving direclty between bodies, I wouldn't give him an opening and maybe he would just get obsessed with someone else.

My first stop was Madrid.

I’d picked Mateo, a bartender with sun-kissed skin, a sharp jawline, a sexy beard, and glasses that perfectly framed his face. His profile picture screamed 'take me.' How his body was available I won't understand.

One second, I was in my dim apartment, staring at the ceiling, and the next—bam—I was behind a polished oak bar, my fingers deftly twisting a lime wedge onto the rim of a glass. The air was thick with the tang of citrus and spilled beer, laughter and clinking glasses layering over the hum of conversation.

A group of British tourists crowded the counter, three drinks deep and radiating boozy confidence. One of them, a blond with tousled hair and a smirk that screamed trouble, caught my eye.

"¿Qué quieres, guapo?" I asked, leaning in just enough to watch his cheeks flush.

He barked a laugh. "Christ, mate, don’t start with the Spanish. Absolute shite at it."

I switched to thickly accented English, grinning. "Is okay. I understand what I need to. What can I get you?"

He talked like a lad—all banter and bravado—and honestly, I wouldn’t have pegged him as gay if he wasn’t aggressively flirting back. Meanwhile, the brunette beside him kept “accidentally” brushing her fingers against mine every time I passed her a drink.

So I played along.

By last call, I had them both hooked—leaning into Mateo’s natural charm, lingering touches, teasing words. The guy was practically vibrating when I whispered, "You’re trouble," in his ear. The girl? She hated it.

"Guess I’m walking you home tonight," I told him, loud enough for her to hear. Then I shot her a look—slow, deliberate, the kind of grin that said, You wish it was you.

The glare she fired back was priceless.

---

Ten days in Madrid had been glorious. But before the swap could expire, I initiated another—no hesitation, no looking back.

One blink, and the sun-soaked streets of Spain vanished. The next, I was in the steam-clouded kitchen of a Parisian bistro, my hands moving with practiced precision as I diced shallots into paper-thin crescents. Around me, the chaos of dinner service roared: the hiss of seared duck, the clang of pans, the sous chef’s barked orders in rapid-fire French.

Mathieu.

His life was all sharp knives and hotter tempers, a world of reduced wines and rare meats, of calloused fingers and a permanent burn mark on his left forearm. I loved it instantly.

But the best part? Christophe.

Mathieu’s boyfriend was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of effortless dominance that made my—his—body react before my brain could catch up. The first night, Christophe didn’t even wait until we were fully inside their apartment. The door had barely shut behind us before he shoved me against it, his mouth crashing onto mine, his hands already working open the buttons of Mathieu’s stained chef’s jacket.

"Tu me manquait aujourd'hui," he growled against my throat.

A shiver tore through me. My back arched, pressing into him as his grip tightened on my hips. He knew exactly how to touch this body—where to bite, how hard to press, when to let his fingers dig in just shy of pain. Every flick of his tongue, every possessive drag of his palms over Mathieu’s skin was a lesson in control.

And the best part? He had no idea.

No idea Mathieu had signed up for Metamorph. No idea the man he was pinning to the mattress, the throat he was marking, the body he worshiped with rough, knowing hands—wasn’t his boyfriend at all.

That made it even hotter.

I spent days in their sunlit apartment, letting Christophe map every inch of Mathieu’s skin like he owned it. Mornings started with his mouth between my thighs, evenings ended with my back against the shower tiles, steam and sweat and Christophe’s voice in my ear: "T’es à moi."

And for a while, I let myself believe this was my real life.

Then, one morning, as I lay tangled in their rumpled sheets, Christophe’s arm slung heavy over my waist, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message from Max:

Max: Hey. Your body hasn’t been available in a few weeks. You avoiding me?

My stomach twisted. I deleted it without responding.

---

After Paris, I decided to switch things up. No more tangled sheets, no more possessive boyfriends (as hot as that was). This time? A straight guy.

I chose Bangkok.

Kiet's body was a fucking masterpiece. Broad shoulders that strained against his tank top, abs carved like a Roman statue, thighs thick from years of Muay Thai squats. And then there was that—the kind of natural endowment that made even loose gym shorts look like a sin.

The first time I caught my reflection in the gym mirror, mid-pull-up, I nearly laughed out loud. Jesus Christ. No wonder people stared.

I dropped from the bar, rolling my shoulders, and caught my sparring partner—Ton—watching me. Again.

He was leaner than Kiet, all wiry muscle and sharp elbows, but quick as a viper in the ring. And the way his gaze kept flicking to my chest, my arms, my—

Yeah. He’s into me.

Which was hilarious, because Kiet’s profile had been very clear: 100% straight.

That didn’t stop me from having a little fun.

I grabbed my water bottle, taking a long drink just to watch Ton’s throat work as he watched me swallow.

"You’ve been getting stronger," I said, clapping him on the shoulder, letting my thumb brush the damp skin of his collarbone. "Looking good lately."

He stiffened, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just training hard."

"Must be," I mused, stepping closer to adjust his stance—close enough that he could feel my breath on his neck. "Girls must be noticing, huh?"

His jaw tightened. "Yeah. Maybe."

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. "Wish I had your luck. My girl’s been so distant lately…"

A lie. Kiet was single. But Ton’s eyes darkened, conflicted—caught between concern, jealousy, and something far more interesting.

I let the tension simmer for days. Lingering touches. Compliments that walked the line between friendly and too friendly. The way Ton’s breath hitched when I wiped sweat off his brow after a brutal round. The way he’d stare at my mouth when I laughed.

And then—on my last day in Kiet’s body—I decided to give him exactly what he wanted.

The locker room was empty except for us, steam curling in the air as Ton toweled off. I leaned against the lockers, watching.

"You ever think about trying something new?" I asked, voice low.

He froze. "Like what?"

I pushed off the lockers, closing the distance between us in two strides. His breath caught as I caged him against the bench, close enough to feel his pulse racing.

"Like this," I murmured.

And then I kissed him.

Just once. Just enough to feel him melt against me for half a second before he jerked back, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

I grinned, stepping away. "See you around, Ton."

And then I left him there—flushed, breathless, and utterly ruined.

---

After Bangkok’s sweat and adrenaline, I craved something decadent. So I chose Mo.

One moment, I was in a humid gym locker room; the next, I was standing on a private balcony, the dry desert wind tousling my hair as Dubai’s skyline glittered below like scattered diamonds. The air smelled of expensive cologne and the faint, briny tang of the Persian Gulf.

I closed my eyes and rifled through Mo’s memories.

By day, I was the polished heir to a Bahraini business empire—custom suits, boardroom smiles, a family name that opened doors with a whisper. By night? A closeted hurricane, fucking my way through the diplomatic corps with the kind of reckless hunger that came from a lifetime of restraint.

I grinned, running a hand down my chest—Mo’s chest, lean and toned from private trainers and rooftop yoga. This was going to be fun.

For the first time since Max, I got a notification from the resident of my body.

It was Mo.

He’d sent a selfie: my body—his body now—wearing a croppedtop, my (his?) hips cocked in a way I’d never dared in public.

Mo: Turns out your closet was full of boring clothes for an out guy. Fixed that 😘

I barked a laugh. I’d never wear that—too bold, too femme—but something warm curled in my chest. He was out there, living freely in my skin, good for him.

Then my phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a text from Niklas—Mo’s very German, very blond fuckbuddy with the shoulders of a Olympian swimmer:

“You’ve been quiet. I’m in town. You down to meet up tonight?”

I bit my lip. Honestly, I might be the lucky one in this dynamic.

And I know, I know—the gay community would have me burned at the stake for saying it, but there was something thrilling about stepping back into the closet.

The stolen glances across gilded hotel lobbies. The way Niklas’s hand “accidentally” brushed mine under the table at dinner. The risk of it—the way Mo’s pulse would jump when a colleague mentioned seeing him at a certain bar, the way his breath hitched when he had to lie flawlessly to his father’s friends.

It was a game. A performance. And I’d always been a damn good actor.

By the end of ten days, Niklas had me pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mo’s penthouse, his teeth in my shoulder, the city lights blurring below us as I gasped something halfway between Arabic and German.

But all good things end.

I opened the app, scrolling through potential hosts, but the credits were dwindling. I'd only have enough left for one more swap

---

That’s when I found Ryan.

His profile popped up late one night as I scrolled through the app, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across my borrowed Dubai penthouse. Toronto. My hometown. And his body—Jesus Christ—almost as defined as Kiet’s, but leaner, more compact. Like a swimmer’s build dialed up to eleven. His face was softer too, boyish in a way that made his sharp jawline even more striking. Early twenties, probably.

The swap hit like a punch of crisp Canadian air. One second, I was surrounded by desert heat and the weight of Mo’s secrets; the next, I stood in a dimly lit Toronto bedroom, rolling Ryan’s shoulders, flexing his arms, marveling at the way his muscles moved under smooth, pale skin. The guy was built—not just gym-strong, but gymnast-strong, every line of him taut and efficient.

And yet.

I opened his closet and nearly groaned. Oversized band tees. Baggy joggers. A hoodie that could’ve housed a family of four. It was a crime.

I remedied that immediately.

One trip to the mall later and Ryan’s wardrobe had been… optimized. Graphic tees that clung just right (subtle nerd references, because his browsing history betrayed him). A few button downs that I would leave one too many buttons undone on. Dark jeans that hugged his thighs. A thin silver chain with dog tags that rested perfectly against his collarbones.

There. Now he looked like someone who knew what he was working with.

We’d agreed to meet—him in my body, me in his—at a bar near his place. The irony wasn’t lost on me: two strangers, each wearing the other’s skin, about to critique the fit.

I spotted him the second I walked in.

There I was—me—slouched at the bar in one of Ryan’s tragic hoodies, fingers drumming against a beer bottle. He turned, caught sight of his own body striding toward him, and holy shit, the way his eyes darkened—like he’d just walked in on himself naked.

He whistled low. “So,” he said, nodding at me—at himself, “you’re the guy squatting in my skin.”

I laughed, sliding onto the stool beside him. “And you’re the guy who dresses like a monk despite having a god-tier physique.”

Ryan—my Ryan, in my body—flushed, rubbing the back of his neck (my neck). “Yeah, well. I didn’t always look like this. Kinda hard to shake the habit of hiding.”

“You should try it sometime.” I leaned in, close enough to watch his pupils dilate. “I went for a shirtless run yesterday. Nearly caused a traffic accident.”

He choked on his beer.

We ended up back at his place, sprawled across his bed, fingers tracing the lines of his—my—body with a kind of awed frustration. His hands lingered on his own abs, now mine, his brow furrowed. “It’s weird,” he muttered. “Seeing it from the outside. Like it’s not even real.”

I caught his wrist, pressed his palm flat against the ridges of muscle. “It’s real. And this is how people see you all the time. You just never let yourself believe it.”

He huffed a laugh, but his fingers flexed, greedy. “And you? This body has been getting stares all day. People really check you out like this?”

“Oh, absolutely.” I smirked, sliding my hands down my—his—waist, admiring the way the muscles tensed under my touch. “I mean, I’m checking me out right now.”

Our chemistry was stupid. Electric. By the time our initial swap period ended, Ryan didn’t hesitate. “Let’s stay like this,” he said, his voice rough. “Another week.”

I agreed.

It was intoxicating, watching him come alive in my skin—louder, brighter, freer—while simultaneously craving the way he yielded to me in his own body. The way he’d arch into my touch, like he was rediscovering himself through my hands.

And then, one night, his lips against my ear: “What do you say to making this permanent?”

My breath hitched.

“I want to be you,” he murmured, fingers laced through mine. “And more importantly, I want you to be me.”

I should’ve said yes. We fit. I loved this body—the strength of it, the way it moved—and the idea of keeping my old life close, just… reshuffled. My family, my friends, but through new eyes. A fresh start without the goodbyes.

But something itched under my skin. The rush of the past months—Madrid, Paris, Bangkok, Dubai—the thrill of slipping into someone else’s life, just for a taste.

“I want to try a few more people first,” I admitted.

Ryan didn’t push. Just nodded, kissed me slow and deep, and whispered, “Of course. I’ll be here.” A pause. Then, with a grin that sent heat straight to my borrowed bones: “But don’t wait too long.”

--

That turned out to be the dumbest mistake I could’ve made.

The second the 48-hour grace period ended after my swap with Ryan, the world lurched—like a roller coaster dropping out from under me—and then I was back in Max’s body.

Fuck.

I screamed, slamming his fists against the bathroom counter. The reflection staring back at me was all soft edges and tired eyes, that same patchy stubble, that same defeated slump I’d seen a dozen times before. My stomach twisted. No. No no no—

I grabbed his phone.

A DM pinged immediately.

Max: You’ve been holding out on me, gorgeous. I’ve been swapping nonstop, trying to forget how good you felt—but the second I saw your body was available again? I knew had to do something about it.

He sent with it a few pictures of my body shirtless, as if to taunt me.

My blood turned to ice.

I should’ve known better.

I should’ve known he’d been watching. Waiting. That he’d pounce the second my guard was down.

I was a fucking idiot.

Damn right I’ll be taking Ryan’s offer as soon as I’m back in my body.

I opened the app, fingers shaking, and checked the countdown.

Expecting 10 days.

Expecting anything but what I saw.

Permanent.

No.

No no no no no—

That wasn’t supposed to be possible. I didn’t accept that.

What the fuck did he do?!

[officialytwisted]

Twisted Wonderland – Dorm Leaders with an S/O Who Looks Like Them, But Act the Complete Opposite

[Riddle Rosehearts|Leona Kingscholar|Azul Ashengrotto|Kalim Al-Asim|Vil Schoenheit|Idia Shroud|Malleus Draconia]

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If anyone at Night Raven College had to vote on the most bewildering relationship to ever grace the campus halls, your name would top the list. Why? Simple: you look exactly like your significant other. A perfect reflection. From your eyes down to your posture—it’s uncanny.

But then you open your mouth.

And suddenly, everything is different.

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Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle was already battling a reputation for having a short fuse, but ever since you entered his life, he’s developed a second: the man constantly at war with his own doppelgänger.

At first, he was horrified. It was like staring into a mirror that had been shattered and glued back together with glitter glue, stickers, and a wink. The same red hair, the same meticulous grooming—but with you? That’s where the similarities stopped. You were… rebellious. Casual. Always lounging somewhere you shouldn’t be. Feet on the table. Cupcakes before dinner. Spouting nonsense like, “Rules are like pants, Riddle—optional in private.”

He nearly fainted the first time you said that in front of Trey.

But oddly enough, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

You were everything he wasn’t. Where he measured every word, you flirted with chaos and charm. You’d ruffle Ace’s hair while munching on tarts you stole from the prep table and then wink at Riddle like it was all perfectly reasonable.

“You look like me, but you act like Cater,” he once snapped, clearly flustered as you clinked teacups together with him in the garden.

“Cater’s more brand-conscious. I’m an experience, Riddle,” you replied with a grin that made his ears burn.

He hated how effortlessly you made friends. Hated how everyone gravitated to you like you were a walking vacation. But what he hated even more?

How you made him relax. Unclench. Breathe.

He never admitted it out loud, but he started breaking his own rules around you. Letting things slide. Smiling when you whispered something ridiculous during a dorm meeting. Laughing when you pretended to issue a “Reverse Queen's Decree” to ban homework for an hour.

“You’re completely incorrigible,” he grumbled once, as you leaned over to kiss his cheek, both of you dressed in perfectly matching uniforms.

“And you’re completely adorable,” you replied.

He looked away, but his face was bright red—and he didn’t correct you.

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Leona Kingscholar:

Leona knew life was unfair. He’d said it so many times it might as well have been printed on a dorm banner in Savannahclaw.

But nothing proved it more than you.

You had his face. His eyes. That low, rumbling voice with just a hint of smugness. The same lazy grin—even the same cowlick in your hair. Anyone would’ve thought you were his twin at first glance.

But then… you opened your mouth.

And Leona wondered if he was cursed.

Because while he was all sharp glares, sarcasm, and a need for nine-hour naps, you were a walking, talking motivational poster. Always up with the sun, stretching and chirping out good mornings like some chipper choir boy. You went to class on time. Voluntarily. You smiled at people. You asked Jack about his workout routine. You gave Ruggie a hand with his errands and didn’t even ask for payment.

“Why do you look like me, but act like you came straight outta one of those sappy Sunday morning cartoons?” Leona grumbled one day, dragging his feet across the common room, half-asleep.

You blinked at him over your shoulder, already halfway through tidying up the pillows he’d kicked onto the floor.

“Balance, baby,” you said cheerfully. “You’re the storm. I’m the sunshine. Yin and yang. Peanut butter and—”

“Shut up before I gag,” he snapped, throwing a cushion at you. You caught it effortlessly with one hand and tossed it back on the couch… with a smile.

It infuriated him.

And yet, you were the only person he let stick around when he was napping. He grumbled like hell about you humming while you did laundry or cooking him real meals that weren’t just meat-heavy piles of whatever—but he always cleaned his plate. He acted annoyed when you told him “he deserved to feel proud of himself,” but the way his ears twitched said otherwise.

“You’re gonna give me cavities with that attitude,” he scoffed one evening as you leaned on the balcony railing, the sunset painting your matching green eyes gold. “Stop smiling like that.”

“But it’s cute when you smile,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

He grunted. “I don’t smile.”

“Lies. You smiled when I fixed your cape. And when I called you ‘handsome.’ And when I beat you at chess—”

“You cheated.”

“You’re just mad you lost to someone with your face but a better attitude.”

That made him pause. Then: “Tch. Don’t push your luck, herbivore.”

Still, you noticed how he didn’t stop you when you slid your fingers between his. Or when you leaned your head on his shoulder. Or when you whispered, “You’re more than you think, Leona.”

It scared him, how much you believed in him. How fiercely you loved him when he’d never even tried to earn it.

But maybe that was the point.

Maybe it was okay that he didn’t have to do anything—didn’t have to change—for you to see something worth holding onto.

Because when someone who looked exactly like him could smile like that… maybe he wasn’t so broken after all.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul Ashengrotto prided himself on control.

Contracts. Calculations. Carefully managed appearances. Every inch of his identity was sculpted with the precision of a master artisan—right down to the glint of his glasses and the measured rise of his voice.

So you?

You were his personal nightmare wrapped in his face.

Oh sure, you looked just like him. The exact curl of silver-blue hair, identical ocean-hued eyes, that same refined way of carrying yourself when you wanted to. You wore your Octavinelle uniform immaculately—when you remembered. But beneath that polished surface? You were a storm of unpredictability, empathy, and unfiltered emotions.

Azul once caught you trading free hugs in the Lounge instead of collecting payment.

“Do you want to bankrupt me?” he hissed through clenched teeth, dragging you into the VIP room by the wrist. “You are a complete liability!”

You blinked at him, all innocence. “They were sad, Azul! You can't invoice grief. They just needed kindness.”

“You look like me and sound like… Kalim on a sugar high. Do you understand how disorienting that is!?”

You leaned in, hands on your hips, a teasing smile gracing the same lips he saw in his mirror each morning. “Well, that’s why you love me. I keep your heart rate up.”

“My blood pressure is through the roof.”

“Same thing.”

You were always touching him. Affectionate. Supportive. You praised Floyd’s art projects. Called Jade a “chef of dark wonders.” Told Azul he had “the best villain arc voice” like it was a compliment. You didn't manipulate people—you disarmed them. With warmth. With genuine interest.

He watched, baffled, as even the surliest Savanaclaw upperclassmen softened under your grin. Meanwhile, Azul was still perfecting his ‘debt collection’ smile.

“How do you do it?” he asked once, low and quiet, after you’d left a crowd of smitten students in your wake.

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

“Make people… like you. Trust you. Without offering them anything.”

You stepped closer, brushing invisible lint off his lapel. “I just offer me, Azul. I don’t think people need to be afraid of vulnerability. You could try it sometime.”

He scoffed. “And let them see my weakness?”

“No.” Your voice softened. “Let them see your humanity.”

That terrified him more than anything. Because what if they saw it and left?

But you didn’t. You stayed. With all your optimism, reckless generosity, and reckless honesty. You saw the boy behind the contracts. The merman who’d curled in on himself for years.

You saw him.

And when you kissed him—when your smile, his smile, softened against his lips—it was the first time Azul didn’t feel like he had to earn someone’s affection.

He could just have it.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim had never met anyone who looked like him before. And when he first saw you?

He was thrilled.

“You look just like me! This is amazing! Wait ‘til Jamil sees—he’s gonna freak out! We should match outfits! Wait, do you like dancing? Swimming? Sparkly things?!”

You stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then you deadpanned, in your low, quiet voice:

“I prefer silence, black coffee, and not being perceived.”

Kalim blinked.

“…You’re funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

He blinked again.

“…I still think you’re funny!”

And just like that, the chaos began.

You, with your cool stare and minimalist tendencies. You, who didn’t smile often, who disliked loud parties, who whispered your affections through gestures and subtle touches instead of grand declarations. You weren’t cold—not at all. But you were quiet. Introspective. A little melancholic, even.

And Kalim? Kalim was a tsunami of joy, crashing into your still, deep waters.

It baffled everyone. How did the human embodiment of a disco ball end up with someone who made resting b*tch face look elegant? But the truth was—Kalim adored you. Maybe even more because of your stark contrast.

“Hey,” he whispered once during a banquet, pulling you away from the gold-lit crowd. “Are you okay? I know these parties aren’t really your thing.”

You shrugged, tracing patterns on your drink with your fingertip. “It’s fine. I’m just tired. Being surrounded by people all the time is… draining.”

Kalim didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t get upset. He just smiled, soft and understanding.

“Let’s sneak out,” he said. “I know a balcony with no people and all the stars you could ever want.”

Your heart melted a little.

He was always doing that—meeting you where you were, not where he wished you’d be. He adjusted his rhythm to yours. Slowed his spin so you could walk beside him. And when he did get excited (which was always), you didn’t dim him—you grounded him.

“Why do you like me?” you asked once, genuinely confused, curled against his shoulder while he braided gold thread into your hair. “I’m not… bright. Not like you.”

Kalim kissed your forehead, no hesitation.

“You don’t have to be. You’re the moon. I can shine brighter because you’re there to cool me down. You see things I miss. Feel things deeper. You balance me.”

That shut you up real fast.

When Jamil found out about your relationship, he nearly fainted. “He’s dating himself, but evil?” he whispered once, and Kalim just beamed.

“He’s not evil! He just frowns a lot. But he makes me happy.”

And the truth was—you were happy, too. In your own quiet, steady way. You adored him. Protected him. Tucked love notes into his jewelry box and kissed him softly under moonlight instead of chandeliers.

You were his shadow. Not to hide him—but to give him depth.

✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ˙✧

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil Schoenheit had always believed in the power of image.

Poise. Elegance. A sharp tongue wrapped in velvet. His reflection was sacred—polished, practiced, pristine.

So imagine his horror when he met you.

You had his face. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones. That regal jawline. You even shared his iconic violet eyes—though half the time yours were glazed over from lack of sleep or staring into space.

But the moment you opened your mouth and said,

“Eh. I think showering is optional if you’re not sweating,”

Vil nearly dropped his mirror.

“Schatz. What. Did. You. Just. Say?”

You blinked at him from the couch where you were curled up in a ratty hoodie (that you stole from Epel, no less). “I said I’m clean in spirit. That counts.”

Vil screamed internally.

You were chaos. A disaster. A goblin masquerading in his face. You slouched. You had bedhead at 3 p.m. You wore mismatched socks in public. You snacked on dry cereal straight from the box during Heartslabyul’s formal tea party.

And yet.

Vil couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

Because for all your horrendous habits, you were honest. Unapologetic. Confident in a way that wasn’t performative. You radiated self-acceptance without needing a filter. And that infuriated—and fascinated—him.

“Why do you always act like nothing matters?” he snapped once, brushing crumbs off your collar with a sigh. “Have you no pride in your appearance?”

You looked at him—genuinely, deeply—and said, “Vil… I spent my entire life trying to be perfect. Then I realized I hated the person I was trying to be. Now I’m just me. And I kinda like it.”

He didn’t have a reply. Only silence. Because he was still chasing perfection. Still scared of what he'd find if he stopped.

You never pressured him to change. But when he did let go, even for a second—skipped the highlighter, let his hair stay tousled, wore sweatpants to your room—you’d say, softly, “You look beautiful, y’know. Even when you’re just you.”

The worst part? You meant it. No angles. No flattery. Just truth.

He hated how his heart skipped when you said things like that.

He loved how his heart skipped when you said things like that.

You were the antithesis of him—but the mirror he needed. Not perfect. Not polished. But real. And your love? It wasn’t conditional on appearances or applause.

“You drive me mad,” he muttered one day, pressing a kiss to your forehead while dragging a comb through your tangled hair.

You hummed. “Mmm. But I’m your madness, pretty boy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh. At least let me exfoliate you.”

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Idia Shroud;

To say Idia was shooketh when he first saw you would be a massive understatement.

You had his hair. That glowing, otherworldly blue fire that licked the air in a soft flicker. His haunting golden eyes. His height, his build—even his awkward gait.

Except.

You weren’t awkward. Or shy. Or hiding in your hoodie like a cartoon character avoiding school bullies.

You were a social menace.

“YO, TWISTED WONDER-DORKS!” you shouted across the hallway on your first day, throwing up double peace signs. “The king of charisma has arrived—and he’s cute as hell!”

“DID—DID THAT NPC JUST—HE LOOKS LIKE ME—BUT HIS CHARISMA STAT IS MAXED?!” Idia shrieked, dragging Ortho behind a pillar and nearly overheating.

Your energy? Dangerous. Unpredictable. You flirted with everyone—including Azul (who turned pink) and Vil (who actually smirked). You joined clubs just to “vibe.” You talked to people on purpose. You danced in the quad during lunch like it was a music video and shouted things like “SELF-LOVE IS A BATTLE CRY!”

And worst of all?

You found Idia.

“Ohhhh my god,” you gasped, squatting beside his desk in the Ignihyde lounge, chin on your hands. “You’re adorable. Are you the forbidden emo twin I wasn’t supposed to meet until the boss level?!”

He nearly blue-screened.

Ortho had to reboot him.

It didn’t help that you were endlessly affectionate. You texted him memes at 2 a.m. Called him “babygirl” just to see his hair flare bright pink. Gushed about his game dev skills like they were actual magic.

“You wrote a romance subplot with actual branching dialogue?! Bro. Bro. Bro. I would literally die for you. Say the word.”

“Wh—WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’D DIE FOR ME, YOU BOSS-FIGHT OF A MANIAC—?!”

You never got embarrassed. Never hesitated to yank him into the light, both figuratively and literally.

“You shouldn’t hide,” you said once, softly, brushing his hair back while he blushed so hard it turned ultraviolet. “You’re not just background code, Idy. You’re the main event.”

No one had ever said that to him before. Not like that. Not while wearing his face and meaning it with their whole chest.

You weren’t perfect—hell, you were a glitch in his system—but you believed in him. You dragged him out of his shadow and made him feel seen. It terrified him.

And yet, he found himself waiting for your good morning shrieks. For the surprise bubble tea drops. For your obnoxious encouragement and too-tight hugs.

You weren’t a virus.

You were the patch he never knew he needed.

“...You’re so annoying,” he grumbled one night, as you wrapped a gaming blanket around both of you and kissed his flaming hair.

You smirked. “And yet… I’m your favorite bug.”

He didn’t deny it.

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Malleus Draconia:

When Malleus Draconia first laid eyes on you, it was like gazing into an enchanted mirror—one that had been possessed by a sprite high on sugar, mischief, and zero sense of self-preservation.

You had his dignified frame, his onyx horns, his ancient emerald eyes—but you moved like a wildfire and talked like a bard on a triple-shot espresso.

“’Sup, Tall, Dark, and Scary! You look like me but with more ‘daddy issues’ energy—wanna grab ice cream?”

Malleus blinked. Once. Twice. “…Pardon?”

You looped an arm around his (without permission, of course) and grinned. “I said, let’s go terrorize the townsfolk together! We can do synchronized looming! I’ll even let you pick the creepy fog aesthetic this time.”

Sebek fainted.

Lilia cackled so hard he choked.

Silver… simply accepted the chaos.

You were everything Malleus was not. Talkative. Mortal. Playful to the point of irreverence. You disrespected tradition on the daily and had the gall to call him “Mal-Mal” in front of the Diasomnia dorm.

You—who looked like him, ancient and fae and full of untapped power—acted like the court jester had been given a shot at godhood and was using it to make fart jokes and skip down the cobbled paths of Briar Valley.

And yet… Malleus found you captivating.

You weren’t afraid of him. Not even a little.

When he’d ask you to accompany him on moonlit walks through the glade, you’d end up dragging him into firefly chases. When he attempted regal speeches, you’d interrupt with a glitter cannon and say, “Save it for your villain monologue, sugarplum.”

And when he grew quiet—lost in thought, melancholy brushing his lashes like rain—you’d sit beside him and hum mortal songs, off-key and heartfelt.

“Why do you not fear me?” he asked one night, your head resting in his lap as he braided tiny flowers into your hair—his hair.

You blinked up at him. “Because I see you, Malleus. Not the crown. Not the title. You. And you’re not scary. You’re lonely.”

The silence that followed was sacred. Not uncomfortable—weighty. Real.

You, in all your noisy, erratic, stubborn light, had looked into his darkness and stayed.

“You are chaos incarnate,” he whispered. “And yet… you are mine.”

You smirked, sharp and fond. “Damn right I am, Your Spikiness.”

You held his hand like it was an oath, like it didn’t matter that you were different. Like you chose him.

And Malleus? Malleus, the feared, the noble, the storm wrapped in velvet… let you kiss him on the tip of his horn with a wink and whispered,

“Then let us be opposite stars—destined to orbit, forever drawn.”

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[unabashegirl]

Love Island — part 4

AU. Based on the TV show.

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The sun glinted off the pool as Y/N sat on one of the loungers, her legs dipped lazily in the water. Lucas plopped down beside her, his usual laid-back grin in place as he swirled his feet in the pool.

“Alright, missus,” he began, leaning back on his hands. “Two days since the big shake-up. Spill. How’s it going with Harry? You two the villa’s next power couple or what?”

Y/N let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she glanced at the water. “Hardly,” she admitted, a touch of frustration in her tone. “Honestly, Lucas, I don’t know what’s going on. He hasn’t… made a move. Nothing.”

Lucas frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Nothing at all? Not even a cheeky cuddle at night? The man’s sleeping next to you, for crying out loud.”

“Exactly!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “We talk, we laugh, but that’s it. He’s sweet, and I do feel something when we’re together, but I can’t tell if he’s just being cautious or if he’s… not as into it as I thought.”

Lucas gave her a thoughtful look, running a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t sound like Harry. Bloke’s confident. If he likes you, he’d usually be all in.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said again, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s making me second-guess everything. I thought we had this connection, you know? But now, I’m starting to think maybe I got it wrong.”

Lucas gave her a nudge with his shoulder. “Hey, don’t go down that rabbit hole. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Bloke’s interested. Maybe he’s just trying to take it slow—prove he’s not here for some quick fling.”

She sighed, her eyes fixed on the pool. “I guess. But I didn’t sign up for Love Island to sit around wondering what someone’s thinking. If he’s into me, I wish he’d just… show it.”

Lucas grinned, his tone teasing. “Why don’t you make the first move, then? Shock his system a bit.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “You think I should?”

“Why not?” Lucas replied with a shrug. “Worst-case scenario, he’s not into it, and you move on. Best-case scenario, you get the spark you’re waiting for.”

She considered it, biting her lip. “Maybe. But it’s just… disappointing, you know? I didn’t expect to feel this unsure with someone I like.”

Lucas gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Trust me, Y/N. If Harry’s playing it cool, it’s probably because he’s worried about messing things up. You’ve got him thinking. Just give it time—or better yet, don’t. Light a fire under him and see what happens.”

Y/N laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You’re full of advice today, aren’t you?”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m the villa’s agony uncle,” Lucas said with a wink. “But seriously, you’ve got this. Just do what feels right.”

As Y/N smiled, feeling a bit lighter, the narrator’s voice cut in, “Looks like Y/N’s got a choice to make—play it safe or take the plunge. And with Lucas as her wingman, what could possibly go wrong? Stay tuned, because things are about to get interesting!”

Harry was mid-set of bicep curls. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow as he focused on his reps. Beside him, Ethan, the newest addition to the villa, was hammering out some push-ups, grunting with every move.

Lucas sauntered up, a water bottle in hand and a half-hearted determination on his face. He plopped onto a bench, picked up the lightest dumbbell available, and started lifting with exaggerated effort.

“Ah, here we go. Gym lad Lucas in the house,” Ethan quipped, smirking as he moved into a plank.

Harry chuckled. “Didn’t peg you for a weights guy, mate.”

“Oh, I’m all about it,” Lucas said, flexing his arm dramatically before dropping the dumbbell after one rep. “Alright, that’s enough for me. Can’t overdo it, you know?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

Lucas leaned back, his casual demeanor dropping slightly as he watched Harry move to the pull-up bar. “Right, Haz. Gotta chat with you about something.”

Harry glanced at him between reps, a curious eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah? What’s up?”

Lucas glanced at Ethan, who was still engrossed in his workout, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s about Y/N.”

That caught Harry’s attention. He paused mid-rep, his hands gripping the bar tightly. “What about her?”

“Well,” Lucas began, keeping his tone light, “she’s feeling a bit... unsure about things. Reckons you’ve been keeping her in limbo.”

Harry let go of the bar, landing lightly on his feet. “In limbo? What do you mean?”

Lucas shrugged, swirling the water in his bottle. “She likes you, mate. But she’s thinking maybe you’re not as into it as she thought. Says you haven’t really made a move.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands resting on his hips. “That’s not it. I just didn’t want to come on too strong, you know? Didn’t want her to think I was just playing the game.”

“Right,” Lucas said, nodding. “But she’s not a mind reader. All she sees is you holding back. If you’re interested, Haz, you’ve got to show her. Otherwise, she’ll start thinking she got it wrong.”

Ethan sat up from his plank, catching the last bit of the conversation. “Sounds like you’re in trouble, mate,” he teased, smirking.

Harry ignored him, his attention fixed on Lucas. “So, she really said that?”

Lucas gave him a pointed look. “She said she feels disappointed. That’s not a good sign, mate. You don’t want her head turning because she thinks you’re not interested.”

Harry’s expression shifted, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “I didn’t realize she felt that way. I thought… I thought we were good.”

“Then let her know,” Lucas said simply. “You’re into her, right?”

Harry’s lips curled into a small smile. “Yeah, I am. She’s… different. In a good way.”

“Then stop messing about,” Lucas said, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. “Before someone else swoops in.”

The narrator’s voice chimed in as Lucas walked off, “Wise words from Lucas there. Harry’s been playing it cool, but if he waits too long, he might find himself cooling off in the single beds. Will this wake-up call get him moving? Or will Y/N’s head turn before he has the chance? Stay tuned!”

Lucas was sprawled on a sun lounger with his sunglasses on, taking a well-earned break from his brief stint in the gym. He was sipping a bottle of water when Georgia sauntered up, her strides purposeful and her eyes narrowed with curiosity.

“Alright, Lucas,” she began, plopping herself down on the lounger next to him. “Got a minute?”

Lucas tilted his sunglasses down, one eyebrow raised. “For you, Georgia? Always. What’s on your mind?”

Georgia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Saw you having a little chinwag with Harry earlier. What were you two chatting about, then?”

Lucas smirked, leaning back with deliberate nonchalance. “Oh, just lad stuff. You know, protein shakes, reps, how to get biceps like mine.”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m not buying it. I saw the way you were talking—looked serious. Come on, Lucas, spill.”

He sighed, dragging out the moment just to wind her up. “Fine. If you must know, we were talking about Y/N.”

That caught her attention. Georgia straightened, her expression sharpening. “Oh? And what about her?”

Lucas took another sip of water, playing coy. “Just... how things are going between them. That’s all.”

Georgia’s lips pursed, her annoyance barely concealed. “And what did you tell him?”

Lucas chuckled, pushing his sunglasses back up. “What’s with the third degree, Georgia? You got a sudden interest in Harry’s love life?”

She crossed her arms, glaring. “I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Y/N swoops in and suddenly everyone’s falling over themselves to make sure she’s alright. Meanwhile, the rest of us are just sitting here like extras in her little love story.”

“Extras?” Lucas repeated, laughing. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Georgia leaned closer, her voice dropping. “I’m serious, Lucas. It’s not fair. She’s already got Harry wrapped around her finger, and now you’re playing her cheerleader? What about the rest of us, huh?”

Lucas sighed, sitting up and turning to face her. “Georgia, you’re making this way bigger than it is. Harry’s into Y/N—simple as that. If you fancy him, then crack on and let him know. But don’t make it about her. That’s not fair.”

Georgia’s eyes flashed. “I’m not making it about her. I just think everyone’s acting like she’s this innocent little thing when she’s clearly playing the game. And you’re helping her.”

Lucas shook his head, his tone firm but calm. “Georgia, no one’s playing the game more than you right now, and we both know it. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Harry, not me. And maybe, just maybe, ask yourself if this is about the connection you want or the attention you’re not getting.”

Georgia sat back, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed lost for words—a rare sight in the villa.

The narrator’s voice chimed in with impeccable timing, “And there you have it, folks—Lucas, the voice of reason, leaving Georgia with more questions than answers. Will she take his advice, or will she turn this into another episode of Georgia vs. the World? Grab your popcorn—it’s only getting juicier!”

The beauty room buzzed with chatter as the girls got ready for the night, brushes, curling irons, and bottles of setting spray scattered across every available surface. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor by the mirror, towel-drying her damp hair after a refreshing dip in the pool. Chloe was next to her, applying highlighter with precision, while Amber and Lila debated lipstick shades near the vanity.

A light knock on the door brought everyone’s attention to the doorway. Harry stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his cheeks slightly pink. He gave an awkward little wave, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Y/N.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice warm but tentative. “Y/N, can I borrow you for a sec?”

The room fell silent, every girl suddenly finding a reason to stop what they were doing and focus on this unexpected development. Y/N blinked in surprise, clutching her towel for a moment before standing up.

“Sure,” she said, glancing at the girls, who were all pretending not to listen. “Be right back.”

Harry stepped aside as she walked through the door, his hand briefly brushing her arm. They walked down the hallway, the hum of conversation in the beauty room resuming the second the door closed behind them. Y/N felt her heart pick up pace, the air between them charged with a nervous kind of energy.

They stopped near the staircase, just out of sight but still within earshot of the curious girls inside. Harry leaned against the wall, his hands back in his pockets, rocking on his heels as he gathered his words.

“So,” he started, his signature smile creeping onto his face, “I, uh… wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…” Y/N prompted, her voice soft but teasing, trying to make him a bit more comfortable.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his confidence momentarily slipping. “I’ve been thinking. We haven’t really had proper time together, just the two of us, you know?”

Y/N’s brows rose, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, I guess we haven’t.”

“Right.” Harry exhaled, his eyes meeting hers. “So, I thought, maybe tonight… would you have dinner with me? Downstairs. Just us. I’ve got something planned.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. “You planned something?”

Harry’s lips quirked in a shy grin. “I tried. So… what do you think?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to.”

The grin on Harry’s face spread wide, his dimples deepening. “Brilliant. Right, I’ll see you down there later, then.”

“See you later,” Y/N echoed, her voice light and filled with unspoken excitement. Harry turned and walked away, glancing back at her with a cheeky smile before disappearing down the stairs.

As soon as he was gone, Y/N stood frozen for a second, the moment sinking in. Then she squeaked, barely containing her excitement as she practically skipped back to the beauty room.

Inside, all eyes were on her. Chloe was the first to speak, her brows shooting up. “What was that about, then?”

Y/N sat down, her smile impossible to hide. “He’s planned something… dinner for just us tonight.”

Amber let out a low whistle, while Lila smirked. “Look at you, getting the royal treatment.”

“Alright, spill!” Chloe demanded. “What did he say? What’s the plan?”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. “I don’t know! He didn’t give much away. Just said he’d see me later.”

The girls erupted in chatter, each offering their thoughts, theories, and teasing remarks about what Harry might have in store.

The narrator chimed in, “Harry Styles—villa romantic, dinner planner, and now the cause of one very giddy beauty room. Let’s hope his cooking skills are better than his pickup lines, or this romantic gesture might end in more flames than sparks!”

The beauty room was alive with excitement as the girls gathered around Y/N, all pitching in to help her prepare for her date with Harry. Chloe was meticulously curling her hair, Amber was swatching lipsticks on the back of her hand to find the perfect shade, and Lila was busy laying out jewelry options. Even the background chatter had a sense of celebration, the girls buzzing with curiosity about Harry’s surprise dinner plan.

“Alright, babe, you’re going to absolutely knock him out with this dress,” Amber said, holding up a sleek black number. “It’s a power move.”

“Oh, definitely,” Lila added. “Harry won’t know what hit him.”

But in the corner of the room, Georgia sat with her arms crossed, her expression darkening with every passing minute. Finally, she let out a scoff loud enough to grab everyone’s attention.

“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” she said, her tone sharp. “I mean, it’s just dinner. You’d think he was proposing or something.”

The room fell silent for a beat, the atmosphere turning awkward. Y/N glanced at Chloe, who rolled her eyes before continuing to style her hair.

“Honestly, Georgia,” Amber said, her tone clipped, “can you just let her enjoy this? You’ve been on one all day.”

“I’m just saying,” Georgia continued, undeterred. “It’s not fair that everything is always about Y/N. What about the rest of us? Some of us haven’t had a proper chance with Harry because she’s hogging all his attention.”

Y/N straightened, her lips pressing into a firm line. She turned to Georgia, her voice calm but pointed. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Georgia. Maybe that’s the real issue here.”

The room collectively inhaled, the tension palpable. Georgia’s face flushed, her eyes narrowing as she stood abruptly. “You know what? Forget it. Have your perfect little date. I’m done.”

She stormed out of the beauty room, slamming the door behind her. The girls exchanged glances, a mix of frustration and relief.

“Well, that went well,” Chloe muttered, finishing the last curl in Y/N’s hair.

“She’s so exhausting,” Amber said, shaking her head. “She’s not a girls’ girl, not even a little bit.”

The narrator’s voice cut in, “Georgia, leaving the beauty room like it’s a scene from a soap opera. Who knew glitter eyeshadow could cause so much drama?!”

Outside, Georgia wiped at her eyes as she wandered through the villa. She spotted Tom near the fire pit, tossing small pebbles into the grass. He looked up as she approached, his expression softening when he saw her teary face.

“Oi, Georgia,” he said, standing. “You alright?”

She sniffed, brushing a hand under her nose. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had enough of this place, that’s all.”

Tom frowned, stepping closer. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though her voice cracked. “It’s just… everyone’s so fake. And Y/N—ugh, I can’t stand how everyone fawns over her.”

Tom’s jaw tightened at the mention of Y/N, his own frustrations clearly bubbling under the surface. “Yeah, well… she’s not as perfect as everyone thinks.”

Georgia glanced at him, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “You see it too, don’t you? She’s not what she seems.”

Tom nodded, his gaze hardening. “You could say that.”

The two stood there in silence for a moment, the crackling fire pit casting flickering shadows around them. Whatever unspoken alliance had just formed, it was clear: both were nursing their own wounds, and Y/N was the common denominator.

Y/N took a deep breath as she stepped out of the beauty room, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. She smoothed down the sleek black dress Amber had insisted on, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor as she walked through the villa. Her nerves buzzed in her chest, but she couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her face.

Lucas was waiting by the entrance to the pool, grinning like a proud older brother. He gave her a little thumbs-up as she approached.

“Alright, superstar,” he said, gesturing toward the softly lit path. “Follow me. Your prince awaits.”

Y/N laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Thanks, Lucas.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Harry. He’s been pacing for the last hour,” Lucas teased as he led her down the path, away from the villa’s usual bustle. The pool glimmered under the lights, and in the farthest corner, a small table was set up, complete with candles and a bottle of wine.

Harry stood by the table, hands clasped in front of him. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone, paired with tailored black trousers. His curls were perfectly tousled, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine spread. The sight of him stole Y/N’s breath for a moment.

As soon as he spotted her, Harry’s face lit up with a boyish grin, though his hand immediately went to rub the back of his neck—a telltale sign of his nerves. Lucas gave Y/N an encouraging pat on the shoulder before disappearing back into the villa.

“Wow,” Harry said as Y/N approached, his voice soft but filled with awe. “You look… stunning.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “This setup is beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, his voice dropping as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “I, uh, hope it’s alright. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

“It’s perfect,” she assured him, her smile widening.

They both sat down at the table, the soft glow of the candles illuminating their faces. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the spread before her—grilled salmon, a colorful salad, and a decadent chocolate dessert waiting on the side.

“You did all this?” she asked, her tone incredulous but impressed.

“Well,” Harry admitted, his dimples deepening with a sheepish smile, “I had a bit of help from the boys. But I did pick everything out.”

Y/N laughed, her nerves melting slightly. “I’m impressed.”

As they started eating, Harry stole a glance at her, the flickering candlelight catching the sparkle in her eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said softly, his usual cheeky demeanor replaced with something more genuine.

Y/N set down her fork, her gaze meeting his. “So have I. I was starting to think you’d never make a move.”

Harry chuckled, his hand running through his curls. “Yeah, well… I’m not exactly smooth when it comes to this sort of thing. Honestly, I’ve been a nervous wreck.”

“Nervous?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You? The guy who walked into the villa like he owned the place?”

“That was all an act,” Harry confessed, his grin widening. “You, though… you’ve had me completely thrown from day one.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words, her smile softening. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the villa’s noise a distant hum in the background. It felt like their own little world, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful for the effort Harry had put into making the evening special.

“So,” Harry said, his voice breaking the quiet as he leaned forward slightly, his green eyes locked on hers. “Am I living up to your expectations?”

Y/N smirked, tilting her head. “Let’s just say… you’ve set the bar very high.”

Harry laughed, his shoulders relaxing as the tension between them shifted into something lighter, more natural. “Good. I’ll take that.”

After a few more moments of laughter, the air between them shifted from lighthearted banter to something more intimate. Harry, still smiling, reached across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against Y/N’s hand. She looked down at their hands for a moment, her heart picking up its pace, before she slowly met his gaze.

His voice was quieter now, tinged with something deeper, more serious. “Let me kiss you”

Y/N’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. She didn’t say anything at first, just a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she looked up at him. Her heart raced in her chest, but her eyes were full of warmth as she held his gaze.

Harry took that as all the encouragement he needed.

With a soft exhale, he leaned across the small table, his eyes still locked onto hers. The moment felt like it lasted forever, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. He closed the space between them, tilting his head slightly, and gently pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative—like he was savoring every second. But as the connection deepened, it became something more. It was warm and soft, full of the unspoken chemistry that had been building between them for days. The flickering candlelight illuminated their faces as they pulled away slightly, both a little breathless, eyes still locked in that quiet, shared understanding.

Y/N smiled softly, her heart hammering in her chest as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still feeling the warmth of his touch on her skin.

“Well, that escalated quickly! A kiss, a soft chuckle, and suddenly, we’ve got a proper Love Island romance on our hands. Who knew dinner and a kiss could be the most suspenseful part of the evening? Stay tuned, folks”

-> part 5

let me know if you would like to get added to the tag list!

TAGLIST: @st-ev-ie, @harrystyleshotwife, @valuunit, @familyshow-orisit, @ellaorchard, @loverrryxo, @dashingday, @harrystyles1d52, @stylessbean, @gem1712, @girlontheblock

[sturniololuvz]

Hey! Could you write something where the triplets younger sister is a figure skater, and they’re hockey players, so they’re at the same rink and have practice at the same time. And then one day the triplets overhear their teammates talking about wanting their sister and stuff and they get all protective. And one of the triplets gets into a fight with a guy during a game, cause he said an inappropriate comment. Sorry, idk if that made sense, and if you don’t want to it’s totally fine just thought it could be a cute idea!

“Wrong Rink, Wrong Girl”

The rink was cold — the kind that numbed your fingers through your gloves and turned your breath to fog — but you loved it.

Figure skating had always been your escape. Your world. And even though your brothers ruled the opposite side of the ice in skates and pads and sharp elbows, you never minded sharing the space with them.

Until now.

You were lacing up your skates on the far side of the benches, earbuds in, when Chris heard it.

It was just after warmups. He, Nick, and Matt were finishing up drills when they skated past a group of guys laughing by the wall.

“Bro, you seen the figure skater chick lately? That little blonde? She’s got legs for days—”

Chris’s shoulders tensed.

“Y/N?” someone else asked, smirking. “She’s kinda hot for a baby Sturniolo.”

Chris stopped skating. Slowly. Stared.

But the guys kept going. “You think she knows how hot she is? I bet she’s tight, too. I’d give anything for ten minutes alone with her—”

“I swear if she wasn’t their sister—”

“Oh I’d still try. She’s always bending like that on the ice? You’re telling me she isn’t flexible as hell?”

The laugh that followed was loud. Gross. Arrogant.

And Chris saw red.

“Yo,” he barked, skating up.

The group turned, startled.

“You talk about my sister like that again,” Chris growled, “and I’ll knock your teeth into the fucking Zamboni.”

Matt and Nick noticed the tension and came over fast.

“Problem?” Nick asked, already catching the tail end of what was said.

Matt didn’t ask. He just narrowed his eyes at one of the guys — the one with the worst smirk.

“That’s our little sister,” Chris snapped. “You don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. Got it?”

But the guy just shrugged, smug.

“Relax. Not my fault she skates around like that in front of everyone. I’m just noticing.”

And that was it.

Chris didn’t hesitate.

He dropped his gloves and threw the first punch.

⸻

The benches were chaos. The refs were blowing whistles. Yelling. Trying to drag Chris off the guy who was bleeding from the lip and cursing him out.

Nick was pulling Chris back by the shoulders. Matt was standing between them and the rest of the team, chest heaving.

“You don’t talk about her like that!” Chris kept shouting. “You don’t fucking talk about her!”

It took two coaches to separate them.

And you… you watched the whole thing happen from across the rink, frozen in your skates, heart in your throat.

⸻

It was quiet in the locker room afterward.

Chris was icing his knuckles. Nick was pacing. Matt sat with his head in his hands.

You walked in with your coat over your leotard, cheeks still pink from the cold.

“…I heard,” you said softly.

Chris looked up, ashamed. “I wasn’t gonna let them talk about you like that.”

“I know.” You crossed the room. “But now you’re benched for the next game.”

Chris shrugged. “Worth it.”

Matt stood. “You’re not just our sister, Y/N. You’re you. You work your ass off out there. You don’t deserve guys reducing you to—”

“I know,” you said again, eyes glassy. “And thank you.”

You sat down between them. Let them all sit close.

“Next time,” you whispered, “just… tell me what they said. I’ll land a triple toe loop on their faces myself.”

That got a laugh. Tired. But real.

Nick pulled you in first. Then Chris. Then Matt.

And suddenly, the rink didn’t feel so cold anymore.

⸻

[beef-brisket]

((Sorry this took a hot second, I had to reread things 😂))

Holy shit. He couldn't believe it. Could this work in his favour?

The first man continued to eat his pancakes but occasionally looked up at Lucifer. When he saw his angels, eyebrows furrowed, and he got the sinking feeling again. Like he was drowning. Like something bad was happening and there was nothing he could di to stop it.

Adam: Luci? Are you okay?

The kimg continued to stare at the letter before finally snapping out of it and smiled at Adam: Uh- fine! Fine, buddy! Don't worry about me- how are you pancakes? Still good?

Adam laughed: Luci, I already told you I liked them! I can tell some things wrong... you get that look on your face- your eyebrow twitches when somethings wrong!

With wide eyes, Lucifer touched his forehead, and sure enough, his eyebrow was twitching. He smiled softly. Of course, Adam would notice a detail like that about Lucifer.

Lucifer: I promise, Addie. Nothing's wrong- just... a letter.

Adam: A... letter? What's that?

Lucifer: Paper with writting-.

Adam: Paper?

Lucifer: ...I'll show you paper later on- but, for now, uh... just eat your pancakes, okay? And I'll be back in a minute- I need to see Charlie. Stay here, Adam. Promise me?

Adam smiled: I promise, Luci!

Lucifer kissed his forehead before teleporting out of the room. Adam started to eat his food again, enjoying the strange silence of the kitchen. That's when a shadow opened up, and out came the radio demon.

Alastor: Adam! There you are!

The first man coughed when he jumped as he was swallowing, but he still smiled up at Alastor.

Adam: Hi, deer man! How are you?

Alastor's smile twitched: How kind of you to ask. I'm... very well. But you, my deer fellow, won't be.

Adam: Uh... huh?

Alastor: If you keep eating that poor excuse of a plate of food.

Adam: But... Luci made these for me-.

Alastor: Pancakes are... below average in general. But MY cooking, on the other hand...

Adam: You cook?

The demon almost smirked when Adam smiled widely: Why, certainly! Would you like to try some?

When Adam nodded and moved his plate of pancakes to the side, Alastor snapped his fingers, and a plate of meat and vegetables appeared in front him.

Alastor: Now, this was scored locally, my deer! All products on your plate were brought from Cannibal town! At one of the prized butchers!

Adam: Wow! I have no idea what any of that means- but it sounds good! And smells good! So... it has to be good!

Alastor: Exactly! How about you have a taste, and tell me what you think~.

-

Charlie reached up, putting away some files when she heard a loud groan, making her pull her papers close to her chest. Spinning around, her eyes locked with her father, who was leaning against her desk.

Charlie: Dad?! You scared me...! What's wrong?

Lucifer: C-Chaaaarlie- Heaven! Heaven want a meeting!

Charlie: Oh... dad, we knew this day would come-.

Lucifer: It's about Adam!

Charlie: ...Oh. that's... not good.

Lucifer: They said he's dead! They don't know he's alive- and I want to keep it that way!

Charlie: Dad, you can't choose that! Adam should get a say, shouldn't he?

Lucifer looked up from the desk: Charlie. Apple. Duckling- Adam can't make choices like that! If something stresses him too much... he might...

Charlie: ...Gain his memories back?

Lucifer: ...Yeah... that.

Charlie: ...Dad. I... I think he should choice. Free will, right?

Lucifer: ...F-Free will? He... he hasn't had the apple- o-oh god- he's... he's- fuck.

Charlie quickly went to her father's side and rubbed his back: You need to talk to him, dad. Adam, he's... incredible. You don't give him enough credit. Speak to him. Really speak to him.

Lucifer: ...Will... will you come with me?

Smiling, Charlie nodded: I'll come with you, dad.

-

The king breathed in and out before walking into the kitchen. His daughter was still at his side: Addie-.

The first man looked up from his meal, smiling at Lucifer. He was more than halfway through eating some weird meat on his plate.

Lucifer: Adam? What's... where did you get that?

Adam smiled widely: Can't tell you, Luci! It's a secret! Would you like some? It's really good!

In Your Head

Lucifer sighed as he held the guitar that he took from the battlefield. It was Adams guitar and aside from a few scratches it looked like it was in perfect condition.

Lucifer: I'm going to miss you old friend.

Though, was friend the right word? Adam was so much more than a friend to Lucifer.

Watching him get stabbed like that had been very hard.

Was it though?

Lucifer snapped his head up, eyes wide as he looked at the angel he thought to be long dead, his helmet gone and golden blood staining his robe.

Lucifer: A-Adam? What, how are you here!?

Adam smiled at him and it was too sweet for the Adam of today the one that he turned into. But not the Adam he knew in Eden.

Adam: Oh come on Luci, you're smarter than that. No one comes back from an angelic blade to the heart. Thanks for that by the way.

That nickname sliced through his core, he hadn't heard it in so long he almost forgot that's what Adam used to call him.

Lucifer: You're not real are you?

Adam: Bingo baby! Awww, it's actually sweet. You miss me so much that I actually take up space in that head of yours.

Lucifer: Why are you so..... Nice? But look like that?

Adam shrugged and moved to sit down beside him: Probably because you don't really remember what I looked like in Eden, but more how I acted. So you just kinda...... Married the past with the present. I don't know boo, it's your mind.

Lucifer felt Adam touch his hair as if to tuck it behind his ear, but since he wasn't real the hand just went right through him.

Lucifer: I don't get it, you weren't like this in Eden.

Adam: Maybe I'm a version you've always wanted.

That made sense in a way.

Lucifer: Why would I want a polite slightly flirty version of you?

Adam smiled gently and leaned in: Come on Luci, you know why. Stop lying to yourself.~

His breath hitched in his throat, sure he had always thought about what could have been between them but...... It was always just a fantasy.

Adam: A fantasy you could have made real.~

Lucifer: You didn't want me.

Adam: How would you know? You never asked or tried. You could have had me all to yourself.

Lucifer: I could have?

Adam: Yeah. But now you never will.

@fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

[gpcwsl]

@wosoloves-world requested this

Alessia Russo!College x Reader!College

Step ahead

WC: 1040

Alessia Russo MasterList

MasterList

Warnings: Mild sexual content (implied, not graphic), strong language, (minor swearing).

-

At 17, college was a chaotic mix of late-night study sessions, cheap takeaway, and friendship that felt like forever. For Alessia Russo, it also meant trying not to completely embarrass herself every time she was within a ten-foot radius of you.

You were part of the group — five of you who met on the very first day of college and instantly clicked. You, Alessia, Lotte Wubben-Moy, Ella Toone, and Georgia Stanway. A little chaotic, a little loud (mostly thanks to Ella), and always together.

The group had a ritual: each week, you’d rotate whose dorm everyone would crash in. This week, it was yours.

Alessia swore she’d be cool about it. She had rehearsed it. Just act normal. Don’t trip. Don’t say anything weird.

-

So naturally, the first thing she did when she walked into your room was trip over your rug.

“Cool rug,” she blurted, lying on the floor.

You giggled, holding out a hand to help her up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, going a little red, “the rug attacked me.”

From the bed, Ella snorted. “You’re always so graceful, Less.”

Georgia exchanged a smirk with Lotte. They all knew. They’d known for months now.

Alessia Russo was head over heels for you. The kind of crush that made her forget how doors worked when you were nearby.

-

It was a couple of days later, during a lazy lunch on campus, that Georgia pulled Ella and Lotte aside.

“She’s hopeless,” Georgia said, nodding toward Alessia, who was across the quad pretending not to stare at you as you laughed with someone from your class.

“She nearly choked on a carrot when they looked at her yesterday,” Lotte added.

Ella leaned in like they were planning a heist. “Okay. So. We help her.”

“You mean like… coach her?” Georgia asked.

“Exactly. We’re gonna get that girl to ask out her crush if it’s the last thing we do.”

Unbeknownst to them, you were already a step ahead.

-

You’d been practicing your speech in the mirror all morning. Every scenario. Every possible reaction.

But now you were standing outside Alessia’s dorm room, nerves tying knots in your stomach. You weren’t confident like people thought. Around Alessia, your brain short-circuited in a way that made your words come out weird and your heart beat like a drumline.

You knocked.

The door opened, and Alessia’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Uh, hi! You okay? I mean, not that you look not okay, you look great—I mean, good. Not that I was—”

“Ilikeyou,” you blurted.

She froze. “Sorry?”

You swallowed. “I like you. And I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime? With me? On, like… a date?”

Alessia blinked. Then blinked again. She was waiting for the punchline, the twist — but it wasn’t coming.

“You’re asking me out?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I probably messed this up. I practiced it a lot but I—”

“Yes.”

You looked up.

“Yes?” you repeated.

“Yes,” Alessia said again, softer this time. Her eyes lit up. “I really like you too. I’ve just been… bad at acting normal about it.”

You smiled shyly. “Same.”

She stepped forward and hugged you — tight and warm and a little bit shaky. “You’ve just made my whole week.”

You pulled back. “Okay, I’ll go before I combust. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Please do,” she said, watching you with a dazed smile.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you ran down the hallway, practically skipping, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

Back in the room, Alessia stared at the door.

Then muttered, “Did that actually just happen?”

-

It had been months.

Months of sneaking glances when the others weren’t looking. Months of hidden smiles, brushing hands under the table, kisses stolen behind closed doors. You and Alessia had somehow managed to keep your relationship a secret — which, considering Ella’s nose for drama, was basically a miracle.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want the others to know. It was just… yours. Special. And kind of fun, in a reckless, adrenaline-rush kind of way.

But secrets don’t last forever.

-

It was late spring when it happened. The group had planned another one of their traditional hangouts — this time, back at Alessia’s dorm. Everyone had agreed on 7:30. Ella, Georgia, and Lotte were running late, stopping by the café on campus to grab snacks and argue about who had forgotten to bring Uno.

They didn’t think to knock when they finally arrived.

They didn’t have to knock. It was always a safe space — snacks, bad music, laughter. No secrets.

Until the door opened.

And there you were. Straddling Alessia on her bed. Her shirt unbuttoned. Your lips locked in a kiss so intense that neither of you heard the door swing open or the three gasps behind it.

Ella dropped her popcorn.

Georgia blinked. “Are they—”

“Oh my god,” Lotte whispered.

Alessia pulled back, her eyes wide with panic as she spotted them. You scrambled off her, tugging your shirt down and fumbling for words.

“Okay,” Ella said, raising both hands, “so I was not expecting to walk in on full-on lesbian lovefest in here, but hey—go off.”

Georgia looked between the two of you, stunned. “You’ve been together? This whole time?”

You and Alessia exchanged guilty looks.

“We… yeah,” you said, cheeks burning. “Since the beginning of the year.”

Lotte sat on the floor dramatically. “I feel betrayed. I made a whole plan to get you two together. We had meetings. There were group chats.”

Alessia rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. We just… wanted it to be ours for a while.”

Ella looked positively gleeful now. “So how long until we get wedding invites?”

“Ella—” you groaned.

“No, no, I’m serious. I need to emotionally prepare. I cry at weddings.”

Georgia just shook her head with a grin. “Well, guess we’re not playing Uno tonight.”

Ella winked. “Speak for yourself. I brought drinks. Let the post-kiss reveal party begin.”

And just like that, the room filled with laughter and chaos once again — except now, it felt even more like home. No more secrets. Just you, Alessia, and the people who’d somehow known all along.

[justchillgurl]

Title: Quiet Things That Rot

Summary: "Obsession isn’t always about love. Geum Seong-je never thought of himself as the type to fixate—but some things get under your skin and rot you from the inside out."

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, stalking, obsession, dark themes, disturbing thoughts, unhealthy relationships, violence, emotional coercion, invasion of privacy.

Author's Note: This fic explores severe obsession, loss of agency, and emotional manipulation. It is not intended to romanticize abuse or unhealthy dynamics. Please read with caution.🫂

There are people who live loud — who shout their names into every hallway, throw punches just to be remembered. Then there are people like her.

Y/N wasn’t loud, but everyone knew her. Not because she tried to be known — but because she was warm. The type to help you carry your books without being asked. The one who brought snacks to class on test days and remembered your birthday even if you didn’t remind her.

She was all smiles, mismatched socks, and half-finished homework from helping someone else with theirs.

And Seong-je hated that kind of brightness.

Not because it annoyed him — but because he couldn’t understand it.

She didn’t laugh at people’s pain or gloat when she won. She didn’t spread rumors, even though everyone told her things. Her energy was too soft to be strategic. She wasn’t faking it.

She really was just… good.

And that made her a target.

He first saw her laugh — really laugh — in the courtyard behind the art wing. Some guy was trying to balance an eraser on his nose, and she doubled over, covering her mouth but not well enough. The sound was too honest, too full.

He didn’t like it.

He watched from the second floor window, chewing a piece of gum he didn’t remember putting in his mouth. That laugh made his spine itch.

She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t look through him like teachers did. She didn’t flinch like weaker kids. She didn’t smirk or fake courtesy. She didn’t even notice him.

He hated being unnoticed.

That’s when it started.

---

She was at the convenience store on a Thursday night. Schoolbag slung over one shoulder, a hoodie thrown over her uniform like she’d forgotten it was there.

Seong-je already knew she didn’t stay out late. Her parents were strict. The kind of family that sat at the dinner table together, even if no one had anything to say.

She stepped into the store with that same casual bounce in her step, picked up a cold drink and a snack — yogurt, something strawberry — and stood in line humming to herself.

He watched through the glass. She was smiling at the cashier. Said something dumb, probably. The guy laughed.

Seong-je felt something curdle.

She stepped outside and paused when she noticed him standing by the railing.

“Hey,” she greeted casually, like they were classmates who maybe knew each other’s names.

He said nothing.

She tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”

He was too confused, why would she greet someone like him?

He smiled, just a little. “Fine.”

She looked at him for a second longer — not scared, not interested, just... thoughtful.

Then she said, “Have a good night, Geum Seong-je,” and walked off.

She knew his name, yet she greeted him.

Weird.

---

I knew exactly who Geum seong-je was. Everybody did.

The guy who beat up people for no reason, just because it was fun. A part of the Union. An exclusive at that.

That night at the store, I didn’t think much of it. Just a weird coincidence. Maybe he needed something. Maybe he just hung around there. He didn’t say anything threatening.

But the way he looked at me stuck with me longer than I’d admit.

Like he was memorizing me.

---

That small smile she gave him? That casual little sentence?

It played on a loop in his head for days.

She knew his name. That meant something. She noticed. She remembered. Even if it was just out of politeness — it still counted.

He started following her schedule.

Not stalking. Not really.

He just... showed up where she did. Noticed things. Memorized the way her voice changed when she was tired. How she always offered her last piece of gum to whoever was nearby. How she comforted crying girls in the bathroom and shared her umbrella without asking anything in return.

It made him furious.

How could someone like her exist without anyone trying to break her?

And if they did — if someone did break her — what would she look like then?

Would she still smile?

Would she still be her?

She had a blog. He found it after three nights of digging. The posts were random — stories about her day, short quotes, silly thoughts. But they were real.

She talked about her life. Her fears. Her dreams. About how she hated when people lied to avoid confrontation. How she liked rainy days because they made her feel less lonely.

She wrote like no one would ever read it.

And now he read it all.

Somewhere between her post about helping a kid find his lost ID and a rant about school cafeteria soup, he fell deeper.

This wasn’t a crush.

This was ownership.

She didn't know it yet, but she was HIS. He'll make sure of that.

---

Something started to feel… off.

I couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t anything obvious. Just this weird heaviness in the air. Like I was being watched. A few times, I turned around and saw no one. But the feeling stayed.

I thought maybe I was being paranoid. Midterms were stressing me out. I was probably overthinking it.

But I started locking my phone more.

Stopped sharing where I was going.

Told my friends I was just tired.

And for the first time since I started writing my blog, I considered deleting it.

---

Unbeknownst to her.

Seong-je printed her blog posts.

Every single one.

He kept them in a folder beneath his mattress. Highlighted sentences. Circled words that felt too intimate. Drew tiny stars next to ones that made her sound sad or scared.

He didn’t want her sad.

He just wanted her to look at him the way she looked at everyone else — with light.

And if she wouldn’t give it willingly… he’d find another way.

He always did.

Act 2: Flicker

He watches her drop a packet of tissues into a girl’s lap before walking off without waiting for a thank you.

Her kindness isn’t performative. That’s what makes it so easy to ruin.

The girl in the seat sobs quietly, red-rimmed eyes blotched with makeup, but Y/N doesn’t linger. Doesn’t play savior. Doesn’t ask what happened. Just leaves something behind and goes.

Geum Seong-je lights a cigarette behind the gym. He doesn’t even like the taste of this brand, but it’s strong, bitter, and numbing. Perfect for mornings when everything feels too alive.

He exhales slowly.

The wind smells like her perfume.

Or maybe he’s losing his mind.

He hopes so.

---

Someone's been in my locker. That's what she thought as soon as she opened the small locker in the classroom.

It’s just a feeling. A wrongness. The books are arranged the same, but… something’s off. My extra scrunchie isn’t where I left it. My pen lid is slightly cracked.

I don’t tell anyone. I just start locking it tighter. Watching people closer. Moving slower.

Sometimes I think I see someone across the yard, near the fences. But when I look again, they’re gone.

Maybe I am going crazy.

Maybe I need some rest...

---

Seong-je doesn’t believe in waiting, but with her, he’s almost religious.

He follows her through the alleys behind school one day — not close enough to be seen, but just enough to know she cuts corners when she’s late. Carries too many books. Doesn’t tie her laces all the way.

He files it all away.

She doesn’t know yet, but he’s her shadow. Her spine. Her unsaid word.

And when someone makes the mistake of touching what’s his, Seong-je doesn’t hold back.

---

After School [4:38 pm]– Rooftop

The first guy’s name is Choi Min-woo. He tries to flirt with Y/N during lunch — the pushy kind, not dangerous, but enough to make her uncomfortable. She laughs it off. She always laughs it off.

But Seong-je sees her scratch at her sleeve after. Sees her pull her bag closer to her body. He files that too.

By 5 PM, Choi is limping.

His nose is bleeding. His friend’s wrist is broken. There’s blood on the railing.

“You think just because she smiled, you exist to her?” Seong-je spits, laughing as he wipes blood off his cheek. “She doesn’t even remember your name, asshole.”

Min-woo whimpers.

“She smiled at me too,” Seong-je says, crouching. His voice is too calm. “And look where you are now.”

He lights another cigarette, blood-stained fingers shaking slightly.

“I’m being nice,” he grins. “Next time, I won’t be.”

---

I heard Min-woo got beat up.

Rumors say it was a debt thing. Someone said it was about a girl. I keep my head down, but I can’t shake the feeling it has something to do with me.

That night, there’s a note in my locker.

He won’t bother you again.

No name. Just that.

I feel sick.

I throw it away.

But not before rereading it five times.

---

Internet Café – [9:47 pm]

Seong-je plays a shooter game with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a cut on his knuckles. He’s laughing again — not at the game, but at a comment someone made in chat. Something about honor.

Honor.

He clicks headshot.

The guy in-game crumples.

He leans back and texts someone from the Union. It’s not about work. He just needs a new pack of cigarettes.

In between rounds, he pulls a photo from his orange windbreaker jacket.

A candid. Blurry. Y/N at her locker, looking over her shoulder.

He touches the edge with his thumb.

“She looked at me,” he murmurs.

He’s still smiling.

---

Her friends don’t notice her flinches now. She hides it too well.

But she walks faster through empty halls. Turns corners more carefully. Deletes old blog posts. Stops writing anything personal.

She still helps people.

Still brings extra pencils to class. Still shares her lunch.

But she locks her door twice now. Doesn’t let her phone die. Doesn’t go to the convenience store alone anymore.

She doesn’t know what she’s afraid of.

That’s what scares her the most.

And now, she thinks she's paranoid.

---

Wednesday [8:15 am] School Bathroom.

A phone buzzes on the counter.

Y/N doesn’t notice it at first, but the vibration repeats. When she checks, it’s her phone.

But the notification isn’t normal.

It's a picture. Taken from behind. Of her walking down the hallway just ten minutes ago.

No name. No message.

She stares at the screen until it dims.

Her hands shake.

She deletes it.

But she doesn’t stop looking over her shoulder for the rest of the day.

---

Same day [1:23 pm] → Seong-je’s Room.

He has another folder.

Not the blog one.

This one’s thicker.

Photos. Screenshots. A few receipts from stores she’s been to. A single lock of hair from when she walked by too close and it snagged on his jacket.

He’s careful.

He’s not weird.

He just… needs to be ready.

In case she ever falls.

In case the world ever forgets her and he’s the only one left who remembers what she looked like when she smiled.

He smokes another cigarette and lets it burn into the ashtray.

“You’d thank me,” he whispers. “If you knew what I’m saving you from.”

---

Somewhere else. [ 6:56 pm]

My blog password stopped working.

I didn’t tell anyone I changed it.

But now the name is different. The posts are edited.

I never did that.

My hands start shaking again.

I try to change it back, but it’s locked out.

I feel like someone’s in my room, even when I’m alone.

Like something’s crawling under my skin.

I tell myself I’m imagining it.

But I stop writing after that.

For good.

---

Act 3: Spores.

It starts with a favor.

Not from her — from them.

A boy from second year messes up a delivery for the Union. Loses money. Panics. Tries to hide it.

Seong-je finds him first.

“I swear, I’ll pay it back,” the kid says, breath shallow, hand bleeding.

Seong-je lights a cigarette and smiles like he’s amused, like the whole thing’s a punchline only he gets. Then he stomps the boy’s knee hard enough to hear it crack.

“You will,” Seong-je says. “But not with mine.”

He doesn’t finish the job. He makes the kid crawl back to the Union with what’s left of his dignity. Bloody, limping, lesson learned.

Afterward, Baek-Jin pulls him aside.

“You’ve been sloppy,” He says. “Your head’s somewhere else.”

Seong-je doesn’t deny it.

“Handle it. Before someone handles it for you.”

He doesn’t reply.

Just laughs — low and quiet.

She’s not a distraction. She’s the only thing that keeps the world from rotting around him.

---

Her desk is different.

The small changes again — someone’s gone through her drawers. Her favorite pen’s been uncapped and left on a page that wasn’t open before. Her water bottle is open, half-drunk.

She stops drinking it. From then on, she brings a new one every day. Keeps her things with her, even in the bathroom.

No one suspects anything. To them, she’s still bright, still bubbly. Her friends still laugh at her jokes. Teachers still praise her for handing in assignments early.

But she’s starting to hate going to school.

There are moments where she’s sure she’s being watched.

Where her neck prickles and her breath shortens.

Sometimes she looks toward the windows and swears she sees someone ducking out of view.

---

Bowling alley [?:?? Pm]

A few guys are playing cards. Smoking. The air’s heavy with sweat and tension.

Seong-je sits off to the side, smoking as usual.

He doesn’t blink.

“Bro,” someone calls, “you zoning out again?”

“Shut up.”

"What's wrong with you these days?" Seong-Mok calls out again.

Seong-je doesn’t answer.

He decides against saying another thing , he goes quiet.

No one jokes with him twice. Not with Geum seong-je.

---

A girl from my homeroom comes to me crying.

Says someone posted her pictures online — not nude, but private. Sleepover photos. Messages. Screenshots.

I tell her I’ll try to help. I always do.

I check the source.

It’s anonymous.

But the link was posted through an old burner blog. One I remember using… once. For two days. It wasn’t even public.

The password is my old one.

The pictures were uploaded using my email.

I feel like vomiting.

I delete everything. Run a virus scan. Cry in the shower until my throat’s sore.

But when I check my mirror the next morning, someone’s scratched a smiley face into the condensation.

I don’t remember doing that.

---

Convenience Store – Night [?:?? Pm]

Y/N doesn’t usually stay out past 8 PM.

But today she forgot her science notes at a friend’s house and walked to get them back. The street’s too quiet. Her steps too loud.

She heads into the store and breathes relief under the flickering fluorescent lights.

That’s when she sees him.

Geum Seong-je — leaning against the back wall, cigarette in hand, arms crossed. He looks like something out of a wrong dream.

He doesn’t approach.

Doesn’t speak.

Just stares.

She grabs her things fast and walks out.

She doesn’t turn around.

But she knows he’s still watching.

---

She looked at me today.

Not through me. Not past me.

At me.

It was brief, cautious, like she didn’t recognize what she saw.

But it counts.

It fucking counts.

I keep a tally of every glance. Every blink. Every time she crosses her legs in class or fixes her hair in the reflection of a window. Every bite of her sandwich. Every time she scratches her nose when she’s lying.

I know her better than her friends do.

Better than she does.

I could draw a map of her routine with my eyes closed.

She thinks the world is kind. That people are decent.

She doesn’t know how many vultures circle her without her seeing.But I see them.I see everything.And I don't like it.

---

School – Girls’ Bathroom

She locks herself in a stall and stares at the back of the door.

There’s graffiti there. Most of it harmless.

But now there’s something new.

Scrawled in black marker, shaky but intentional:

HE SEES YOU.

She covers it with toilet paper and flushes it down.

She doesn’t go to the bathroom alone for days.

---

Bowling alley– Na Baek Jin's office.

“You sure this is just a crush?” Baek jin questions, not sparing him a glance, still looking at the test papers.

Seong-je doesn’t answer. Just smirks and flicks ash to the ground.

“She’s got a lot of eyes on her. Wouldn’t be smart to get involved.” Baek-Jin adds, he doesn't know why he's bothering with him. This is stupid. Pointless.

“I’m not involved,” he says finally, voice dry. “She’s just entertainment.”

“Bullshit,” Baek-Jin mutters, finally looking up from the papers. “You don’t beat the piss out of four kids in one week over entertainment.”

Seong-je’s smile widens, sharp and wolfish.

“Then maybe I’m bored.”

He leaves without waiting for permission.

No one stops him.

No one ever does.

---

She starts losing sleep.

Her grades don’t drop — not yet — but her eyes are redder. Her coffee cups are fuller. Her friends stop asking what’s wrong after the third time she snaps at them.

She stops saying she’s fine.

Now she says nothing.

Because something isn’t fine.

Something is wrong.

And she has no idea how to fix it.

---

Classroom – Morning

A rumor starts.

Small, sticky, hard to shake off.

She slept with a teacher. She cheated on an exam. She’s pregnant. She’s dropping out. Her family’s rich. Her family’s broke. She’s seeing someone from another school. He’s dangerous. He has pictures. He knows things.

None of it is true.

She knows that.

But rumors aren’t meant to be true — they’re meant to be believed.

They multiply like mold.

No one says them to her face. But she hears them when she walks by. She sees the glances. The people who used to ask for help now keep their distance.

And that suits him just fine.

---

She looked tired today.

Not the kind of tired coffee fixes — the kind that drags behind your eyes like chains. That folds your shoulders inward. That quiets even the kindest girls.

He likes it.

Not because he enjoys seeing her break — not exactly.

But because now, maybe, she’s closer to his world.

People like her don’t last long in it. They crumble fast. Burn bright, then out.

Unless they belong to someone who knows how to keep them lit.

---

School Courtyard – After School

Y/N’s walking fast.

Backpack pulled tight. Eyes on the ground. Keys gripped in her pocket.

She doesn’t notice the figure behind her.

Not at first.

But she hears the footsteps.

Turns.

No one.

She walks faster.

She doesn’t realize until later that her locker was opened. Her notes rifled through. A new pen left behind — one she doesn’t own.

It’s red.

She throws it away.

Later that night, she finds the same pen in her pencil case.

---

She’s jumpy now,Twitchy.Good.

It means the seed’s taken root.

She doesn’t know how much of her life is already mine. I know her passwords. I’ve mirrored her phone. I know which apps she deletes when she’s anxious and what music she listens to when she can’t sleep.

She called her best friend at 2 AM yesterday. Didn't say anything. Just breathed. Then hung up.

She thinks she’s losing her mind,She’s not.

I’m just finally in it.

---

School – Principal’s Office

She’s called in.

Not because she did anything wrong.

Because her blog was flagged.

Apparently, someone sent in screenshots of her “spreading inappropriate content.”

She explains: she runs a student news page. She doesn’t write anything personal. No rumors. No photos. No names.

The principal believes her. But tells her to shut it down anyway.

“Just to be safe.”

Her hands shake when she deletes it.

Six years of quiet cataloging. Gone.

Her friends don’t even notice.

---

Someone wrote my name on the whiteboard in red marker.

Just my name.

No message. No insult.

But it wasn’t my handwriting.

It was his.

I know it. I've seen it.

On an old desk in the hallway. On a busted lighter. On someone’s back in sharpie — one of the kids he beat up.

Geum Seong-je.

I didn’t even know he knew my name.

But now he’s writing it.

And I can’t prove it.

And I can’t breathe.

---

Convenience Store – Night

She avoids the place now.

But tonight it’s raining. She left her umbrella. Her phone’s dead.

So she ducks in, just for a minute.

And he’s there.

Again.

This time, he doesn’t just look.

He walks up to her.

Silent.

She backs up.

He doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t even speak.

Just grabs a can of iced coffee, pays for it, and places it on the counter in front of her.

Then leaves.

She doesn’t drink it.

But she takes it with her anyway.

---

It’s all about patience.

People like him — they don’t take. They tilt.

One piece at a time, until the whole table leans his way.

He doesn’t need her to love him.

He just needs her to forget what safety feels like without him.

---

Y/N’s Bedroom – Midnight

She finds a folded note in her backpack.

No handwriting.

Just a printout.

> “You’re prettier when you’re quiet, still I really want to hear you moan my name."

She tears it up, she feels like vomiting.

She flushes it.

Sits on her bed with the door locked and music on loud.

But even then, she thinks she hears laughter outside her window.

---

To be continued...

This is not related to the previous series, hope you liked it. Don't hesitate to give feedback.🫂

[dramagodesss]

twenty one : it hurts to say goodbye

playin' the players

you’re everywhere and nowhere at once.

every new party, every rooftop, every photo someone tags you in — they’re all starting to blur together. you keep the lipstick sharp, the drinks full, the smile just wide enough to fool the right people.

you let cleo drag you to another house show downtown. kie insists you dance. sarah throws her arm around you like a shield. you laugh, you drink, you vanish in the bathroom for a little too long.

you answer texts with half a heart. you leave people on read. you keep your notifications silent.

because it’s easier this way.

no one mentions the bet out loud anymore. no one talks about the rooftop blow-up. and that silence is louder than anything.

you catch yourself zoning out sometimes — like tonight, sitting on a stranger’s balcony with a red solo cup pressed to your lips and someone talking about camera angles beside you. you don’t even remember how you got here.

the sky’s dark. your fingers are cold. and the only thing you feel is tired. not physically. just… tired of it all.

of pretending you’re fine. of pretending it didn’t hurt. of pretending you didn’t care about both of them.

because you did. you do.

you check your phone again. nothing new.

and even though you told yourself you wanted space — that you didn’t want to talk to jj or rafe or anyone — it still stings.

for a second, you almost text him. jj,

i miss you jj,

i’m not okayjj—

or him.

rafe,

i need you rafe,

please come get me rafe—

but you don’t.

you just tip back your drink, lean your head against the cool brick wall behind you, and close your eyes.

and this time, you don’t dream of your brother. you just dream of leaving.

november 23rd

 wes’s birthday.

he would’ve been fifteen today. the same age you were when he died in your arms.

fifteen.

you whisper it out loud, like saying the number might somehow slow the ache in your ribs. it doesn’t.

you don’t tell anyone what day it is. not sarah. not kie. not even cleo, who’s always been the best at noticing when you’re unraveling.

you wake up late, stay curled under the covers, and pretend the sunlight isn’t bleeding in through the curtains. you pretend the world isn’t still spinning.

but your mind won’t shut up.

flash. the car. the metal. your hands shaking too much to call 911 the first time. you still remember the exact ringtone when you finally did. your voice high, breaking, telling them please please hurry.

flash. his blood on your hoodie. his fingers gripping yours. him looking at you like he already knew. like he was trying to make you feel better.

“it’s okay, sissy. i love you.”

you remember how his breath rattled. how the words barely made it out. how you sobbed “no no no no no” over and over and held his face like that could keep him here.

he was twelve. twelve and kind and funny and stubborn and obsessed with superhero movies and used to tell people you were his best friend.

you were fifteen and too slow. too scared. you’ve never forgiven yourself for that.

you don’t cry right away today. you just sit there, wrapped in your blanket, phone in your lap, scrolling through pictures you don’t let anyone see.

one of him in a beanie too big for his head. one where he’s holding your hand at the beach. a video of him singing off-key in the car, making you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe.

and then you do cry. quiet at first. then messier. grief doesn’t knock anymore — it just breaks the door down.

and still, you don’t text anyone. you don’t go out. you don’t even move for hours.

because today isn’t about anyone else.

today is wes’s.

and you just miss your little brother. you miss him so goddamn much you think it might kill you.

but you don’t plan it.

you just wake up, throw on the first hoodie that still smells like home, and walk until your legs hurt.

the tattoo shop’s half-empty. the guy at the counter doesn’t ask many questions, which you’re grateful for. you hand him the lyrics on a crumpled piece of paper.

“time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

it was wes’s favorite. he used to dance like an idiot in the kitchen to it. used to belt the chorus like it was written for him. used to say “this is what i’m gonna sing when i’m famous.”

he never got the chance.

so now it’s on your skin — permanent, etched low across your back where only the people you choose will ever see it.

you don’t flinch when the needle starts. the pain feels good, almost. real. anchoring.

when it’s done, you pay in cash and thank the artist with a hoarse voice, throat tight from holding everything in.

by the time you get back to the apartment, golden hour is stretching lazy over the buildings. your roommates are gone. the world feels hushed.

you go straight to the rooftop.

hood still up.

joint between your fingers.

you light it without thinking, breathing deep. the air’s sharp. the sky’s turning pink. you feel… numb. or maybe just quiet.your phone buzzes once in your pocket. you ignore it. then again. again.

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567 @pogueprincesa @isinpfortvdmen @iheartrosalia @luvrclub @yesshewrites1 @sideboobrry11 @espressh0e @mysticbby2009 @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @hwaaholic @aves05 @thecolorpearl05 @dreamybabbyy @wintercrows @lesbiana2 @chillgal135 @verycherryblossomhideout @daddyrafeslittleslut @pillowprincess4him @xoxobellamy @dylsdaily @at-todds-heart @nonbeliever1 @rafes-honey @lilithblackkk @isktfguhn @rafecamssfavgirl @mirellef2001 @jennieonline @coriiiiiiioiii@scne-vampire

[orangepeelknives]

feel like in my last post it was All About Mack. let me be verrrrry clear here that where i think mack is a lottttt more obviously Fucked Up, will smith hockey is also not Normal, because a Normal person would nawttt be laughing off the punching of a windshield like a silly lil joke. 

okay so okay let’s crack will smith open like a little fortune cookie of buried emotional responsibility. cause yeah, he’s chill. yeah, he’s confident. yeah, he’s a golden retriever in a backwards hat. but he is also chronically, deeply, expertly trained in the art of putting his own shit aside to keep the peace and keep people happy, and it shows.

let’s start with the family dynamics, cause that’s where this started. will was raised by a Boy Mom in a loud, loving, over-involved house where feelings weren’t ignored, but they were managed. you didn’t sulk, you didn’t explode, you kept it moving. you made it fun. you kept the vibes good. will was the glue. the golden boy. the one who doesn’t cause trouble. the one who soothes it. that’s what he brings with him everywhere: a pre-loaded script of how to keep the energy easy.

so yeah, will is secure. he’s kind. he’s loved. but he’s also exhausted. he’s been doing silent emotional labor since he was a kid. being the mascot. the morale guy. the one who’s always fine. and that’s whyit’s so hard for people to notice when he’s not fine, because he’s just so fucking good at pretending he is. enter, every single time post loss, it's will doing the comforting, will clapping guys on the back, will being summoned to mack's side, will dragging mack out of the rink and taking him home and feeding him milk and cookies and corralling him onto a flight to boston the next day, will accepting being the butt of most of the teasing, will dragging leno off the ice after losing.

enter: mack.

mack is the first person who needs will in the most primal, obvious, inescapable way. it’s not subtle. it’s not masked. will knows he’s the first call, the emergency contact, the comfort object, the human emotional support dog. and in my opinion he loves that. he lives for it. but… it also deepens the pressure. because if will is not okay? mack won’t be okay either. and will knows that. so when he’s hurting? when he’s homesick or anxious or spiraling or having a shitty game? he still has to perform calmness. he still has to laugh it off. he still has to do that little tight-jawed exhale and say “nah i’m good” because mack can’t take it if he’s not.

even the will x leno history plays into this, there’s something very poignant about the fact that leno needed him too. and from what we can tell, leno fucked up and will is the one who pulled away first.maybe because he could feel the weight of someone else needing him that hard, and maybe for once, he needed to be the one who got chosen? he needed ease. he needed someone to lean on. and mack? despite being a disaster? gives him that. not always emotionally, but in other ways, the routines, the affection, the automatic closeness. will never has to ask mack to show up. mack is already there. literally 24/7. actually mack is unshakable. 

back to the windshield of it all: a normal person doesn’t laugh off the shattering of a windshield like it’s a silly prank from your wacky, feral little freak friend. a normal person doesn’t look at an act of genuine property destruction born from rage and go, “aw, buddy.” but will smith hockey does. every time. and that says just as much about him as it does about mack.

because here’s the thing: will doesn’t just brush it off. he normalizes it. smooths it out. laughs in the exact right tone so that mack won’t spiral into shame. gives him the easy out. “don’t worry about it.” “you good, dude?” milk and cookies at home. like nothing happened. like mack didn’t just blow through a physical boundary without blinking.

and why?? how is that not setting off alarms?

because will doesn’t know how to have boundaries. he knows how to be accommodating. he knows how to de-escalate. he knows how to keep the peace, keep the mood right, keep the vibe light. but no one ever modeled for him how to say: hey. that hurt me. that scared me. you crossed a line. think about what we know about the USNTDP of it all. changing in the hallways??? being schooled online so that your whole world narrows down to hockey and the people who play it???

then it’s college, and he brings the same boys with him. makes it feel safe. familiar.

and then san jose. grown men. wives. babies. mortgages. they go home after practice. they have lives. they’re kind to him, sure, but they don’t orbit him the way his old teammates did. they don’t need him like that. they’re not waiting for him on the couch with mario kart and dumb snacks. they’re not texting him at 2am cause they’re freaking out over ice time.

yet again, enter: mack.

mack, who has no off switch. mack, who is so volatile it’s intimate. mack, who relies on will like it’s a biological function. who doesn’t hide when he needs something. who crawls into will’s space and stays. and for will? that is a relief. not a burden. a gift.

because mack is the only person in will’s life who keeps him looped in at all times. no drifting. no separation. no independence. it’s obsessive, chaotic, needy, and will eats it up. because it means he still matters. it means there’s still one person who wants him there constantly, who still texts him from ten feet away, who still waits to eat until will sits down, who loses his mind when will’s focus shifts even slightly.

that’s home. that’s what will knows. boundarylessness is familiar. it’s where he learned to thrive. and in a locker room full of adults with healthy relationships and time-blocked therapy appointments and children, mack is the only one who feels like his world used to feel. close. urgent. codependent.

so yeah, will needs mack right back. maybe not for emotional caretaking in the same obvious way. but for belonging. for rhythm. for closeness that doesn’t require effort. and that’s why he doesn’t flinch when the windshield breaks. that’s why he doesn’t draw lines when mack spirals. 

[starryeyedwolves]

A Study in Silence

The first time Sirius sees the list, it’s entirely by accident.

He’s rummaging through the top drawer of Remus’ writing desk, looking for a quill or maybe a bit of parchment. His own desk is a disaster zone, overrun with broken ink pots and half-scribbled letters. Remus’, by contrast, is a shrine to order: spare, steady, precisely like the man himself.

The drawer sticks slightly. Sirius tugs it harder, and something crinkles.

A small notebook, wedged beneath an old Daily Prophet clipping, falls open in his hands.

A list.

No title. Just a series of names, neatly numbered, written in Remus' steady hand.

1. Jane Eyre — Charlotte Brontë

2. The Trial — Franz Kafka

3. Howl and Other Poems — Allen Ginsberg

4. A Room of One’s Own — Virginia Woolf

5. The Bell Jar — Sylvia Plath

6. The Outsider — Albert Camus

7. Maurice — E.M. Forster

8. Goodbye to Berlin — Christopher Isherwood

9. Giovanni’s Room — James Baldwin

10. The Picture of Dorian Gray — Oscar Wilde

Sirius stares at it. It feels... intimate. Like stepping into a room where he wasn’t meant to be.

He knows Remus reads endlessly, but this is different. A curated list. Not just books—favorites.

Treasures.

He puts the notebook back exactly where it was, but he doesn’t forget.

That weekend, Sirius wanders through a dusty Muggle bookshop in Camden Town, half-disguised under a long coat and sunglasses. He comes out with Jane Eyre, Giovanni’s Room, and Maurice tucked into a paper bag, heart pounding like he’s just committed a crime.

He reads Jane Eyre first, because it’s the one he’d heard Remus quote during seventh year, some offhand thing about “life appearing to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity.” Sirius had laughed at the time. Now, it stings a little.

Giovanni’s Room cracks him open. The loneliness. The aching honesty. It makes Sirius sit in the bath with the book open on his knees for two hours straight, the water gone cold.

And Maurice—he doesn’t even know how to describe that one. It gets under his skin. Makes him think about all the things he’s never dared to say.

He keeps going.

A month passes before Remus says anything.

Sirius is curled on the windowsill with The Outsider when Remus walks in, the scent of rain and parchment still clinging to his coat. He pauses, just inside the door, eyes falling on the book in Sirius’s hands.

“Camus?” he asks, voice neutral.

Sirius glances up. “It was in your drawer.”

Remus arches a brow.

“Not the drawer. The other one. Your notebook fell open.”

Remus leans against the doorframe. “And you decided to read them?”

Sirius shuts the book softly. “Yeah.”

A pause. The clock ticks.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” he says. “But the list… it felt like you. Like a version of you I hadn’t met yet.”

Remus steps closer, his eyes flicking down to the spine. “You’ve read Giovanni’s Room too, haven’t you?”

“Twice.”

“And Maurice?”

“Heartbreaking,” Sirius murmurs. “In that way where it makes you want something you’re not sure you deserve.”

Remus doesn’t smile this time. But something softens in his posture.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Sirius says.

And then, quieter, “I wanted to understand the things you don’t say out loud.”

After that, something shifts between them.

Books begin appearing in casual places. A well-worn copy of A Room of One’s Own appears on Sirius’ nightstand. The Bell Jar ends up beside the kettle. There’s no conversation, no explanation—just a quiet agreement.

They don’t always read together, but they move in orbit now.

Sirius curls on the couch, Remus sprawled on the rug below, both of them buried in different volumes but tethered by silence and shared glances. Sometimes Remus will underline a sentence in pencil and leave the book open for Sirius to find.

One day, Sirius finds a poem—Ginsberg’s Howl—taped to the bathroom mirror. A line is circled:

“who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed...”

Sirius stares at it, teeth clenched. That one hits too close.

He doesn’t mention it. But later that week, Remus finds The Trial with a note tucked in:

“Is this how it feels for you, sometimes? Like the world is already guilty?”

He doesn’t sign it. He doesn’t have to.

It happens in the quiet, as it always does with them.

A rainy night. The flat smells of tea and damp wool. Sirius is thumbing through The Picture of Dorian Gray again, his finger lingering on Wilde’s bitter, beautiful prose.

Remus comes in silently, as he does. Sits beside him on the floor and rests his head against Sirius’ knee.

They don’t talk.

Not until Sirius asks, “Did you ever see yourself in him? Dorian?”

Remus considers. “I used to. When I hated myself more.”

Sirius touches his hair, barely. “I see you more in Basil. The one who sees too much. Loves too much.”

Remus looks up. The question is in his eyes before he can speak it aloud.

“Yeah,” Sirius says softly. “I’ve read them all.”

Remus smiles, slow and private. “Even the French ones?”

“Even the French ones.”

And then he leans in, and Sirius meets him halfway.

Later, Sirius lies in bed with Remus half-asleep on his chest, breath warm against his collarbone.

“Will you make another list?” he asks.

Remus hums. “You’re not done with the first one.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No one’s ever done with Woolf.”

Sirius grins into the dark. “Fair. Still. Another list?”

Remus nods.

“I’ll make one for you. But you’ll have to read it slowly this time.”

Sirius kisses the top of his head.

“I will,” he says. “One word at a time.”

[yandere-sins]

The Octopodes' Tale - Chapter II

Thank you everyone for voting ♥ It's time we actually get to know our new, sweet yan, isn't it? Wonder how you guys will decide this time, especially if you have read about the facility and the Professor in the previous MerMay story, hehe! ;) Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Octopus Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Words: ~2k  Warnings: Yandere, Monsters (Tentacels, Oversized Mention, Mermaids, Monster Appearances, Sharp Teeth, Claws), Fear of potential harm to human/animal

"Excuse me!" you repeated, this time firmer, standing up straight. Everyone was now finally giving you their full attention, minus the guards with their guns still pointed at the man in the pool. Questioning glances were thrown your way, and your heart throbbed from nervousness as you felt the eyes of all these great researchers on you. They had decades of experience combined that you'd likely never reach if the facility decided to kick you out for the unnecessary ruckus you caused. And yet, you had to admit to yourself that the truth was more important than your pride. Even if it wasn't in this research field, you could still enjoy and care for sea life. But if someone were to be harmed because of you, that's not something you could easily get over. 

"It's my fault! That guy didn't do anything, really. I realized someone was with me in the room after I left, and I freaked out when I returned and found a struggle in the water! I didn't want another person or the octopus to get hurt, which, by the way–"

Directing your focus to the guy still bopping in the water, you gave him a stern glare. "You should get out of there, that's not a pool to swim in! It's the octopus's home! You'd not appreciate someone stirring up your home either, would you! That poor thing must be so frightened right now, I can't imagine what it feels like!"

Stunned silence. 

Everyone stared at you, their mouths agape, and you felt the heat burn in your cheeks as your shame made you think about where you had gone wrong. Even if you did the right thing, they were probably horrified by your reveal and the commanding tone of your voice. You wanted to drown yourself in that very pool beneath your feet in that moment, but thinking about them having to fish out your body only made you more ashamed. You should never have come here; this was way too much embarrassment for one day!

Unexpectedly, the silence vanished, replaced by loud laughter all around you.

First, there were chuckles from behind you, then a bellowing laugh from the Professor. Soon enough, everyone had a full-on laughing fit, and even the guards gave each other looks as if to say, "Really?" their stances relaxing just a tad, even though their weapons were still raised. 

Perhaps the only one that wasn't laughing was the guy in the water. However, you were glad to see he was getting closer to the pool's edge again, seemingly ready to finally get out of the tank. If you had helped anyone that day, at least the poor octopus who was confined here and had to endure all of this. Hopefully, it would recover from the stress, considering how fragile marine life could be. 

Immediately, the guards snapped back into focus as the guy grabbed the metal grates around the pool, and you felt the frustration bubble inside you. The researchers were still laughing at you, the guards kept stopping the man from getting out, and no one cared for the poor specimen in the water, denying it the calm it deserved! 

"Let him get out! Isn't protecting your specimens the most important thing for you guys?! You are ridiculous, it's not like he can run away from a locked room!"

Squeezing past the guards, you knelt next to the man, immediately feeling thrown off by how huge he was. Worry crept up your spine as you crouched beside him, and although you remained open-minded, it was unsettling as he was more than twice your size. So, even though you wanted to hook your arms beneath his and pull him from the water, you went for only one arm instead, tugging at it with as much strength as you could muster after exhausting yourself in the water. 

Thankfully, after cocking his head a little and watching you struggle, the man finally did his part in slowly moving with you. None of your muscles could truly move him on your own, but with his help, you pulled him up on the metal. You managed to get his torso out of the water just in time before your strength ran dry, someone placing their hand on your shoulder as if to relieve you. Immediately, you felt your and his heavy body sag, his shoulder leaning against you awkwardly as you turned your head to look at the Professor standing behind you. He gave you a slightly pitiful smile and his fingers gripped your shoulder tightly, pressing painfully into your skin. He looked very different from the old man you had met before, the smile not reaching his eyes as they drilled into you from above.

"Your sense of justice honors you, but I think you should take a good look at the specimen you're trying to help. We wanted to wait for you to realize it on your own once you started working here properly, but it would be a disservice to everyone if we kept you in the dark any longer."

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched the Professor give you an encouraging nod towards the man you were still clinging on to. Slowly, you turned your head, glimpsing at his face, a cheeky grin plastered on it. Besides his size, you thought there wasn't much special about him. But the longer you looked, the more uncanny he became. His skin had a warm tan, almost reddish and feverish, but icy cold to the touch. His eyes still had the golden glow you had seen before, but there were many different colors melting into each other, his irises dotted with orange and red that made the yellow pop even more. And then his mouth came into view, and you were unsure how you could have missed the pitch-black teeth and the jagged yellow tongue shining forth from behind them. 

You let go of the man at once, your instincts tingling in your mind again like before. Something wasn't right about this guy at all, and you couldn't pinpoint whether he looked wrong or simply sick to you, but either way, his appearance was uncanny. You didn't understand what was happening until you looked over his shoulder and down his body, tan skin turning into a pure red mass around his hips. 

And from it, tentaclese emerged. 

"What…" you mumbled disbelievingly, slowly moving backwards on your knees and away from that creature. The guy leaned forward onto the grated floor, seemingly unbothered, while red tentacles poked out from the water, sticking and gripping the metal around him. They seemed to come after you with all the time in the world, creeping eerily into your direction, while you felt your own world stop spinning as you tried to comprehend what was going on. But there was only so far you could go until your back hit the legs of the Professor, who stood in your way with an unbothered knowing look in his eyes as you looked up at him with questions and a need for answers. 

"A siren. Perhaps more commonly known as mermaids—or mermen, like in this case. It's what we are all about here at the facility. We study and live with these creatures. After all, they, too, are creatures of the oceans, you see."

Stretching out his hand, one of the tentacles reached up to meet it, wrapping around it with fluid motions despite its massive size. However, when you looked down at the… siren, you found his strange eyes stuck on you, still smiling while he watched. 

"Leomaris is one of our most prized specimens here. You'll hardly find anyone more active and cooperative, which is why I wanted to assign you to him. He can be a bit playful, as you likely have guessed after this ordeal, but studying him will lead us forward on our path to learn about these creatures, I have no doubts."

Shaking his hand once, the tentacle let go of the Professor with the squelching sound, common to the suction cups. Instead, it gently snaked to the ground again, landing right in front of you, winding and twisting as was usual for these appendages. Your stomach churned as you weren't sure if you were in awe or disgusted, fearing you might throw up as you watched the tentacles closing in on you. Although your brain understood the information you were given, even now, watching the merman lower himself flat onto the grid and reaching out towards his own tentacle, long, black claws at the tips of his fingers playing with the winding red, you couldn't quite believe it. 

Mermaids were fairytales. At most, they were legends from the past, apparitions sailors had seen or animals they had mistaken for humans. And now you had to just accept that they were real? They actually existed? That the creature in front of you wasn't an animatronic or a projection? But you had touched it, and… it felt real. So maybe it was? They really existed out there, and this facility captured and studied them? And you could be a part of this? This amazing research?

"So?" the Professor grunted, slowly getting down on one knee again to be on your eye level, placing his hand on your shoulder. He gave it an encouraging pat to tear you out of the daze you were under, your head slowly turning away from the organism in front of you. Even now, your body was still screaming for you to get away. Never look away from a creature more dangerous than yourself, and give it a chance to attack. That's what helped with most animals, but you weren't so sure with this one. 

"Will you join us?"

The Professor smiled at you, nodding his head once again towards the siren, and you still felt frozen as you looked back at him. A big, red tentacle awaited you, hanging in the air as if waiting for something. Someone. You. 

You were supposed to take it and seal the deal. Start your work here and join the research team, even after what happened. You'd take care of this creature and study him alongside others like you. You'd get to do what you wanted and have the potential to be someone greater than you ever anticipated. If this research was finalized with your name on it… you couldn't even imagine the changes your life would undergo by accepting this position. You'd be part of something big and meaningful and everything you ever wanted.

But was it worth the risk? You knew nearly nothing about this type of creature. Even if the Professor was convinced of his willingness to cooperate with you on the research, you knew the legend surrounding mermaids and how they usually weren't interested in building mutual trust and understanding with humans. Who said he wasn't like the human-eating monsters from the books? With all the red on his body, he resembled the comical red devil, and he might very well be one. A predator waiting for you to fall once more for his tricks and jump into the water so he could take a bite out of you. Who was to say you weren't just a snack for him, and your instincts were right to warn you? If mermaids were real, what more crazy things would you encounter if you stayed?

Thoughts and reasoning as always, are welcome! ♥

[schlattschlut]

Buzzkill - Schlatt x Reader x Ted Smut

(Pt.2!)

Schlatt finally agrees to leave the house for once and you decide to push his boundaries even further.

(Aka Schlatt and Ted are Brat Tamers)

Cw: Smut, Threesome F/M/M, fingering, road head (dangerous don’t do that), degradation, both of them are dom as fuck

wc: 2088

I haven’t written anything in years but suddenly have the motivation to write daily lol. Here’s a new one🫡

-

It was rare for Schlatt to attend any party, especially when it was going to be packed with tons of other content creators; half of which he had no interest in talking to.

Ted had suggested we tag along with him for the next one, telling me all the best stories of these events, making me crave attending them even more.

I had to beg Schlatt for weeks to join me, doing countless simple tasks around the house in hopes to sway his decision. Waking him up every morning with head just to sweeten the deal.

He finally said yes, the day before the party, agreeing to stay for an hour or two; making it clear we would be home before midnight.

The night of the party arrives, I decide to try and dress my best while Schlatt sticks to his typical crew neck sweater and shorts. I choose not to fight him on it, not wanting him to decide last minute that he would stay home.

One of Schlatts many terms to him coming with was that he got to drive rather than Ted picking us up in his beat up Tacoma. We pick up Ted on the way to the party, him and I talking each others ears off the whole drive while Schlatt stayed quiet.

When we arrive at the party, Ted and I immediately go to find the drinks while Schlatt finds himself a corner to hide away in. Ted is pouring his own drink and I glance over at Schlatt, frowning at the sight of his recluse state.

Ted senses the unease in the air, his eyes darting back to Schlatt for a moment before he’s shoving a cup in my hand, pouring a drink into it and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “C’mon,” Ted speaks up, “You’ve gotta enjoy your first influencer party.” He pulls me away towards the kitchen and I don’t even have to look at Schlatt to know he’s watching our every move like a hawk.

Ted and I find our way into the backyard, somehow ending up as partners in several games of beer pong; defeating at least three separate teams that played against us before Ted decided to call it good, claiming he could only take his ego inflating so much.

Schlatt had made his own way into the backyard while we played, leaning against the side of the house as he counted every single drink I took. As we wrap up the game, my eyes are on his again; my annoyance with him and his buzzkill energy only growing. I have several things I plan to say to him, my mind working quickly as I figure out how to best do it without pissing him off.

Suddenly, Ted’s hand is grabbing my cheeks and turning my attention back to him. “Forget him for a minute.” He says softly, just loud enough for me to hear, “You’ve got me.” He mutters, his eyes glancing to my lips for a moment. I grab his wrist holding my face, stuttering incoherently for a moment. Ted laughs, enjoying just how flustered he was able to get me as he drops his hand from his face. His calm demeanor seemed to pull me from my sulking as we both returned to the kitchen to get another drink.

As the minutes passed and the drinks flowed, time blurred more and more for me. I didn’t even realize we had been at the party for almost three hours by the time Schlatt is grabbing my arm, trying to pull me away from Ted and out the door. “We’re going.” He grunts, trying to pull me off the couch next to Ted.

I frown at him, trying to pull my arm from his grasp. “I don’t wanna.” I mutter drunkenly, grabbing Ted’s arm to keep Schlatt from pulling me up.

Ted chuckles, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his side. “She wants to stay, Schlatt.” He says, almost condescendingly. “I can look after her and I’ll even uber home with her.”

I nod as Ted speaks, looking between him and Schlatt. Schlatt just scoffs, “Not gonna happen.”

I whine as Schlatts grip on my arm only tightens as he tries to pull me up again. “Ease off, man.” Ted speaks up, pulling Schlatts hand off my arm, revealing red fingerprints underneath.

Schlatts eyes stay on me, a dark look crossing his face. If I was sober, I would’ve registered that he was overstimulated, tired of the drunken people around him and just wanting to go home and sleep next to me. But I was drunk, so I took his attempts to leave as a personal attack. “I wanna stay with Ted.” I grumble defiantly.

I watch Schlatts shoulders drop in defeat, he knows he’s not getting me to leave unless he drags me out of here and I’m too drunk for him to want to even bother. He drops himself onto the couch next to me, resting his hand on my thigh as I leaned into Ted. He was pissed, beyond pissed at this point and he was already planning all the things he was going to say to Ted and do to me the moment we were alone.

A few more drinks in, the music was calling to me and I was tired of sitting on the couch while the party continued around me. So I stand from between them, grabbing both of their wrists and trying to pull them up, “Come on…” I whine, “I wanna dance.”

Ted stands immediately, wrapping his arm around my waist again. Schlatt huffs, not wanting to dance at all, but refusing to let Ted dance with me alone. He stands, following us to the middle of the room where several other people were already dancing.

The thump of the music shakes the floor as I stare up at Schlatt, my body swaying to the music as he shoved his hands in his pockets. I pout, running my hands along his chest, “I want you to dance too…”

He laughs, “No.” His words are sharp, “I’m just here to keep an eye on you.”

His statement only makes me more defiant, his seeming lack of trust making my stomach flip as I step away from him. “Fine.” I mumble, pressing my back into Ted’s chest, our hips pressing against each other as we moved to the music.

I close my eyes, focusing on the way Ted’s hands run along my torso; rather than my unhappy boyfriend.

The position between me and Ted only lasts a minute, Schlatts anger reaching its peak as he grabs my wrist; effectively pulling my body away from Ted’s quickly.

He glares at Ted, his look saying a thousand words as he pulled me out of the house and down the driveway towards his car. Ted followed behind silently, he could tell Schlatt was pissed and he knew he was never going to hear the end of it if he kept pressing, so he stayed quiet for the walk to the car.

Schlatt practically shoves me in the passenger seat, reaching over my body to buckle me in before slamming the door and walking around to the drivers side. Ted climbs in the back, sitting in the middle seat as his eyes darted between me and Schlatt repeatedly.

Schlatt puts the car in drive, pulling away from the curb quickly. His left hand is on top of the wheel as he rests his arm on the console, glancing at me occasionally with an annoyed look in his eye.

“You can’t even behave yourself for one night.” Schlatts voice breaks the silence of the car, “You don’t listen to me when it’s time to leave, then you’re acting like a slut with my friends.” He grumbles.

I look at him nervously, realizing just how angry the events had made him. I was starting to think I took it too far, that he was genuinely pissed at me for dancing with Ted. My heart thumped heavily in my chest, “I-“ I stutter out.

“I don’t wanna hear shit from you.” Schlatt says to me before his eyes dart to the rearview mirror, clearly taking a moment to look over Ted before his free hand is reaching for his shorts, pushing them down just enough to free his length, his fingers stroking over it slowly a few times as he looked over at me. “That mouth is only good for one thing.” He states, releasing himself to reach over and unbuckle my seatbelt; grabbing the back of my head and forcing my head down onto his length, the tip hitting the back of my throat in one smooth motion.

“Jesus, Schlatt.” Ted mutters in shock, leaning forward in his seat to get a better view. Schlatt hardly tilts his head to look at Ted, a lopsided smile crossing his face as his eyes closed for a moment.

My eyes are closed, my mind focusing heavily on breathing through my nose as my hands gripped his thighs. His fingers tighten in my hair, forcing my head to move how he wanted. “What? She’s a stupid cock slut, this is exactly what she wanted.” Schlatt replies, “Isn’t that right, toots?” He asks, pulling my mouth off him just long enough for me to nod quickly.

“How pathetic.” Ted comments, reaching forward to brush my hair from my face, allowing him a full view of Schlatt in my throat. Schlatt just hums, his mind too clouded with pleasure to even think about what Ted was saying. My ears burned at the taunts, my legs squeezing around nothing. Both of them notice, laughing at the truly pathetic nature of it. “Poor thing, all she can think about is our cocks, huh?”

I whine at the comment, my thighs pressing together again in desperation. I almost jump at the feeling of Ted’s hand reaching over the console and tracing circles along my thigh as he watched me and Schlatt.

Schlatt catches the movement, his eyes darting to Ted’s hand for a moment, already knowing what he had planned. “Just don’t let her come.” He states as Ted’s fingers slip beneath my dress; pushing my underwear to the side before pressing his middle finger against my clit softly. I mewl at the feeling, my hips bucking slightly.

Ted laughs, pulling his hand away to slap my inner thigh roughly, “Don’t get greedy.” He comments before his fingers return to my clit, his touch more firm this time as I whimper around Schlatt.

I can’t see him, but I can tell by the way his voice shakes; Ted is running his fingers along his own length now, chasing his release. I let go of Schlatts thigh and grab Ted’s wrist, keeping his hand in place as his middle and ring finger sink into me slowly. I moan as his fingers immediately find the sensitive nerves, pressing against them repeatedly as my hips moved on their own now.

My eyes watered as Schlatts length hit the back of my throat repeatedly, drool pouring down my chin as my jaw started to ache. I could hear his breathy moans, the way he whispered praises to me. I knew he was close.

My own climax approached quickly due to Ted’s fingers, they only pick up their pace as my whimpers become more frequent.

“Fuck.” Schlatt grunts, his release dripping down my throat as I swallowed quickly. He doesn’t pull allow me to pull away as my hips stutter against Ted’s hand.

I feel my peak approaching as my body shakes, but just before I can fall over the edge; Ted pulls his hand away completely, laughing as he hears my disappointment moan.

Schlatt chuckles, tugging on my hair to allow me to pull off of him. His come and my saliva dripping down my chin as I stare up at him, my cheeks flushed and my breathing ragged. “You can come when I think you’ve learned your lesson.” He states, pulling the car into our driveway moments later, releasing my hair to put it in park.

Ted climbs out of the backseat, opening the passenger door and pulling me out slowly. The moment of intimacy almost makes me forget I was in trouble, until I feel Ted’s fingers slap across my face; leaving a red mark in their wake, “You’re in for a long night, sweetheart.” He states, pulling me towards the house where Schlatt was already unlocking the front door.

[aeralux]

"undressed" - Rhaneyra Targaryen

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧!𝐀𝐔 (𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠)𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: She was the sun. And the sun sets when she wants. But you were the moon. Some nights, you lit up the whole sky. Other nights, you disappeared without warning—left the world to figure itself out in the dark.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: slight angst; fluff; WLW yearning; eating out (both are absolute munches); soft fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader, no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. This made me horny af writing it 🤭.

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Loving Rhaenyra was easy. Too easy.

Loving Rhaenyra was like being kissed by a salty breeze near the ocean, cooling your skin on a burning summer day.

Like savouring a chilled beer while laughter flowed freely among friends, the world faded away in that perfect moment.

Her kisses tasted of her mint chapstick, because she hated the sweet berry flavours everyone else seemed to love. You could still taste the remnants of her last cigarette on her tongue as she leaned close and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

You really couldn't imagine loving anyone else. Ever.

Rhaenyra was the type of girl who wore obscure band tees but blasted 2000s top hits and danced with you like no one was watching. She would wrap her arms around you from behind, holding you close as if she feared you'd vanish like smoke if she let go.

She scribbled poetry in her worn notebooks, filled with half-finished thoughts and feelings, but she always crossed out the lines before you could read them. When you pout in frustration, she'd lean in with a mischievous grin, planting a peck on your nose.

Why would you ever love another?

But loving Rhaenyra wasn’t always warm sun and lazy Sunday mornings.

Some days, it felt like drowning in glitter—beautiful, but suffocating all the same.

She had a way of disappearing mid-conversation, eyes drifting to somewhere you couldn’t follow. Of changing the song halfway through, just because the vibe felt off. Of smiling like she knew something you never would.

You once caught her crying on the fire escape at 3 a.m., mascara smudged like bruises under her eyes, cigarette ash falling onto her thigh. She laughed when she saw you and said something flippant about the moon being too close and too big tonight.

She never explained what that meant. You didn’t ask.

Loving Rhaenyra was easy.

But keeping her? Keeping her was like trying to hold light in your hands.

She was the sun.

Rhaenyra brightened the room with her warm smiles and sparkling eyes. She could lift your spirits and make even the gloomiest days feel better.

But when the clouds came, that’s when the trouble started.

Ignoring your questions and sad eyes.

Vanishing for hours, sometimes days, with no explanation. How she’d come to you barefoot, cheeks flushed from the night air, smelling like her Virginia Slims and cold wind. She wouldn’t lie, exactly—she wouldn’t answer.

You knew she couldn't be tamed. She was the sun.

And the sun sets when she wants.

You were her moon.

With your big, pretty eyes—the ones she said she loved the first time she saw you. You’d caught her attention just by sitting there, quiet and still at some stranger’s party, playing with the host’s black cat.

She felt drawn to you. Over and over again, her eyes found you.

Not loud. Not reckless. Just… patient. The kind of girl who knew how to wait someone out without ever chasing.

She was the sun, golden, loud, eyes burning when looking at her too long.

But you were the moon.

Slower, quieter. But no less unpredictable.

Some nights, you lit up the whole sky.

Other nights, you disappeared in your own mind without warning—left the world to figure itself out in the dark.

And sometimes, you pulled away too hard. Said the wrong thing with a voice too calm, too cold.

Left her waiting at a café with two untouched coffees, not answering your phone, not because you didn’t care, but because caring too much made your hands shake.

You hurt her without meaning to. The way people do when they don’t know how to be held.

And she—bright, burning Rhaenyra—took every silence like a storm.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she whispered. “The most intriguing girl at the party, not even saying a word.”

You didn’t answer then. Just smiled, soft and slow. Because you knew she’d come back. Not because she had to.

But because she wanted to.

But it wasn’t that simple.

There were weeks between then and now. Weeks of "coincidences", of seeing her across crosswalks and pretending not to notice when she doubled back.

Catching her eye in the corner store while picking up oat milk and trying not to stare when she smiled.

You saw her again outside the animal food shop on Main. She had a bag of cat treats under one arm and was arguing with the cashier about whether or not cats could be pescatarian.

You almost laughed. You didn’t.

But later, at home, you looked up the answer. Just in case she asked.

Another time, you passed her in the park. She was walking someone else's dog—big, unruly, leash looped twice around her wrist. You didn’t stop, didn’t say a word.

But her eyes met yours for half a second too long. And that half-second lasted the rest of your afternoon.

It was like that for a while.

Small moments. Half-glances. Tension that felt like an unfinished sentence between you.

She was the kind of girl who lit cigarettes she never finished. You were the kind who brought extra lighters just in case.

Eventually, it added up to something.

Something like a look across a party, a quiet smile.

And then—

She crawled into bed beside you, notebook in hand. “Don’t laugh,” she said, passing it over. “This one’s about you.”

You try to bite back a smile, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Is it the first one?" You asked quietly, not wanting to be too hopeful.

She hesitates, eyes flickering to the ceiling like the answer might be up there.

“No... But it’s the first one I didn’t cross out.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. Just take the notebook from her fingers and hold it gently, like it might burn if you’re not careful.

Rhaenyra watched as you carefully opened the notebook, her eyes following your fingers as they gently turned the pages. She had a habit of chewing on her bottom lip when she was nervous or anxious, and right now, that lip was caughtbetween her teeth.

As you read the words she had written, Rhaenyra's heart raced. She had never shown anyone her poetry before, not like this. It was a part of her soul, a piece of her that she kept hidden away from the world. But for some reason, she wanted to share it with you.

I’ve wondered why, the sun and the moon never meet only for such a fleeting moment do they hold each other

was it fate or was it a mistake when my eyes found yours the others looking away an eclipse

You looked up at her, your eyes meeting hers. In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the poem a palpable symbol of the connection between you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice soft and sincere. "For sharing this with me."

Rhaenyra smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her eyes. "Don't make me regret it," she teased, but there was no real bite to her words.

"It's beautiful," you murmured, your voice low and soft. "You're beautiful."

Rhaenyra felt a warmth spread through her chest at your words, a gentle heat that had nothing to do with the beer she'd been sipping earlier. She leaned in closer, her minty breath ghosting over your cheek as she whispered back,

"Beautiful... I wouldn't go that far," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Rhaenyra," you said, feeling a lump in your throat as you gazed up at her, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around her. "This is... this is beautiful. I-... no one has ever," you breathed, struggling to find the right words, your heart racing with emotion, unable to finish your sentence.

Rhaenyra didn't say anything as her heart skipped a beat at seeing the glimmer of unshed tears in your pretty eyes.

Slowly, giving you time to pull back if you wanted to, she cupped your cheek, her palm warm and soft against your skin. Her thumb brushed away the tear that escaped, and she leaned closer until her forehead rested against yours.

"I don't want to make you cry."

She held you like that for a long moment, just breathing you in, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against hers. Then, with a soft sigh, she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye.

She paused, searching your face, trying to gauge your reaction. Then she shrugged, a little self-consciously.

"But I wanted you to see this one. I wanted you to know..."

She trailed off, biting her lip again to find the right words. Finally, she just shook her head and laughed softly.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful... Sometimes I wonder if you're too good to be true."

With that, she closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and want and something that felt dangerously like love. A kiss that made your heart race and your toes curl.

You kissed her back fiercely, your fingers tangling in her hair, holding her face close to yours. You couldn't let her pull away, not now, not when you needed her so desperately. You craved the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the way her heartbeat raced against your own.

She kissed you back just as fiercely, her fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, anchoring herself to you. She poured all of her longing, all of her want, into that kiss. She wanted to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of her.

"So pretty," you whispered against her mouth, a giddy laugh escaping your lips between kisses. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the saltiness mixing with the fresh taste of her minty lip balm. "I can't... I won't let you go... not tonight"

Your words were a breathless plea, a selfish demand. For once in your life, you wanted to be greedy. You wanted to keep her, to hold her, to make her yours. The world could wait, the future could fade away. In that moment, there was only her and you, lost in a tangle of limbs and racing hearts.

When you pulled back to whisper against her lips, your words sending shivers down her spine, Rhaenyra felt a fierce surge of emotion. She couldn't let you go either, not tonight. She refused to let this moment end.

"Then don't," she breathed, her voice low and rough with desire. "Keep me. Hold me."

Rhaenyra pushed you down onto the bed, hovering over you, her hair falling around you both like a curtain. She looked down at you with eyes that blazed with intensity, a fierce, almost feral look on her face.

"Tell me what you want," she demanded, her voice a low, breathless rasp. "Tell me how you want me, and I'll give it to you."

"I want you," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, the words spilling from your mouth like a secret longing you had held inside for too long.

The blushing glances and fleeting touches had been lovely, each one igniting a warmth in your chest. But now, as you lay there, you craved more. 

"I want you," you repeated, this time with a confidence that surprised even you. "Here. With me. Every night." Your voice shook slightly, a mix of hope and fear churning within you, ready for the possibility of rejection. The quiet space between you felt charged.

Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat at your words, a fierce surge of emotion welling up inside her. She searched your face, her eyes roaming over your features as if trying to memorise every detail.

"Every night," she repeated softly, a hint of wonder in her voice. "You want me... here... with you."

She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her lips just a hair's breadth away from your own. You could feel the heat of her breath, the racing of her heart.

"I want that too," she whispered, her voice raw and honest. "I want to wake up next to you, to fall asleep with you in my arms. I want to fight and make up with you and everything in between."

You chuckled softly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as you gazed up at Rhaenyra, your eyes sparkling.

"Good," you whispered, your voice breathless and light. "I don't wanna get undressed for a new person all over again."

You reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek.

"I don't wanna kiss someone else's neck and have to pretend it's yours..."

Your thumb brushed over her lower lip, tracing the soft, plump flesh, as you held her gaze captive with your own.

Rhaenyra shivered at your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as your thumb brushed over her lip. When she opened them again, her gaze was intense, filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

"Then don't," she breathed, her voice low and rough. "Don't pretend with anyone else. I don't want to share you."

She leaned into your touch, her cheek soft and warm against your palm. Then, suddenly, she straddled your hips, pinning you beneath her.

"I want to be the only one who gets to see you like this," she murmured, her hands sliding up your sides, pushing your shirt up and off. "The only one who gets to touch you, to taste you."

She leaned down, her breasts pressing against yours as she nipped at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. "I want to be the only one who gets to hear you moan my name in the dark, who gets to feel you shake in my arms."

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your heart pounding in your chest as you slid your hands slowly up the sides of her body, relishing the feel of her soft, warm skin beneath your fingertips. With a gentle tug, you pulled her white tank top off, exposing the smooth, toned curves of her torso.

Your hands eagerly sought out the soft, supple mounds of her breasts, kneading and caressing the delicate flesh. You could feel her nipples hardening beneath your fingertips as you teased and circled the sensitive peaks, drawing breathy gasps from Rhaenyra's lips.

"You are the only one," you whispered, assuring her.

"Good," she breathed, her voice ragged with need. "You're the only one I want to touch me like this."

She rocked her hips against yours, the heat of her core searing through the fabric of her thin lace panties. Her hands slid down your sides, over your stomach.

"Lift your hips," she commanded, her voice low and demanding. As you complied, she pulled your panties off in one swift motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath her.

She took a moment to drink in the sight of you, her eyes darkening with lust. Then, with a wicked grin, she shimmied out of her panties until she was just as bare as you.

"Now, let me show you how much I want you," she purred, before trailing kisses down your body, pausing to pay attention to your breasts, before moving lower, lower, until she was nestled between your thighs.

She looked up at you, her eyes glinting with mischief and desire. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you forget every other girl's name but mine," she promised, before diving in and putting her mouth on you.

"Oh god, Rhaenyra...!" you gasped, your back arching off the bed as her tongue delved between your slick folds.

Your fingers tangled desperately in her messy hair, gripping tight as jolts of electric pleasure coursed through your veins. You could feel your hole clenching around nothing as she teased your puffy clit.

"Gods, yesss, please don't stop...!" you begged shamelessly, too lost in sensation to care how desperate you sounded. Your eyelids fluttered shut, eyes rolling back as you surrendered to the intense, building ecstasy.

Rhaenyra growled against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. She spread your lower lips wide open with her thumbs, exposing your most intimate parts to her greedy mouth. Her tongue delved deep, fucking into your tight channel with long, hard strokes. She lapped up your dripping arousal, moaning at the taste of your essence on her tongue.

"Fuck, you taste so good," she panted against your sex, her breath hot and heavy. "I could eat this pretty pussy for hours." To prove her point, she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of her tongue. Two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your clenching hole, pumping in and out, curling to stroke that special spot inside that made your toes curl.

Rhaenyra was relentless, her tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you to the brink of ecstasy. She could feel your walls fluttering around her invading digits, your arousal dripping down her chin as she feasted on your cunt like a woman starved.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet," she purred, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your soaked, throbbing sex. "I love how needy you are for me, how much your pretty little pussy is dripping."

She plunged back in, sucking your clit hard as she fucked you with three fingers now, curling them just right to hit that spongey spot inside that made you see stars. Her other hand slid up your body to pinch and roll your nipple between her fingers, sending sparks of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"That's it, baby," she encouraged, her voice muffled against your sex.

"Holyfuckingshiitt," you whined desperately, your back arching sharply off the bed as her tongue delved deep into your dripping, aching core.

The obscene noises of her feasting on your pussy filled the room, mingling with your loud moans and gasps. She could feel your arousal dripping down her chin, coating her fingers as they pumped mercilessly in and out of your clenching, greedy hole.

Rhaenyra could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around her fingers, your body tensing as your climax approached. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she fucked you with three fingers now, her thumb rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So pretty, baby," she urged, her voice a low, rough growl against your sex. "Come on my tongue."

She could feel your body trembling, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She knew you were close. With a final, hard suck on your clit, she pushed you over the edge.

Your pussy clenched down hard on her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, your juices gushing out to coat her hand and drip down her wrist. Rhaenyra moaned against your flesh, the sound vibrating through you as she worked you through your high, her fingers pumping slowly as your walls spasmed and fluttered around them.

Finally, as the aftershocks started to subside, she pulled back, her face glistening with your arousal. She licked her lips, savouring the taste of your release.

"Fuck, that was so hot," she panted, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on her tongue, making your head spin.

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath after the intense orgasm she'd just given you. Your faces were both glistening with the evidence of your arousal.

"Rhaenyra," you breathed out, your voice hoarse and shaky. You reached up, gently cupping her cheek, your thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip, smearing the slickness there. "How can I possibly repay the favour?" You giggled breathlessly, smirking as you bit your lip.

Your eyes shone with devotion and desire as you looked up at her, a soft blush colouring your cheeks.

Rhaenyra smirked at your words, a wicked gleam in her eye. She nipped at your thumb, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways," she purred, her voice low and full of promise.

She swung a leg over to straddle your face, her dripping pussy hovering just inches above your mouth. With one hand, she gripped the headboard for support, while the other slid down to spread her lower lips open, exposing her needy hole to you.

"Go on, baby," she breathed, her voice heavy with desire. "Put that pretty mouth of yours to work. I want to feel your tongue inside me, worshipping my cunt."

She rocked her hips, rubbing her slick folds against your lips, coating them with her arousal. The scent of her desire filled your nostrils, musky and intoxicating.

"Fuck," you breathed out, youe voice already rough with want. "Such a pretty pink pussy."

You leaned in, your tongue darting out to take a long, slow lick up her dripping slit. You moaned at the first taste of her, the flavour exploding on your tongue - tangy and sweet. You licked again, more firmly this time, your tongue parting her lower lips to delve inside, to lap up the slickness gathered there.

"Yes, just like that," Rhaenyra gasped, her grip on the headboard tightening. "Don't be shy, pretty girl."

You could only moan in response, the sound vibrating against her sensitive flesh as you obeyed her command. You licked and sucked, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping back inside her hot, tight channel. You could feel her arousal dripping down your chin, coating your neck, and you loved every second of it. You wanted to be covered in her essence.

Your hands gripped her ass, pulling her harder against you, encouraging her to grind on your face, to take her pleasure from you. You wanted to feel her come undone above you, to hear your name falling from her lips like a prayer and a plea.

So you licked and sucked and worshipped her pussy with everything you had, your arousal building with each of her breathy moans and gasps.

Rhaenyra threw her head back, a low moan tearing from her throat as she ground her dripping cunt harder against your eager mouth. Her hips rolled in a sensual rhythm, smearing her slick arousal all over your lips and chin, your cheeks and nose, marking you with her essence.

"Yes, fuck yes, just like that," she panted, her voice ragged and desperate. "Lick my pussy, baby. Suck on my clit. Make me come all over your pretty face."

She reached down, tangling her fingers in your hair, holding you in place as she rutted against you. Her grip tightened, bordering on painful, as her pleasure increased. She could feel her climax building, the coil of heat in her belly winding tighter and tighter.

"That's it, don't stop," she urged, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm gonna... fuck... I'm gonna come!"

With a final, hard grind of her hips, she came undone. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, gushing her release all over your face and into your mouth. She cried out your name, a ragged scream of ecstasy, as her orgasm crashed over her in intense waves.

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your vision blurred by the tears of effort stinging your eyes and the slickness of her release coating your face. Strands of your hair clung to your skin, damp with sweat beads. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep your eyes on her.

You couldn't form any coherent words, too lost in the haze of lust and desire. All you could manage was a low, guttural moan against her sensitive flesh, the sound vibrating through her as you desperately licked and lapped up every drop of her sweet nectar. You couldn't get enough of her taste, her scent, the feel of her trembling body above you.

Your fingers dug into the firm globes of her ass, pulling her harder against your mouth, holding her in place as you worshipped her with your tongue. You wanted to be smothered by her, consumed by her pleasure, a willing sacrifice to the princess above you.

As her shudders began to subside, you looked up at her with hazy, half-lidded eyes, a drunk expression on your face. You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a breathless, incoherent babble.

"Mmm... Rhaenyra... you... taste... so... good..." you managed to stammer out, your voice rough and wrecked.

With a low, almost feral growl, you sealed my lips around her clit once more, sucking gently as you slipped two fingers back inside her fluttering channel. Helping her ride out the final waves of her intense orgasm.

Rhaenyra collapsed against the headboard, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She looked down at you with hooded, satisfied eyes, a lazy smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips.

"Fuck, that was good," she panted, her voice hoarse from screaming your name. She reached down, gently cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. You could feel the sticky evidence of her release smeared across your skin, and the taste of her arousal still lingered on your tongue.

She lifted her body off you, her hair a wild mess of damp blonde strands around her face. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, the blue irises nearly swallowed up by the black of her pupils. She had a fucked-out, blissed-out look on her face, and you knew you were the cause.

Rhaenyra leaned in closer, until her forehead rested against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath.

"Look at you," she murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, her fingers trailing over your cheek. "You're a fucking mess, and it's all because of me."

She leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tasting herself on your mouth.

Pulling you with her so that you were tangled together, your limbs entwined, your bodies pressed close. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight against her as if she never wanted to let you go.

You giggled breathlessly as Rhaenyra pulled you on top of her, instinctively wrapping your leg around her waist. Nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck, you inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of her perfume mixed with the musky aroma of your lovemaking. A contented hum escaped your lips as you breathed in her comforting, familiar fragrance.

"Mmhh," you hummed, your voice still rough from the passionate cries that had spilt from your mouth moments before. You pressed soft, lingering kisses along the column of her throat, tasting the salt on her skin. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the smooth expanse of her back.

You could feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest, the rise and fall of her lungs as she caught her breath. In that moment, wrapped up in her arms, you felt a sense of contentment and belonging. As if you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the person you were always meant to be with.

Rhaenyra held you close, stroking your hair as you nuzzled into her neck. She could feel the soft, even breaths you took, the gentle kisses you pressed against her skin. A sense of peace and rightness settled over her, a feeling of coming home.

"You're so fucking pretty," she murmured, tilting your chin up to look at her. Her eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"I won't go anywhere... not this time," you murmured, intertwining your fingers with hers. You gazed into her intense blue eyes, your own reflecting the same depth of feeling.

A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you whispered, "I'll stay. If you do the same..."

You sealed your promise with a soft, lingering kiss, pouring all your devotion into it. "Just don't ever ask me to leave... because I won't."

Rhaenyra's heart clenched at your words, a fierce surge of emotion welling up inside her. She knew in that moment that she would move heaven and earth to keep you by her side. No matter what it took, she would make this work.

No more late nights spent outside without a word, leaving you in the dark. No more dead phone batteries, your concerned calls going unanswered.

"I won't," she vowed, her voice low and fierce. "You're mine now, and I don't share what's mine."

Rhaenyra returned your smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. She squeezed your hand, reinforcing the promise you'd just made. She held you close, your naked bodies pressed skin to skin, heart to heart.

"Stay with me," she breathed against your mouth.

"I'll stay," you breathed out against her lips and smiled.

You won’t hold back anymore. You’ve made up your mind to stay, even when your feelings get too strong and when she shines so brightly that it feels like you might get hurt. Maybe there’s something good about being warm, about enjoying her attention, even if it makes you feel a little scared.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, her heart swelling with a warmth she had never known before. She pulled you closer, your naked bodies moulding together like two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

"Good," she murmured, nuzzling into your hair. "Because I don't think I could let you go, even if I wanted to."