#you’re turning 49 AGAIN!!

[esomaniac]

hey guys….. (is holding this out while shaking)

[chaoticace2005]

Rules for the Hazbin Hotel, authored by Vaggie:

1. No drugs.

2. No fights.

3. No pranks.

4. No problematic language.

5. No murder (OR TERRITORIAL GENOCIDE WHAT THE FUCK ANGEL)

6. No smuggling in of drugs. Not by sticking them up your ass. Or by hiding them in a pizza box. Or by slingshotting them to the roof. Or getting someone else to. Not at all.

7. No sexual rendezvous with outsiders in the hotel. No SHOWING sexual rendezvous with strangers to people of the hotel either.

8. Make sure the pig/future pets stay in the patron’s room. (This includes eggs!!)

9. No singing Limit singing to once twice per day

10. Stop flirting with the bartender Angel

11. Don’t call Husk “Husker” unless he allows it.

12. No harassing the staff at all. This includes asking who tops.

13. Don’t suggest anything sexual/romantic to Alastor unless you want your head cut off.

14. NO CUTTING OFF PEOPLE’S HEADS

15. NO EATING PEOPLE

16. NO MAKING CHARLIE CRY.

17. Don’t ask me to put my spear “inside you” Angel, what the fuck?

18. Don’t turn the interior of the hotel into a swamp?! Keep it contained in your room if you must!

19. No stabbing staff or residents. No matter how much they look like bugs! (OR IF THEYRE NAME IS ANGEL)

20. Don’t try and stab bugs if they’re within 10 feet of another demon.

21. Don’t call anyone a “bitch” OR TALK ABOUT HOW MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE “VAGINA”

22. Limit Niffty’s access to sharp objects.

23. NO DEALS ALASTOR

24. No drinking. Limit drinking at bar.

25. No mentioning the Stock Market Crash of 1929. For everyone’s benefit.

26. Don’t blow a hole in the wall.

27. Try to keep roast battles OUTSIDE the hotel. (Or stop picking fights?? Please Alastor I swear to God…)

28. No spying on the hotel for outside sources or putting technology that can be used against us.

29. No evil laughing in the middle of the night, what the fuck Alastor?

30. No building weapons/war machines.

31. No eggs! (Fine the eggs can stay.)

32. Someone please keep an eye on Niffty. (And the eggs.)

33. Stop touching people ANGEL.

34. Don’t make other people storm off HUSK.

35. Respect boundaries.

36a. If Angel looks like he’s about to pass out/cry don’t comment. Let him do his thing.

36b. Don’t try to talk to Angel if he’s on the phone with Valentino. Honestly don’t even mention his phone calls with Valentino.

37. Please don’t call Lucifer “Daddy”

38. Don’t turn into a 20 foot tall demon-eating creature unless absolutely necessary.

39. Don’t cause angry loan sharks to show up at the front door.

40. NO EXPLOSIONS!

41. Rule #2, “No fights” can be broken if the person you’re fighting is Valentino. Or Adam.

42. Don’t lie to your girlfriend or hide the fact you were secretly an angel.

43. DONT TALK ABOUT PEOPLE’S TITS (or lack of)

44. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING A BEDROOM ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE’S HAVING MAKEUP SEX

45. Don’t give people makeovers while they’re sleeping, ANGEL!

46. Don’t pretend to eat someone’s pet, ALASTOR

47. Don’t die.

48. I never want to hear the words “cum-plete” again.

49. STOP HAVING FIGHTS ACROSS THE BUILDING LUCIFER AND ALASTOR!!

50. If Charlie is passed out on the couch LET HER SLEEP

51. No making bombs in the hotel Cherri!

52. Stop breaking rules and then saying it’s “FOR SIR PENTIOUS!”

53. Angel don’t try to shoot someone if they break spaghetti.

54. Don’t break spaghetti. Or “ruin” Italian food. Whatever the fuck that means. This apparently includes pineapple on pizza.

55. Don’t mention Valentino unless Angel brings him up first.

56. Don’t comment on Angel and Husk’s flirting.

57. Only call Angel “Anthony” if things are serious (or if you’re Husk)

58. Don’t use any of the nicknames Husk and Angel use for each other. This includes but is not limited to: “Whiskers”, “Legs”, “Kitty”, “Webs”, “Tony”, “Love”, and “Baby.”

59. It’s better not to question whatever facts Husk gives about his past.

60. Family dinners at 6 pm unless you can’t make it due to prior obligation. Game nights after on Sundays.

61. No hunting people for sport and NO KNIFE MONOPOLY.

62. Don’t attach knives to a roomba so you can have a “boyfriend” Niffty.

63. Keep Niffty away from Roombas.

64. Alastor, treat people with decency. Really, it’s not that hard.

65. No making giant ducks that breathe fire to chase people around the hotel just because they call you short.

66. Therapy. Everyone.

67. DONT HAVE SEX ON THE BAR WHAT THE FUCK GUYS?!

68. If Valentino enters the property you have permission to stab him.

69. “Hell is forever” is bullshit. You guys aren’t. You can do this.

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 1 : “Unveiled” [cyberstalking] for Kinktober.

♡stalker! fyodor d. x afab! reader.

♡Synopsis: your secret life as a streamer takes a wild turn when feyda becomes dangerously obsessed with you, well uh.. obsessed enough to break in, not just to watch, but to finally fuck you.

♡Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt with plot, cyberstalking, cybersex, obsessed! fedya, bdsm themes, non-con recording, dark themes, bondage, oral, cum mentioned, unprotected sex..etc.

♡Word count & a/n: 4k, i'm so sorry. i know i'm horrendously late. i may or may not morph into some sort of poetic lunatic by the end of this fic ppft. also, shoutout to fedya’s art by the brilliant " @isabeau333 " on x.

[SEE: Kink Coin & Winners Scoreboard]

it’s 1:46 a.m. again. you’re sitting on your bed, eyes wide open, staring at the glow of your phone screen. tonight feels different, but you can’t wrap your finger on why. there's a stillness in your own bedroom that makes your skin prickle with unease. you should be asleep by now—work’s in a few hours—but your body hums with a strange kind of thrill. a thrill you haven’t felt since him.

you unlock your phone and scroll through your messages—nothing. the usual fans, the usual comments. until you see it, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you catch the latest one:

unknown: “don’t bother, my dear. i’m already inside.”

unconsciously, your breath catches in your throat. inside? inside where? your fingers freeze as you stare at the screen. is someone actually stalking you? you can't help but think what if it’s just a prank, someone trying to mess with you, make you think that you're crazy or something.

but deep down, you know better.

because nothing exciting ever really happens to you. not in your real life, anyway. you’ve got your 9-to-5 job, well, the same routine every day as it was before him. you come home, make lunch, and watch a show to unwind from the long, exhausting day at work. mundane. predictable.

but after midnight, everything changes.

it’s the part of your life no one knows about. not even your closest friends. as soon as the clock hits 12, you shift into someone else entirely. that secret side of you comes alive, and for a few hours every night, you stream games to a hidden audience, identity shielded by the anonymity of your kitsune mask.

you’re known online as "kitsunekitten," a name that’s grown more popular than you ever expected. thousands of fans tune in religiously to watch you play everything from dishonoured to lies of p, dead cells, or resident evil. and with every stream, your fanbase grows. the praise, the attention—it feels good.

your phone buzzes again.

unknown: “look behind you.”

you freeze, breath hitching with fear as you feel the slight shiver spread across your body. your gaze darts to the corner of the room, where your webcam sits innocently atop your monitor. you’ve always felt secure with the mask on—no one could ever see your face, not really. but now? the idea that someone might be looking through the lens, watching your every move, makes your skin crawl.

for a long moment, you don’t move. you don’t dare to. but the urge to check if it's him is eating you alive. slowly, your head turns, heart pounding as your eyes scan the obscured room behind you.

there's nothing.

the room is exactly how you left it—empty, quiet.

your shoulders sag in relief, though your nerves still remain frayed, buzzing with adrenaline. you stand from your desk, pacing, trying everything just anything to shake the unease that's wrecking your system. you glance at the clock: 1:49 a.m. it’s too late to still be awake, but you’re wired. there’s no way you’re getting any sleep tonight, not after those messages.

your phone buzzes again, and against your better judgment, you grab it.

unknown: “you’re so cute when you’re scared.”

your blood runs cold, a shiver racing down your spine. there’s no way they can actually be inside… right? you check the door, locked. the windows, closed. you even peek through the curtains, scanning the street below. everything is as it should be, yet the feeling of being watched is suffocating.

how do they know?

another message:

unknown: “why don’t you check the stream again?”

your heart nearly stops. you rush back to your desk, hands trembling as you click open your streaming software. the screen flickers showing your room through the webcam—but something’s off.

the feed is lagging, slow, as if struggling to keep up. then, for a split second, you see it—a shadow in the corner of the room. you blink, leaning closer, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

panic sets in, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to do. but before you can type anything, another message appears, this time in the stream chat. their username, the same one that’s been following you for a few days now: raskolnikov.

“i like your mask, but it’s time we get rid of it, don’t you think?”

your pulse races trying your best to shut the stream down, but your cursor freezes. the mouse won’t respond. every click is to no avail. the screen blurs for a moment before the video feed cuts to black.

what the hell is going on?

then, just as you're about to reach for your phone to call 911, your screen lights up again, showing a video file playing. it’s footage of you—a vivid footage from inside your apartment. to be more exact from your bedroom. you recognize the view, the angle—it’s from your own webcam showing you, sleeping, unaware of the camera watching your every move you make.

your stomach churns. this isn’t real, no... this can’t be real.

then you hear it. this time, a voice comes from right behind you. it filters through your ears, clear with a chilling calmness to it.

“did you miss me, myskha?”

your body locks up, thrill tightening your throat. god! you're so stupid, of course it's him, you should've known it's him, that smooth, taunting tone you’d recognise anywhere.

it’s fyodor dostoevsky.

a few months ago, things were simple. your streams were gaining traction, and the messages were nothing out of the ordinary. until him.

it started small—just a user in your chat, “@demonfyodor,” who seemed more attentive than others. you didn’t think much of it at first. his comments were polite, sometimes even helpful. but then, they became more specific. he knew details about your personal life, things you had never shared on stream—what books you were reading, the colour of the shirt you wore to work that day.

you ignored it at first, brushing it off as a coincidence. but the coincidences kept piling up. he knew too much.

and then, the gifts started arriving. packages with no return address. items you’d mentioned offhandedly during a stream—a game you were interested in, a book you had your eye on, even a necklace you admired. they all came, perfectly wrapped, as if sent by someone who was always listening, aways watching.

by then, the messages grew more intense, sliding into your dms with a casual ease that sent shivers down your spine. easy to say that he wanted more than just to watch. he craved interaction, intimacy, a connection that transcended beyond the screen. and the thrill of having someone so alluringly close was insanely intoxicating, especially when you wore your mask, the anonymity allowing you to explore sides of yourself you’d long kept hidden.

at first, it was thrilling to engage in these flirty exchanges with him. fyodor had a specific way of using words that wrapped around you like silk, enticing you into a world of pleasure you had almost forgotten. he’d ask if you liked the gifts he sent—those perfect little treasures that you've always secretly craved. new packages started arriving, each one with a rush of excitement, revealing items that teased at your wildest fantasies—handcuffs, whips, and other bdsm delights that you had secretly wanted to try but never had the courage to explore.

you’d spent so long alone, single for what felt like an eternity, that you never expected to be so drawn to these fantasies again.

you found yourself lost in hours of texting, often escalating to calls and even facetiming late at night. there was this specific magnetic pull between you, a connection that was both so thrilling yet unbelievably terrifying. and the unforgettable nights you shared became an addiction—worse than nicotine, you realised.

safe to say that fyodor was different. well, he was smart, intuitive, and oh, that half-lidded gaze of his, those captivating amethyst eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul, made it nearly impossible to resist. the way he smirked when he facetimed you, so confident and smooth, drew you in like a cat to catnip.

fyodor had a unique talent for making you cum over and over again without even being in the same room. his silk smooth voice filling your senses with his soft moans and luscious whispers. you could almost feel him there with you, as if he knew every secret spot that would send you twirling into ecstasy.

“just for me, darling,” he would murmur in the dead of night, calling you while you lay there, helplessly aroused, stroking his deliciously lengthy pale cock while whispering sweet nothings that seemed to tangible your desire. it was intoxicating.

and oh the thrill of being sprawled out in front of him through the lens, just for his viewing pleasure, became a nightly ritual. you’d slowly slide the lavender dildo he gifted between your slick-coated folds, moaning softly as you fucked yourself just for him, eagerly awaiting his reaction. every squirm, every gasp was a performance, and the way he admired your every inch of you, the way his gaze burned into you through the screen, made it all the more exhilarating. you loved how pretty he made you feel, how desired, and how alive.

and then came the darker undertones—the realisation that the line between thrill and danger was razor-thin, especially when your connection to him spiraled deeper into obsession.

you were obsessed—completely consumed by him, and you could swear he felt the same. fyodor was always there, filling the void with his words and voice. until one day… he just disappeared.

no warning, no goodbye. nothing, just… gone.

he deleted all of his accounts, his number, everything. every trace of him, wiped clean, deactivated as if he had never existed in the first place. you thought it was some kind of sick game at first. a punishment, maybe? but for what ? you didn’t know. all you knew was the desperate, gnawing need for answers.

you spent days—weeks, really—searching for any trace of him, some clue, something that would explain why he’d vanish so suddenly. but there was nothing. it was as if he had planned this all along, like a predator keeping his prey hooked, dangling just out of reach before vanishing into the void, leaving you stranded in the wake of your obsession.

you’d find yourself obsessively refreshing your streams, hoping his username would pop up in the chat as it used to, scouring your dms, wondering if maybe he was still watching you, lurking among the anonymous fans. you caught yourself imagining him behind every new follower, every message, wondering if he was there, pulling the strings once again.

three months of silence. three agonizing months of waiting, hoping, wondering. were you in love with him? or was it just a pure obsession? you couldn’t tell anymore. all you knew was that he had burrowed into your life, into your mind, so deeply that it felt like you were drowning without him.

your late-night streams had become hollow rituals, devoid of the thrill they once held. the gifts he’d sent were still there, tucked away, untouched since his disappearance. you couldn’t bring yourself to use them anymore, not without him. Not without his voice in your ear, telling you how perfect you were, how beautiful you looked writhing on camera just for him.

"you're shaking my dear are you okay"

his smooth, silky voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. okay? you're anything but okay. is he even kidding right now? you almost had a heart attack, convinced someone was about to kill you.

your hands tremble, mind racing with dozens of thoughts, questions colliding together in your head. but against all logic, despite the overwhelming fear, you can’t help but feel the familiar rush of dopamine hit your brain receptors.

you missed him. and you know exactly what that means.

he’s right there, sitting on your bed—flesh and bone, not just pixels on a screen. it’s almost too much to process. you hate to admit it, but he’s even more handsome in person. those amethyst eyes are sharper, more intriguing, and his smirk… makes your stomach twist with longing.

then, his voice again hypnotic, like velvet draping over your hearing senses:

“i’m sorry, myshka. i didn’t mean to disappear like that... i had some things to take care of.” he pauses, eyes searching your face for any sign that might let him push further. but all he finds is panic, disbelief, and hurt.

“i—i don’t understand,” you stammer, desperately searching for a way to make sense of it all.

his hand reaches out, brushing your cheek lightly. the touch makes you flinch, but it’s not out of fear. it's the way your body responds—a pink hue spreading underneath your cheeks colouring them so adorably.

“you’re trembling, my dear” he whispers, thumb trailing down to your lips. “but not just from fear, is it? no… there's something else, isn’t there, darling?”

you should push him away. you should scream. but instead, you stay frozen, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb presses lightly against your lower lip, and you can see the striking plum violet and mauve lines in his amaranthine irises.

“you’re so beautiful without the mask,” he continues, leaning slightly forward. “i’ve missed this. missed you.”

oh shit! the mask—how did you forget it? the realisation hits you like a truck, leaving you feeling achingly exposed, like a delicate flower stripped of its petals. is this okay? will he hurt you?

his other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around your side delicately, drawing you closer to him.

“i’ve been watching you, myshka,” he smiles, that damn smile that you've always wondered when you'll see again. “every night, waiting for the right moment to return.”

“did you think about me?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully, as if he already knows the answer. you swallow hard, not sure if you should be honest with him or not.

“y-yes,” you finally admit, of course, you thought about him—every single day and night. his essence always lingered in your mind like an addiction, one you couldn’t quite shake off. every moment of your life was coloured by the hope of his return.

“tell me what you want, myshka,” his eyes roam over your nightgown, captivated by how your lavender bra hugs your breasts so perfectly from underneath. tracing the cascade of your hair down your shoulders, with a few wisps caught teasingly between the soft curves of your cleavage. “i can give you everything and more.”

oh lord—the way he says it makes your vision blurs with lust, you want to tell him, you want to confess all of your darkest desires, the fantasies you’ve spun in the solitude of your room. but words fail you. instead, your body leans instinctively toward him, humming in delight, craving the contact you’ve denied yourself for so long.

“the little toys i sent you are gathering dust, aren’t they? i think it’s time we put them to use.”

your breath catches in your throat. how did he know? you hesitate for a second before rushing to your closet, fingers trembling slightly as you open the drawer and pull out the baby blue handcuffs and the magenta vibrator he gifted you months ago his smirk widens as he watches you, an amsuing glint speading into his eyes.

“good choice,” he murmurs, stepping closer to take the items from your hands, smirking viciously as he holds the cuffs like a trophy. “let’s see how well you can follow my orders tonight.”

slowly, he begins to undress you, hands exploring every inch of your soft skin as if you're a forbidden fruit in eve's garden. he traces his fingers along your arms, down your hips, then to your neck down your spin and the cloudy pillows of your ass. each touch makes your skin pebble, radiating flames under his tender touches. you’re not just his toy, you’re his masterpiece.

once he’s stripped you down to nothing, he leads you to the bed and gently handcuffs your wrists to the headboard, securing you in place. you're quite aware that there's a thin line between excitement and anxiety but right now? all you can think about is what he is planning.

as he finishes, he swoops down, lips brushing yours so teasingly, before pressing his cold ones against yours in a gentle chaste kiss growing handsier by each second, causing you to let out a muffled hum of surprise.

he pulls back watching your heaving chest as you catch him holding your kitsune mask, a vicious smile curling on his lips. “you know I can’t have my favorite little fox completely unmasked,” he teases, lifting it toward your face, placing the mask over your features to obscure your identity as he holds a camera in his other hand aiming it at you, its lens capturing the erotic moment. “i want to remember every exquisite detail,” he grouses erotically—placing the camera on your night stand before slowly taking off his clothes.

your breath hitches as you take in his details through the mask. yes, you've seen him naked multiple times before, but it was always behind the camera lenses, never this close. his body is pale and perfectly structured, and oh god, his waist—how is he that beautiful?

your gaze drifts lower, eyes widening as they lock onto his hard cock, the tip glistening and teasingly brushing against your slick folds. it’s a sight that sends a jolt of desire pooling low in your stomach. you want him—need him—right now.

he spreads your folds with two digits, looking eagerly with darkened amethyst orbs as your delicious juices drool from your empty hole.

“oh... myshka, your pussy is so much softer than i imagined.” he purrs as he watches your glossy lips part slightly letting out muffled mewls, the mask frames your features, leaving your mouth exposed for him. he tilts his hips ever so slightly letting the tip of his cock glide against your buzzing clit.

“mnff...fedya,” here comes your needy whimpers that he adores.

he lowers himself, so that his mouth is just a few inches from your cunt, warm breath faning against your wet puffy folds making your cunt gush more and more of its sweet juices.

he begins with teasing licks, the hot muscle swirling around your sensitive clit in circular motion, each flick makes your back arch and hips instinctively buck up yearning for more. a muffled 'mmff' vibrates against your hot sex, as he tastes the sweet honey seeping from between your folds like you’re the sweetest nectar.

“mmff myshka, can you stop moving so much?” he murmurs against your heat core, the vibrations adding to the delicious torment. his fingers dive deeper, curling inside you as he continues to work your clit with his mouth, the combination making you moan loudly, while struggling against your restrained hands, you desperately try to break free, yearning to let your fingers tug on his luscious black silk hair.

“please… more,” you gasp, unable to contain the desperation in your voice as he responds with a low, pleased growl, redoubling his efforts to bring you close enough to your sweet release.

but just as you’re about to cum, he suddenly pulls away. a desperate whimper escapes your lips, the pleasure abruptly cut off as you watch him with wide eyes, feeling the emptiness where he was just a moment ago.

“not yet, myshka,” he chuckles, licking his lips to taste the ghost of you.

without warning, he rams inside you, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. a sharp gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you, the sudden intrusion makes your vision blurry, stars flashing behind your eyes making every nerve in your body tingle with pleasure. as you feel yourself close to your release again, your walls clenching around him instinctively.

“черт! тебе так хорошо.” (fuck! you feel so good.) he groans as he begins to thrust deep, each swing of his hips sending ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core. “this tight little pussy of yours..ngh..is going to become my new obsession..mff”

you mull over his words as they feed at all parts of your hollow heart, making you feel butterflies in your stomach mingling with the coil tightening in your lower abdomen.

lost in a haze of blissful moans and blurred vision, you barely notice fyodor's hand gliding over to the vibrator. the moment he presses it against your swollen clit, a scream escapes your lips, a sound of pure ecstasy that mingles with his deep, satisfied moan. the buzzing sensation resonates deep within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. as his heavy shaft with veins straining against the skin, finds new pleasure points inside you that he commits to memory eager for the next time you make love.

heat coils between you as his furrowed brows speak of pure, concentrated desire. each deep stroke reshapes your walls, molding them to the weight and curve of his delicious lengthy cock, making sure no one else could ever fill you up the way he does. when your eyes meet, it’s like gazing into a galaxy of forbidden stars—his eyes telling you of a dark beauty of pleasure that pulls you higher and higher and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass blends with your moans, each collision driving you closer to the intoxicating edge of bliss.

you’re absolutely lost in the art of it, the way his body claims yours, painting pleasure across every nerve until the world outside dissolves and all that remains is just the two of you.

his breath comes in ragged, desperate gasps, tension in his muscles like the pull of a bowstring, ready to spill inside you at any given moment. he swells, every stroke only adding more fuel to the release building between you. the world narrows to this moment, the brush of his sweaty skin against your heaving chest, the pulse of pleasure echoing through your body with the buzzy rhythm of the vibrator pressed on your clit drives you straight away to your own release.

it's like stars colliding in the vastness of a violet sky, you shatter together. his name spills from your lips in a cry, body arching as pleasure crashes over you, flooding your senses. his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he drives deeper, groaning low in his chest. and then you feel the heat of his release blooms inside you, filling you in waves as your walls pulse around him, pulling him in even tighter.

your bodies tremble in the afterglow, the world spinning and slowing until only the soft hum of breath and the fading echoes of pleasure remain. you glance at his irresistible eyes, seeing the remnants of that celestial fire, a shared intimacy that lingers even as the stars dim and the night settles into quiet.

he reaches over with a steady hand, grabbing the camera set just beyond the edge of the bed, with a smirk curling his lips, he flicks it off, the soft click signaling the end of the recording before he leans closer, fingers brushing against your cheekbone as he slowly pulls the mask off your face and gently frees your aching wrists from the restraints.

“beautiful,” he murmurs with a thick russian accent, his breath mingles with yours for a heartbeat before he closes the gap, capturing your lips in another deep, passionate kiss, mouth moving erotically against yours with the same fervor that had driven him moments before, as if he’s still chasing the aftershocks of pleasure through the taste of your glossy now-swollen lips.

“moya lyubov, you're designed just for me.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr

[airaibunny]

PRAISE/SOFT/ETC SMUT PROMPTS

1. “i need you, right here/now”

2. “i’ll go slow/i’ll be gentle”

3. “tell me what feels good”

4. “do you trust me?”

5. “do you like that?”

6. “please teach me”

7. “i want you, now”

8. “you look so pretty on your knees”

9. “it’s okay, im right here”

10. “i got you”

11. “don’t hold it in, it’s okay”

12. “don’t call me that, that’s what everyone else calls me”

13. “we can go for as long as you want”

14. “does it taste/feel good?”

15. “you’re doing so well”

16. “i want you, now”

17. “i love you so much”

18. “i want you to fuck me, *name*”

19. “you look so pretty right now”

20. “don’t stop yourself, let me hear”

21. “please don’t stop”

22. “do you want to take it off of me?”

23. “do you want to touch?”

24. “can i touch?”

25. “what about you?”

26. “let me do it for you”

27. “does that feel good?”

28. “you’re so cute”

29. “like that, i like that”

30. “can i touch you too?”

31. “am i going too fast?”

32. “can you do that again?”

33. “do you want more?”

34. “your *body part* are/is so pretty”

35. “do you want to stop?”

36. “i’ve wanted this for such a long time”

37. “aw, poor baby, do you want me to take care of this for you?”

38. “kiss me, i don’t care where”

39. “i don’t care where you touch me”

40. “i don’t care what you call me” - “can i call you mommy?”

41. “are you comfortable?”

42. “let me help you”

43. “do you need help?”

44. “keep going”

45. “you taste so sweet”

46. “do you want to try?”

47. “breathe for me”

48. “you’re doing such a good job”

49. “i’m so proud of you”

50. “tell me what you want”

51. “let me try”

52. “don’t cover up/don’t be embarrassed”

53. “i want you to touch me”

54. “you sound so pretty”

55. “turn around for me”

56. “louder”

57. “quieter”

58. “you look so hot right now”

59. “play with me”

60. “i’ve been waiting all day”

61. “harder, please”

62. “i think i deserve a reward”

63. “you’ve been so good lately, you deserve a reward”

64. “i love your tits/ass/etc”

65. “you’re the only one that gets to touch, pretty girl”

66. “this is exactly how i imagined it”

67. “keep doing that, please”

68. “you feel so good”

69. “kiss/touch me, everywhere”

70. “you’re so gorgeous”

71. “i want you to keep going, forever”

72. “you’re all mine” - “hm…” - “say it” - “i’m all yours”

73. “i want to do so many things to you”

74. “you look amazing, really, but i think i prefer the dress on the floor”

75. “i need you”

76. “i love making you so flustered, you get so cute”

77. “do you like it when i touch right here?”

78. “let me eat you out while you do that, please?”

79. “can you teach me?”

80. “can i call you mommy?”

81. “shower with me”

82. “i want to taste you so bad”

83. “i don’t care how, i just want you to touch me”

84. “i want to feel you inside”

85. “you’re not going to fall, i’ve got you”

86. “you looked so hot out there”

87. “breathe, please"

88. “you’re being such a good girl for unnie”

[fanon-canon-idfk]

WAIT POLY SKK SCENARIO THAT HAS BEEN ROTTING IN MY BRAIN FOR A WHILE…

GC WHERE MALE READER SENDS GOOFY AHH STUFF TO THE GC AND CHUUYA GETS SO ANNOYED

aftercare (if ur uncomfortable with the genre pls skip)

where like after masc reader is just too fkin tired to put le boxeres back on so he just sits there tired asf and chuuya is like dude we just finished out it back on 🧍 and ofc dazais gonna be goofy asf like “ooo look at mr show off over hereeeee”

ALSO ALSO…

M! READER THAT IS LIKE RLLY SLEEPY WHENEVER HE RECIEVES AFFECTION JUST LIKE A FEW KISSES AND HES GONE WITH THE WIND

imagine the use of “pretty boy” to m! reader ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

1ST SCENARIO

It was yet another day at work in the agency alongside your boyfriend, Dazai

Who was also texting your other boyfriend, Chuuya.

Meanwhile, you were focusing on finishing your work as your phone buzzed in sync with giggles from Dazai sitting in the desk beside you.

The moment you finished your paperwork you looked over to his grinning face with a lifted brow before pulling your phone out and reading your notifications:

Chu Chu 10:47 PM

What are you guys doing?

Osa 10:49 PM

Dying of boredom 💔

Chu Chu 10:49

So you’re doing nothing

Osa 10:50

Chuuya expects so little of me! I’m working very hard!!

Chu Chu 10:50

Whatever I’m going back to work

Ah so that’s why Dazai was giggling.

Such a shame though, he seems so bored again now without anything to do. (bc he refuses to do his work)

So, as the good boyfriend you are, you picked up your phone and started typing.

You 10:52

Don’t be a bully Chu

Chu Chu 10:53

Tf you mean bully???

You 10:53

Poor Osamu is crying now!!!

Right on cue, you hear Dazai giggling again with his phone in his hands. He looks up at you with a giant grin, mischief already riddling his complexion.

Dazai wheels his chair right beside yours and whispers something in your ear, causing you to nod and chuckle to yourself.

Dazai put on a sad face, a pout with some puppy eyes, (Literally this emoji ����) and you took a photo of him with your phone.

You 10:55

[Sent an image]

Chu Chu 10:55

Oh stfu

Osa 10:55

ITS TRUE YOUVE BROKEN MY HEART SLUG 💔

Chu Chu 10:55

I’m going back to work.

You 10:56

CHUUYA APOLOGIZE

Osa 10:56

APOLOGIZE

Chu Chu 10:56

STFU IM WORKING

Osa 10:57

APOLOGIZE‼️

You 10:57

APOLOGIZE

Chu Chu 10:58

OH MY FUCKING GOD

He loves you guys <3

2ND SCENARIO

Chuuya and Dazai had gone off to shower together after the 3 of you had an… intimate moment. You however, decided to shower after them because you were fucking exhausted.

Having two guys in bed with you is a lotta work, who knew.

You stayed laying down on the mattress, an arm over your face as your eyes started growing heavy. Ultimately, you fell asleep for a short nap.

In, what for you felt like a few minutes, Chuuya and Dazai had exited the bathroom with a new set of outfits on.

The second they laid their eyes on you Chuuya spoke up, “Oh what the fuck? You can’t even just put on your boxers??”

You woke up at the sound of his voice, situating yourself to rest on your elbows lazily as you looked back at them both. “Yup. Too much work..” you sighed.

Dazai chuckled, “Oh no, please, do keep yourself as comfortable possible~.” He smirked, eyeing your bare body admiringly.

“Ok- you, go fuckin shower,” he ordered, pointing at you sternly before turning around to Dazai.

“And you- stop fucking looking! I’m not going another round just because you can’t relax!” He shoves his hands over Dazai’s eyes, pushing him and himself out of the bathroom doorway for you to go in.

You sighed tiredly, begrudgingly getting up and grabbing yourself some clothing from the dresser. You groggily walked into the bathroom, leaving Chuuya and Dazai alone.

As you closed the door behind you, Chuuya removed his hands from Dazai’s face, revealing a pouting expression.

“What?” Chuuya questioned,

Dazai just responded simply, “Cockblocker.”

3RD SCENARIO

You were all sitting on the couch watching a movie, yourself sitting in the middle. Dazai had his head resting on your shoulder while Chuuya was locking hands with you.

It was late at night so it was normal for you to be tired, but you didn’t feel like falling asleep in the slightest quite yet, the movie holding your attention a bit too well.

That was until you felt Dazai place a soft peck on your jawline, and you just instantly internally melted.

Your eyes started growing heavy like it was magic, you suddenly didn’t have the strength to even keep your head up! You laid your head atop of Dazai’s, his soft locks not doing you any favors.

You were at war with your eyelids, fighting to keep them open so you could keep watching the movie with your boyfriends.

Chuuya then looked over to you, noticing your battle to stay awake. “Are you falling asleep?” He chuckled, you replied stubbornly “No..”

He just laughed again, sliding his hand around your head and pulling you in to use his lap as a pillow. “It’s ok, pretty boy,” he smiled softly “just get your rest, we can always watch the movie again.”

Dazai watched the scene play out between you two, deciding to join in as he laid down as well. He rested his head onto your chest as he laid on top of you.

“Get your rest, handsome,” he teased, his words accompanied by another soft kiss, this time to your neck.

With that, you accepted your fate. Within just a few seconds, you were out like a light.

“Night sleeping beauty.” Chuuya whispered softly, lulling you further into sleep with a hand in your hair.

TYSM FOR GIVING ME THESE SCENARIOS THEY WERE SO CUTE ALSO HAPPY LATE VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE <33

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: fluff, smut(kinda)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: light cussing here and there

authors note: let me know what you guys think, i really liked writing this and i want to make a part two. also there’s no smut in this part but the concept of the hotline is sexual (idk if that made sense) anyways imma stop rambling byeee ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

wednesday 12:43 am — incoming call from +1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC)

“thanks so much, babygirl,” richard says from the other side of the phone, his voice soft, tinged with something like gratitude. “you always know what i need.”

richard is one of your regulars, calling at least twice a week. he likes to imagine that you’re his long-lost girlfriend, reaching out from some parallel universe. you let him ramble, your voice smooth and coaxing, playing into his fantasy like a script you know by heart. a light laugh here, a soft hum there, the occasional breathy moan when it fits the moment.

“anytime, boo,” you reply, fingers already grazing the disconnect button. “take care of yourself, okay?”

the line clicks off, leaving a brief silence that feels heavier than it should. you exhale, stretching your arms above your head as you try to shake off the remnants of his voice. just another call. just another night.

soft light spills through the corners of your room, golden and warm against the pale lavender of your walls. the curtains billow lazily, carried by a breeze that whispers through the cracked window. outside, the city hums—a distant siren wailing, cars rolling down the street below, someone leaning on their horn too long, too loud.

at your desk, you lean forward, catching your reflection in the mirror perched precariously against a stack of books. sticky lip gloss catches the lamplight, glinting like glass. your lashes look decent—lifted enough to remind you of your own femininity. normally, you wouldn’t bother. no one can see you, after all. but it helps, this small ritual. it’s armor in a way, a mask you slip behind before stepping into this role.

“alright,” you mutter, rolling your neck to release the tension settling in your shoulders. “one more call and i’m done.”

the surface beneath your elbows is cluttered—textbooks splayed open, scribbled lab reports fighting for space with overdue bills. it’s not glamorous, but it pays. and it’s enough, for now.

you adjust your headset, letting the padded cups press comfortably against your ears, and clear your throat. the practiced warmth creeps back into your voice as the phone chimes again, flashing another number across the screen.

wednesday 12:49 am — incoming call from +1 (213) 597-3492 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.” your voice drops an octave, soft and inviting, the words sliding out like honey. “who do i have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

there’s a pause on the other end—static filling the silence like a breath held too long. then, a voice cuts through, low, smooth, and distinctly feminine.

“uh…hi?” she sounds hesitant, her voice fraying at the edges like she’s second-guessing herself. “is this…is this a-uh…hotline for…you know?”

your brows knit for a moment before relaxing. most callers know exactly what they want, their voices heavy with intent. but her hesitation feels different. delicate, almost.

“that depends,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone light and playful. “what are you looking for, my love?”

she exhales sharply, and you can hear the faint sound of movement—like she’s pacing, the rhythm of her footsteps soft and uneven.

“honestly?” she says after a beat, her voice quieter now. “i don’t even know why i called. jus’ bored, i guess. curious. didn’t think this would even work.”

a smile tugs at your lips, though you bite it back. calls like these are rare, but you don’t mind them. there’s something refreshing about the uncertainty, the lack of pretense.

“well,” you murmur, letting your voice wrap around the words like a velvet ribbon, “we’re here now. go ahead, tell me whatever’s on your mind. no pressure.”

there’s a pause, long enough that you glance at the timer on the screen, wondering if she’s about to hang up. but then she sighs again, the sound softer this time, like she’s giving in.

“is it weird that i’m calling?” she asks, her voice dipping into the quiet like it’s unsure of its place.

“no judgment here, love. everyone has their reasons.” your response is soft, easy, laced with practiced charm. but something about her feels different.

“i don’t even know mine.”

the line falls into silence again, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of her breathing—steady, almost meditative. it’s the kind of silence that feels like it’s waiting for you to fill it, but instead, you let it linger, listening.

“what’s your name?”

you blink, caught off guard. most callers don’t ask that unless it’s part of the fantasy they’re crafting. most don’t care to know.

“well, what do you want it to be?” you counter, your voice tipping into something playful.

she laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, curling through the line like smoke. “no, that’s not what i asked. i wanna know your name.”

there’s a pause as you weigh her words, the sincerity behind them.

“star,” you say finally, keeping it professional, your tone steady. “you can call me star.”

“what’s your real name?”

her question lands heavier than it should. it’s not forceful, not even intrusive. just curious. like she’s asking for a story rather than a fact.

you hesitate, fingers tracing the edge of your desk absentmindedly. something about her voice makes you want to give in, but you push the temptation aside, slipping easily into deflection.

“you know, most people don’t ask me that,” you murmur. “they usually want to know what i look like, what i’m wearing. things like that.”

“guess i’m not most people, then.”

“come on, you’re telling me you’re not even a little curious?”

she chuckles, warm and low, the kind of laugh that sticks in your chest. “okay, i’ll bite. what are you wearing, star?”

you smirk, leaning back in your chair as the city hums faintly through the open window.

“blue and black pajamas” you reply, your tone light. “lace trim. very cute, if i do say so myself.”

“where’d you get it?”

“some victoria’s secret around my city. they were having a sale.”

“cute.” her voice dips, carrying a hint of a smile. “now, back to my question.”

you roll your eyes, though there’s no edge to it. she’s persistent, you’ll give her that.

“you’re just gonna have to call me star. can’t give you my name. not tonight, sorry sweetheart.”

“no, it’s okay.” she pauses, then repeats it, like she’s trying it on. “well, star.” there’s something deliberate about the way she says it, slow and careful, testing its weight. “i’m billie.”

her name sits soft and sure in the air, settling between you like it belongs.

“you seem like a billie.”

“do i?”

“mhm,” you hum, leaning forward against the desk. “so, billie. what do you want to talk about?”

“hmm.” she draws the sound out thoughtfully, the silence stretching just long enough to make you wonder if she’ll answer. “why do you do this?”

the question hits you in a way you don’t expect, cutting through the usual rhythm of calls. most people don’t ask—don’t even think to ask.

you consider lying, giving her something easy, but the weight of her question lingers, tugging at the edges of your honesty.

“it pays the bills,” you admit finally, your voice soft. “and it’s not as bad as people think. i meet some…very…interesting people.”

“like me?”

the corner of your mouth quirks up, her words pulling at something playful in you.

“you tell me. are you interesting?”

“guess that depends.” she pauses, her voice curling with quiet amusement. “you think i’m interesting so far?”

“so far? i’ll give you a solid maybe.”

her laughter spills through the line, warm and unexpected, and it lingers in your room long after it fades.

“oh really? how long have you been doing this?”

“for about…” you pause, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like the answer might be scrawled there. “for about a little over a year now.”

“damn. that’s a long ass time.”

you chuckle, the sound warm and easy. “it is, isn’t it? i don’t know, i don’t mind it though. all i do is answer the phone. sometimes i do schoolwork, cook—small things like that. not like i necessarily have to be fully present for it, as long as i’m paying attention, you know?”

“you’re in school? just exactly how old are you?”

“wait—before we continue, you’re aware it’s a dollar seventy-five per minute, right?”

“uhh, i wasn’t, but i don’t mind it.”

“ooh, so you’re rich then?”

she laughs, a low, honeyed sound that settles in your chest. “i wouldn’t say that. i’d say i’m… comfortable.”

“only rich people say they’re comfortable. but to answer your question, i’m twenty, in my junior year. babe, you?”

“okay, not bad. i’m twenty-three. though i did think you were much older.”

you snort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “not bad? we’re practically the same age.”

“mm, i got about three years on you, so… no,” she laughs, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “what are you majoring in?”

“criminology. mainly forensics and things like that.”

“that’s so fucking cool. so you’re like those people on tv who examine bodies and shit?”

“yeah, but doing it in real life is way different than it looks on tv.” you close your eyes, the memory of your first dissection flashing briefly. “especially lab work. but you get used to it after a while.”

“still, that’s badass. you must be super smart.”

the compliment catches you off guard, heat crawling up your neck. “i guess you could say that,” you mutter, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.

the conversation flows easier after that, like water finding its way downhill. you don’t even realize when you’ve moved to your bed, your headset cast aside as her voice fills your room through the speaker.

she asks you everything—your favorite movies, the hobbies that keep you up at night, the kind of music that makes your soul hum. the questions are simple but intimate, slipping past your usual defenses like she’s known you for years.

and you answer her. honestly, without hesitation. there’s something about her voice, warm and unhurried, that pulls the truth out of you.

you find yourself smiling, more than you have in days, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as you lean into the sound of her. it feels oddly intimate—like a late-night call with someone who’s already carved out a space in your life.

“so,” she asks after a lull, her voice soft but curious, “what’s your favorite movie?”

you grin, closing your eyes as you let the answer roll off your tongue. “pulp fiction. it’s a classic, don’t judge me.”

“no judgment. i respect it. but you gotta admit, it’s a little basic.”

“oh, and you’re not basic? let me guess—you’re gonna say something artsy like ‘a clockwork orange’ or whatever.”

“wrong. mine’s ‘the shining.’”

“oh, so you’re a horror girl. noted.”

she laughs, the sound warm and easy, and you realize you don’t want the conversation to end. not yet. not with her voice lingering in your room like this.

“what about you?” you murmur, breaking the soft rhythm of silence that had settled between you.

“hm? what about me?” her voice lilts, curious but guarded.

“what do you do? like for work?”

there’s a pause, long enough that you wonder if she’s going to sidestep the question entirely. but then she exhales, the sound quiet, like she’s carefully letting something go.

“i’m a musician,” she says finally, her words tentative, like they might break if handled too roughly. “or i guess i was… i teach music now.”

her admission catches you off guard, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through the connection. but you don’t press her, sensing that whatever she’s offering is enough for now. instead, you let the conversation drift, carried by the quiet ebb and flow of her voice.

the hours blur like watercolors, the world outside fading until there’s only her.

eventually, her tone softens, the edges of her words rounding with sleep. “it’s getting late. i should let you go,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

you glance at the alarm clock on the wall, the soft red digits blinking 3:35 a.m. back at you. exhaustion tugs at you, but the thought of ending the call feels heavier than it should.

“but…” her hesitation pulls you back to her. “can i call you again? i had a really good time.”

your heart stumbles over itself, a small hitch in your chest. “yeah, of course you can.” your voice dips into something softer, something closer to truth. “i had a good time too.”

“great. goodnight, star.” there’s a smile in her voice, light and unguarded, and it lingers in the air even after she’s gone.

“goodnight, billie.”

the line goes quiet, and for a moment, you sit there, the warmth of her voice still brushing against you like an afterglow.

you slip off your bed, padding into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. the cool water shocks your skin, but it doesn’t chase away the heat curling low in your stomach.

when you return to your room, the lamp clicks off with a soft snap, plunging the space into shadows broken only by the shifting colors of your tv. you slide under the covers, the faint hum of a late-night rerun filling the silence. the images blur on the screen, but all you can think about is her voice, the way it clung to the edges of the night, soft and sure.

a ding pulls you from your thoughts. your phone glows faintly on the nightstand, and you reach for it, the sudden brightness making you blink.

new transactions — 4:03 a.m.

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $26.25

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $43.75

+1 (213) 597-3492 (los angeles, CA) - $315.62

you smile, the corners of your lips twitching up involuntarily. it’s nothing unusual, but tonight it feels different, lighter somehow. you turn the screen off and set the phone back down, a quiet sense of contentment settling over you.

for the first time in a long time, you find yourself looking forward to your next call.

inspired by @whore-era

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[revasserium]

hello there !! I love reading your l&ds posts and I would like to request from prompt 1, stolen kisses + xavier please? thank you <3

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

49. stolen kisses

xavier; 1,009 words; fluff, gn!reader, no "y/n", xavier being cheeky

summary: a few stolen kisses

a/n: exactly what it says on the label; the lightest of spoilers for his veiled whispers card, but the literal lightest.

001

In the forest, on the edge of the battlefield, with the remnants of smoke still filling the air; he tastes of sweat and sweetness, reassurance and regret — you press your palm to his chest and push slightly, gasping for breath as he pulls away.

“X-Xavier?”

He hums, licking his lips, his eyes wide and warm as he grins, reaching up to touch his mouth experimentally, as if uncertain of what he’d just done.

“Sorry — I just… suddenly wanted to…”

You blush, leaning in for another soft peck, shaking your head.

“It’s okay… I don’t mind.”

You squeak as he tugs you towards him, an arm now tight around your waist.

“Good… because I actually think I quite like it.”

002

On your couch the night after it rains, and you’re not drunk anymore but there’s something so steady and solid in the way he presses his lips to yours that somehow, when he pulls away, you wonder if the world is still spinning. Or maybe it’s just the way he makes you feel, how he twists your stomach and tangles in your laughter — how he leans in to press his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“Feeling better?”

You nod, heat kissing up your spine as one of his hands drops to your waist to pull you closer.

“When I said you were being a little distant…” your words trail off as he lifts your chin with a finger, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to explain… I get it. And… I’ll do better,” he grins, leaning in again, pausing before his lips meet yours.

“Starting right now…” he says, and you can taste the promise, honey-sweet, right on the tip of his tongue.

003

On the pier, beneath the sparkling lights of the Linkon Tower, his lips warm against your cheek as he pulls you in. And by the time you turn to look at him with wide eyes, he’s turning back to the tower, pointing at the top.

“Isn’t it pretty?” he asks.

You smile, blushing as you lean up onto your tip toes and kiss his cheek as well.

“The prettiest,” you say, landing back on your feet.

He turns to face you again, something warm and unreadable in his eyes — they’re so blue, and up close, you start to realize that they’re a celestial phenomenon. They are the hearts and dreams of ancient stars, cast through the lens of a telescope pointed toward the deepest, darkest corners of space. They are endless in a way that only eyes can be. In them, you find galaxies; in them, you find yourself.

“Yeah… I think you are,” he says, unabashed as he bends down for a proper kiss, one that is less breath and more wanting, less search and more belonging. When he pulls back, you purse your lips and glance back at the tower.

“We missed the whole light show.”

Xavier shakes his head, “We got something better instead, didn’t we?”

004

When he finally comes home, bruises littering his torso like footprints in the snow. Your back pressed against the bedroom door, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips.

“X-Xavier?”

“I was —” his eyes are dark, his chest heaving as he swallows and tears his eyes away. His voice is harsh when he finally catches his breath, “There was a moment when… I thought —” he lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder, his grip on you slackening.

You reach up to wrap your arms around you, murmuring in his ear.

“I’m here… it’s alright…”

His arms snake around you, wrapping you in a tight embrace as he takes a deep breath, and then another. Faintly, you marvel to yourself that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, so much faster than its usual steady, almost terrifyingly slow rhythm. But now…

“I’m sorry… was I too harsh?” Xavier pulls back, his gaze softening as he looks you over.

You laugh, shaking your head, “No — and you’re the one who just got back from a difficult mission — c’mon, let me look at these injuries.”

You push him back onto the bed till he’s sitting, tugging open his shirt even as heat creeps up your cheeks. You try to focus on tending to his injuries, the smattering of cuts that lace his right arm, the dark bruise blossoming along his ribs. He holds still and quiet for most of it, but when you finish, he catches your hand as you try to reach for the first aid kit, spread open on the bed next to him.

Slowly, he tugs you up to press a kiss to the tender skin just inside of your wrist. Shivers skitter through you, setting your body ablaze with want as he looks down at you, kneeling before him. A hand comes up to cup your cheek, and then he’s pulling you forward again, falling back till you’re straddling his hips, his hair spread out beneath him like a halo of pure starlight.

“I’m fine,” he says, pressing your palm to his chest. And there, you can feel his heartbeat slowly steadying out to its usual rhythm. Ba-dump… ba-dump… ba-dump…

“I know,” you say, leaning forward to cage him in with your arms, one on either side of his face. He blinks up at you, his palms settling on your thighs as he traces abstract patterns into your skin.

“Good… then you don’t have to be so careful with me.”

“Was I?” you feel a thrill of desire tingle up your spine as he lets his hands wander up your legs to the hem of your nightshirt, “I didn’t notice.”

Xavier’s smile is sweet and indulgent as he pulls you down for another kiss, and then another —

“I notice everything you do… because I’ll always notice. Because… it’s you.”

[slvtforoldermen]

Birthday Morning

Masterlist

Summary: Javi’s birthday morning is always calm, considering it’s the only time of the day he’ll get this tranquility

Pairing: Retired!Dad!Javier Peña x Fem!Mum!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: suggestiveness ;) gasp! Mads not writing age gap for once, oh my goodness!

Word Count: 436 (only a drabble I’m sorry)

A/N: My second one shot for Pedro’s birthday, a gift from me to you to spark our love for him 🩷 I love you all my loves

The light through the blinds from the sun wakes Javi from his dreamless sleep, it warms his back as his eyes flutter open. He rolls over but the sight of his wife isn’t there, just empty sheets. So Javier did what any man would do: he laid there for a few minutes, waking himself up, before pulling on a pair of sweatpants, that were strewn on the floor from the night before, and trundled his way around the house to find his wife.

And the kitchen was where he found you. Multiple pans sizzling and the coffee machine boiling. You’re humming a sweet tune as he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder.

“You smell good,” He murmurs, placing a kiss in the crook of your neck.

“Really, I haven’t showered yet?” You smile and he chuckles.

“Where are the kids?” He asks, noticing the unfamiliar quietness of the house.

“School, I took them in a few hours ago,” You explain. “Thought you could use the sleep.” Javi chuckles again. “Then I got back and thought I should make you some breakfast.”

“Well, who needs breakfast when I’ve got you…” Javi smirks, the bristles of his moustache tickling your neck, both this sensation and his words cause you to shiver.

“Well you’ve got from now until tomorrow morning to have me,” You chuckle. “So why don’t you wait five minutes?”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“I managed to convince your dad to take the kids for tonight, but if you get tired of me, then I have no problem going and grabbing them,” You smile cheekily, Javi laughs.

“When could I ever get tired of you?” He asks, placing his hands on the back of your thighs. “They sore?”

“A little… I had trouble walking this morning,” You chuckle. “Had to lie to Bailey’s teacher that I had been riding a bike for too long—“

“Should change my name to bike.”

“Yeah,” You scoff. “Then Bailey looked up at me with suspicious eyes and said ‘But mama, you don’t have a bike?’ And then ran off to go play with their friends, so I turned around and said, ‘Better get home to bike, it’s his birthday’.”

“Well, drop off will be extremely awkward tomorrow,” Javi chuckles as he takes the coffee mug from the counter and sips. “Javier ‘Bike’ Peña.” You let out a laugh and kiss his cheek.

“How do you feel, now that you’re old?”

“Oof, you’re not that far behind me,” He smiles.

“Yet, still not 49,” You grin before kissing him softly, you hear the coffee mug being placed back on the counter before feeling his hands slip round your waist. You pull away jut for a second to whisper against his lips. “Happy birthday Javi.”

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 11

AN: This was one of my favorite chapters to write so it’s definitely on the longer side so prepare for that lol. Let me know what you think and if there’s anything specific you want to see in this story or another one.

Warning: Suggestive content/language

Word Count: 8.2k

After their stellar game, Paige and Azzi sat side by side at the press table, still riding the high of their combined 49 points. The room buzzed with energy, and reporters were eager to hear more about the game, as well as any upcoming plans. Paige and Azzi exchanged a brief glance, their chemistry impossible to miss, even before the first question was asked.

A reporter from the local sports network, tall and holding a microphone, cleared his throat. “Paige, Azzi, you two were on fire tonight. The chemistry on the court was undeniable. Can you speak to how your partnership has evolved this season? What’s been the key to making this dynamic work?”

Paige grinned and leaned slightly toward Azzi, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. “Well, Azzi and I have been working together for a while now,” Paige began, her voice light but genuine. “I think we’ve just gotten to know each other’s style. We’ve figured out when to take control and when to give each other space.”

Azzi shot Paige a playful glance. “Yeah, space,” she teased, leaning a little closer to Paige. “But also, she makes me look good. I’m basically just along for the ride, right?”

Paige rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Oh, please. You know you’re carrying us half the time.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, nudging Paige under the table. “Alright, alright, but you have been keeping up this season,” she said, her voice smooth and teasing. “You deserve some of the credit.”

Paige grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “And you’re doing your part to make sure I don’t slack off,” she responded, her hand brushing against Azzi’s. “But, hey, you’re the one always talking about how we’re the best duo.”

The same reporter again, “How exactly do your skill sets fit one another.”

Paige nodded towards Azzi, showing that she wanted her to answer the question.

Azzi looked at Paige, feigning frustration. “Well, clearly you’ve been talking the entire time. You answer this one,” she said, nudging Paige again, this time with a little more force.

Paige raised an eyebrow, giving Azzi a pointed look. “Oh, I see how it is. I’ve been talking all this time, huh? You can’t just leave me to handle it.”

Azzi smirked and, under the table, playfully jabbed Paige in the leg. “You’re good at answering, so go ahead.”

Paige shook her head, fighting a smile. “Fine, fine. Since you’re so tired from carrying the team,” she said, grinning before she turned back to the reporter. “Like I was saying, it’s all about balance. Azzi’s got the worlds most perfect shot, and I have the court vision and pull to get her the ball. We’re a perfect match.”

The reporter smiled, clearly enjoying their dynamic. “It’s definitely a great partnership. You both played with such intensity tonight. How do you manage to stay focused and not let distractions get in the way of such a big game?”

Azzi leaned forward, her hand subtly brushing against Paige’s again under the table. “Well, staying focused is easy when you’ve got someone like Paige on the court. We’ve been working together for a while, and we know what we need to do to keep it together when the game gets intense,” Azzi answered smoothly, giving Paige a quick wink that the cameras can’t see.

Paige smirked and leaned back slightly in her chair, shooting Azzi a knowing look. “I guess Azzi just has to keep me in line when I get too fired up. It’s her job to calm me down.”

Azzi let out a playful sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

The second reporter, a woman with short, dark hair and glasses, raised her hand. “Paige, Azzi, you two clearly have a great bond on the court, but with everything that comes with your visibility—media, fans—how do you manage the pressure and stay focused on what’s important?”

Paige chuckled, turning to Azzi with a teasing grin. “Oh, I think we’re doing just fine managing the ‘pressure.’ It’s all about trust, right?”

Azzi smirked, leaning toward Paige as if sharing a private joke. “Totally. I trust that you’ll answer every single question while I just… relax here,” she said with a goofy smile, while she visibly grabs Paige’s arm.

Paige rolled her eyes but played along, shifting her posture a bit. “Like I was saying earlier it’s all about trust and knowing where one another is in the court. Today there was a little miss hap where I thought Azzi was going to cut but she flared to the three point line which she teased me about.”

Azzi leaned in even closer, her voice lowering playfully. “I know. It’s a burden, but I handle it well.” Her hand subtly brushed against Paige’s leg once more, the touch lingering for a moment. “You’ll get it next time.”

Paige kept her cool, a slight flush creeping up her neck as she tried to focus on the interview. The two of them shared an unspoken understanding, and the chemistry between them was palpable, though they kept things lighthearted for the cameras.

“Anything else you’d like to share with your fans before the holidays?” the reporter asked, wrapping up the interview.

Paige exchanged a glance with Azzi, both of them aware of the upcoming trip to Virginia. “Well, I think we’ll both be heading out soon for some family time,” Paige said casually, though there was a spark in her eyes as she looked at Azzi. “But we’re not slowing down, not one bit. We’ll definitely still be putting some work in though.”

Azzi smiled, the playful tension still hanging in the air. “Definitely not. We’ve got more to prove, and we’re ready for whatever comes next. But for now, it’s time to recharge a little.”

As the reporters wrapped up, Paige and Azzi stood, their chemistry clear to everyone in the room. Azzi flashed a grin and gave Paige a playful nudge under the table, making sure no one could miss the subtle connection between them

…

After the post-game interview, Azzi and Paige headed to Azzi's room to shower. They didn’t waste any time, opting to take a quick shower together. Once they were done, they got dressed and made their way downstairs, where Katie and Tim, Azzi’s parents, were waiting by the car.

The drive to Virginia started off lively, with plenty of jokes and banter between Paige and Azzi, as she was practically a part of the family. Paige was extremely close with Azzi’s parents, and it was clear from the way they interacted. Katie and Tim couldn’t help but laugh at their lighthearted teasing.

However, as the drive wore on and the excitement from the game wore off, both Azzi and Paige started to drift off. The conversation died down, and the car became quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional chuckle from Katie or Tim who were talking in the front.

By the time Tim pulled into the driveway, both Azzi and Paige had curled up in the backseat, exhausted from the game. They had spread across all three seats, Azzi draped comfortably over Paige’s chest like it was second nature.

Katie glanced in the rearview mirror and shook her head, a soft smile on her face as she looked at the two of them. “I wonder when those two are going to admit their feelings for one another,” she commented, not realizing how accurate her words were. Tim, glancing over at Katie, simply chuckled in response, unaware that Azzi and Paige had already confessed to each other long ago.

Azzi and Paige were still half-asleep when they stumbled out of the car, dragging themselves into the house and heading straight to Azzi’s room. They didn’t even bother changing out of their sweats; both of them collapsed into the bed, barely able to keep their eyes open before they fell asleep, the events of the day finally catching up to them.

…

The next morning Azzi woke up groggily, her eyes fluttering open to the soft morning light filtering through the window. For a moment, she lay there, disoriented, before realizing something felt off. She turned her head, scanning the empty space beside her. Paige wasn’t there. Azzi deciding to get up to find the blonde brushed her teeth before going downstairs.

As she made her way downstairs, still in her sweats and a loose shirt, Azzi couldn’t help but wonder where Paige had gone. When she rounded the corner into the living room, she found her, and the sight made her stop dead in her tracks.

Paige was sitting on the couch, focused on a game of Fortnite with Jose. Her grey sweats and hoodie did little to mask her allure, the casual attire only making her look more effortlessly sexy. She was sitting with her legs spread wide, she was slightly leaned over both of her hands wrapped around the controller playing the game. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and her entire posture exuded an effortless confidence that made Azzi's heart skip a beat.

Azzi’s eyes involuntarily flickered to Paige’s legs, they looked inviting the way she had them spread open, practically begging Azzi to crawl into her lap. But they were surrounded by Azzi’s family, and that probably wasn’t the best idea yet. So instead, after hugging her family, Azzi walked over and sat beside Paige on the couch, her feet lightly brushing against Paige’s spread legs. Without a second thought, Azzi swung her legs over, draping them casually across Paige's lap. Her feet hung off the edge, just out of the open space between Paige's legs, but the intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on either of them.

Paige didn’t look up immediately, but Azzi could feel the subtle shift in the air. Her teasing smile lingered as she leaned back, her head resting on the arm of the couch, trying to act casual but unable to keep the warmth spreading through her chest at the closeness of their bodies. Paige, finally having a chance to address Azzi’s presence, turned her head, her smile wide and playful as she paused her game.

"Hey, you," Paige said, her voice warm, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. "You look like you slept like a rock."

Azzi raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as she responded, "That’s because I did. The bed wasn’t comfortable without you in it, though."

Paige's grin widened, and she placed a hand on Azzi’s leg, letting it rest there for a beat too long. "Well, I’m glad you’re here now," she teased, her touch sending a thrill up Azzi’s spine.

Azzi felt the heat rise in her cheeks but refused to break eye contact. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get too cocky," she teased back, shifting her legs slightly on Paige’s lap, enjoying the intimacy but trying to play it cool in front of her family.

Katie, overhearing them, smirked from the kitchen, shaking her head as she continued preparing breakfast. Tim glanced over with a knowing look, but neither of them said anything—this was just another morning with Azzi and Paige being, well, Azzi and Paige.

…

The day passed in a comforting haze. Paige and Azzi had spent most of their time settling into the house, helping Katie and Tim with small chores, and simply basking in the warm atmosphere of family. The couple didn’t need to hide their affection too much—they blended so seamlessly into the family dynamic that no one batted an eye at their closeness.

As evening rolled around, the smell of roasted vegetables and seasoned meats filled the air, signaling dinner was approaching. Paige was helping set the table when Azzi’s grandmother, seated in the armchair, casually brought up a topic that made Azzi nearly drop the glass she was holding.

“Oh, Azzi,” her grandmother began, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I ran into Josh’s mother at the store yesterday. I told her you were in town, and she said Josh should stop by.”

Azzi froze, the name alone sending an uncomfortable jolt through her. “Josh?” she repeated, her voice betraying her disbelief. “Prom date Josh?”

“Yes, that Josh!” her grandmother confirmed with a delighted smile. “He’s such a sweet boy. I thought it would be nice for you two to catch up.”

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She stole a quick glance at Paige, who was watching with a barely concealed smirk, clearly enjoying the situation. Azzi cleared her throat. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Grandma. It’s been… a long time. It’d probably be awkward.”

“Nonsense,” her grandmother said, waving a dismissive hand. “You two were such good friends. What’s a little catching up?”

Paige chuckled softly from the other side of the table, shaking her head. “Yeah, Azzi,” she teased, her tone laced with playful sarcasm. “What’s a little catching up?”

Azzi shot her a look but couldn’t stop her lips from twitching upward. This was going to be interesting.

…

An hour later, just as the family was putting the finishing touches on dinner, the doorbell rang. Azzi’s heart sank as her grandmother rushed to answer it, her voice warm and welcoming as she greeted Josh.

When Josh walked in, he looked almost exactly the same as Azzi remembered—tall, lean, and carrying himself with the easy confidence of someone who knew he’d been invited somewhere fondly. He opened his arms for a hug, his face lighting up when he saw Azzi. “Azzi! It’s been forever.”

Azzi stepped forward but, instead of leaning into the hug, extended her hand. “Hey, Josh. Long time no see.” She gave him a polite smile, keeping her distance. Josh’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly as he adjusted, shaking her hand instead.

Before he could say anything else, Paige rose from her seat behind Azzi. Her 6 '1 frame behind Azzi immediately drew Josh’s attention, and the very subtle height difference was enough to give Paige a slight edge. She stepped forward, lingering just behind Azzi, her movements relaxed but deliberate, and extended her hand with a confident smile.

“Wassup, I’m Paige,” she said, her tone polite but laced with something unmistakably coy. “Azzi’s best friend.”

Josh hesitated for a second, shaking her hand, his grip firm but uncertain. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his eyes flickering between Paige and Azzi.

Paige, ever the picture of calm, walked over and dropped back onto the couch next to Jon and Jose. She sprawled out, legs spread wide, her arms resting over the back as the three of them continued whatever they were doing. It was a casual posture, but there was an unmistakable aura of dominance that filled the room. Azzi couldn’t help but steal glances, her mind wandering as her eyes traced the curve of Paige’s jaw and the way her hoodie hung off her shoulders.

Josh, seemingly oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface, started chatting with Azzi about old high school memories. Azzi responded politely, but her answers weren’t as enthusiastic, her body language leaning away from the boy. Paige, meanwhile, stayed quiet, her smirk growing as she noticed Azzi’s constantly looking at her.

The dining room was alive with chatter as the family settled in for dinner. The table was packed, with Katie and Tim at either end, Azzi’s grandparents on one side with Jon and Jose who were across from Azzi and Paige who sat next time one another. Josh, much to Paige’s amusement, sat beside Azzi, wedged awkwardly between her and Tim in a corner portion of the table.

Paige leaned back in her chair, content as she watched the plates pass around. The smell of roasted vegetables, seasoned meats, and fresh rolls filled the room. It was cozy, warm, the kind of family gathering that Paige had come to cherish.

“So, Azzi,” her grandmother began, breaking the peaceful rhythm of clinking silverware. “Remember I told you I ran into Josh’s mother at the store the other day.” Essentially repeating her and Azzi’s conversation earlier, her way of casually bringing up the boy sitting next to Azzi.

Azzi’s hand, mid-reach for a roll, froze. “Yes?” she said, her voice a little too high, a little too careful.

“Yes,” her grandmother said, her eyes lighting up. “We had the nicest chat. Such a sweet woman. I told her you were in town, and she thought Josh should stop by.”

Azzi blinked, her throat tightening. “You did?” she asked, feigning surprise as they’ve already had this conversation, though her tone betrayed her growing discomfort.

Paige, sitting relaxed beside her, was already smirking. Azzi felt her foot nudge against Paige’s under the table—a silent plea for support. Paige, of course, ignored it.

“He’s such a sweet boy,” her grandmother continued, her smile unwavering. “I thought it’d be lovely for you two to catch up. You always got along so well.”

Josh chuckled, his cheeks reddening slightly. “It’s been a while,” he said, looking at Azzi. “But yeah, I’d love to catch up.”

Azzi forced a polite smile, her fingers tightening slightly around her fork. “Grandma, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” she said, her voice measured. “We haven’t seen each other in years. It might be…awkward.”

“Nonsense!” her grandmother waved her hand as if brushing away Azzi’s concerns. “You’re both grown now. What’s a little catching up?”

Paige chuckled, the sound low and teasing. “Yeah, Azzi,” she said, drawing out her words with a playful edge. “What’s a little catching up?”

Azzi shot her a glare, but Paige’s eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly enjoying her discomfort. Then, beneath the table, Paige’s hand found its way to Azzi’s knee, her fingers brushing lightly before settling in a gentle but suggestive grip. The touch was subtle, yet deliberate enough to send a jolt through Azzi. She shifted slightly, fighting to keep her expression neutral as a flush crept up her neck.

Katie, picking up on Azzi’s discomfort, stepped in. “Mom, Azzi’s got a lot on her plate,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “I’m sure she’d love to catch up another time, but maybe not this visit.”

Josh, trying to stay polite, smiled. “It’s all good. I don’t want to impose or anything.”

“Oh, it’s no imposition,” her grandmother insisted, clearly not ready to drop the subject. “It’s so rare to have everyone together these days. Besides, I think you two made a lovely couple at prom.”

Azzi nearly choked on her drink. “Grandma, that was years ago.”

“And yet, here you are,” her grandmother said, her tone as cheerful as ever. “Such a handsome boy, don’t you think, Paige?”

Paige, who had been quietly enjoying the spectacle, raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Prom royalty, if I recall correctly.”

Josh laughed, clearly not catching the undertone. “Yeah, those were good times.”

Azzi’s leg pressed against Paige’s under the table, grounding her, but it also served as a warning. Paige, for her part, was having the time of her life. She leaned in slightly, her voice low enough for only Azzi to hear, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. “Relax,” she murmured, her thumb pressing slightly into Azzi’s thigh.

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek, her lips twitching in a strained smile as her grandmother continued. The table’s attention swung back to Azzi’s grandmother, who had clearly decided she wasn’t done. “Josh, did you know Azzi’s been playing phenomenally this season?” she said, her voice brimming with pride.

“I heard,” Josh said, smiling. “Azzi’s always been a star.”

“She sure has,” Katie added, glancing at Azzi with a knowing look. “But she’s got a lot of responsibilities now. Not much time for old flames.”

Azzi groaned internally, wishing she could sink into the floor. “Mom…”

“What?” Katie said innocently. “Just stating the facts.”

Paige’s hand pressed slightly harder near Azzi’s knee, her thumb moving in a slow, deliberate stroke that made Azzi’s breath catch again. Azzi straightened in her chair, doing her best to appear unaffected, though her hand gripped her fork tightly enough that her knuckles whitened.

Dinner carried on, the clatter of utensils and hum of conversation creating a cozy backdrop. Despite the familial warmth, Azzi was struggling to keep her composure. Paige, seated close beside her, was a constant distraction. Every brush of her arm, every subtle glance, kept Azzi hyper-aware of her presence.

It didn’t help that Paige’s hand was still under the table, now resting lightly on Azzi’s thigh. At first, the touch was barely there—a gentle warmth, almost comforting. But as the conversation drifted on, Paige’s fingers began to move with maddening precision.

Azzi felt Paige’s thumb start to draw slow circles again, the pressure light but insistent. Each stroke sent a ripple of warmth up her leg, making it harder for Azzi to focus on anything else. She shifted in her seat, trying to subtly pull away, but Paige only followed, her touch trailing higher.

Azzi’s responses to Josh and her grandmother grew more clipped as she tried to concentrate on the conversation. “Yeah, that was a good game,” she said, her voice tighter than she intended when Josh brought up a high school basketball memory. Her usual calm was slipping, and she knew Paige was reveling in it.

“Do you remember that crazy after-party?” Josh continued, completely oblivious.

Azzi forced a smile. “Uh-huh. Wild times.”

Her hand tightened around her fork as Paige’s fingers pressed slightly deeper into her thigh, now tracing faint patterns along the sensitive skin. The touch wasn’t overt—nothing anyone at the table would notice—but it was enough to send her pulse racing. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, her body betraying her as heat pooled in her stomach.

Paige leaned in slightly, her voice low, just for Azzi. “You’re awfully quiet, babe,” she murmured, the word deliberately loaded. Her breath was warm against Azzi’s ear, and Azzi had to clench her jaw to stop herself from reacting.

“—he’s such a sweet boy,” Azzi hears her grandmother continuing her plea from the beginning of dinner, her smile unwavering. “Azzi, are you sure you don’t have time to catch up? You always got along so well.”

Azzi forced a polite smile, her fingers tightening slightly around her fork. “Grandma, I really just don’t have the time. I’m only here for a little while,” she said, her voice measured.

Azzi shot her grandmother a grateful look as she seemingly was going to drop it, but it was short-lived. Paige’s hand slid just a fraction higher, her thumb now grazing the inside of Azzi’s thigh, dangerously close to crossing a line. Azzi inhaled sharply, her knee jerking slightly under the table. She hastily reached for her water, hoping the cool liquid would calm the fire raging in her.

“Careful, Paige,” Azzi muttered under her breath as she sipped her water, just loud enough for Paige to hear.

Paige smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Careful with what?” she whispered back, her tone feigning innocence. Her fingers paused for a moment, then gave a gentle squeeze that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

“Everything okay?” Josh asked, his brow furrowing as he noticed Azzi’s sudden silence.

Azzi plastered on a smile, though her voice came out a little strained. “Yeah, fine. Just…thinking about the game.”

Josh nodded, accepting the explanation, but Paige’s smirk only deepened. Her hand shifted slightly, her pinky brushing the edge of Azzi’s inner thigh in a way that made Azzi bite her lip. She could feel her cheeks heating, and she reached under the table to grab Paige’s wrist, squeezing it in a silent plea for mercy.

Paige relented—barely. She slid her hand back down to Azzi’s knee but left it there, her thumb still occasionally brushing against her in a way that kept Azzi’s nerves on edge.

The conversation moved on, but Azzi barely registered it. Every time she thought she had regained her composure, Paige would shift or press her thumb in just the right way to send another jolt of heat through her.

Her grandfather, who had been silent up until now, cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “You know,” he said, his voice gruff but steady, “I like Paige better anyway. She always knows how to make Azzi feel good.”

The table went dead silent for a beat before Paige, who had just taken a sip of her drink, sputtered, nearly choking as she coughed into her napkin. Azzi’s eyes widened, her face heating up as she turned to her grandfather.

“Grandpa!” she exclaimed, horrified. Azzi turned to Paige, whose face was now red from coughing and shock. Gently placing a hand on Paige’s back, “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern. Paige nodded, still coughing into her napkin, as Azzi rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

“What?” he said, shrugging as if it was the most natural statement in the world. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Keeps you on your toes.”

Katie snorted, quickly covering her mouth as laughter bubbled out. “Dad, you can’t just say things like that.”

By the time her grandfather made his offhanded comment about preferring Paige, Azzi was barely holding it together.

Beside her, after composing herself Paige was still grinning, clearly enjoying how easy it was to get under Azzi’s skin. Under the table, her hand finally retreated fully, but the phantom sensation of her touch lingered, leaving Azzi feeling both relieved and achingly aware of Paige’s presence.

As the dinner carried on, Azzi did her best to ignore the lingering heat in her body, focusing instead on the conversations around her. But every now and then, Paige would catch her eye, her gaze filled with unspoken promises that made Azzi’s stomach flip all over again.

Finishing up dinner plates were cleared, leftovers stored, and conversations faded into the background as everyone began winding down for the night. Paige, ever the opportunist, excused herself once the kitchen was in order, making her way upstairs with a coy smile knowing Azzi would be up with some choice words soon.

Azzi, meanwhile, was left to escort Josh to the door. The boy lingered awkwardly in the entryway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “It was nice catching up,” he said, his smile warm but tinged with nervous energy.

Azzi nodded, her politeness unwavering but her patience thinning. “Yeah, it was good to see you, Josh.” She extended her hand for yet another handshake, keeping the exchange brief and formal. Josh hesitated for a moment, clearly expecting something more, but eventually took her hand.

“Well, maybe we can hang out again before you leave,” Josh offered, his tone hopeful.

Azzi gave him a tight-lipped smile, stepping back toward the door. “We’ll see,” she said noncommittally.

With that, she gently closed the door behind him, exhaling a sigh of relief. The evening had been exhausting, but not in the way her family might have assumed. As much as she tried to stay composed, the memory of Paige’s hand on her thigh lingered, igniting a restless energy that now begged for resolution.

She ascended the stairs with purpose, her footsteps quick and light. By the time she reached her bedroom, she was practically buzzing with anticipation. Pushing the door open, she found Paige exactly where she expected her—stretched out on the bed, her hands clasped behind her head, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Took you long enough,” Paige drawled, her voice low and teasing. Her hoodie was off now, leaving her in just a fitted tank top that clung to her toned frame. The way she sprawled across the bed, so effortlessly confident, only added fuel to the fire burning in Azzi’s chest.

Azzi closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she took Paige in. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and need.

Paige grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. “I don’t think—I know,” she quipped. Her eyes raked over Azzi, darkening as she noticed the tension in her posture. “You seemed a little…distracted at dinner. Something on your mind?”

Azzi huffed, pushing off the door and making her way to the bed. “You know exactly what’s on my mind,” she muttered, climbing onto the mattress and straddling Paige without hesitation. Her hands braced on either side of Paige’s shoulders, and for a moment, she just stared down at her, eyes blazing with unspoken frustration.

Paige’s smirk softened into something more tender, her hands coming up to rest gently on Azzi’s butt. “I might’ve pushed a few buttons,” she admitted, her voice dipping lower. “But I couldn’t help myself. You make it too easy.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her resolve was already crumbling. The warmth of Paige’s hands on her ass, the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath her, it all worked to soothe and ignite her in equal measure. “You’re insufferable,” she murmured, though there was no real bite to her words.

Paige chuckled, her thumbs brushing soothing circles over Azzi’s hips. “Maybe. But you love it.”

Azzi didn’t deny it. Instead, she leaned down, her forehead resting against Paige’s as her breaths came out shallow and uneven. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s grin widened, her hands tightening their hold slightly. “Good,” she said, her tone rich with satisfaction. “Now let me make it up to you.”

Azzi let out a shaky laugh, her hands sliding up to cup Paige’s face. “Just… don’t leave any marks,” she murmured, her lips brushing against Paige’s.

Paige chuckled again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, I’ll behave,” she teased, but her touch softened in reassurance.

…

Azzi woke up slowly, her body tangled with Paige’s under the warm sheets. She could feel the soft rise and fall of Paige’s breath against her skin, the familiar weight of her arm draped across Azzi’s waist. It had been a restless night for both of them.

Azzi’s mind replayed the events of last night—how Paige had kept her on the edge, teasing her, pushing her limits. They hadn’t exactly slept, not in the way people typically think of it. The hours had passed in a haze of intimacy, teasing touches, and whispered words, their bodies close in ways that kept Azzi’s mind racing far past what should have been sleep. She’d barely closed her eyes.

But now, lying next to Paige in the quiet morning, Azzi could finally relax, if only a little. She stayed still for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Paige beside her, the warmth of her skin, the low murmur of her sleepy voice when she stirred.

Paige shifted, brushing her lips lightly against Azzi’s neck. “You okay?” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep, her breath warm on Azzi’s skin.

Azzi chuckled softly, feeling her heart skip a beat at the feeling of Paige’s proximity. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Just trying to remember if last night was real or if I dreamt it.”

Paige snorted softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Azzi’s side. “It was real, all right,” she said with a teasing lilt. “We both know it was.”

Azzi swallowed hard, shifting slightly under Paige’s touch, remembering every moment of last night—the way Paige had made her lose control, the quiet intimacy between them that had both unsettled and exhilarated her. “Yeah,” Azzi agreed, her voice low. “It was.”

They stayed there for a while, both content in the quiet moment. Azzi’s thoughts wandered again, her gaze lingering on the way Paige’s hair splayed out across the pillow, her features soft and relaxed in sleep. Azzi wasn’t used to this before she met Paige—the closeness, the warmth, the sense of comfort mixed with desire. It felt like too much at times, like her chest was going to explode, but Azzi wouldn’t change it for the world.

Suddenly, they both heard footsteps downstairs, and Azzi stiffened, her mind snapping back to reality. Paige, seemingly unfazed, grinned and snuggled deeper into the sheets. “I guess we’d better face the world,” she murmured, her voice full of amusement.

Azzi groaned softly, stretching before reluctantly pushing herself out of bed. “Yeah, let’s get this over with,” she muttered, giving Paige a playful look over her shoulder.

The two of them made their way downstairs, still half-dazed, and entered the kitchen, where Azzi’s mom, Katie, was already busy making coffee. Azzi’s stomach churned slightly, not from nerves, but from the rush of trying to act normal after everything that had happened. She couldn’t help but feel a little off-balance.

Katie looked up from the stove when they entered, her smile warm. “Morning, you two,” she greeted them. “You both sleep okay?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, when Katie, giving her a look of concern, asked, “Were you up all night, honey? I kept hearing you moving around. Bad dream or something?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by her mom’s innocent assumption. She quickly glanced over at Paige, who was standing next to her, giving her a small, amused smile. Azzi let out a quiet sigh, mentally scrambling for an explanation. “Uh, no, not a bad dream,” she answered, her voice a little too casual. “I just... didn’t sleep much.”

Katie frowned slightly, setting the spoon down in the pot. “I heard you moving around quite a bit,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I thought maybe something was bothering you.”

Azzi felt her pulse quicken as she searched for a way to respond that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. “I just couldn’t get comfortable,” she lied, offering a smile. “Nothing serious, I’m fine.”

Katie still looked a bit concerned but shrugged it off. “Well, that’s a bummer,” she said sympathetically. “You need your rest, sweetie.”

Azzi tried to act like everything was fine, but she could feel her heart racing, aware of how easily she was lying. The truth was, the restlessness had nothing to do with a bad dream. It had everything to do with the way Paige had kept her awake and on edge, teasing her, making her body feel things it wasn’t quite ready for. Azzi hadn’t had a moment of peace all night, but it wasn’t in the way her mom thought.

Azzi quickly diverted the conversation. “Actually, I feel pretty refreshed today,” she said, forcing herself to smile and shake off the tension. “I’m good.”

Paige, who had been standing quietly nearby, clearly enjoying the moment, couldn’t help but grin. She leaned in closer to Azzi, her lips brushing against her ear as she whispered, “Refreshed, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

Azzi’s body instantly responded, a flush spreading across her chest as she quickly pulled away, trying to mask the effect Paige’s words had on her. The teasing was making it harder for Azzi to focus, but she kept her composure, even though she was keenly aware of the heat simmering just beneath the surface.

Katie, oblivious to the exchange, continued on, her focus still on the coffee. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, sweetie,” she said, giving Azzi a concerned but warm smile. “Just don’t stay up too late again, okay?”

Azzi nodded quickly, her voice a little strained. “Yeah, I won’t. Promise.”

As Katie turned back to the counter, Jose walked into the kitchen, glancing between Azzi and Paige with knowing looks. Azzi’s face heated further as Jose smirked.

“Looks like someone’s extra close this morning,” Jose teased, his voice light but full of mischief.

Azzi groaned inwardly, rubbing her temples. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered, trying to mask the discomfort she was feeling.

Katie, still distracted by her coffee, didn’t notice the teasing, but Jose was clearly enjoying it. Azzi could feel the weight of his amusement, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her.

Paige, on the other hand, was enjoying every second of this. She was casually leaning against the counter, a playful smirk on her lips as she watched Azzi squirm under the attention.

Katie smiled and gestured to the counter. “Well, breakfast is almost ready, if you want to help, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded quickly, happy for something to distract her from the teasing and the thoughts that were still swirling in her head about last night. She grabbed a mug from the cabinet, trying to focus on the simple task, but Paige’s presence next to her made her heart race. It was hard to ignore the way her body responded to every small touch and the way her mind kept flashing back to their shared intimacy.

Paige leaned in again, her voice a low whisper. “You sure you feel ‘refreshed’?” she teased, letting her fingers brush lightly across Azzi’s lower back.

Azzi shivered slightly, trying to keep her face neutral. “Shut up,” she muttered, unable to help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.

..

For the most part, Paige and Azzi had spent the entire day lounging around, playing games with the family. It was a rare, peaceful break from their usually hectic schedules. The only time they ventured out was for a quick workout at a private gym, where they worked on their skill sets and worked on finding each other in new ways on the court. They even discovered a flare screen that was nearly impossible to stop with countless shot options for both of them.

Now, they were back in bed, tangled together in the quiet intimacy of the evening as they waited for dinner. Azzi was idly playing with Paige’s fingers, tracing the lines of her palm as if trying to memorize every inch.

“When did you realize you liked me?” Azzi asked softly out of nowhere, her voice laced with curiosity.

Paige smiled, her eyes fixed on their entwined hands. “I think I always knew that’s why I talked so much. Especially when I stayed with your family during the pandemic.”

Azzi chuckled, her laughter light but teasing. “Oh, you mean when you harassed me for months?”

“I did not harass you!” Paige protested, her expression feigning indignation. “You loved having me around.”

“Maybe,” Azzi muttered, her tone playful yet carrying a hint of truth she wasn’t ready to admit.

“What about you?” Paige asked, tilting her head to catch Azzi’s eyes. “When did you know?”

Azzi’s face softened. “Immediately. On the plane after USA camp. You talked my ear off, and I didn’t mind one bit.”

They both laughed at the memory, the nostalgia wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

“So, we both liked each other for years,” Paige said, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and disbelief, “and we’re just now getting together?”

Azzi nodded. “I think we got together at a time when we were both ready and mature enough for it.”

Paige sighed thoughtfully. “I can only imagine trying to balance all the media attention and figuring out our relationship back then. It would’ve been a mess.”

There was a comfortable pause before Azzi broke it with a more serious question. “Why were you with Jess?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard, not expecting to hear that name again .The question was direct, but she knew Azzi deserved an honest answer. “I was hurt… but it was also an accident.”

Azzi gave her a look that silently asked her to explain.

Paige hesitated, then began, “I don’t know if you remember, but earlier that day, you gave that guy your number right in front of me and I was pretty upset.”

Azzi burst into laughter, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “I actually gave him your number. He seemed a little… off, and I didn’t want to deal with the back and forth so I just gave him yours.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me when I complained about the random texts the next day?”

Azzi shrugged, her smirk turning sheepish. “I was upset about your new little girlfriend, and I didn’t feel like helping you.”

Paige shook her head, then recounted, “Jess wasn’t even supposed to be my girlfriend. She was just a fan who asked for a picture and afterwards she casually asked what I was doing later, and I told her the team was going to Ted’s. Next thing I know she thinks it’s a date and she’s announcing to everyone that we’re together.”

Azzi doubled over, laughing so hard tears welled up. “You got stuck for two whole months because you invited a fan to Ted’s?”

Paige grabbed a pillow and whacked Azzi “It’s not funny!” This only made Azzi laugh harder.

“Maybe I should ban you from talking to anyone ever again,” Azzi teased, catching her breath. “Clearly, you’re too nice for your own good.”

“Hey, I’m all for it if it means I only get to talk to you,” Paige shot back, grinning.

They continued laughing, but Azzi’s expression grew serious as a lingering question surfaced. “Did anything ever happen between you two?”

Paige, sensing the shift, quickly reassured her. “No. No, of course not. I only ever had eyes for you.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her features relaxing. “So… what did you guys even do?”

“Honestly?” Paige said with a smirk. “She spent most of the time throwing herself at me, and I kept making excuses—practice, meetings, homework. We barely saw each other. I just sent a few texts here and there to keep things at bay.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “And she really thought that was a relationship?”

Paige shrugged nonchalantly. “You were my first, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Azzi blinked, her surprise evident. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah,” Paige said casually, leaning back.

“Wait I thought… everyone made it sound like you were some player before I got to Uconn.”

“That’s what everyone thought,” Paige admitted. “I mean sure I talked to people and they definitely tried to hook up but they weren’t you. Even as a freshman, I knew I didn’t want to do anything that might make you see me differently.”

Azzi stared at her, still processing. “You always seemed so confident, so… experienced.”

Paige grinned. “That’s because it was with you. Everything felt like second nature.”

Azzi smirked. “Yeah, choking me the first time we fucked was totally second nature, huh?”

Paige raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, not my fault I noticed how much you liked it that night at Morgan’s party.”

They laughed, their cheeks warm from shared memories.

Paige eventually asked, “Why didn’t you just ever ask?”

Azzi hesitated. “I was scared. I didn’t want to hear details if there were any. I thought it’d hurt too much.”

Paige hummed thoughtfully, then smiled as Azzi said, “You were my first, too.”

“I know,” Paige said softly.

Azzi tilted her head. “How?”

“I know you,” Paige said simply. “You’re too intentional with yourself to be with just anyone. Plus You’d have told me if it were different no matter how much I wouldn’t have wanted to hear.”

They locked eyes, their gazes filled with unspoken emotion, and shared a tender kiss.

After a moment, Paige pulled back slightly. “What’s going on? You’ve been deep in thought all day.”

Azzi hesitated, then admitted, “Last night’s been on my mind all day.”

Paige grinned. “That good, huh?”

“Paige,” Azzi groaned. “Seriously. It wasn’t our first time, but something about it felt different and more charged. I could feel how much you cared about me with every touch and I’ve just never felt anything that intense before. Not to mention we went all night, you didn’t leave me much room to calm myself down so everything in my chest just kept building.”

Paige’s teasing expression softened. “I know exactly what you mean. I felt it too. Maybe it’s because we’re in your home. We've been here so many times before but never like that. It's all kind of full circle for us and shows just how serious this is between us.”

Azzi nodded. “Paige, you know this isn’t just a fling for me right? I want us to build something real.”

“I know, baby,” Paige said, rubbing Azzi’s cheek. “I’ve known since the moment I met you that whatever we were and whatever our relationship ended up being, we were in it for the long run. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Azzi’s eyes glistened, her emotion bubbling over at Paige’s words and before she could stop herself, she whispered, “I love you.”

Paige’s shocked face lit up before settling into a large grin. “You love me?”

Azzi smiled, more confident now. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a while.”

Paige leaned in, her voice soft as her eyes shined with affection. “I’m completely in love with you, Azzi Fudd.”

They shared a lingering kiss, the weight of their words settling between them. The moment was tender, perfect. Moments later, Katie’s voice called them down for dinner. They broke apart, laughing, and headed downstairs hand in hand.

Dinner was quieter this time, a calm follow-up to the lively gathering from earlier. Only Tim, Katie, Jon, Jose, Azzi, and Paige sat around the table, the conversation mostly focused on basketball. Laughter punctuated the meal as they exchanged light-hearted stories about past games and memorable moments.

Jose, however, had other plans. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced between Paige and Azzi with a sly grin. “You know,” he began casually talking quietly so only they could hear, “I don’t think the two of you are as sneaky as you think.”

Paige paused mid-bite, her brows furrowing. “What do you mean?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” Jose replied, leaning forward with a smirk. “Last night. Thin walls. Ringing any bells?”

Azzi groaned, sinking lower into her chair. “Jose, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “You two had everyone fooled during the day, but at night? Let’s just say, you weren’t exactly subtle.”

Paige’s cheeks burned, and she glared at Jose. “We tried to be quiet.”

“Keyword: tried,” Jose said, chuckling. “Didn’t really work, though.”

Azzi shook her head, muttering, “I hate you.”

Paige buried her face in her hands, letting out a muffled groan. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Jose had an amused look, but thankfully, Katie interrupted and redirected the conversation. “Azzi,” she said, her tone curious, “What was going on with you and Josh? You were avoiding him and Grandma yesterday. You were also acting all jumpy anytime he got close to you.”

Jose jumps in adding to the fuel on purpose, “Not to mention you throwing out your hand for an awkward handshake anytime he tried to hug you.”

Azzi froze, her eyes darting to Paige for a split second. “I’m just… trying to be respectful,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible. No one but Paige knows that Azzi is referring to the rules they have in place for one another.

“Respectful?” Katie repeated, clearly confused. “Respectful to who?”

Azzi shifted uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to her plate. Then, in a voice just loud enough to be heard, she said, “Paige.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound was the faint clinking of utensils. Paige’s eyes widened, and she instinctively reached under the table to take Azzi’s hand, squeezing it gently. Azzi squeezed back, drawing strength from the gesture.

Katie tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “And why would you need to be respectful to Paige?” Her tone was light, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Azzi took a deep breath, her eyes flicking briefly to Paige before she turned back to her family. “Because…” She hesitated, then finally said, “Paige and I are dating.”

For a moment, the room was completely still. Then, in unison, Tim, Katie, Jon, and Jose broke into wide smiles.

“Finally,” Katie said, her voice warm with affection.

Azzi blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what?”

Jon laughed. “Took you two long enough.”

Jose grinned, pointing his fork at Paige. “You were always looking at Azzi like she hung the moon.”

“Same goes for Azzi,” Jon added. “You’ve both been obvious since day one.”

Tim, who had been quietly observing, nodded. “We’ve known for years, girls. We just wanted to let you figure it out on your own.”

Paige looked around the table, her face a mix of shock and relief. “You all knew?”

Katie chuckled. “Of course, sweetheart. The way you two interact? It was only a matter of time.”

Azzi let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, a grin spreading across her face. Paige, still holding her hand under the table, smiled back at her, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging.

“Well,” Azzi said, her voice lighter, “I guess we didn’t need to stress about telling you.”

“Nope,” Jon said, grinning. “But we’re glad you finally did.”

Jose leaned in again, smirking as he whispered to the two of them. “Just maybe keep it down tonight, yeah?”

“Jose!” Azzi and Paige said in unison, their faces red but laughing despite themselves.

The rest of dinner passed in a comfortable, happy atmosphere, the family’s support wrapping around Paige and Azzi like a warm embrace.

[4ranghaes]

christmas morning with leehan <333

extra ⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆ christmas morning!

kim leehan x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader]

09:49 - you smiled, “good morning, my love.”

leehan blinked slowly, lips in a pout as he looked around the room in slight confusion. he looked back to you, laying up on his chest, face just centimetres away. he smiled, “good morning, princess. merry christmas.”

you giggled, leaning down and pressing a slow kiss to his lips which he reciprocated, hand moving to your hair, “merry christmas.”

“how long have you been awake?” he groaned, twisting his body to stretch himself out as you laid your head on his shoulder, finger tracing light patterns on his chest.

“not that long,” you shook your head, a faint smile at your lips, “just been watching you sleep.”

leehan chuckled, smoothing your hair and kissing your head, before tapping your back, “come on then.”

“hmm?”

“it’s christmas!” he exclaimed, voice an excited whisper, “let’s open our presents, hmm?”

“okay,” you giggled, jumping out of bed and taking his hand, “i need some coffee first though.”

“coffee for my darling,” he announced, making his way first to the kitchen and sitting you on a chair before busying himself.

“donghyun, let—”

“nuh uh uh,” he spoke, looking at you almost offended, “i’ve got it. okay?”

“okay,” you smiled, amused as your boyfriend made two cups of coffee, handing one over to you before speeding into the living room and turning on all the christmas lights before you could enter.

“now,” he spoke, turning on some christmas music at a low volume, “presents?”

you giggled, placing your coffee down and kneeling by the tree, sorting out the presents into piles of yours’, leehan’s, and any that belonged to anyone else. “these are yours!”

leehan smiled, taking the pile from you, “thank you darling.”

you took your own pile, turning round to just open them from the floor as leehan frowned.

“what are you doing? come here,” he beckoned.

“no, i’m just gonn–”

“come here!” he said, in mock-annoyance.

you laughed, taking your presents and joining leehan on the sofa. he was turned to face you, pulling you so you were basically sat on his lap. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to his body as he kissed your lips. pulling away, he kept your body close with his arm, a goofy smile on his face as he studied your every feature (though none of it was a stranger to him).

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

you rolled your eyes, “donghyun, i just woke up.”

his expression didn’t change as he shrugged, “so?”

you smiled, leaning forward and kissing him again, placing a hand on his face, “shut up and open a present.”

he laughed dopily, pulling away and grabbing his first present, “it’s from my parents, they sent them from busan. they sent you something too.”

“really?!” you gasped, looking through your pile of presents to sure enough see one with a tag to you, from leehan’s parents.

he smiled as he pulled open the wrapping paper slowly, a classic aftershave gift set. he looked to you, shrugging, “standard. what did they get you?”

you unwrapped the paper, gasping as you opened the first page of the mysterious book they’d gifted you: a handmade photo album full of donghyun’s baby pictures.

“wait a minute,” leehan said quickly, taking his arm from around you and trying to grab the book.

“no, no, no! this is mine!” you laughed, leaning away and flicking through the pages; a goldmine of the oddness that was leehan as a baby, “oh, my baby! you’re adorable, donghyun-ie.”

leehan shook his head, headbutting your shoulder, “i can’t believe they sent you that.”

“oh this is the best!” you laughed, turning back to your boyfriend, “come on, next. i can go through that later… with the boys!”

leehan groaned as you laughed, leaning forward and kissing him gently with a teasing voice, “merry christmas.”

[imagine-darksiders]

The Angel of Highway 49 - ch. 3

Road Block.

Summary: 'You balk violently at the sight of a cherry-red Aston gunning towards you.'

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

It’s often said that shock is superseded by anger.

You’ve read as much in dozens of books; Books on grief, on bettering yourself, dealing with remorse and the cyclical nature of loss. There was a time when you thought that if you just read the right words, something important might 'click,' and you'd find you could overcome the aching cold that gnawed at the lining of your stomach.

You're older now, sadder and wiser.

Grief aside, you find that the theory of anger following shock rings true in this instance, because as soon as the surprise of seeing ten thousand dollars in your otherwise barren account faded, you tumbled right over some invisible ledge and landed chest-first in an indignation so fierce, you barely slept a wink that night, tossing and turning and glaring hard into the pitch black room. 

As the inky darkness gradually shrank away from the grey light spilling in through the curtains, you stayed awake puzzling over who could have done such an altruistic but intrusive thing…

And how.

The details next to the figure on your phone’s screen are nothing more than a random jumble of numbers and letters, granting you no insight into the identity of your mysterious benefactor.

You had a suspicion… but the likelihood of him being the culprit is just so low as to be outlandish. How would he have even gotten your bank details anyway?

‘Perhaps,’ you mused, glowering at the ceiling of your new accommodations, ‘It could all be chalked up to an honest mistake…’

So, exhaling gruffly and tugging the too-scratchy blankets up to your chest, you resolved to do some digging before you leapt to any concrete conclusions.

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

The very next morning saw you all but dead on your feet.

It had taken a monumental effort to convince both your body and your boss that you were raring to go for your first day at a new job.

You don’t think either of them were very convinced.

Turns out, it would just be Terry and yourself working on the farm, on account of, ‘No other bastard’s managed to last a month. Probably spooked by the shit that goes on around here after dark.’

“That’s too bad,” you’d commiserated, recalling the rather vivid image of a wild-eyed farmer charging towards you last night with his shotgun raised.

“Bunch’a pussies,” Terry spat crudely, yanking open a metal gate and somehow ignoring the awful screech of its rusted hinges as he led you inside the first cattle barn.

You just hummed in response, bobbing your head and tilting it away from him lest he catch the bemused smile you were failing to repress.

You’d been polite when you asked him about the strange payment as he walked you through the barns, giving you a brief rundown of a typical day’s expectations.

“Just trying to suss out where it came from,” you’d said conversationally, keeping the corner of your eye on one of the heifers staring you down from a few yards away, likely wondering why you’re blocking her path to the broken water trough, “Thought maybe it was a… a generous advance from you or something.”

All Terry did was grunt as he gave the pipe jutting from the wall a rough kick. Seconds later, its service box gurgled and sputtered, and water finally started flowing back into the tank.

“Don’t believe in no ‘advances,” he scowled disdainfully, turning a beady eye onto you, “Show me you can work, then I’ll show you your paycheque.”

You figured as much, but you had to be sure.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” you acquiesced, diplomatic, and again bemused that the man who believes in extra-terrestrials doesn’t believe in something so outlandish as an advance.

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

The money remains untouched, of course.

You’re tempted by it, certainly, the way a hungry child might be tempted by a large, unattended slice of chocolate cake.

But you’re not a child. And ten thousand is no mere slice of cake.

It isn’t yours. You didn’t earn it, and you don’t want it.

You don’t.

You still have to remind yourself of that every other hour though, because it would certainly make retrieving your truck a whole hell of a lot easier.

Thankfully, the work Terry puts you to provides ample distraction from temptation.

Getting your head down, you shadow him around the dairy, listening in on his telephone conversations with the milk hauliers as he simultaneously shows you where the parlour is.

It’s a relatively small farm. Difficult to manage alone, but just fine enough for two people to handle.

After demonstrating how to fit the milking machine onto a rather unimpressed cow, Terry sends you off to do some of the simpler tasks to break you in for your first day.

‘Grunt work,’ he calls it.

You call it ‘jobs Terry doesn’t want to do.’

No matter. You willingly fall into the mundanity and repetition of simpler tasks, glad to be busying your hands, not your head.

Pliers in tow, you go about tightening the barbed wire around each paddock to stop the cows getting their heads under the fence if they feel like making break for the open desert. Following that, you take a can of oil to all the rusty gate hinges, scrub down each stall in the parlour, familiarise yourself with the layout of the dairy and even introduce yourself to the cantankerous rooster strutting circles around a flock of hens in the front yard.

“If he runs at’chya, don’t you dare kick ‘im,” Terry warns as he skulks past you with a bucket of rat poison under one arm, “He’s protectin’ his girls.”

You peer down at the rooster, who eyeballs you in return, his wings lowered and his feathery chest puffed out.

Wordlessly, you both agree to stay out of each other’s way.

-----

It isn’t until Terry calls you in for an early supper that you finally pluck up the courage to inquire about your truck.

“Just get it towed,” Terry tells you as he shovels a forkful of bacon into his mouth, “S’a couple of places in Jasper who’ll drop it off here.”

“I can’t afford a tow,” you sigh around your own mouthful.

Screwing an eye shut, the old farmer squints across the table at you with a sceptical hum. “Thought you said you got a lot of money on you…”

“Money that isn’t mine to spend,” you remind him, “It only dropped into my account last night. And whoever did it, I’m not convinced they meant to.”

You certainly hope they didn’t mean to.

“Besides,” you add, chasing a potato around your plate with a fork, “I have every intention of giving it back.”

Very gradually, Terry’s bushy, grey eyebrows creep closer and closer together, wrinkling a forehead that’s already been harshly creased by time and age. For several, awkward moments, he scowls at you with the exasperation of a man who’s never heard such tripe in all his life.

“Jeezus,” he scoffs at last, laying his cutlery down on the plate with a ‘clink’, “Well… Least I know I didn’t hire some fancy entrepreneur.”

He doesn’t stop staring at you though. If anything, he seems to be taking an even closer look. The deep, brooding frown on his face is set like dried cement as he roves his glare down to your hands, to the scrapes and nicks dug from skin not yet callused by a life of hard, physical labour.

Proof, in his eyes, that you’ve put in the work he asked you to do. And not a complaint out of you all day…

“Mmph…” Chewing on his mouthful for a moment longer, he at last swallows it down, smacking his lips and exhaling roughly through his nose as he tosses his soiled napkin onto the plate. “Fine.”

Lifting your head, you hesitantly echo, “Fine?”

“I got a tractor and a tow rope,” he elaborates, pushing his chair out and rising to his feet, “I’ll go get your truck.”

Shocked by his unexpected generosity, you scramble to follow him away from the table, feeling far too much like a broken record as you self-consciously raise your hands, palms tipped towards the ceiling “I… can’t pay you…” you admit, ashamed.

Gruffly, he retorts, “Don’t recall askin’ you to."

“Well, at least deduct the cost of the fuel from this month’s wages,” you offer as a compromise.

At that, as if you’d said something entirely ludicrous, Terry promptly stops in his tracks and whips his head around towards you so quickly, it’s a wonder his flat cap doesn’t come flying off.

Exuding the air of a man who’s wholly unimpressed, he glares you down until you physically wither beneath his scrutiny, shrinking in on yourself, head retreating backwards to try and hide between your rising shoulders.

“Goddamn, Kid. No wonder you ended up here,” he at last grumbles disparagingly, “You ain’t exactly goin’ places with that kind of credo.”

And to say that didn’t sting would be a bold-faced lie.

You didn’t even consider the possibility that you were saying something foolish until Terry drew specific attention to it. Now you just feel ashamed because you know you ought to be.

“Sorry,” you concede, cupping your elbows and avoiding his stare, “...Look, will you at least let me come and help you fetch it?”

The truck is yours after all. Your responsibility. Your burden to retrieve, not his.

At the suggestion of assistance, however, Terry’s boots falter again on the threshold between the front door and the porch, and he cocks his head to one side in clear contemplation.

Trailing to a stop behind him, you wait, shifting on your feet and chewing a welt onto the inside of your cheek.

You’ve almost drawn blood by the time he shakes his head and announces, “Nah,” much to your dismay, though the disappointment is fleeting as he’s quick to start marching off again, beckoning over a shoulder for you to follow him out into the yard. “I been hitchin’ up to tractors since before you were born… Got somethin’ else you can help with though…”

Curiosity - always the more potent force - sweeps in to readily take the place of your discouragement. “Oh?” you ask, perking up and trotting obediently after the old farmer.

“Yup,” he says, “Got some stuff needs pickin’ up from the store in town. Hate goin’ in myself. Too noisy. Kids always runnin’ around, eyein’ up my wallet.”

Doubtless they’re just kids being kids and he’s seeing behaviour that isn’t there, but you don’t dispute his claim. You’re just glad to feel like you’re finally about to do something useful, nodding eagerly as you chirp, “Sure! I can go into town for you, no problem. Is there another car I can take or…?”

His retort comes as a sharp bark of laughter, which doesn’t bode well for you at all.

“Not a chance in Hell,” he guffaws, “Ain’t usin’ two tanks of gas…”

Gradually, your heart sinks down towards your shoes, but before you can start entertaining the gruelling prospect that he’s about to make you walk all the way into Jasper, Terry rounds the corner of his house and adds, “C’mon. Reckon it’s time I introduced you to Tom…”

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

Tom, you soon discover, is in fact not derived from the longer name ‘Thomas.’ At least not in this instance. Here, Terry seems only too gleeful as he tells you that it’s the short form of ‘Tom Thumb,’ something that brings him no end of amusement when he leads you to a paddock attached to the back of the farmhouse and you find yourself staring agog at an absolute titan grazing behind the little, wooden fence.

Now, you can appreciate the irony of a good misnomer as much as the next person, but the implications of what you’re looking at are not lost on you, considering what Terry has just asked you to do.

Standing beyond a little, wooden fence that hardly seems adequate to keep such an animal contained, is a colossal, ebony Shire horse, munching lazily at a pile of hay left out to grow dry and brittle under the afternoon sun.

Pursing his lips, the farmer whistles loud and shrill, calling out, “Tom! C’mon!”

With apparent effort, the horse raises its massive head and turns to blink down at you through long, sweeping lashes, still chewing idly on his mouthful of hay.

“Terry,” you deadpan, turning to send the man an incredulous look, brows arched high on your head.

Shrugging his shoulders brusquely, he retorts, “What?”

“Terry!”

“Oh, quitch’yer whinin’. Tom’s a damn-sight cheaper’n insuring a tractor for a year, I’ll tell you that right now. Saves a fortune on gas. Hay’s cheap around here.”

Floundering in the air with one hand as if you’re trying to fish through it for a lick of sense, you exclaim, “Terry, that is completely beside the point!” At last gesturing wildly at the apathetic gelding – who has already lost interest and turned back to his fodder – you add, “I can’t ride a horse into Jasper!”

Puffing out a dismissive grunt, Terry simply brushes past you and makes for a tumbledown tack room built flush against the rear of his house. “Oh, sure you can,” he tells you as he goes, “Tom’s as cold-blooded as they come. Means he don’t spook easily. Had him shipped over from England in the nineties – poor old boy was towin’ barges. So, I got my hands on him and made him tow a plough instead, hah!”

“Hah,” you wheeze half-heartedly, stumbling after him in a daze and casting a sympathetic glance at the Shire, “… Does he make a good work horse?”

Striking his shoulder against the door a few times to arduously inch it open, Terry lets out a scoff between two breaths before he replies, “Hell yeah, he did. Damn good draughter in his day. Course, that was before I stopped arable and started focusing on the dairy. Now, Tom’s retired.”

Heaving an aggrieved sigh, he finally manages to get the door open wide enough to step into the gloom, fumbling for a pull-string. It creaks when he yanks it, and a dusty lightbulb splutters to life, dangling from the ceiling and illuminating the cluttered space within. “He’s just gettin’ fat and lazy in his paddock. I can’t ride him no more, so I need you to start. It’ll do him some good to make the shopping trips again.”

The notion, apparently, is non-negotiable.

Terry wastes no time showing you how to tack the massive gelding, who endures both your inexperience and the man’s incessant rambling with a stoic sort of resignation that better befits a grizzled, old soldier than a nag.

Despite your constant flow of objections, Terry won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and when he points out, ‘You said you wanted to help,’ you can only hang your head dolefully and acquiesce, knowing you’re as good as beat.

You do, however, adamantly insist that you aren’t going anywhere without a riding hat, refusing to back down even as Terry seems to grow more and more vexed by your persistence until he finally caves and digs an old, black helmet from a barrel deep inside the tack room, muttering about ‘health and safety gone mad,’ under his breath.

Happy to let him be unimpressed, you shake a disgruntled spider out of the hat before sitting it on your head and pulling a face at how tight it is.

Still, you reason, too tight is better than a fractured skull.

And so, with the saddlebags slung across Tom’s hindquarters and your boots stuck awkwardly into too-large stirrups, you’re sent out through the gate with Terry’s paper shopping list stuffed into your shirt pocket, crumpled up beneath the weight of your (freshly-charged) phone.

“I’m givin’ you one-twenty,” Terry barks, reaching up and slapping a wad of notes into your outstretched palm, “I don’t wanna see a cent of it goin’ to anythin’ other than what’s on that list. You hear?”

“Loud and clear,” you quip, sliding the money into the pocket of your work trousers and giving Tom’s sides a nudge with your heels.

The horse’s barrel-stomach expands and contracts around a massive sigh as he begrudgingly picks up his hooves.

“Remember; Highway forty-nine,” you call back to the old farmer as you plod through the open gates, “A couple of miles North of Jasper. The truck’s right on the side of the road, you can’t miss it!”

Terry’s hand waves your words away dismissively as if he’s trying to swat away a fly, but you know he heard you.

Twisting forwards in the saddle, you squeeze Tom’s leathery reins between your palms and lift your eyes to the horizon, and the long, straight road that’ll take you right into town.

If you’re going to be travelling back out into the desert, you suppose it would be prudent to keep your eyes peeled for a certain Good Samaritan who purportedly patrols these parts. Because with Terry’s name cleared off your list of suspects, there’s only one other person you’ve met in recent days who might be guilty of dumping a suspicious lump-sum into your bank account.

And by God, do you have a bone to pick with him.

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

The ride into Jasper is about as dull as you expected it would be.

While the sun begins its steady decline towards the Western sky, Tom ambles along unhurriedly beneath you, his hooves clopping a rhythmic beat into the sand-dusted tarmac.

As a show of deference, you’ve given him all but the last few inches of his reins, allowing his bowed head to sway unimpeded from side to side with each step, ears flopped languidly against his skull, whereas in contrast, you sit rigid and unnatural upon his too-wide back.

The leather saddlebags squeak gently as the tack rubs together, mingling well with the buzz and hum of insects orchestrating this evening’s ambiance.

Breathing out a measured exhale, you try to sit back in the saddle and relax, counting your blessings that Terry hadn’t told you to go into town on foot.

“But what if I get lost!?” you’d argued as the farmer clambered up into his tractor, a towing strap coiled around one sinewy shoulder.

“Y’aint gonna get lost,” he admonished with a roll of his eyes, “If you do, just ask for directions, Christ! ‘Sides, Tom knows his way home. All you gotta do is mount up, and he’ll do the rest.”

When you took this job, you didn’t have any inkling that you’d be deferring to a horse, but then again, you’re not exactly in a position to complain.

“At least one of us knows what they’re doing,” you comment aloud, reaching forwards to scratch at his withers, half obscured under the saddle-horn. As your fingernails scrape back and forth across his hard-to-reach spot, the horse stretches his neck out and wiggles his upper lip in the air, a clear enough indication to you that he either appreciates the scratch or the praise, though you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the former.

Before long, the open desert skyline falls away behind you, replaced by rows of quaint little homes that perch on the outskirts of Jasper. At one point, you even pluck up the courage to click your tongue and ease Tom into a slow, loping trot along the roadside, daring to let yourself enjoy the wind against your face as you raise your hand to thank the occasional driver who slows down when they pass you by, eyes on stalks.

Tom seems more than content to follow the line of the main road at a heavy trot with all the confidence of a horse that’s travelled this path a hundred times before.

Houses and gardens tentatively give way to a park, several run-down shopfronts, and then a library. And even further up the road, Tom slows to a walk and takes you past what must be Jasper’s school, judging by the tumultuous throng of children and teenagers lounging around on the stone steps or waving down their parents’ cars.

“Must be home-time,” you murmur aloud, doing a convincing job of pretending not to notice the plentiful stares and giggles you’re drawing from various clusters of students.

Unnoticed by you, lost among the myriad of youthful faces, a girl sits slumped against the brick wall that runs along the outer perimeter of the school. Her back is arched, a wiry frame hunched possessively over the sketch book she has propped against her bent knees, a pen dancing furiously across the page. 

You don’t notice her at all – why would you when she’s just one of many lost in the crowd of whispering, tittering teens that you’re trying desperately to ignore?

Below you, Tom bobs his head and snorts loudly just as he draws parallel with the student, and all at once, her pale face shoots up from the book, a glittery pen clutched tightly between her fingers falling still against the page.

You very nearly jump out of your skin when a loud, strident voice all but explodes from the comparatively tiny girl on your left.

“WOAH! Hey, I love your horse!”

Even Tom seems mildly taken aback by the exclamation, turning his nose towards the source and flicking his ears up as the girl springs to her feet, pink-tipped bunches bobbing up and down on a head of otherwise black hair.

“Oh!” you bumble, glancing over at her before remembering yourself and flashing a sheepish smile, “Er, I – thanks. He’s, uh, not mine though.”

Apparently undeterred, the girl simply snaps her sketchbook closed, stuffs it under her arm and bounds towards you with the gumption of a crow discovering something shiny, her eyes sharp and sparkling. “Cool!” she announces, keeping pace with the horse’s gait and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial – and far less obtrusive – volume, “You rustle him, or what?”

At once, your face falls, and Tom’s hooves come to a stop on the side of the road as if he can sense that his rider isn’t paying attention and decides to use the opportunity to be idle, but before you can stammer out that ‘No, you did not, in fact, steal a horse,’ another voice pipes up from nearby, scolding and scandalised.

“Miko!”

Glancing sideways along the path, your gaze lands on a pair of boys approaching 'Miko' with varying expressions of concern. The oldest – though not yet old enough to grow a shadow under his chin – has his face pulled into a frown that doesn’t suit his adolescent features, dark brows furrowed over equally dark eyes. Bemused, you can tell he’s trying very hard to level the girl with a look that would give even the most disapproving parent a run for their money.

“You can’t just accuse someone of stealing a horse,” he admonishes, earning an exasperated groan from your newest acquaintance who meets your gaze and jerks her head at the boy as if to say, ‘Can you believe what I have to put up with?’

“Ugh, just ignore him,” she complains aloud, “Jack’s a total fun sponge.”

Noted. 

Sticking like a burr to the older student’s side is another boy – this one far younger than his companion, you deduce. Shorter too. He looks utterly tiny from your position up on Tom’s back, barely standing half as tall as the dark-haired boy, and even then, a lot of his height is lent to him by the wild, flyaway spikes of brown hair that sweep up from his skull. His clothes seem to hang off his frame, giving him bulk where you imagine there isn’t any. Jeans that are far too long have been rolled up several times at the cuffs and crammed into the tops of his trainers, likely to keep him from tripping over their hems every time he takes a step.

You can’t help but notice how nervous he looks, his round face tilted down towards the ground but his eyes wide and upturned behind a pair of thick, black spectacles, eyeing Tom and yourself with dubious curiosity, as if he’s reluctant to venture any closer, yet inquisitive enough to keep his feet shuffling along after his friend anyway.

Of its own accord, your mouth lifts into a friendly smile, aiming it at the youngster, who spots it, blinks in surprise for a moment, and finally offers you a shy, fleeting grin in return.

“Uh, hi! Sorry about her,” the aforementioned Jack pipes up, drawing your attention down to him as he stops beside Miko and gives her a companionable bump with his elbow, “She doesn’t actually think you stole a horse.”

He barely manages to finish his sentence before Miko butts in, her eyes still fixed eagerly on said horse, paying little mind now to the boys at her side. “Can I pet him?” she rushes out, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Um…” Sparing a glance down at Tom’s floppy ears, you spend a brief moment mulling over the prospect of letting little fingers venture too close to the mouth of a horse you… really don’t know very well. He looks nonplussed though, and even apathetic to the whole situation, hardly paying more than a lazy glance at the girl inching closer and closer to his neck.

“I think that’s okay,” you give in, “I mean… he hasn’t bitten me yet, so…”

Evidently, even hesitant permission is good enough for her.

Bounding across the remaining distance, Miko wastes next to no time in reaching up and boldly thrusting her hand underneath Tom’s shaggy mane, running it down the length of his strong, muscled neck and gasping in unmitigated delight. 

“Easy, Kid,” you tell her gently as the Shire tosses his head back, snorting at the suddenness of her approach, “He might like a bit of warning next time.”

“Sorry!” she chirrups, her mouth stretched into a toothy grin, entirely preoccupied by the horse.

You get the sense she’s used to apologising on autopilot.

“Just wait’ll Bulk hears about this! He’s gonna freak!” Twisting her neck over a shoulder, she beams eagerly at the boys behind her and barks, “Jack! Raf! Get over here! He’s so soft!”

Jack’s thick eyebrows flinch apart and he quickly raises his hands, shaking them out in front of himself. “Uh, no thanks,” he chuckles awkwardly, trying to play off apprehension as cool indifference, “I’m good. He’s all yours.”

The girl scoffs something under her breath that she’d definitely take flack for if she was overheard by anybody other than yourself. Jack, however, seems nonplussed by the jab, offering you a small shrug when he briefly catches your eye before pulling a phone from his pocket and busying himself with the screen.

Meanwhile, the youngster – Raf, was it? – has taken a hesitant step forwards, leaving his taller friend’s shadow and sidling up to Miko’s flank, his bespectacled eyes flicking back and forth between your face and Tom’s.

“W-what’s his name?” he manages, clenching and unclenching his fists as he gazes at the giant of a horse towering over him.

Relaxing forwards against the saddle horn, you keep an eye on the Shire’s lips when he bends around to snuffle curiously at the hand Miko offers up to his velvety muzzle.

“Tom,” you supply, jerking your chin encouragingly towards the horse’s shoulder and flashing Raf a reassuring grin, “Short for Tom Thumb.”

The smile that’s been playing at the younger boy’s lips finally stretches into something material as he reaches up and brushes the very tips of his fingers over the Shire’s foreleg, quietly uttering, “Hi, Tom.”

Beside him, Miko’s face screws up comically and she scoffs, “Tom Thumb? That’s a dumb name. Should’a called him… er… Oh! Titan! Or – or Thunderhoof!”

Jack flashes her another exasperated glower whilst you nod ponderously at the suggestions, pursing your lips. “Mm. Those are pretty cool names….”

While she tosses a triumphant smirk over her shoulder, you pausing to scratch at the back of your neck, regarding the kids for a few more moments with one eye screwed shut in contemplation. “Say,” you pipe up at last, earning three curious looks, “You guys think you could help me with something?”

“You want us to help you think up a better name!?” Miko suggests hopefully, ducking beneath Tom’s head when he swings it around to nudge at Raf’s arm, doubtless aware of something edible in the boy’s backpack. At first, he lets out a tiny gasp of alarm, but quickly settles, even laughs quietly under his breath when the horse's soft, rubbery lips snuffle the sleeve of his shirt.

“Ah, no,” you huff, amused, “Nothing so exciting.”

Still standing at a respectable – and safe – distance from the Shire, Jack subconsciously mirrors you, lifting an arm to rub at the base of his neck as he says, “Sure, we can um… We can help. What’d you need?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find… Oh, hang on…” The three of them exchange glances as you delve into the pocket of your shirt and tug out Terry’s scrap of paper, unfolding it and holding it up in front of your face. “Uh…” Squinting at the unsteady scrawl, you read, “Ham’s Home and Hardware?”

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

There are very few things more endearing than teenagers who clearly want to prove they can be helpful.

Miko’s incorrect yet very enthusiastic directions were cautiously disputed by Raf, and then corrected by Jack, who was only too happy to point you towards the right street, even thanking you on behalf of his friends for allowing them to indulge in their curiosity of Tom.

“My pleasure,” you’d returned, throwing a wave over your shoulder as you nudged the horse into a walk, “And thanks again. You guys make sure to get home safely, okay?”

You didn’t understand why Miko snorted, nor why Raf told you rather emphatically not to worry, and why Jack’s soft chuckle and subsequent, ‘Oh, we will,’ seemed a little too knowing, but you didn’t give it much regard.

You were a teenager once too, cryptic and peculiar.

There’s still a very jovial grin perched across your lips by the time you stagger out of the hardware shop with your arms bogged down by plastic bags filled to the brim with Terry’s essentials. As promised, you used almost exactly what he gave you, plus a bit of spare change that jingles around in your pocket, and you made certain to nab the receipt too just in case he’s inclined to check you’ve been honest.

It’s a game to get two new hammers, a box of nails, batteries, and several foodstuffs into Tom’s saddlebags, but you manage somehow, even with an audience of amused shoppers who stop to snicker at your attempts to remount the Shire horse using nothing but a stray traffic cone and sheer force of will.

The sun has dipped considerably lower on the skyline as you ride out of Jasper at a brisk trot, leaving the houses, cul-de-sacs and all the traffic behind you.

After several minutes spent enjoying the barren stillness of the desert and passing by a scorpion that's pre-emptively ventured out into the dying light, your mind wanders to thoughts of your mysterious benefactor, and consequentially, the kind truck driver who picked you up last night…

It’s a coincidence that you can’t rightly ignore.

Optimus…. What was it Terry had called him? The Angel of Highway 49? Insinuating you’re likely to find him on the same stretch of road you came in on last night. And if what Optimus said was true about testing the truck's automated systems when there’s less traffic on the road, your best bet is to venture out after dark…

… Figures.

But, as of this moment, you’re far too tired and far too close to the end of a long, arduous day to go chasing after ‘angels.’

Leaning your weight back in the saddle, you resolve to track down the Peterbilt another time, when you’re not quite so exhausted.

It’s nearly silent on the road. Peaceful, even, and although you’d initially been reluctant to complete this task for your new employer, you have to admit, there’s something very restful about being out here alone…

And as if to rudely remind you that you are not, in fact, alone, the horse below you jerks to a sudden halt.

“Shit!” you yelp, startled, planting your hand on his saddle horn just to keep yourself from being launched out of the stirrups and onto his neck as Tom throws his head up, ears pinned back against his skull.

“What the Hell, Tom?” you gripe, “What’s got you so spooked?” 

Agitation in a horse his size in never subtle.

Nostrils flared towards the sky, Tom’s hooves shift and prance underneath you, and he hauls his sturdy bulk around to stand sideways, aiming a single, rolling eye down the road, back in the direction you’ve just ridden from.

Heart thumping a bruise against the inside of your ribcage, you whip your head about, following his line of sight and clenching the reins between white-knuckled fists. “What!?” you blurt aloud, wholly undeterred by the fact that the horse can’t respond in any comprehendible way, “What is it!?”

And that’s when you hear it.

It starts out faint like distant brontide, the mere threat of a storm approaching on an otherwise peaceful horizon.

Squinting against the dying light, you peer down the road, and at once, your eyes land on a bright, cherry red blob that wavers in the air above the sun-baked tarmac as if it’s nothing more than a mirage, growing bigger and more defined as it hurtles out of Jasper and charges towards you at a breakneck speed.

A sound like thunder given voice rolls across the desert, swelling louder and more obtrusive with every second that flits by, festering in your eardrums until you can almost feel the vibrations thrumming through your chest.

It’s the powerful bellow of a car’s engine.

And it’s coming on fast.

Too fast.

Already, the indiscernible blob has grown into the very vivid shape of a sports car. Part of you hopes the driver will see you in time, and with a sudden burst of urgency, you throw an arm out and swing it up and down as Tom tosses his mane and leans his weight back onto his haunches, forelegs dancing off the ground.

To your quickly mounting horror, the car doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. An impressive cloud of sand and dust flies along in its wake like contrails tailing a jumbo jet, and you realise with a sudden lurch of your gut that you’re miles too late to try and get Tom off the road.

The vehicle is upon you in a matter of seconds.

Before you can even cry out, a blur of angry, scarlet hellfire scorches past you and the horse at a blistering pace, not bothering to swerve around you to put even a modicum of space between itself and Tom.

You almost feel as if the air itself has been ripped out of your lungs at the speed of its passing. Suddenly, your hair is whipped up into a frenzy beneath the riding hat, and Tom’s mane and tail are simultaneously blasted to the side as the atmosphere around you both is sucked along in the wake of the car.

Poor Tom – whose life has only ever known a cavalcade of steady, slow-moving tractors, boats, and even slower humans – finally meets his match in the form of modern automation.

Rearing up onto his hind legs, the Shire belts out a deep, resonant whinny, striking furiously at the air with his hooves. It’s too sudden, too jarring of a movement for you to remember to clamp your knees around the saddle and throw your weight forwards.

With the roar of an engine still buzzing at the inside of your skull, you let out a garbled string of noises and tumble over the back the saddle, your feet slipping from the too-wide stirrups.

Gravity takes you by the throat and pulls. Hard.

You topple, hands outstretched and clasping madly for anything that might prevent the inevitable – reins, mane, saddle… But then the sky is suddenly all you can see, a blur of bleeding hues that flash by as fast as the car had.

It all spins above you, around you, a maelstrom of confusion and alarm until, just as abruptly as it had begun, everything comes to a painful halt.

The hard, sickening ‘thud!’ hits your ears before the pain does.

Your shoulders are the first to strike tarmac, bearing the brunt of a significant fall that knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves them empty and shrivelled, unable to swell enough to produce even a tiny wheeze of pain.

The riding hat bounces off the road next, absorbing the impact on behalf of your cranium, and for one moment, you simply lay there gasping on your back, eyes blown wide as saucers and your mouth hanging open in shock as you listen to the drum of hoofbeats galloping away across the sand, and the equally disheartening drone of a car’s engine receding into the distance.

You blink once…

And then you blink again.

Somehow - you determine with no small amount of trepidation - you’re still conscious.

Good!

You also realise that you can no longer hear Tom’s hoofbeats.

Less good.

Gritting your teeth to stop them from rattling, you screw your face up into a tight ball and push yourself up onto your elbows, squinting at the rear bumper of a car that’s swiftly disappearing down the road.

You suck down a breath, instantly relieved to find your lungs still work, and gasp out a hoarse, incredulous, “Oh-!”

Pausing, you have to swallow down another breath before you have enough air to finish, “My GOD!?”

They could have killed you! Actually, more to the point, they could have killed Tom!

Shock, then anger? Isn't that how it goes?

A pulse pounds aggressively at your eardrums, urging you to scrabble awkwardly but furiously to your feet, blind to the searing twinge in your right shoulder. Once you’re upright, you start to sway as the sudden movement jostles your skull and sends your brain swimming for a few, awful seconds before you clench your eyes shut and take in a steadying breath through your nose.

Shaking, you let it out again in a rush, eyes bursting open and zeroing in on the flash of red, not unlike a bull locking on to a matador’s muleta.

“HEY! SHIT-FOR-BRAINS!” you howl after the retreating car and reach up to fumble agitatedly with your chin strap, all the while snarling like some wild, uncivilised beast as you rip off the helmet and launch it at the ground in a fit of rage, “MAYBE IF YOU PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ARSE, YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO SEE WHERE YOU’RE GOING!”

And as if the desert wind had carried your words down that same road, as if somehow, inexplicably, the driver had heard you, that little dot of cherry red on the horizon suddenly screeches to a stop.

The abrupt switch from thunderous engine to the squeal of rubber tyres on tarmac is shocking enough to wipe the scowl right off your face.

Lungs chugging out breaths like a runaway train, you suddenly find each inhale and exhale far too loud, exacerbated by the jarring silence that’s descended over the desert, leaving you far more conscious of the incessant, high-pitched ringing in your ears.

Far in the distance, that shiny red car– once more warped by the sun’s heat rising from the tarmac – starts to slowly turn itself about.

The breath in your throat catches on spittle.

Swallowing, you straighten up, mildly surprised that the driver has bothered to turn back. You suppose they must have noticed the horseless rider in their rear-view mirror and grew a timely conscience.

Well! Planting your hands squarely on each hip, you give a decisive nod. At least they have the common decency to return and check that they hadn’t, in fact, killed you!

You’re still going to give them a piece of your mind, of course.

Heaving an almighty sigh, you card your hands through your flattened hair and grimace at the sweat that still sticks to your scalp, buried underneath the warm helmet for so many hours. What you wouldn’t give to be in a shower right now, instead of dealing with this catastrophe.

As the car comes pealing back up the road in your direction, its engine roaring like a sea at storm, you lift your hands and hook them behind your head, twisting sideways to grimace helplessly out at the open desert, and the tiny, black dot rapidly galloping off into the distance, running parallel with the road.

“Cold-blooded’ my foot,” you scoff, though not too unkindly. You can’t imagine the old nag has had a lot of experience with flashy, irresponsible speedsters who have a horsepower that far exceeds his own.

… At least he looks to have turned his nose in the direction of Terry’s Dairy…

You’re busy praying to whatever god you think might listen that Tom will make it home in one piece when the particularly aggressive bellow of an engine rips your focus back towards the highway.

You balk violently at the sight of a cherry-red Aston gunning towards you. 

‘What the… Are they…?’

Just moments ago, there’d been a considerable distance standing between you and the car, but in the few short seconds where you took your eyes off it, that distance has been more than halved, and the gap is growing narrower and narrower with every beat of your quavering heart.

The driver must have their foot to the floor.

All the blood drains from your face in a blink. Your muscles go taut of their own accord, some long-buried instinct rears its sleepy head as every ounce of tension flows down to your legs.

A dark, steel grill of the car is aimed directly at you, glinting in the meagre sunlight like a mouthful of bared teeth, threatening and furious.

Twenty yards….

There’s no way they’d really…?

Ten yards…

Shit, it’s right on top of you-

Just as you think you’re about to become a smear across its blood-red bonnet, your body suddenly seizes control away from your brain and you all but launch yourself sideways in a graceless, desperate leap.

You hit the ground hard, landing harshly on your already-bruised shoulder with an ‘oof!’ right as the driver ploughs across the space you’d just been standing not a second earlier.

The wind buffets against you on his pass, and the force of it is strong enough to roll you over onto your side. Following the momentum, you allow yourself to twist all the way around onto your opposite side, gaping in astonishment at the taillights of your would-be murderer.

“What the HELL!?” you can’t help but shriek, heart striking the base of your throat with every, agitated thump.

A flood of crimson light sears your retinas as the car’s brakes engage and it fishtails to a halt nearly one hundred yards up the road, its engine revving so loudly, you can feel the vibrations humming through the palms of your hands when you shove yourself up onto your knees.

“HEY!” you shout, your voice shrill, yet lost and small in comparison to the growling car, “Are you completely insane!?”

You’ve heard it said that it’s never a good idea to call a crazy person crazy.

Once, you believed the notion was a nod to how unmannerly it is to comment on anyone’s state of mind. Now, however, you wonder if the notion exists because asking as much isn’t unlike poking at a sleeping bear.

Risky and altogether ill-advised.

And true to your theory, the driver’s rear wheels start to spin madly before they gather purchase on the tarmac, catching and whipping the vehicle’s nose around to face you.

The wintery bite of ice-water in your veins freezes you in place, stuck on your knees and staring through wide, incredulous eyes at the grill of a rampaging car.

Now, the distance between you and it is meagre. And you’ve already seen the speed at which it can eat up space.

Your palms start to burn where they’re braced against the hard, simmering road, but you keep them splayed there, sweat beading above your lips as you listen to the idle thrum of the engine.

You don’t rightly know what you did to warrant this hostility, but you suppose it hardly matters.

You really do meet all sorts out on the road.

The sun is dipping lower and lower behind the Aston, casting a long, dark shadow that creeps towards you over the tarmac, and almost – almost – ghosts the tips of your fingers. Swallowing thickly, you curl them inwards as if your body knows instinctively that even that intangible part of the car shouldn’t be touching you.

Eyes screwed halfway shut against the light, you set your jaw into a hard, rigid line, braced to react.

It’s a standoff. One you really didn’t see coming.

A hapless farmhand, and an irate driver hidden behind an illegally dark window tint…

The latter observation tugs at something in the back of your mind, and the word ‘shit’ flashes briefly through your skull, soon followed by the more emphatic, ‘Fuck!’

Just whose toes have you managed to step on?

The flashy car, the blacked-out windows, the reckless driving, and blatant disregard for human life....? 

When you were reading up on the state before moving here, didn't you learn that Nevada is a high-intensity drug trafficking area?

…

……. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you reiterate aloud, eyebrows creeping up towards your hairline as a heavy ball of lead drops straight into your gut.

The driver must have been waiting for some realisation to dawn on you because no sooner have you uttered the words than the Aston’s grumbling engine suddenly lets out another deafening roar.

Rubber tyres squeal on the tarmac, spinning in place for a second and kicking up sand like a mustang scraping its hooves before charging.

By the time you’ve flinched at the sound, the car has already lurched forwards, haring towards you once more.

Terror steals the strength from your limbs.

You’re still on your knees, disadvantaged and slow. Too slow to do anything other than throw your arms over your head and bleat out a wild, faltering cry.

“Wait! PLEASE-!”

The plea hasn’t even finished leaving your tongue when the world around you is rocked by an absolutely cacophonous din.

The blast of a horn - apoplectic with rage given its volume - drowns out the engine of your assailant, and before you can register the source of God’s Seventh trumpet, a monstrous titan of blue and contrasting red comes crashing across your field of view.

From out of nowhere, a familiar semi-truck barrels sideways into the path of the oncoming Aston, its massive wheels locking it into place and bringing it to a lurching halt right across the road like a blockade of shining metal and billowing smokestacks.

Mouth agape, you drop your arms and fling your eyes up to the driver’s side door, bowled over onto your back by the unexpected yet timely arrival of the very person you’ve been meaning to find.

“Optimus!?” you blurt squeakily.

Where the Hell did he come from!?

Suddenly, above the truck's rumbling growl, you hear a far less impressive set of tyres squeal sharply on the road as the rampaging driver slams on their brakes.

But they were already far too close to you, and travelling at such a speed, you know without seeing that there’s going to be a collision.

And sure enough….

‘C R U N C H!’

The body of Optimus’s truck doesn’t even budge an inch.

Unstoppable force, meet Immoveable object…

Metal screeches against metal, and the stomach-churning sound of something crumpling splits the air asunder.

Horrified, you watch on whilst the Peterbilt quakes on its struts, rocked by the sheer force of the crash, but here, in this battle of automobiles, size easily trumps speed, and the truck remains unmoved, a steadfast road block standing triumphant between you and the lunatic in the Aston Martin…

Another scream of metal, something pulling loose and clanging to the ground, and then…

“My… My bonnet! MY PAINT JOB!”

Male, you deduce, snobbish and categorically livid.

“Just who in the PIT do you think you-…? Ah…”

To your astonishment, his voice trails off, and there’s the distinct sound of a car peeling itself further out from the truck's side, its engine much more subdued.

“Prime?” the voice hisses to itself, all prior traces of rage gone. You wonder if he’s leaning out of the window to speak.

When he continues, you note the tone has shifted to something far more apprehensive. “Why! What a… a surprise to see you on this stretch of road!”

Optimus’s speakers remain ominously silent whilst his truck’s engine still hums like guard dog growling in its throat, prompting the other driver to sputter over his words.

“I-I was only messing around with the fleshy, you know that! Just a bit of sport!”

‘Fleshy?’ You pull a face. Good god, this guy must be using the drugs he’s smuggling. Every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like the ramblings of a maniac.

“Is it one of yours?”

'Case in point...' you muse. 

“If I’d known, I’d have never-! You know I wouldn’t really want that under my tyres! Far too messy!”

Cloying, saccharine despite the drivel, his tone smacks of a classic schmoozer, but why does it sound as though he and Optimus are acquainted?

Grunting at the pain in your shoulder, you start to bully yourself up off your backside, emboldened by Optimus’s ‘presence.’ Does the Aston driver know there’s little more than a voice behind the wheel of that imposing truck?

He’s saying something else now, his voice growing fainter as the tyres of his car carry him further away from the solid wall of a Peterbilt.

“I’m no fool. I know not to bite off more than I can chew. No need for this to go any further than it already has.”

As if he wasn’t the one who started it.

You nearly feel a pinch of guilt at the schadenfreude of hearing the nervousness on his tongue, but then you remind yourself of what he did to Tom, what he almost did to you, and the grim satisfaction curling in your gut is permitted a place to stay.

“You understand, I’m su-“

All of a sudden, he’s cut off by the low, chillingly dangerous pitch of Optimus’s voice, rumbling out of the hidden speakers. The sound is so clear and sharp, it’s as though the truck itself has been given a tongue.

One word is all he utters. One word that’s packed with the authority of a King. It isn’t shouted. It isn’t even loud. But it is strong. Deep and dark, so much so that it raises the hairs on the nape of your neck and sends a shiver lancing up your spine.

“L E A V E."

The breath catches in your throat, and at the same time, the Aston’s engine goes quiet as if it had just stalled. But soon enough, you hear the driver mutter a cold, “With pleasure,” followed quickly by another screech of rubber burning a hasty retreat down the highway, and at long last, that once intimidating engine fades away into the distance.

In an instant, your whole body sags and you let out a whooshing breath, one you hadn’t even realised you’ve been keeping hostage inside your lungs.

Ahead of you, even the Peterbilt appears to deflate, its hydraulics hissing noisily as it sinks on its tyres, though you’re too busy hobbling around it to pay any real attention.

Staggering unevenly, still reeling from the shock of it all, you venture to the nose of the truck, peeking around its grill to see the shiny, red bumper crest a gentle slope before vanishing below the horizon line.

“…Who-” you begin, gulping down a trembling breath, “-the Hell… was that?”

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Hi! I love your writing!! I was wondering if you could write prompt 5 for Azriel x reader?

“It kinda sounds like you're flirting with me." ". . . I’ve been doing that for three years now."

Bat Boys x Reader

wc: 1.7K

a/n: i had a lot of people request this prompt for each of the bat boys, so i decided to do a blurb for each one! Hope yall enjoy!

prompt list

Rhysand

Rhysand watched you descend the stairs, sapphire dress flowing around your feet as you stepped. You looked regal in your outfit, causing Rhys to lose any thoughts in his brain aside from those about you. He would never get tired of looking at you.

This was the third Starfall ball since he had returned from Under the Mountain, escaping Amarantha. The first Starfall after his return was rather emotional for everyone, especially for Rhys who was trying not to remember how he had spent the past 49 years on Starfall. The second year, everyone partied a bit too hard in an attempt to keep those same emotions at bay and to celebrate the end of the war. But this year, with the war over and the dust finally settled, Rhys had a plan.

He reached out a hand towards you to escort you to the balcony, admiring the way your hand looked in his.

“You clean up well, High Lord.” You say in a lighthearted tone. He gives you his signature smirk and chuckles slightly at your playful formality.

“I could say the same of you, darling. You look beautiful.” Your cheeks heat. Rhys has complimented you many times in the past, but it never fails to make you blush. You know it’s all a part of his demeanor to compliment you, as well as Mor and Amren, but sometimes you wish it meant more.

The two of you make your way to the crowd of people, eager to enjoy the evening. You can’t help but notice that something seems off with Rhys tonight, but you try to ignore it, assuming it is just anxiety from the bad memories associated with Starfall.

———

After an hour of drinks and dancing, it's finally time for the stars to begin falling. You make your way to your friends, ready to watch from your usual spot, but Rhys pulls you away.

“I want you to watch from a different view with me tonight. Trust me, it's the best view in Velaris.” He whisks you away to his private balcony. As soon as your feet touch the ground, you’re in awe of the view, trying to watch each star as it falls.

“Beautiful.” You mutter in amazement.

“Yes, you are.” Rhys purrs, leaning against the railing next to you. His words make you blush again.

“I meant the stars, Rhys.” You giggle shyly.

“I know. And I meant you. You look absolutely stunning this evening darling.” He leans closer to brush a piece of hair from your face.

“Thank you, Rhys.” You turn to look back at the stars, hoping to hide how red your face has become, but he gently grabs your chin and pulls your attention back towards him.

“I’m serious. Of all the stars here tonight, you shine the brightest.” Gods, he’s being rather heavy-handed with the compliments tonight. Must be the champagne, you rationalize.

“Careful Rhys, it kinda sounds like you’re flirting with me.” You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing and trying even harder not to read too far into things. Rhys hesitates.

“… I’ve been doing that for 3 years now.” He says nervously. You look into his violet eyes, full of vulnerability. You could count on one hand the number of times you have seen Rhys act nervous.

“You have?” You ask quietly, a small smile on your face as you step closer to him. A bit of tension eases from him at the gesture.

“I was too nervous to say anything these past few years. First, the war, and then things were just so chaotic. I wanted to wait until everything was peaceful, until there was actually a future we could look forward to.” You bite your lip anxiously awaiting his next words, causing Rhys to smirk at your shyness. There’s the confident High Lord you know so well. “I want that future with you, y/n.”

“I want that too.” You lean in and kiss him. And with the stars falling all around you, it felt like the entire world was celebrating your love.

———

Cassian

“I give up” You huff, flopping onto the ground after what felt like a million squats. Gwyn giggles at your dramatic defeat, the sound gaining Cassian’s attention.

“I don’t remember saying training was over, y/l/n.” He barks. You groan at his command. Cassian was always extra hard on you, pushing you more than the others. Between that and his flirtatious teasing that always seems to make you flustered, the general may be the most annoying male you know.

“I can’t feel my legs, Cassian.” You whine. He raises a brow at you and smirks.

“Training is over everyone!” He calls, maintaining eye contact with you. “Except for you, y/n.” You give him a vulgar gesture, causing him to laugh.

The rest of the group files out, and Gwyn throws you a wink as she leaves, earning an eye roll from you.

“Sparring. Let’s go.” Cassian orders. There’s no use in arguing any longer, so you make your way to the training ring with a dramatic groan. As soon as you get into position, Cassian begins the attacks.

———

Sweat dripped down your face and back as Cassian proceeded to beat you yet again.

“Again.” He growls. You try to stand, but you can’t seem to make it all the way up, resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

“Cass- Cassian. I can't.” You speak between panting breaths. “Please can we be done?” You beg breathlessly.

“Fine, you can go. Good work today.” He says with a playful smirk. You look at him confused.

“That almost sounded like a genuine compliment.” You were baffled.

“It was. Well, your form could use some work and your stamina has a long way to go, but overall you are really improving. And you sure as hell look good doing it.” He throws you a cheeky grin.

“Are you flirting with me?” You ask sarcastically, assuming he is trying to get under your skin with his comments once again.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been flirting with you for 3 years. It’s about damn time you noticed.” You freeze.

“Excuse me?” What the hell, you thought.

“Half the reason I always have you stay late is as an excuse to spend more time with you.”

“It is?” Cassian shrugs, as if he just said the most normal thing ever. “Well, maybe I have one more round of sparring left in me.” You say, matching his energy. You weren’t sure if this was another ploy to fluster you, but you weren’t going to let him win this time. Cassian grins.

“Or we could give your muscles a break and get dinner tonight?” Okay, definitely not a joke.

“I’ll go, but only if you agree to cut me some slack at training tomorrow.”

“Deal.” He winks. However, as soon as you get to dinner that evening, Cassian confesses that he has no intention of going easy on you at training.

“You almost beat me twice during our sparring. There’s no way in hell I’m letting up until you do.” Honestly, you’re not surprised.

———

Azriel

After a long hard week, a night out at Rita’s was just what you and your friends needed. The bar was completely packed and you were five shots deep, about to take a sixth with Feyre. The night flew by so quickly as you laughed and danced with your friends, not realizing that you gaining the attention of several males in the crowd. Azriel, however, did notice, and sent the most threatening glare at them, causing the males to cower away. Around 3 AM, the rest of your group was drunk and tired and ready to go home. Azriel offered to escort you home, given your inebriated state. You were too dizzy to fly with him, so he decided it was best to walk until you felt okay to fly.

“I don’t want to go home, Azzie! I’m having fun!” You whine, stumbling over your feet. “We should stay! You should dance with me!” He just laughs and keeps you steady while you walk, listening to you, ramble on with drunken nonsense.

“You’re so pretty Azriel.” You slur, poking him in the cheek, causing them to turn pink. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend? You know every female in Velaris would jump at the opportunity to date you” Before he can answer the very awkward and complicated question, you ramble on. “Is it true that wing size coordinates with other body parts? Rhys told me it isn’t true, but I think he’s lying. You have such big wings, Azzie.” You state, in an attempt to sound flirtatious, but as you stumble over your own feet, it just comes out a mess

“Are you trying to flirt with me, y/n?” He asks playfully.

“I’ve been flirting with you for over three years now. You never noticed.” You state so casually that he thinks he must have misheard you. He stops walking.

“Um, y/n?” You turn back, having noticed he isn’t walking beside you anymore.

“Yeah, Az?”

“Have you really been flirting with me for three years?” He asks shyly.

“Of course I have. You know, for being a spymaster, you would think you would’ve caught on by now. A girl can only try so hard to get asked out.” You giggle innocently. Azriel is truly confused. How had he never noticed?

“So tomorrow, when you’re sober, if I were to ask you out, would you say yes?” He cringes at his own insecurity, but he can’t help it.

“Ask me and find out.” You throw him a wink.

———

The next morning you had no memory of that conversation. Azriel couldn’t help but laugh at your complete shock when he asked you out at breakfast, deciding not to retell last night’s events until after your first date.

Thank you to everyone who requested this prompt! There are several other prompts that have multiple characters requested. If I am able to think of multiple plots for a prompt I will try to write it for multiple characters, like I did with this, but I can’t guarantee that I will be able to do that for all of them.

Anyway, thank you for reading, i love you all <3

Prompt List

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #49 - Appreciate]

"When Jungkook shows you his appreciation."

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: he is the best husband ever <3, he tells her all the reasons why she is the best <3, like i love him so much

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: this is based on anonie's request it may have taken me almost four months to get to it, but here it is JFADJSF tbfh it still fits thought because ogc!kookie appreciates women each day 24/7 365 😌 have fun besties, he's the cutest 🧡

You are eating lunch with your employees when Jungkook enters the restaurant. Dressed in a black compression shirt and white baggy pants. Quite frankly, he is the yummiest snack currently present in the room.

“Hey there”, he greets you and your employees with a big grin and a wave of his hand.

“Hey, Kook.”

“Hello.”

“Heyo.”

They greet him back. Marika, your cook, jumps up to get something for Jungkook but the latter stops her.

“It’s fine, keep eating. I’m not here for lunch.”

“Everything alright?” you ask him, leaning in when he kisses your cheek.

“Yeah, everything’s coolio”, he assures you, giving you an innocent shoulder rub as he talks, “wanna come to the studio after work?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Surprise.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Yeah”, he smirks playfully and steps back, “I won’t tell. See you later”, and with that, he leaves the restaurant again.

You watch him hurry back to his studio just across the street. 

Your restaurant and Jungkook’s tattoo studio are located by one of your town's main roads, but are separated by a calmer side road with parking possibilities and palm trees on each side. Jungkook eats lunch in your restaurant on most days and sometimes you visit his studio to bring him coffee. Jungkook also gets all the snacks and drinks for his customers from your restaurant and sometimes, you sweet talk your customers into checking out his studio. Truly, you and he are the perfect symbiosis. 

The rest of your shift is filled with excited anticipation. Jungkook’s surprises are always so special and sweet. You cannot wait to find out what the cute romantic has prepared in his studio. Or perhaps mister horny made the plan. No matter the outcome, you are down for it.

You close up at seven because it was a quiet day and you quite frankly, couldn’t wait any longer.

After checking the road twice, you cross it and then you are already at Jungkook’s studio. He drew the curtains and turned his sign to closed. On other days, you would use your spare keys to enter, but you never know. Maybe he is still working hard on the surprise. You wouldn’t want to ruin it. So you pull out your phone and dial his number. Calling him is honestly the only sure way to reach him. Your little chaotic introvert of a husband always forgets to check his messages. You are not excluded from this rule. 

“Are you here?” Jungkook’s picks up as expected.

“Yup, I’m here. Can I come inside?”

“No, I’m coming.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call ends, moments later the door unlocks and opens. Jungkook is still in the same clothes, but is wearing cologne. His masculine, clean scent hits your nose instantly.

“Wow, you smell amazing”, you greet him by burying your nose in the crook of his neck.

Jungkook laughs, patting your butt.

“Hello to you too.”

You inhale vividly, “sorry”, you step back, “I had to. You smell so sexy.”

“I put it on for you.”

“Mhm, you’re seducing me. That shirt is doing the rest”, you say, rubbing his pecs aggressively.

Jungkook laughs, stopping you with gentle fingers around your wrist.

“You’re already horny and I haven’t even shown you the surprise yet.”

“Right. Sorry. God Kook”, you slap his pecs softly, “that’s what happens when you tell me you’ve got a surprise for me but then let me wait for a day.”

Jungkook laughs, “I just wanted to make sure that you’re coming over today.”

“I seriously need to know. What did you do?”

“Okay so”, Jungkook begins, taking your hand to lead you to the back of the studio. He locks the front door before that. 

Jungkook has his tattoo chair and office in the back. Another set of curtains shields it from the front area of the shop. 

Today, he has your favourite record playing and seems to only use the mood lights.

“As you may know, today is international women’s day and I wanted to do something special for you because you’re my woman.”

“Today’s international women’s day?”

“Yeah.”

“Crap. I didn’t know. If I knew, I’d have given my girls a little something.”

“Just do it tomorrow”, Jungkook assures you and gestures to the sofa, “now. Sit, my lady. I have prepared something for you.”

You let him sit you down, watching him hurry through the room. 

“What did you do?”

“Something”, he says, carrying a silver tray back to you. He bows, “for you, me lady.”

He prepared your favourite cocktail and some snacks.

“Oh? Gosh, thank you”, you accept them with a giddy flutter in your chest.

“Cheers”, he says.

“Cheers”, you say, clinking glasses with him.

“To women. You girls are so badass.”

“God, you’re cute.”

“Heh. Now, let’s get started”, he says and hurries to his notebook.

“That wasn’t the surprise yet?”

“No. This was just the starter”, he says, making you laugh.

“Okay then.”

“Are you comfy?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice”, he says and turns on his projector. 

“Ten reasons why you are a badass woman?” you read the title of the presentation he projects onto the wall.

“Read the subtitle too.”

“Hell yeah! You rock!!” You laugh. “God Kookie, what’s all that?”

“My presentation. Ten reasons why you are a badass woman. Okay so reason number one”, he switches the slides.

There are pictures of you and Bam. They are all candid pictures of moments where you had no idea that Jungkook was taking pictures of you.

“Oh my god, what is all that? Bamie, our Bamie.”

“Number One. You are the best mom ever”, Jungkook says and switches slides.

The new slide is filled with cute doodles of Bam, you and Jungkook with lots of hearts scared in between. Jungkook wrote in child-like letters the words “Best Mom ever!” to make it seem as if Bam wrote them. He even drew a doodle of Bam giving you a kiss on the cheek underneath.

“Oh my god, this is so cute”, you gasp, already feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“As you can see, Bam also participated. He wrote this”, Jungkook says, pointing at the letters.

“I’m so thankful for Bamie, wow”, you play along gladly. You have the best husband ever.

“Reason number two.” He switches slides. Pictures of you at the restaurant. They are clearly made with a professional camera and show you working hard. The editing and lighting makes you look so fucking beautiful. 

“Is that why you were at the restaurant with a camera once?” you gasp.

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “Reason number two. You are the coolest restaurant owner ever. You work so hard and built all of this from nothing.” He switches slides, reading the words he wrote. “Most hardworking queen!!” He even added doodles of him giving you various thumbs-ups.

“Kookie, god you”, you get out and stand up so you could hurry to him. You hug him, “you’re so cute.”

“Okay, but seriously though. You have to sit down again. I have so many more reasons to present.”

You laugh, “I don’t know if I can keep going. This is the cutest thing ever. How long did it take you to make this?” 

“A while. It was fun. Wanna see more?”

“Of course I do. Gosh, you.” 

After you settled again, Jungkook continues with the presentation. He shows off pictures you have never seen before and they each show you in such beautiful light. Pictures of you on your bike he took during various breaks you shared on your many adventures. Pictures of you with your friends laughing and smiling and hugging. Pictures of you at the beach partaking in various activities or lounging in the sun. Pictures of you in the garden, the house and on various dates. You weren’t even aware that Jungkook took so many pictures of you and how incredibly beautiful you look through his eyes. He follows up each picture slide with a slide of doodles and a cute handwritten message. And to make matters even more emotional, the reasons are so thoughtful. They go from light-hearted reasons such as “you tell the funniest jokes”, to serious reasons such as “no matter what happens, you always stand back up”. He knows you so well, allowing you to see yourself in lights of gold and glitter.

By the time Jungkook finally reaches the last slide, the tears run down your cheeks.

You sniffle and sob as you clap.

“Baby, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?” Jungkook gasps, hurrying to you as quickly as possible to cradle your cheeks and wipe your tears.

“This, this is the sweetest thing ever. I, I feel so appreciated”, you stutter, forcing a smile, “thank you so much.”

“God, sweetie”, Jungkook goes in to litter your face with kisses, “it’s okay. I’m here.”

“I’m so happy you are. Fuck”, you chuckle, “you got me crying like a baby. This is the cutest surprise ever.”

Jungkook laughs with you, rubbing your cheeks.

“I meant what I said. I didn’t have to think a lot for my reasons because I already had them prepared. You’re seriously such a perfect person and even more perfect woman and I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you.”

You meet his eyes, squeaking out your words because he got you emotional.

“I feel so beautiful.”

“You are beautiful, my sweetie. Inside and out. Everything about you.” He smiles fondly. “I’m so happy to have you in my life. Seriously.”

“I’m happy to have you in my life”, you say and smile at him, “god, you doofus. If I knew that you’d make me cry so much, I’d have worn my waterproof makeup.”

Jungkook laughs, wiping the messy streaks under your eyes.

“You look pretty like this. Now. May I interest you in another cocktail and perhaps a relaxing massage on the tattoo table, me lady?”

“At the same time?” you joke.

He laughs, “I was thinking more of cocktails first and massage second.” 

“You are actually the cutest person ever you know.”

Jungkook grins and stands up to prepare another drink for you and him. Needless to say, you and he share the rest of this special day doing something incredibly wonderful. Truly, your husband will always make you feel so loved and in return, you love him eternally.

[airaibunny]

GENERAL SMUT PROMPTS

1. “i need you, right here/now”

2. “louder/quieter”

3. “i dont care who’s outside”

4. “do you want them to hear?”

5. “what if i dont?”

6. “make me”

7. “you don’t get to tell me what to do”

8. “that’s strike 1/2/3”

9. “if you stop, i’ll stop”

10. “no more, please, i can’t”

11. “where are your manners?”

12. “what did you say?”

13. “try again”

14. “but the cameras” - “they can’t see us from this angle, if you can stay still”

15. “you don’t get to touch”

16. “i’m begging you, touch me, please”

17. “beg for it”

18. “i said no”

19. “stop pushing, it wont end well”

20. “you look so fucking hot right now”

21. “you don’t need anything, you want it”

22. “say it”

23. “use your words”

24. “i can’t understand you”

25. “i can’t read your mind”

26. “could he/she do it better?”

27. “do you wish it was *name* touching you right now?”

28. “play with me”

29. “you’re such a needy girl”

30. “i don’t think your stage outfits cover that”

31. “let me focus”

32. “sluts don’t get to make requests”

33. “what happened? you wanted this so bad five minutes ago”

34. “stop talking”

35. “did i give you permission to talk?”

36. “you don’t understand how angry i am right now”

37. “you’re fucking soaked”

38. “you make me so wet”

39. “why are you already squirming”

40. “can i ask you for something?”

41. “please don’t stop”

42. “please don’t think i’m weird for this”

43. “i’ve been waiting all day”

44. “does that turn you on?”

45. “i need your fingers”

46. “i want you to fuck me”

47. “do it like you mean it”

48. “scream my name while you cum”

49. “call me mommy”

50. “touch yourself, i want to watch”

51. “come here, now.”

52. “on your knees”

53. “turn around”

54. “bend over”

55. “spread your legs/spread your legs further”

56. “you can barely speak, so cute”

57. “you’re so flushed, pretty girl”

58. “sit on my thigh/face/etc”

59. “lift up your leg”

60. “i’m bored, let’s play”

61. “i can see you staring at my tits/thigh/ass”

62. “if you make me/if i have to stop this car, im going to make sure you can’t walk out of it without my help”

63. “harder”

64. “let me do it”

65. “i didnt mean to, im sorry”

66. “dont cum until i tell you to”

67. “what if i just leave you here, wet and needy”

68. “what’s the safe word? you’re going to need it”

69. “what about you?”

70. “it’s my turn now”

71. “i didn’t mean to call you that, i’m sorry”

72. “you look so pretty on your knees”

73. “what are you going to do? punish me?”

74. “i think i deserve a reward”

75. “your *body part* are/is so pretty”

76. “i really don’t care that we’re in public”

77. “keep it up, you won’t like the situation you end up in”

78. “who do you think you are?”

79. “spank me”

80. “choke me”

81. “bite me”

82. “no, don’t go”

83. “you can practice on me”

84. “this is a one time thing”

85. “i thought you said it was a one time thing?”

86. “we can’t do this”

87. “i ordered us something”

88. “that looks too big”

89. “are you comfortable?”

90. “grab the handcuffs and come back here”

91. “you bought a vibrator?”

92. “how do i look?”

93. “you taste so sweet”

94. “i’m/it’s all over your chin”

95. “do you want to try?”

96. “you’re so cute”

97. “do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

98. “why are you being so shy? it’s not like i haven’t already seen all of you”

99. “can we use a toy?”

100. “can i use a toy on you?”

101. “good girl, keep going/just like that”

102. “you’re doing such a good job”

103. “i’m so proud of you”

104. “nobody can know about this, okay?”

105. “how are you so close already?”

106. “i can see how wet you are through your shorts”

107. “can you be quick?”

108. “please, i’ll finish fast”

109. “use your mouth”

110. “why do you get so shy when i use that word?”

111. “i love your tits/ass/etc”

112. “where do you want me to touch you?” - “down there…” - “say the word”

113. “stop teasing me”

114. “i like it when you’re mad”

115. “punish me”

116. “are you going to stop me?”

117. “on the counter/table/etc?”

118. “you’re the only one that gets to touch”

119. “have you seen the things the the fans write about you and *other member*?”

120. “i don’t care what the fans think”

121. “i really need to finish this”

122. “this is exactly how i imagined it”

123. “is that my shirt/underwear/etc?”

124. “everyone else is gone”

125. “fuck, i wish this room was soundproof”

126. “shut up”

127. “relax, angel”

128. “keep doing that, please”

129. “you feel so good”

130. “your skin is so soft”

131. “kiss/touch me, everywhere”

132. “no, you started this, now you’re going to finish it”

133. “pull my hair”

134. “open your mouth”

135. “clean my fingers, this is your mess”

136. “you’re such a messy girl”

137. “why are you so hot”

138. “fuck, i love you so much”

139. “take off your underwear” - “but, there’s other people here” - “they won’t see you, there’s an entire table here”

140. “you’re so gorgeous”

141. “open your eyes”

142. “look at me while you cum”

143. “do you want me to use my fingers/mouth?”

144. “i want you to keep going, forever”

145. “do you want to join me”

146. “you’re not allowed to touch”

147. “bad girls/sluts don’t get to cum”

148. “can you tell me what you did wrong?”

149. “explain what you did, if you don’t finish before you cum, you don’t get to finish again for the rest of the night”

150. “you’re all mine” - “hm…” - “say it” - “i’m all yours”

151. “you’re such a fucking slut/whore/cunt”

152. “how bad do you want it?”

153. “make me cry”

154. “ruin me”

155. “i want to do so many things to you”

156. “you look amazing, really, but i think i prefer the dress on the floor”

157. “i need you”

158. “if you ever pull a stunt like that again, i won’t wait until we get to our bedroom”

159. “say that again, i dare you”

160. “it’s too late for this” - “you don’t have to do anything, just stay laying down”

161. “what does this make us?”

162. “i love making you so flustered, it’s so cute”

163. “do you like it when i touch right here?”

164. “can you stay quiet if i take this call?”

165. “we could get kicked out for this”

166. “don’t make me say it, you know what i want”

167. “let me eat you out while you do that”

168. “can you teach me?”

169. “can i call you mommy?”

170. “what would the others think of this? their innocent little maknae being such a whore”

171. “shower with me”

172. “put your leg over my shoulder”

173. “there’s no one else here, be louder”

174. “look what you did”

175. “i want to taste you”

176. “i’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are”

177. “stop being gentle”

178. “i don’t care what you do, just touch me”

179. “i want to fuck you so bad”

180. “i want to feel you, inside”

181. “i promise i’ll be good, just please…”

182. “you can’t leave marks”

183. “you’re not going to fall, i’ve got you”

184. “we are not doing this standing, there’s a bed right there”

185. “do you like it when i spank you right there?”

186. “stop moving on your own, you’ll take what i give you”

187. “use my thigh”

188. “if you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?”

189. “you’re really telling me to stop while both of your hands are in my shirt?”

190. “i still hate you”

191. “this is just sex, no strings”

192. “fuck you” - “well, that’s what we’re doing isn’t it?”

193. “you looked so hot out there”

194. “you can take it like a good girl, right?”

195. “swallow”

196. “i’ll untie you if you’re good”

197. “you heard me”

198. “that was a nice way to wake up”

199. “i want to make a mess of you”

200. “breathe, please”

201. “take it like a good girl”

202. “why don’t you make it up to me?”

203. “you think your begging is going to change my mind?”

204. “i don’t care that you’re sorry”

[last-dropsevi]

Back again, Piltover girl* ੈ✩‧₊˚ Sevika

Pairing: Sevika x desperate fem Reader

Summary: broken trust and lingering feelings have to be dealt with eventually.

Previous chapter

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: alil arguing in the beginning but yall make up by the end.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚You couldn’t let it end like this. At first, you clung to hope, reaching out through every possible way —texts, voice messages, even an email, a method you’d never imagined using with Sevika. Desperation had become your shadow, and it bled into every word you typed.

-Hey, vika. Can we talk? Please, just let me explain…

Read 6:49 PM

The message sent, the seconds ticking by like hours as you stared at the screen, willing her to respond. She didn’t.

-I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you, but I need you to know the truth…

Read 2:01 PM

Each day a new message but still nothing. You typed and retyped every word, trying to make her see your sincerity. The silence felt heavier, like a weight pressing on your chest.

-I’m sorry. For everything. For not telling you sooner. Please, just hear me out.

Read 9:33 AM

Apologies spilled from your heart, but the silence on the other end remained deafening. A knot tightened in your stomach as you realized she was deliberately ignoring you



-Hey , I know things ended for a reason, but I miss you and still care about you deeply.

Sent 4:59 PM

It hit you like a physical blow—hard and unforgiving. Sevika had blocked you. She hadn’t just distanced herself; she had cut you off completely, slamming the door so firmly that no amount of knocking could force it open.

The realization stole the air from your lungs, leaving a hollow ache in its place. She wasn’t just angry—she wanted you gone. The woman who once filled your nights with warmth, whose voice had been your sanctuary, was now unreachable, leaving only silence and the echoes of what you’d lost.

You weren’t one to give up easily, especially not with someone like her. A week later, fate intervened. You saw her by chance outside The Last Drop, the dim neon sign casting an eerie glow over her as she stepped into the street, the crowd parting around her intimidating figure. She looked rough—her left arm bruised, knuckles raw, her movements stiff as though every step sent a jolt of pain through her body. Her face bore the hardened, unapproachable look of someone who’d been through hell and refused to admit it.

But you couldn’t just watch her fade into the shadows. Not again.

“Sevika!” you called out, your voice cutting through the murmur of Zaun’s streets. You jogged after her as she quickened her pace, shoulders hunched in a futile attempt to disappear. “Wait, please! Let me help you!”

She stopped so suddenly that you nearly ran into her. When she turned to face you, her imposing presence felt suffocating, the dim light catching the sharp angles of her jaw and the storm brewing in her eyes. Even injured, she radiated strength, but it was the kind laced with danger.

“Help me?” she repeated, her words low and laced with venom. “You’ve done enough.”

You faltered under her glare but forced yourself to stand your ground. “I’m not here to fight,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough. “I’m worried about you. Look at yourself, Sevika. You’re hurt.”

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and hollow. “Worried?” she said, the corner of her mouth curling in a mocking smirk. “I’ve handled worse, sweetheart. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“It’s not pity,” you pressed, stepping closer despite her retreat. “It’s... care. Why can’t you see that?”

Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening until the muscle twitched. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought she might relent, that she might let the wall crumble. But her expression hardened again, colder than before.

“Care?” she repeated, her voice rising, sharp and accusing. “You care about me? Is that why you lied? Why you pretended to be something you’re not?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” she snapped, cutting you off like a blade slicing through air. She took a step back, shaking her head as if to clear away whatever doubts had momentarily surfaced. “Go back to Piltover. It’s where you belong.”

Her words landed like blows, each syllable chipping away at the resolve you’d built to face her. You opened your mouth to protest, but the lump in your throat stopped you. Before you could find the words, she turned on her heel and strode into the darkness, her figure quickly swallowed by Zaun’s twisting alleys.

You stood there, the faint hum of flickering streetlights the only sound, the ache in your chest growing with every second she disappeared from view. Frustration warred with heartbreak, and you were left rooted to the spot, wondering if there was anything you could have said to change her mind—or if you’d already lost her for good.

Sevika’s mind was a battlefield that night, each thought clashing violently against the next. She barricaded herself in her dimly lit apartment, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and stale whiskey. She clutched the nearly-empty bottle, the burn in her throat barely a distraction from the turmoil inside her. The argument replayed on an endless loop, your words echoing louder with each pass.

“Let me help you.”

“It’s… care.”

“Why can’t you see that?”

She scoffed at the memory, tipping the bottle to her lips. Care. That look in your eyes—raw, genuine—refused to leave her alone. Why did you care? Why couldn’t she shake the way it made her feel, equal parts furious and exposed?

You had lied. For months, you had kept secrets, building something she thought was real on a foundation of half-truths. And yet… you cared. The contradiction gnawed at her, each sip of whiskey doing little to dull its bite.

By the time the bottle was drained, Sevika was pacing her cramped apartment, the floorboards creaking under her heavy boots. Her jaw tightened as her thoughts spiraled, landing on someone she never imagined she’d willingly seek out for advice. Jinx.

She found the manic powder monkey perched on a railing at Sevika’s hideout, balancing with unnerving ease as though gravity was optional.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Jinx began, twirling a stray strand of blue hair around her finger. “You love her, but you’re mad ‘cause she’s from Piltover, and now you don’t know if you wanna forgive her?”

Sevika ran a hand down her face, her metal fingers clicking against her skin as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not that simple, Jinx. She lied to me. She hid it for months. What else could she be hiding?”

Jinx flipped off the railing with a laugh, landing in a crouch before standing to her full height. Her grin was wide, toothy, and entirely unhelpful. “Sounds like you’re overthinking it. Look, if you love her, you love her. Doesn’t matter if she’s from Piltover or the freaking moon. Look at Cait and Vi. They’ve got all kinds of reasons to hate each other, but they don’t let it stop ‘em. ‘Cause love, Sev, is messy and stupid and worth it.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed, her arms crossing defensively. “Messy and stupid,” she muttered, her tone dripping with skepticism. “You don’t get it, Jinx. She was pretending to be someone she’s not. How am I supposed to trust her again?”

Jinx tilted her head, her grin fading just enough for a glimmer of sincerity to shine through. “You don’t trust her yet. Fine. But does she make you feel alive? Does she make you wanna fight harder, even when you’re ready to give up?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Sevika hated how much they resonated. She didn’t answer, but her silence was enough for Jinx.

“Thought so.” Jinx twirled her gun absentmindedly, her grin snapping back into place. “Look, I’m not sayin’ it’s easy. But sitting here sulking? That’s not you, Sev. Go fix your mess before you’re stuck staring at walls and bottles forever.”

Sevika shook her head, half-exasperated, half-contemplative. “Since when did you become a romantic?”

Jinx winked, her wild energy back in full force. “I’m full of surprises. Now go!”

As Jinx bounded off into the darkness, Sevika stood rooted to the spot, her thoughts no longer a whirlwind but a razor-sharp conviction cutting through the fog. She wasn’t one to run from a fight, and this wasn’t any different. But could she fight for something she wasn’t sure she still deserved?

Her fists clenched at her sides, the faint ache in her bruised knuckles grounding her. She didn’t have the answer yet, but for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t drowning in doubt.

Maybe Jinx was right. Maybe love really was messy, stupid, and worth every damn risk.

The next day, you woke to a single notification: Sevika had unblocked you. And there was a message.

-Meet me at The Last Drop. We need to talk.

Read 9:48 PM

Your breath hitched, the words igniting a whirlwind of emotions—hope, fear, and dread all at once. As the day passed, the weight of the message settled deeper in your chest. By the time you started getting dressed that evening, your hands were trembling.

Your mind raced as you stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with buttons. What would she say? Would she hear you out? What if this was just to end things for good? Each thought seemed to constrict your chest further, your breathing shallow and erratic.

Get a grip, you told yourself, gripping the edge of the sink. You focused on the cool porcelain beneath your fingers, counting your breaths until the pressure in your chest eased. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to get you out the door.

When you arrived at The Last Drop, the air inside was thick with smoke and the hum of distant conversation. Sevika sat at a corner table, her broad frame half-shadowed under the flickering neon lights. She didn’t look up immediately, her posture guarded but lacking its usual sharp edge.

You swallowed hard and made your way over, sliding into the seat across from her. Your nerves buzzed, but you forced yourself to meet her eyes.

“Thanks for coming,” she said gruffly, her tone neutral, though her fingers toyed with the rim of her glass—a small tell of unease.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice thin but steady. “I’m just… glad you’re giving me a chance to explain.”

Her gaze snapped to yours then, sharp and unyielding. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice low but edged with steel. “That you were from Piltover?”

The weight of her words pressed against your chest. You drew in a shaky breath, your fingers curling against the edge of the table. “Because I was scared,” you admitted. “I knew how you felt about people from the upper city, and I didn’t want to lose you before we even had a chance. I… I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Her eyes narrowed, frustration flickering across her face. “So, what? You thought lying was the better option?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice cracking slightly. “I know it wasn’t. I should’ve told you the truth. But Sevika… you mean so much to me, and I was terrified you’d walk away if you knew. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, the silence stretched unbearably. Then she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “You think I haven’t had people lie to me before? Hide things? It’s a damn pattern in my life.”

Her words stung, but you didn’t back down. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And I hate that I added to that. I didn’t want to hurt you, Sevika. I thought I was protecting what we had, but I see now I just made it worse.”

Her gaze softened, just a fraction. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not about Piltover,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “Hell, I’ve got plenty of reasons to hate that place, but this isn’t about that. It’s about trust. And you broke it.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “I know. But I want to earn it back. If you’ll let me.”

Another tense silence lingered, but as it stretched, Sevika’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly. She uncrossed her arms, leaning forward ever so slightly. “You really think this is gonna be easy?”

“No,” you said firmly, meeting her gaze. “I don’t. But you’re worth it.”

Her lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fill you with a cautious hope. Slowly, as the conversation continued, the space between you began to shrink—first figuratively, then literally.

Sevika’s chair inched closer, and she leaned her elbows on the table, her gaze less guarded. The edge in her voice softened as the two of you navigated the minefield of emotions. By the time she let out a quiet laugh—at what, you couldn’t even remember—the tension had melted into something warmer, more familiar.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she looked at you, her expression softer than you’d seen in weeks. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said, her voice low, “but if you’re willing to stick it out… maybe we can try again.”

Your chest tightened with relief, a smile breaking across your face. “I want that. More than anything.”

For the first time, Sevika smiled—a small, hesitant curve of her lips that held more weight than words ever could.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said, leaning closer, her voice almost a whisper.

“I won’t,” you promised.

And as she closed the remaining distance, brushing her lips against yours, the world seemed to still. The kiss was tentative at first, a delicate testing of boundaries, but it quickly deepened, filled with unspoken forgiveness and the promise of a new beginning.

When she pulled back, her smirk returned, this time full of her familiar confidence. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for stubborn people.”

You laughed, the sound light and free for the first time in weeks. “And you’re lucky I’m stubborn enough to stick around.”

The future was uncertain, but as you sat there with Sevika, closer than you’d been in weeks, you knew it was a fight worth having.

WOOOOO WAR IS OVER. I set up my inbox so PLEASEEEEEEEE send me requests or anything’s atp hope u liked it mwah.

Unofficial taglist: @lizziecanrailme @lovemoneybtw @seggskink @jukka08 @sagegreensage @jannesyjane @gracie-gloom @mall-fountain-daydream @theirlaliengirl

[theemporium]

im not sure if we’re allowed to combine prompts, so if we’re not, then feel free to choose!

can i request a violet fluff 💜 with nicojack??

"Come back to bed."

"Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

49. “Come back to bed.”

.

It was late.

The game ended hours ago, a brutal loss to the Devils that stung for everyone—the players, the coaches, the fans. It was a game of stupid mistakes and missed opportunities and it laid heavy on everyone’s shoulders as the seats at the Prudential Center emptied after the final buzzer sounded through the arena. 

It was bad, but it wasn’t season-breaking. It was still in the early months of the season, they had time to recover from the loss and move up. And all things considered with how the last season went, things were looking bright for the Devils chances to clinch a playoff spot and have a solid foot through the door for the Stanley Cup.

But that didn’t stop Jack’s brain from spiralling the second he stepped off the ice after the heartbreaking loss. 

Everyone could see the way he closed off and it wasn’t unusual. They were competitive athletes, it was in their DNA to thrive and push and aim for the win. It was disappointing when they didn’t get it. It was normal for them to just have moments to themselves to come to terms with the game before leaving it in the past and moving on.

But Jack couldn’t seem to let go. 

It was borderline obsessive the way he was watching tapes from a game he played hours ago, watching the same clips over and over and over again like he could somehow rewrite the outcome. Even getting him to eat dinner was a struggle, the boy uninterested and untempted by the plate lying beside him. 

You thought maybe he needed to sleep it off, that maybe he would talk to you or Nico in the morning. 

Instead, you woke up at three in the morning to find his side of the bed empty and Nico just as confused as he tried to blink away the sleep from his eyes. 

“Where’s Jack?” Nico grumbled, biting back a yawn as he reached towards the empty spot in bed, the sheets now cold.

“I can take a guess,” you murmured, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and wincing slightly at the cool floorboards beneath your feet before you walked out towards the living room. 

It was unsurprising to find Jack sat on the couch, tablet in hand and eyes glued to the screen. His shoulders were tense, his posture was horrible and his lips looked red and raw from biting down on them so much. 

“Babe,” you called out in a soft voice, watching Jack jump out of his skin as he turned to find both of you standing in the doorway. 

“Oh, hey,” he cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing a little when he realised he had been caught. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Jack,” you scolded in a soft voice.

“Schat, this isn’t healthy,” Nico frowned as he took in the scene in front of him, brows furrowed and concern written across his face. “I know you’re upset about the game—”

“I lost us that game,” Jack whispered, his voice breaking. “Look at all these mistakes! You kept setting me up and I kept fumbling and—”

“Hey,” Nico shook his head, rounding the couch until he was kneeling in front of Jack. He took the younger boy’s face in his hands, his thumbs soothing over his cheeks. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s not one person’s fault. We are a team. We win together, we fail together. You know that.”

Jack swallowed harshly. “I know but—”

“No,” he frowned. “Together, Jack. You can’t keep kicking yourself about this. Not like this, okay?” 

He nodded softly. “Okay.” 

“Come back to bed,” Nico murmured as he stood up, pulling the boy up with him as they shuffled towards where you were standing.

“I’m a part of that together too, by the way,” you commented as Jack approached you, sinking into your embrace as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a hug.

“Of course, babe,” he rasped, letting out a sigh as he leaned his head on your shoulder. “M’taking middle spot, by the way.”

You snorted. “Fine. Just this once.”

.