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robo-writing · 9 months ago

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Cockwarming with the MK1 boys

Kuai Liang

Cockwarming? Never heard of it.

You have to explain it before the visual clicks in his head, and it’s only then you see him nod in agreement.

Surprisingly receptive to the idea, it doesn’t take him much convincing. He enjoys the idea of close intimacy.

When would you like to start?

“Now? If you say so, little bird.”

There’s a peace that blooms in him, despite the salacious position you’re in. Hands rubbing into your bare back, nose buried into your neck as he inhales your scent, the hitch in your breath as you adjust yourself on his length.

It would be relaxing, if the feeling of your pussy wasn’t currently driving him up a wall. Everything is heightened this way, every breath making you clench against him, every movement making him shudder in bliss, a repetitive loop of sensations that keep the both of you trapped in each other’s embrace.

You move, he follows. You whimper, and he tastes the sounds on his tongue. You stay like that until you fall asleep, where he wakes up and the first thing he feels is the warmth of your cunt.

Bi-Han

Confusion is painted on his face when you tell him your idea.

Eyebrows raised, he didn’t know you to be the type to be so forward, surprised at just how eager you were.

“Hm, seems simple enough.”

At first he didn’t understand the appeal—if you wanted to have sex he could easily hold you hostage to the bed.

But fine, he would indulge you.

As it turned out you are far more creative than he gives you credit for. He might enjoy this newfound position more than he thought.

Every time you squirm, it’s another slap to your ass. The sound rings loudly in your ears, the clash of skin only dwarfed by your whimpering.

“Bi-Han, please—“ you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, scared to move anymore in fear of your husband’s wrath. “Just a little bit, I need more—“

Another hand comes down on your backside. You jump in response, then shiver when Bi-Han’s cold hands soothe the aching flesh.

“You decided the rules darling, no moving.”

You almost want to argue, but the look in his eyes freezes you in place. You’re forced to obey, shaking with anticipation for the moment Bi-Han finds you ready and fucks you like you need.

Tomas

“You want to what?”

Poor Tomas, his face turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has to ask you to repeat yourself to make sure he heard you correctly.

When you do he becomes even more flustered, but it does spark a certain…curiosity.

He’s open to anything when it comes to you, and he would be a liar if he said otherwise.

As sweet as Tomas can be, it’s like he’s a different person when you’re like this—possessive, greedy even. He holds you by your ass and refuses to let go, kissing at your face when you shudder at the feeling of his cock inside you.

So big, so fucking full.

“Is this what you had in mind?” He grunts, barely stopping his hips from forcing you to bounce on his length. You can see it in his eyes, the barely-held back urge to dig his fingers into your skin and fuck you like he wants to, it’s only your pleas that keep him complacent for the time being.

You see shades of the sweet man you’ve come to love, almost overshadowed by the lust that pools in his very being. He wants to cum so bad, but more than that he wants to be good for you.

Johnny Cage

“You’re not kidding right? Please tell me it isn’t April.”

He’s over the moon, he’s actually thought about it before but was worried you wouldn’t be up for it.

But hearing you ask for it? You’ve given him far too much freedom, and you might regret that in the future.

Safe to say that it becomes his new favorite pastime.

Johnny was the one who invited you over in the first place, something about “needing to focus on his newest script.” A very obvious lie, but you suppose that hindsight is 20/20, especially where your boyfriend is concerned.

Instead of focusing on memorizing his lines, he instead memorizes what makes you tick, what buttons he has to press before you’ve become a writhing mess in his arms, how far you fall on his cock before your legs start shaking.

“Can’t help it baby,” he says, rutting into you softly. “You’re just feel too damn good.”

You almost want to beg him to fuck you, but you know him better than anyone—if Johnny says he’s going to keep you on his lap, he means it. So even if he’s barely focused on the script in his hands, you can be sure as hell you’re going to be sat on his cock until he’s had his fun.

Kenshi Takahashi

He laughs a bit, entertained at the thought.

You, sat pretty in his lap? It makes his heart beat faster.

He asks if you know what you’re getting yourself into, asking him a question like that, but your excited nod is enough of an answer for him.

“Okay then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kenshi feels the heat that spreads through your body, a benefit of losing his sight. He knows all your weak points, his heightened senses aware of every reaction you have to his touch.

He knows you better than you know yourself, even without sento he knows how desperate you are to move.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

He coos in your ear, tattooed hands rubbing circle against your shaking hips, a gentle squeeze reminding you to keep still. You nod in reply, but it doesn’t stop the soft noises leaving your lips.

Raiden

Turns into a shade of pink you didn’t know existed

Lost for words, it takes him a moment to register what you’ve said before responding

“Well, if you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind…”

Poor man, he doesn’t know how to express himself, but he is very on-board!

He tries his best, really he does, but how exactly is he supposed to stay still when you pulse around him so deliciously?

He knows he’s supposed to enjoy this, but being unable to move is driving him up a wall. You have to scold him like a child every time his hips try to move higher.

He stares at the ceiling, head tilted backwards in an attempt to calm down his racing heartbeat, afraid that even the sight of you will make him lose control. In, out, his breathing is labored, your voice doing nothing to quell his urges.

“Relax baby,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. “We still have the rest of the night.”

Kung Lao

You’ve never seen him smile that wide before.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

If you didn’t ask him, he would’ve. He’s just glad you saved him the effort.

The moment you two walk into the bedroom he’s pawing at your pants. He’s impatient, and can you blame him?

“Kung Lao, calm down!”

You try to plead with your boyfriend, but it goes in one ear and out the other. What was meant to be a relaxing past time is now a struggle to keep his wandering hands to himself.

“Come on, don’t you want me to touch you?” He teases. His lips find their way to your nipple, lapping at the pebbled nub while his fingers slide between the two of you.

“This wasn’t the plan,” you whine in response, unknowingly pressing yourself into his greedy fingers. “I wanted us to enjoy this…”

“And we will,” he promises, circling your clit with a twinkle in his eye. “Just want you to feel as good as possible baby.”

Liu Kang

He’s heard of the act before, but never really gave it any thought.

“You sound like you’ve thought about this often, darling.”

He can’t help but tease you a bit, but he’s completely in agreement.

When he has a moment of free time he invites you to sit on his lap, grinning when his fingers dance across your skin.

For a god, Liu Kang sure can be a tease.

In his private quarters he keeps you close to him, one of the rare moments where he has no obligations and can simply enjoy himself. You thought this would be a perfect time to act on your little suggestion, and he thought the same.

Where you erred however, is misjudging a god’s patience.

Two hours ago you eagerly stripped for your husband, and in those two hours you’ve been left teetering on the edge, every time you close your eyes for a moments peace Liu Kang finds it fit to let his fingers remind you of where you are.

A repetitive cycle with no end in sight.

Your clit throbs with an incessant need, but you’re unable to do anything except take what he gives.

Syzoth

Beg your pardon?

You literally see his pupils dilate at the thought

“Really? Are you sure?”

He has his own misgivings about the idea, still ashamed of his ancestry as a Zaterran. It took him a while to become intimate with you but this…

You assure him that this is something you want, and he eventually agrees.

You gently coax Syzoth onto the bed, making your hips flush with his. You can see the doubt begin to flood his mind, until you drag his hands from the bed and onto your body.

“There’s no rush baby,” you murmur, resting your head on his chest. “Let’s just stay like this, hm?”

You hear his heartbeat return to its natural rhythm, his hands slowly brushing against your spine. Tentative, testing the waters, as if you’d shatter if he held you too tight. As the minutes pass he becomes more comfortable with your position, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

“I admit, there is something very peaceful about this…” he hums. You make a noise in agreement.

#is this late because this is a day after valentines? yes it is #let’s just pretend I posted this on time <3333 #robo writes #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #subzero x reader #scorpion x reader #liu kang x reader #syzoth x reader #raiden x reader #tomas x reader #kenshi x reader #johnny cage x reader #kung lao x reader

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rubywithecat · 3 months ago

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JjK men when you are too innocent for them(fem. reader)

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Here’s little update! Sorry for taking long to upload this, I have a lot of drafts but haven’t made them into posting cuz I’m again busy for school application and preparing for my April intake at language school in Osaka. Hope you enjoy this, luvs!

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Satoru Gojo

-He likes the way you look at him with inspiring wide eyes when he told you smth you don’t know. It’s his weakness and he thinks it’s so cute and u can make him die for u with that look. But not when you told him a guy told you that he want to do doggy with u that u didn’t know what that mean so u asked if he knows. He suddenly silent and then, “Who is that guy?” He asked with a frown. “Why? Is that a bad joke or smth?” U asked him, worried. He looked down at you, starring at your innocent eyes and oh fckkk his thoughts filled with lust over your innocence, he grinned “Do u want me to show you?” then pushed you to lie down on couch and licked his lips. “I will fcking murder that pervert later but for now, let me take care of you first” said he.

Toji Fushiguro

-You just started working at a bar and Toji and his friends are regulars there. “Hey new girl, don’t you know how to serve us, pretty?” A man from their group yelled, looking at you like a dish. U didn’t like that but you don’t know what he mean either. “Umm… do u want me to take another order, sir…?” U asked, nervously. The men laughed but stopped by Toji. “Dudes, don’t scare out of this innocent kid” he looked you up and down. U were scared and stepped back a little. He chuckled then, stood up and stepped closer and closer to you. He touched your face and lifted it to look at him. How cute ur resisting his strength he thought. “U don’t need to serve those bastards. U only have to serve me” he grabbed your waist. “Give me your number” he whispered. “I’m not interested in you” you pushed him but it didn’t work. He smiled. “Don’t worry, I will find it out later”

Kento Nanami

-You’re an intern and being hit on by a lot of guys at workplace cuz of your beauty. They took advantage of your friendliness and innocence that see good in everyone. One day, you were printing something and suddenly, your colleague shamelessly flirt with you which makes you so uncomfortable. “Do you wanna come drink with me tonight? We can go love place later” he asked. “What is the love place?” you asked. “Oh well, it just a place where you can watch movie and chill” he lied. “So r u up to it?” he asked but interrupted by Nanami. “I thought flirting at workplace is forbidden” he reminded the guy. “If u don’t wanna lose your job, step out”. The guy looked scared, “Yes, sir…I’m so sorry” he said and left. Nanami turned back to you which you were just starring. “How on earth you don’t know what is love place is?” He sighed. “You look like you are easy to deceive” he said. “I’m sorry… thanks a lot anyway” u said before you left and he was surprised it made his heart beat so fast.

Megumi Fushiguro

-He was busy but when you phoned him, he pick up. “Megumi!” U said. “Yeah what’s up again” he said. “A guy in my class dm me like how about we sexting… like what does that mean? Did he spelled that wrong or smth?” You asked. Megumi was stunned. “How do you not know about it” he sighed. “Just block the guy”. “I can’t! He’s our project leader” you said. “Give me his number I will ask him what does that mean for you, ok?” He asked, so you did. Later that day, when that guy see you at school, he looked so frightened and randomly apologizing to you and begging for forgiveness, which made u so confused.

Suguru Geto

-You started dating him a few months ago and he’s comfortable enough to ask you this. “So, what’s your body count?” He asked as he watched at you eating a cake. “Huh?” You asked, confused. “Body count?”. He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? It’s ok if you’re uncomfortable talking about it” he said. “No like I don’t know what you mean… is it like in a game?” You asked which made him laughed so hard. “Guess it’s zero then” he smirked. “Seriously what’s that?” U asked again. “Never mind you will see what it mean later” he said as he wiped the cream on your lips with tissue.

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-I hope u guys love this! Like and share would be so much appreciated! Thanks<33

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kaibutsushidousha · 8 months ago

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Kodaka April Fools tweets 2024

Lying just because it's April Fools' is so dull. Honestly painful to watch. Lying in general doesn't do you any good. In my younger days, I told every lie I could, saying some genuinely insane stuff about being a supreme leader of evil and whatnot, and thanks to that, now that I'm in my thirties, I got famous for all the wrong reasons and can't find a stable job because people think I'm associated with the yakuza... Sigh, I wanna deck my cringe younger self's face. Quit lying for fun while you can.

My classmates aren't doing great either. Thinking you're hot shit during your school days always comes back to bite you... My advice to my past self: slow and steady effort is worth more than any talent. Also, the part of life you spent larping with that silly horse laugh is not going to be one you'll want to remember later. I wish I could make that clear to him. White lies aren't a thing. Talent is never enough. My class is proof of that. Wanna know what my classmates are like now that we're in our thirties?

Akamatsu became a piano teacher. Her player skills capped off in her teens, it seems. But she's not that good at teaching so she's considered kinda mid at her job. And now she's struggling with the father of a student incessantly hitting on her. Tough world to live in.

Toujou opened a housekeeping company but she was too strict with her employees so everyone quit. And now she's doing everything on her own. Sucks to be in your thirties without any successors or employees. She's a prime example of how being so much better than anyone else doesn't do you any good. Well, she's always working for celebrities, so she's doing well financially, but I heard about some major court fight about a missing item under suspicion of theft from one of her clients. That can't be nice.

Yumeno got to her thirties still saying magic is real, so she's past the point of no return. She agrees that's an unhinged way to live, but she's too old to suddenly change gimmicks. Work takes her all over the country, but her gimmick doesn't allow her to publicly drink, so she has to get plastered alone in her hotel room after shows. I wish she could fix her life with real magic.

Harukawa? ...Haven't heard that name in a long time. Now she was a living edgy fantasy. The past tense was because I hadn't heard of her in a long time. I don't know the details, but apparently, she went to some war zone outside of Japan because her first love didn't want to date her. Takes some real edgelord to react to a broken heart like that, but if she's still alive, I have no idea how her thirties are treating her. My personal guess is that she's a mother of many.

Chabashira opened her Aikido school but is having a hard time attracting students. So she had the idea of starting an anti-sexual-harassment campaign that could double as advertisement, but thanks to her cluelessness when it comes to romance, she got canceled for mistakenly tossing men in regular couples. She's still doing the "degenerate males" bit in her thirties. Girl really needs to get on with the times. Rumor goes that she still downs huge packs of tequila bottles with Yumeno every now and then. Really don't think there's any salvaging her reputation.

Shirogane is an office lady still continuing her cosplay hobby on the side. She could be doing well if she knew how to keep her mouth shut but frequently rambles about cosplay history and etiquette, so no one likes having her around. Stay emotionally dependent on a single hobby long enough and your passion starts to close you off to others. That's her problem.

Angie was the most successful in the class! She made big money both on the art and the religion fronts. However, there were some controversies about her devotees selling counterfeits of her paintings at exorbitant prices and one magazine made a huge news coverage of it, which resulted in her catching the police's attention. She's been recently untraceable, with the rumors saying that she'll never be back to Japan.

Oh, and Iruma... Up until some point, she had the best life of all of us. She made big money off of her inventions' patents. So far so good. Things only started going off-rails after she married an ex-stripper. The two started a YouTube channel together. And later, her husband ran in last year's elections and lost big time. They got an awful debt from his election campaign and she had to get into side jobs to pay it off. And her husband? Disappeared. No word from Iruma herself about what happened. Tough world to live in.

No further updates from Kodaka in the past 3 hours, so I assume he went to sleep and will come back to tweet about the 7 remaining boys in the morning.

#kokichi ouma #kaede akamatsu #kirumi toujou #himiko yumeno #maki harukawa #tenko chabashira #tsumugi shirogane #angie yonaga #miu iruma

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merakiui · 5 months ago

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angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else.

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to.

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today?

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches.

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain.

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that?

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead.

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head.

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake.

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot.

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time.

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me.

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you.

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep.

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts.

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will).

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.”

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic.

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon #tw: chikan #n/sfw #tw: stalking

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alexa-fika · 7 months ago

Note

HEY! HEY! HEYYY! IT'S MEE

Anyways today is now birthday 😍🎂 (A.k.a April 4)

Can I request a whitebeard pirates x fem child reader?

Like the reader is like nezuko from demon slayer

Let's say that reader comes with ace to find a cure

So basically ace was figthing jinbe and whitebeard arrives and then ace and whitebeard starts fighting until ace pass out but before ace can pass out reader attacks then because she's very protective of her family 🥺

Then they basically distract reader so that they can aboard ace into the ship then out of nowhere reader starts running around because the sun was rising and she has no option but to go with the whitebeard pirates

So basically everyone was suspicious because why was reader wearing a muzzle? And why does reader only comes out in the night or stays in shades?

But if anyone tries to question ace gets really defensive because he thinks they'll kill reader because she's a demon

So in the end whitebeard first found out then Marco then thatch (f u Blackbeard) then izou then everyone?

Thank youuuuu ✨✨

Demonically adorable (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader!)

Part 2 (Reactions)

A/N, im not gonna lie cosmo, I was totally gonna skip this one and leave it for later but I got to actually reading and looking back at when ace joined and omg the ideas just started flowing, some things are not exactly as your prompt or don’t go as in depth so I really hope you enjoyed this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for Reader in Japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

Dokucha's eyes widen as she runs towards Ace, trying to shake him awake, growling at the giant in front of them

“Hmm? So he has a little brat with him?”

The only response he receives is the sound of hisses and growls behind the child’s muzzle

“Back down, Dokucha, you’re no match for him…my father’s rival,” he grunts out

“I won’t lose,” he growls, beginning to stand up and ignoring the worried fussing of the child

“Heh, so you've still got some fight left, huh? Look, I'm not going to kill you today; you are far too valuable to someone to die here”, the man said, gesturing at the small child next to him

“Join me and become my son,” he says, reaching out his hand to the flame man

“Don’t screw with me, old fart,” he growls, slapping his hand away and launching himself toward the Emperor, only to be knocked back

Dokucha let out a sound close to a cry as she ran towards Ace, trying to shake him awake once again, snapping her head up at the sound of Whitebeard’s steps approaching them

She growls, standing in front of Ace, shielding him, her eyes shrinking to slits as the man continues to approach the two, her eyes glancing behind him as a blue flame approaches them

She watches as a blue flame grows closer until she is able to discern the shape of a bird landing next to the man

“Are we taking him with us?” He asks, glancing at Whitebeard

“Yes, he’s knocked out. He will be no problem, but I reckon the little one won’t go as easily.”

“I can handle her, Pops; Thatch will take care of the boy and his crew.”

“So I said, but you aren’t making this easy,” he sighs, evading another lunge from the girl

“And here I thought the other one would be the troublesome,” he spoke, catching a kick that he sent his way and pushing her back

She catches herself, gripping the ground with all fours as she immediately leaps towards him again, growling at him and showcasing the sharp canines now on full display, the muzzle long gone as her body begins to mature rapidly.

He quirks his head at that,

“That body of yours, is it the Toshi-toshi no mi?” He questions, flying out of the way to avoid her attack

She grits her teeth, looking at the airborne phoenix, preparing to jump up to meet him in the air until he suddenly flew down and trapped her between his talons

He hums, glancing at her expression, noting how the angry expression she had worn at the beginning had shifted to a worried one as she kept glancing around, presumably looking for Where they had taken Ace

“Hey,” he calls, frowning as she ignored his call as she tried to free herself

“Oi, Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you,” he hollered, trying to settle her down

“You’re just trying to protect him, right?”

She pauses her attempts to free herself at the question

“We’re not going to hurt him; all the contrary, we want to help him,” he explained, huffing as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously

“I promise,” he said, returning his upper body to his human form as he raised his hands in a surrendering motion

“Listen, how about I take you to him? You can stay with him, and we can talk about this in the morning.”

She looks at him, nodding, as her body slowly returns to her original childish state

He kept her for a few seconds, trying to determine if she was really giving up, removing his talons when it was clear she had no more fight on her

She yawned, glancing around her to take in the room she was in; remembering the events of last night, she jumped off the bed, grabbing her umbrella, and poking her head outside of the room.

“Hey, pumkin’, I see you’re awake,” a voice pipes in

She looks towards the voice, spotting a man dressed in Chef clothes smiling back at her

She looks at him for a few moments before reaching one of her hands towards him, opening and shutting it as her other hand held the umbrella

He grins and easily picks her up

“What’s with the umbrella sweetpea?”

She points her hand up

“Hmm? The sun?”

She nods

“Are you sensitive to sunlight?”

Another nod

“Well, I’ll be damned, Marco did mention you were quite unique,” he said, looking her over, deciding not to comment on the bamboo piece between her teeth

“But just as cute, aren't ya, darlin?” He said, tickling her neck

Muffled giggles escape her at the action as she nuzzles deeper into him, trying to escape the sudden attack

They both turn at the sound of a door slamming open, looking as a disheveled Ace left the room, looking around, confused

“Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up; how about we go say hi?

She leans the umbrella against his shoulder to free her hand as she pulls at his clothes

“Something wrong?”

She points at Ace, puts her hands together, leans her head against it in a sleeping motion, and then puts her wrists together, joining and separating her hands

“A sleeping crocodile?”

She shakes her head, repeating the motions

“Are you… are you trying to say he is snappy when he wakes up?”

She beams, nodding her head

He snickers at that

“I like you,” he said, walking closer to Ace as he threw himself against the walls of the ship, sliding all the way down and gripping his head only to snap it up at the sound of Thatch’s voice

“Hey, there; I'm Whitebeard’s fourth division commander, Thatch. I'm a good friend to have if you’re going to be joining us he said, sitting down on the railing, gingerly placing Dokucha on his lap

“Shut up!” He growls

“And give me back my sister he said, standing up and snatching the small girl from him, returning from his previous position as he hugged her

“Hahaha! She was right; you are kind of snappy when you wake up,” he teased as he continued to explain what had happened when he passed out, teasing him further when he questioned the lack of restraints on him, replying that such a thing was not needed on him.

The next few weeks were but a blur to the small girl, every day following the same pattern for a while. Every day, Ace would ask her to stay behind as he would go after Whitebeard only to be launched back repeatedly. During these times, Dokucha took to bonding with the different brothers on the ship, as they cared for her when Ace was busy with his assassination attempts.

“How many times has it been already?” Questioned Vista as he watched as once again Ace was thrown out of the Captain’s quarters

“More than a hundred”

“How could such a sweet thing be able to deal with that hothead, always madder than a wet hen, ain't that right pumkin’?” Thatch questions as he bounced the small girl on his legs, smiling at the muffled laughs that escaped her.

“Stop moving so much, Izou,” grumbled as he continued to work on the girl’s hair upon her request

“There you go,” he said, backing up with a smile

She beamed, jumping off Thatch’s lap and twirling around, showcasing her new hairdo

“Say, how come you wear that muzzle all the time?” Someone questions

“Mind your own business,” Ace grumbled, dripping wet as he passed them and snatching the small girl up as he went, who gave the men behind her a wave as she left

“I think your brother should be about done with his daily attempt. Should we get this to him?” Marco questioned the girl on his hip as his other hand held a bowl of soup, smiling as she bounced her head up and down

He chuckles at the action as he exits the kitchen and walks over to the spot where Ace laid, gently putting Dokucha and the bowl of soup next to him

A whine escaped the girl as he left, running after him as he took his leave

“Hey, what’s wrong? You can stay here with Ace. “ his actions differed from his words as he picked up the child again

“Tell me, why do they call him pops?” Ace grumbled, watching the interaction between the first mate and his sister

“Because he calls us sons, it’s just a word, but it’s nice, isn't it? Most of us are hated by everyone and don’t have families of our own, so that alone means everything to us,” he said, watching him for a moment and sighing, walking over to him and kneeling down, placing the girl next to them

“Hey, when are you going to stop this? I'm sorry to rain on your parade, but you aren’t strong enough to kill him, so you have two options: leave and start anew or stay and bear Whitebeard’s mark on your back,” he spoke

“Do try to keep your sister in mind when you make your choice, will you?

I do hope you decide to stick around; we’ve grown fond of the little miss.”

Ace found himself deep in thought; it seemed like only a day ago he had been mulling over if he would stay or if he would go; now he found himself mulling over if he should become a commander under Whitebeard or not; he glanced behind him as Dokucha ran circles between Marco and Thatch, the men struggling to keep up with her zigzagging.

He sighed as he made his final decision.

“Dokucha, come here”

So I don’t have full fledged scenarios on the reactions the crew members would react to the news but I do have already thought out how they would react so maybe I can do it in a headcannon format? 👀 Also I really tried to lean in into southern Thatch, without making it too much, what do yall think?

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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devildomcuties · 7 months ago

Text

Obey Me: Raspberries [Demon Brothers]

thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy it :)

🕷 paring: demon brothers x gn!reader 18+

🕷 summary: Raspberries and tummy kisses.

🕷 wc: 2.2k

🕷 warnings: pet names (love, treasure, babe, hun, cupcake), hickeys, biting, oral sex, cum swallowing, making out, MC puts on lipstick

🕷 date: April 21, 2024

Lucifer

You savored every private moment with Lucifer. Most nights you snuck out of your bedroom and climbed the stairs, making sure none of the brothers spotted you entering Lucifer's bedroom.

“At this point, love, perhaps we should consider acquiring bunk beds,” Lucifer states as you shut his bedroom door.

“And why would we do that when you have a perfectly giant bed for the two of us?” You ask as you climb into bed beside him.

“You do make a good point,” Lucifer chuckles as he wraps an arm around you. He’s shirtless like always when he gets into bed. His sweatpants hang low on his hips and you roll over to face him. Your leg slides between both of his as you place your hand on his chest.

“Lie down,” you commanded and Lucifer hesitated before lying under you. He eyes you curiously as you straddle his hips.

Slowly, you kiss his neck, sucking on the one spot that drives him wild. He moans your name, his hands gripping the sheets as you sink your teeth into his neck.

“No marks,” he reminds you breathlessly as your tongue licks over the bite and you kiss your way down his perfectly sculpted torso.

Lucifer sits up on his elbows, his black hair disheveled from the mountain of pillows beneath him. He licks his lips when you kiss his hip, sucking gently for a moment.

“You know, there’s this thing we do back home,” you giggle as you sit up, grinning mischievously.

Lucifer quirks his head, befuddled.

“What is it, love?”

You don’t answer him. You lean forward and kiss around his belly button, tracing it with your tongue. You lick your lips and do your best to hide your wicked grin before you lean down and blow raspberries on his stomach.

“What in the Devildom is that?” Lucifer’s eyes are wide with surprise. After all this time knowing you, you could still surprise him with your human qualities.

“They’re called raspberries,” you explain as you do it again, and Lucifer rolls his eyes. You laugh before kissing his lips, moving to straddle him once again.

“It is an odd feeling,” he says when he presses his forehead to yours.

“It feels tingly for a bit on my lips,” you laugh before you find yourself on your back with Lucifer on top.

“I supposed I could give it a try,” Lucifer states as he kisses your lips once more before kissing his way down to your belly button.

Mammon

“Great Grimm! What are you doing here?!” Mammon asks as he’s caught in the act.

“You mean in my bedroom?” You ask with a raised brow. You spot him with your pillow after catching him sniffing it.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughs nervously as he sets your pillow down, his cheeks ablaze.

Mammon lies on your bed, his arms tucked behind his head as he tries to appear nonchalant. You suspect he’s up to no good by how hard he’s trying to appear innocent.

You spot his tummy exposed as you climb onto your bed. Mammon remains still as his eyes follow your movement.

“Gonna tell me what you were up to?” You ask as you lift his shirt a little higher. Your fingers trace the smooth planes of his abdomen slowly. You note the slight change in his breathing, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“Just wanted to see you,” he clears his throat as he looks at your fingers. You lean forward after licking your lips and blow raspberries on his stomach. He jerks, eyes wide and full of surprise as he looks at you with his mouth wide open.

“What do ya think you’re doing? What was that?!” He laughs as he shakes his head. It tickled but mostly surprised him.

“Tell me the truth or I’ll do it again!” You threatened playfully. Mammon smirks, miming zipping his lips as you blow raspberries on him again.

Mammon laughs, jerking beneath you as you do it twice more before he gives up.

“Just so you know, Treasure, I get to do this to you next,” Mammon smiles smugly as you kiss the spot beneath his belly button.

“Do your worst.”

Levi

“What kind of normie thing is this?” Leviathan asks as he stares at you with wide eyes. Solomon had managed to grab a few DVD sets of your favorite shows and now on screen, the protagonist was giving raspberries to her romantic partner.

You laugh. “They’re just raspberries.”

“They don’t look like fruit,” Levi is confused while you giggle. You motion for him to lay back in the tub, careful not to squish him too much though he loves it when you’re pressed tightly against him no matter how red his face turns.

You’re slow with your movements. You lift his shirt to expose his belly button and he blushes but doesn’t stop you, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Smiling, you lower his pants a bit as you lick your lips and press them to his skin. He curses, whispering your name as your tongue circles his belly button. You blow raspberries on him and he squeaks, covering his face as you do it again before kissing lower.

“Can I go further?” You ask as your finger circles the button on his pants.

“P-please,” he stutters as you undo the buttons of his pants and pull the zipper down. You give him plenty of time to tell you to stop but he doesn’t. Levi begs you to keep going as he lifts his hips as you tug his pants and boxers down.

Levi gasps when your hand wraps around his cock, eyes rolling back when you spit on the head.

“Oh, fuck,” Levi jerks his hips as you take him into your mouth. You bob up and down, slurping and sucking so hard his eyes roll back. No matter how many times you suck him off, he still gets so overwhelmed with pleasure he can hardly stand it.

When he hits the back of your throat, he sees stars, hips jerking as he cums down your throat. He barely remembers how this started, something about raspberries?

Satan

“What are you doing?” Satan jumps when he hears your voice.

“Shhh,” he hushed you as he shut the library door. He locks it and points to the couch.

You take a seat, waiting for Satan to say or do something.

“I stole this from Solomon’s room,” Satan explains as he shows you a book. “It’s got all sorts of Human World stuff.”

You nod. “You could have just asked me if you wanted to talk about human stuff. You know Solomon will realize sooner or later that you took his book without asking. Remember when you took the book on the ABC’s of Sex?”

Satan blushes, ignoring you as he grits his teeth. “I don’t recall.”

“Anyway,” you sigh, patting the spot beside you on the couch. Satan lies down when you push his shoulders, easily malleable under your hands. You’re the only one he would allow to treat him as such.

Anyone else would be obliterated where they stand.

You take the book from him after you straddle his lap, opening it to the first chapter. You skim through it while Satan grabs your hips. You read aloud, and Satan listens for the first few minutes until his hands move lower to grab your ass. You whisper a quick spell and the book flies from your hands and is narrated while you kiss Satan.

Satan loses interest in the book as you deepen the kiss, your hands removing his shirt before kissing your way down his body.

You pause at his stomach, taking your time to kiss every bit of skin. Satan moans softly, nearly whining beneath you as his cock grows hard. You palm him over his pants, licking your lips as you unbutton his pants.

Satan’s gaze meets yours, his lip caught between his teeth. He’s about to beg you to keep going, when a loud knock startles the both of you.

The stolen book falls to the carpeted floor with a soft thunk.

“Satan! Give me back my book or I’ll blow the library to bits!” Solomon huffs as he knocks again.

“Looks like he figured it out,” you smirk as you climb off Satan and grab the book.

Asmo

“Oh, hun,” Asmo moans as you rub his shoulders. You had spent the evening pampering him. From a long, hot bath to a foot massage and a manicure.

The two of you were spending the night together in bed. Tomorrow, he would take you on a grand date to celebrate your anniversary but tonight, you wanted him to feel good.

Asmo curses when you move lower before kissing your way down his spine. The oil you used sticks to your lips, making them glossy.

“Turn around,” you instruct and Asmo does so with a smile.

“Hello again,” he giggles as you lean in to kiss him. Asmo sighs happily as you kiss your way down his body, marking his pretty skin with love bites.

Asmo runs his fingers through your hair before reaching to the nightstand. He hands you a red lipstick that you apply.

Asmo smiles when you kiss his body, leaving red lip marks on every bit of skin touched by your pretty lips.

You reapply the lipstick, kissing the spot right below his belly button. You leave a mark on each hip, and one over his heart. Asmo grins as he looks down at you, pressing his lips to yours, smearing lipstick on both of your mouths.

Tomorrow, he’ll still have the mark over his heart and someday he’ll have it permanently marked.

Beel

Beel groaned as he set the weights down. He wiped his face with a towel and took his sweat-soaked shirt off.

You wave from your spot on the floor where you finish stretching. Beel sits down beside you, stretching his legs before falling onto the clean towel you laid out for him.

“Ah, I’m so hungry,” Beel laughs as he stares at the ceiling before he feels you climb over him.

“Funny, so am I,” you smirk as you press your lips to his, moaning when he grabs your hips. You deepen the kiss for a moment, moaning his name before you leave a trail of kisses down his body.

Your tongue circles his belly button, licking him up and down before tugging his shorts down. His hard cock greets you and your mouth waters at the sight as your hand wraps around him but your fingers never meet.

You spit on the head of his cock, grinning when Beel moans your name. You lick your lips and then stick your tongue out.

Beel grabs his cock, slapping the head on your tongue as you drool on yourself.

“Oh, Cupcake,” Beel grunts as you take him back into your mouth. He curses, rolling his hips as you stroke him. You wet your lips, puckering them to blow raspberries on the head of his cock. Beel groans, his eyes shut as you lick his length before you bob up and down.

Beel grabs the back of your head, cursing when you swallow and choke. You gasp for breath, allowing Beel to set the pace he likes before he’s pulling you off his cock.

“I can’t wait anymore, babe. I need you,” Beel says before his lips meet yours.

Belphie

Belphie had fallen asleep with your head on his lap. You told him about your day before you dozed off with his fingers in your hair.

He tried to stay awake but he soon nodded off shortly after you. It would only be a couple of hours before someone interrupted the two of you, so he wanted to wake up after a short nap.

When Belphie wakes up next, your lips are on his stomach. He feels the feather light touch of your lips repeatedly, only stopping when you see he’s awake.

“We slept through the night,” you state with a sheepish smile.

“Damn,” Belphie shakes his head. “I was hoping we’d get more time together.”

“I took care of it,” you inform him before you go back to kissing his stomach, gently sucking on his hip bone. Belphie moans your name, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a toe-curling kiss that leaves you seeing stars.

Soon, you’re beneath him as he trails kisses from your jaw down to your belly button. His name slips past your lips as you grip his hair in your hand just as he kisses right above your belly button. He kisses every inch of you before he tickles you.

“Belphie!” You squeak before he kisses your hand. He blows a raspberry on your hip and you chuckle, pushing him away before you straddle him.

“You play around too much,” you tell him as he kisses each of your wrists before pressing your hands together and placing them on the bed.

“I do,” he admits with a yawn. “But I only give as much as you can take.”

“And how much can I take?” You goad him with a smirk.

“How about we find out?” Belphie kisses you, his tongue meeting yours. His moans are music to your ears, and you kiss him harder, wanting to breathe him in completely, to devour every last bit of his being.

#obey me imagines #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me smut #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me requests

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redsrooftopprincess · 2 months ago

Text

Gravity (Part 3)

Last chapter? Idk. Taking suggestions on what to call this.

Asks are open, but I don't have a lot of free time and I'm new at this so be gentle. 😅

Okay, let's face it, you're not here for me. On with the show.

Warnings: alcohol, hypothermia

chai-tea level spice.

gn (w/ longish hair) reader x Raphael

Page 1 Page 2

You're anxious tonight. You aren't sure why. Maybe it's the weather. You hate when the boys are out on nights like this. Another rumble of thunder shakes the near empty glass of wine on the coffee table, and you glance at the window which offers nothing more than a void. Unhelpful.

You'd drifted through the week, distracted. That night, and his words, echoing your head. Even April had noticed. Eyeing you one morning while sipping her coffee.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Huh?" You looked up from the cereal you were supposed to be eating. By now, the marshmallows had half dissolved.

"I said... What's wrong with you?" April asked, sitting down at the table across from you and looking you up and down.

"Nothing," you reassured unconvincingly, your eyes darting back down to the generic cereal, which was pretty swiftly becoming a thick sugary soup. You poked at it a few times with your spoon.

She'd let it go, but you caught her watching you closely a few times. Screw her and her journalism instincts.

You and Raphael had always been close. He'd been standoffish at first, acting in his self-appointed role of family guardian, but it didn't take long before you were endeared to him, and not long after that you were spending nearly all your free time together.

More than a few times you've gotten sideways glances from his family. You're so in-sync that you almost seem like a couple at times. You laugh and cry together, and talk deep into the night about things you just can't tell anyone else. He's become your person, and you his.

The last few weeks have been hard on the both of you, and the last week has been the hardest. You dont want to push, especially not right now, nothing important should be discussed right now, but you don't know where his head is at and you're worried.

You frown at the television, readjusting your position on the couch and scrolling to find something to watch. You are attempting to settle in to some exceptionally stupid movie (this way, when April asks what you did tonight, you don't have to lie) when you hear something heavy hit the roof.

He didn't make a sound if he didn't want to. Usually he would land just hard enough that you would know he was there. They all did, out of courtesy. Like a knock at the door. But this was different. Clumsy.

You stare out into the pitch black, grabbing your phone and sending the call. It goes to voicemail.

Raph was always encouraging you to trust your instincts and right now, your instincts were screaming that something was very *very* wrong.

You toss your phone on the couch and are out the window and halfway up the fire escape without a second thought. You're soaked through in seconds and shivering, but you slow before you crest the roof. You shout into the squall.

"Listen Red, I know you don't want to see me right now, but you're not answering your phone and I need to know that you're okay. Okay?"

You wait for a response and there is none, which doesn't make you feel better. You finally reach the roof, and suddenly neither the cold, nor the rain matter.

Sheets of rain and sleet crash over his fallen form like waves, and you run to him. He's freezing cold. Damn it. He'd promised you he'd gotten that fixed. You don't bother checking for a pulse. Your hands are borderline numb, and you probably wouldn't be able to feel it, anyway.

You call his name and make a valiant attempt at shaking him awake.

Somewhere in the depths of unconsciousness he hears you, but he fights it. He wants to stay. He likes it here. It's soft and warm and safe. The world behind him is cold and hard, full of pain and longing. He wants this. He wants this peace.

Then he hears you call his name again, and there's no contest.

He stirs and it's raining so hard that the only way you can tell you're crying is the warmth on your cheeks. You hear him groan weakly. You need to get him inside.

You know you can't physically help him in any way, but you make the attempt. You know it's not going to work, but at least now you can say you tried. He could feel free to laugh at you later.

After very much not budging your beloved behemoth so much as an inch, you lean down next to him.

"I'm gonna need your help here, Bruiser, you know I can't carry you."

A Herculean feat, but he manages to pull himself to near standing. You help him as best you can down the fire escape. It's slow going and he nearly passes out twice, but eventually you make it inside.

He doesn't make it to the couch, but collapses in front of it, sitting on the floor and leaning back against it. His eyes are closed and his breathing slow, you snatch your phone from the cushion behind him and call Donnie.

He doesn't pick up.

You call again.

"Yes. What. Do you need something?" He snaps, exasperated, as if you interrupted a hyperfocus (which, let's face it, you probably did).

"Raph is soaked and freezing and in my apartment. Get the fuck over here and fix your damn tech." You end the call and toss the phone on the couch.

You could apologize later.

You sprint to the linen closet and grab a stack of towels, tossing them into the dryer and turning it on. You quickly change into something dry, before running back to the reptile. You thank whatever god of foresight made you force Raphael teach you how to remove his gear just in case, and get to work.

Your hands don't want to cooperate at first, but adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and you have his waterlogged equipment off in record time. You retrieve the now warmed towels from the dryer and return to him. You lay a couple over his carapace, and use the others to start drying him off.

By the time you finish toweling off his extremities, he is once again beginning to stir. You step over his legs, straddling him while standing to better reach behind his head, and as you lean against him your warmth radiates through his plastron like a sun.

Almost involuntarily, his hands raise to rest at your lower back, pressing you gently against his chest.

You gasp as his hands slide under the back of your shirt, searching for warmth. His hands are still freezing cold, but you're pretty sure the gooseflesh rippling over your skin is unrelated.

You finish toweling off just under his shell, behind his head, and pull back, bracing a hand on his shoulder. As you do, his hands move to your waist and you try to ignore how they nearly envelope you.

You look down at him as his eyes slowly open and smile softly. It's obvious he's still pretty out of it.

Wreathed in warm lamplight, you look ethereal, and when his eyes finally focus on you, he thinks he's either dreaming, or dead (with his luck, probably the latter). The moment you place a warm hand against his face he decides he doesn't care.

"Hey Bruiser," you say quietly, smiling softly as your thumb wipes a drop of water from his cheek, "you're safe, the boys are on their way." The sound of your voice pours into him like warm honey and he closes his eyes with a sigh.

Reaching up to the back of your head, he pulls you gently toward him to rest your forehead against his. It was something you started doing to him not long after you became close, whenever he would get really worked up. You weren't sure if it was the physical proximity or the emotional comfort, but it seemed to help ground him. In reality, it's the closest he would ever allow himself to kissing you, and that thought by itself was very, very grounding.

But he is still warming up, still half conscious. You are filling his senses and it's overwhelming. The curtain of your hair falls around his face, and he feels drunk on your scent. You're so soft beneath his hands and the one around your waist tightens gently.

There is only about two more weeks left in the season, but it's by no means over, and something old and primal stirs in his DNA. He presses your head more firmly against his as intelligence and instinct battle within him for control.

You are his *mate*. And it is *time*. And you are *right here*.

Besides, regardless of whether he's dreaming or dead, it doesn't ultimately matter. He can't hurt you if you aren't real.

He lifts his chin, brushing his lips softly against yours. When you don't pull away in disgust he grows a little more bold, and kisses you in earnest.

It would be a lie to say that you hadn't been thinking about it more-or-less from the beginning, how different it would feel than kissing a human. Admittedly, you'd been a little worried about the mechanics, but any concerns you had dissolve when his mouth fits so perfectly against yours.

His body still feels like lead, but his mind is growing sharper, and about the time you are kissing him back he realizes how very real this is. Unfortunately, his reptile brain realizes it first.

His hand grips your waist as his kiss deepens, and there is a deep rumble within his chest that you can feel inside your own. When his thumb brushes over your abdomen you can't help the involuntary sound that escapes you.

The sound is like a starting pistol and suddenly you're flush against him and his mouth is on your throat, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jawline, blood burning in his veins at the way your heartbeat quickens under his tongue.

You had to stop this. If this was going to happen it shouldn't be like this. Right now he's borderline drugged, and if you let this happen and he later thought you didn't actually want it? You can't imagine the fallout.

But you'd had a few glasses of wine this evening, and Gods, he felt *so* good.

When his teeth graze your pulse point your attempt at a deep breath becomes a gasp, and you close your eyes to steady yourself. You had to get his attention.

You attempt to say his name, but it tumbles out of your mouth as a sigh.

"... want you..." He murmurs into your shoulder. The way his breath scatters over your skin like a shower of sparks is doing nothing to help you regain control of yourself or the situation.

He begins kissing down to your clavicle, both hands now at your waist, and despite knowing what this is, where it's going, and why it needs to stop, you can't help placing a hand on the back of his head to pull him closer.

"Sweetheart, we should really talk about this first..." you attempt again, but the tremor in your voice is the only thing that seems to register.

He holds onto you like a lifeline, as if he was drowning and you were his only oxygen. When he grips you tighter and his thumb presses into the hollow of your hip, you almost buckle. A moan escapes, despite your best efforts, and your nails scrape against the back of his neck.

The rumble in his chest grows deeper and he shifts beneath you, movement becoming easier as his temperature rises.

The sound of three very heavy things landing very softly comes from overhead.

The two of you break apart, flushed and breathless, and look at each other in shock.

You glance at the fire escape when you hear the metal rattle outside, before looking back into bewildered amber eyes.

"We're gonna talk about this," you say. He looks at you as if he doesn't understand. "When this is all over, and your brain is no longer swimming in hormone soup... We're gonna talk about this..."

He blinks up at you, a hesitant hope blossoming behind his eyes as you smile down at him, "... because I'm tired of not talking about it."

(Fin)

#bayverse raphael #bayverse raphael x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt Raphael x reader #raph x reader

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imaginespazzi · 6 months ago

Text

Part 6: Leaps of Faith

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7

I hope that you catch me, cause I'm already falling (you put your arms around me and I'm home)

(In which a writer who can see the end approaching starts building towards that ending)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 8.0K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Good evening my lovelies <3. Happy Sunday and Happy Mothers day! First of all, I wanna thank y'all for being ever so patient with me. I know I've been pretty bad about updating lately and y'all have been so sweet with your asks and I really appreciate it. This fic is very close to its end. I probably could have ended it with this chapter but there's a very specific ending I want to write so this one is more of a self-indulgent filler but I think y'all will like this one. There will be one more chapter and then an epilogue of sorts. Once again, there are most likely logistical inaccuracies. I'm not even gonna lie, the editing on this one is shoddy so there are definitely grammar errors/typos. For now, ignore them and I'll go fix them later. As always, even if we're near the end, feel free let me know what you liked, what you didn't and anything you'd like to see before we get to the end. Have a wonderful week my angels <3

April 2024

“It’s a little early for ice cream hon,” Azzi jumps at the sound of her mother’s voice, startled eyes following the direction of the noise to find Katie leaning against the kitchen door, with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a little early to scare the living bejesus out of me mom,” she says with a hand to her chest.

If possible, Katie’s eyes roll even further at her daughter’s sarcastic tone as she makes her way over to the kitchen counter. She’s gotten herself a spoon and everything, ready to steal some ice cream for herself, when she notices the flavour. Next to her, Azzi stiffens.

“You hate mint chocolate chip Az,” Katie says quietly.

“I couldn’t find the strawberry ice cream,” Azzi defends stubbornly, her face taking on a guarded expression.

Katie walks over to the freezer, opening it and pointing at the strawberry ice cream, Azzi’s favourite, that’s sitting in plain sight, “it’s right there.”

“Well,” Azzi splutters, “I’m trying something new,”.

“You hate trying new things.”

“I’ve grown up I guess.”

“Azzi.”

“Mom.”

“Azzi, why are you eating ice cream you hate at 4 in the morning?” Katie finally asks in her best mom voice, sighing when she gets a mumbled response from her daughter, “in words Az, please.”

“Paige likes it,” Azzi admits slowly, and before Katie can say anything, before Azzi can dwell on what she’s said, she launches into a rant, “god knows why. Actually I know why because she’s stupid and weird and likes the dumbest shit. Who the fuck likes mint? Who the fuck likes mint and chocolate together? Gross. This shit is disgusting. It tastes all wrong. Paige is just-,” Azzi throws her hands up in the air, “she just doesn’t understand that some things don’t belong together. They can’t. They’re too different and it just- there’s a fucking balance to things you know? And she just- she doesn’t get that. It’s just- it’s not meant to be.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re eating it right now,” Katie says carefully.

“Because I miss her,” the truth bursts out of Azzi like an erupting volcano, burning itself into every crevice of her skin, “because for some fucking reason I don’t hate the taste of mint chocolate chip. Because maybe they do go together and maybe I’ve been the stupid one this whole time.”

Since she’d stepped out of the hotel in Cleveland, all Azzi could think about was going back, saying fuck it to all the useless logic she’d come up with and going back to the only thing in her life that had ever made sense her Paige. But as it often did in that clichéd battle between head and heart, her head had won out. And she’s never questioned why her head wins so much, why she’s always chosen to listen to the practical side of her brain, until now. Until now when the urge to turn back time, to make herself stay in that hotel room, is all that’s consumed her for the last week.

“Azzi,” Katie wraps her arms around the younger girl, “what happened with you and Paige?”

Azzi hesitates for a second and then everything’s spilling out of her lips, the good, the bad, the inbetween, all of it tumbles out like an uncontrollable waterfall. There’s something freeing about being able to say it all out loud, something freeing about the tears Azzi finally lets roll down her cheeks. She grips the edge of the counter to keep herself from keeling over, starting to feel herself crumble under the heaviness of all these stupid feelings.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” Azzi whispers, “we used to be so easy.”

“Oh Az,” Katie rubs a thumb against her daughter’s cheek, “you used to be kids. You’re all grown up now. It’s always harder when you’re older.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I just want to be the way we were again.”

“So why don’t you?” Katie asks like it’s the most simple solution in the world and Azzi shoots her mother an exasperated look.

“What do you mean? How do we even do that? We can’t be just friends again. We tried. Were you not listening at all?”

“Azzi, sweetheart, you’ve never been just friends.”

“That’s not true,” it’s a futile attempt at arguing against what’s become more of a fact than an opinion in Azzi’s life. It’s a truth she’d let herself acknowledge once and then buried deep within her, scared that once unleashed, it would ruin everything. Except, it turns out, even without it, things had still turned to dust.

“Do you remember when you came home from Minnesota that first summer with Paige? You were either moping around or you were on call with her. There was no in between. It got better eventually, the moping stopped but the calls? I think you fell asleep on facetime with her almost every night. And you were tired every morning after, you barely had time to eat before school but every time I suggested that maybe you cut back, that was never an option,” Katie smiles fondly, “it’s when I knew.”

Azzi does remember, remembers talking about everything and nothing, remembers laughing and crying, remembers when Paige’s breathing was the only lullaby that could relax her into sleeping. And she remembers battling with that voice in her head, the one convinced there’s something more, silencing it with I’d do this with anyone. But that wasn’t true then and it’s not true now because Paige has never been just anyone, never been just a friend. Because even if Azzi’s never been brave enough to say it out loud, Paige is and has always been everything.

Despite knowing the answer and maybe dreading it just a little bit, Azzi asks it to her mom anyway, “what did you know?”

“That she was your person. You were too young, I couldn’t call it love just yet but I knew Paige was different then, she was yours in a way none of your other friends were. You were different around her,” Katie nudges her daughter, “Azzi you’ve always been just a little bit in love with her and she’s always been just a little bit in love with you too. The two of you have just been a matter of time.”

Azzi closes her eyes, and unlike other people, she doesn’t see darkness or little spots of light, she just sees Paige. Her mother’s words wash over her, like acid in her self-inflicted fight the feelings wounds and yet, the idea of she’s loved me too feels like a band-aid being delicately placed on the scars of her heart.

“And place,” she whispers, eyes still closed, “we never seem to get time and place right.”

“Why do you need to?”

Another exasperated look is sent Katie’s way at that question, “we live on different sides of the country mom, what do you mean why do we need to?”

“I mean the two of you have barely ever been in the same place. But you made it work, when you had even less, when you felt even less. But you’re adults now. You have other resources now. And I know timing is difficult but- it’s you and Paige. What are you so scared of Azzi?”

Azzi sucks in a deep breath, “what if Paige runs away again?”

“What if you run away again?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who was the last person to walk away, Azzi?,” Katie sighs when Azzi is adamantly silent, “I know she hurt you by leaving. I know she hurt you by pushing you away. But you did the same thing. You chose UCLA,” Katie holds up a hand when a frustrated Azzi tries to interrupt, “and it was the right decision for you Azzi and she should have supported it. But that doesn’t meant you didn’t hurt her and then you chose Zoe-”

“I didn’t choose Zoe-”

“Yes you did Azzi. Sweetheart you’re my daughter and I will always tell you the complete truth even if it’s not what you wanna hear. And the truth Azzi is that Paige might have hurt you in 101 different ways but that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her back in 99 different ways too.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azzi whispers, “that’s the problem mom. It hurts when she hurts me but it hurts even more when I hurt her. I don’t want that for us but I just- I just don’t know how to stop it without stopping us.”

“You haven’t even tried, baby. Paige held out a hand and you ran away.”

“She left first. How am I supposed to trust that she won’t just do that again," all that’s missing from Azzi’s stubborn whine is a foot stomp.

“Because she came back. It took her a little bit, I know, but she came back and she’s ready to fight, the question is, are you?”

“Why are you defending her?” Azzi splutters, “who’s side are you even on?”

“There are no sides to this sweetheart. The two of you are on the same side. So maybe instead of fighting against her, take that hand, fight with her.”

***

The WNBA draft is a momentous occasion this year. With a hyped draft class like no other, and the promise of even greater ones in the future, there’s a sense of celebratory hope dangling in the air. When the invite had first come in, Azzi had known the same one would be sent to a certain blonde in Connecticut as well. And a part of her had wanted to hide herself away from that possible collision, but every other part of her wanted nothing more than to get just a glimpse of the blonde.

One moment Azzi is surrounded by flashing cameras and the echo of her name on everyone’s lips, the next everything around her is fading away her eyes meet Paige’s on the other end of the WNBA draft orange carpet. It’s nothing new really. Since she’s met her, the blonde has commandeered all of Azzi’s attention whenever she’s nearby. Sometimes it feels like all of her other five senses fade away to give birth to a secret sixth one, one that’s solely dedicated to Paige, one that’s terrifyingly all-consuming. And yet, despite the heaviness of we’ve said too many goodbyes, for the first time in what feels like eternity, Azzi feels like she can finally breathe.

And then Paige looks away.

And Azzi’s back to struggling for air.

It’s selfish of her, she knows, to expect something, not when she’d been the one to leave them stranded on different islands. But Azzi doesn’t seem to think logically when it comes to Paige and even as she tries to turn her focus back to posing for the camera, every inch of her body is dangerously aware of the blonde’s every move, just a mere few feet away from her. Her conversation with her mother is echoing in her head, giving rise to dangerous desires of what if i grabbed your hand and we ran away together.

Paige is a natural on the orange carpet, all dazzling smiles and twinkling eyes. She glides through it, inching closer and closer to Azzi, but never giving away any sense of discomfort. And if it was anybody else, maybe they’d never catch onto the nerves hidden beneath Paige’s facade of calm, cool and collected. But once upon a time Paige used to be Azzi’s favourite puzzle and she has every part of the blonde committed to memory. It’s in the way Paige’s teeth gnaw at her lips for the briefest of seconds, in the way her right index finger is begging to tap a beat against where her hands rests on hips, in the way she’s blinking just one too many times.

And then with one more heavy footed step from Paige, the distance between them is barely a couple inches and they let out identical breaths of air, both of them keeping their focus on the cameras in front of them. It’s loud, too loud, and still all Azzi can focus on is the sound of Paige breathing. The air around them is thick with tension. It feels a bit like they’re silhouetted against a sky made of words they’ve left unsaid and clouds of all the bitter mistakes they’ve made are hanging over their heads. And when their pinkies brush together, and a jolt of electricity sends shivers of I miss you more every day again her skin, Azzi questions if she’s ever made the right decision when it comes to Paige.

“Wait wait wait,” Ari cuts in, as she squeezes herself in between the two of them, “I wanna get in between the two of you.”

A harsh cry of no sits heavily on the top of Azzi’s tongue as the older woman forces a break in whatever little bit of contact she’d had with Paige. She feels a little pathetic, the way every little inch of her skin is craving for that touch back. It had been nothing, a barely there moment and still Azzi thinks, when she goes to bed tonight, if that was all she’d get of Paige, then it’ll be the only thing that’ll feature in her dreams.

“Alright one with just Paige and Azzi,” Ari directs the media, stepping out of the way and pushing the two younger girls together. And it’s laughable that a little brush of their pinkies had Azzi feeling any type of way because when they’re suddenly pressed together, every inch of Paige’s side fitting into Azzi’s like it belongs, the way the world suddenly bursts with light and colours makes Azzi wonder if every moment without Paige has simply been monochrome.

It comes to them naturally how to pose together, arms winding around each other’s waist, heads involuntarily leaning against the other’s. And the smiles might be for the cameras but Azzi knows hers is the most real it’s been all night. It might be temporary, she might lose Paige in the chaos, but for now Paige is here and Azzi has learned how to be content with whatever little she can get.

As the media moves to capture other people, the logical thing to do would be to separate, to let go of each other. But instead they stand there, still completely wrapped around each other, heart rates in sync as they breathe in each other’s presence. And then Paige’s hand falls from the small of Azzi’s back to tangle their fingers together and they let out identical sighs of relief, something so cathartic in the purposefulness of that touch. Everyone is too busy to notice that the two of them have fallen into a whole other world, one where there’s only two of them and every emotion that they’ve only reserved for the other. There’s no words exchanged as Paige guides the two of them out of the spotlight, somehow keeping their hands clasped together in secret, despite the ever growing crowd. And Azzi doesn’t know this building at all, doesn’t have the faintest clue where she’s being led to, but as long as it’s Paige pulling her along, she doesn’t care where, she thinks she’d go anywhere.

Paige stops abruptly in a secluded corridor, turning to fully face Azzi. And the sincerity in the blonde’s crystalline blue eyes, as they roam every inch of Azzi’s body before coming to fixate on her face, steals the air away from Azzi’s lungs. Paige has gotten better over the years at building walls, but with every new lock she places on her emotions, there’s a key to open them that seems to always find its way to Azzi. In the delicate golden hue, Paige shines brighter than any star ever could and in the dim light Azzi can make out every bit of hurt and love and please can we just have this moment that Paige can’t put into words.

“Hi,” Azzi whispers softly, hands itching to reach out and caress Paige’s skin.

“Hi,” Paige says back, even quieter. She stares at Azzi as if she’s memorising every little detail and then her face crumbles. Azzi feels her heart drop at the single tear that trickles down Paige’s cheek as she lets out a broken whimper. And this, this unspoken power they seem to have over each other, the uncanny ability to just hurt each other without any bit of effort, is what scares Azzi the most. It’s too much. They shouldn’t be able to do this.

“Paige,” Azzi’s fingers twitch but she hesitates, not knowing if it’s the right thing, “fuck- P what’s wrong?”

Paige doesn’t reply, eyes wandering down to where Azzi’s trying to keep her hands still against her sides and when she looks back up, her eyes are bloodshot, “what’s wrong? What’s not wrong Azzi? You won’t even fucking touch me.”

“I didn’t-” Azzi struggles to speak, “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Can you just- fuck- can you just stop overthinking things for once in your life. Of course I want you to touch- you know what nevermind. This was a bad idea. You made yourself clear and I’m just- fuck- I should- I should just go.”

She sounds adamant enough but all it takes, when Paige moves to leave, is the strangled cry that leaves Azzi’s lips. The sound is enough to pull Paige right back in. She takes one look at the tears brimming in Azzi’s eyes. And then she’s pushing Azzi against a wall, hands on either side caging the younger girl between her body and the hard surface behind. She presses their foreheads together and Azzi feels like every part of her might just be a part of Paige too.

“I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. It’s barely been two weeks and I- fuck- Azzi- I’ve missed you every single second and now you’re here and I still miss you. And it really fucking hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi whispers, finally letting her hands cup Paige’s cheeks, and it’s worth it for the way Paige seems to completely melt into her touch, “I’m sorry I keep hurting you. I keep thinking I’m doing the right thing but- I don’t know- I feel like I’m always doing the wrong thing when it comes to you. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

“Just let me be with you,” Paige’s voice is wrecked with desperation as she presses herself as close to Azzi as possible, “I’ll be your whatever- whatever you give me- whatever you want- I just- I just want you Az- whatever little bit you’re willing to give me- I’ll take it- and if you want me to wait- fuck Azzi- I’d wait forever- you know that right? However long it takes, baby. Just want you- just want us.”

Leaps of faith are scary. Azzi’s never been great at taking them, too cautious, too much of a worrier. She’s more of a step back from the cliff kind of person. If she doesn’t jump, she can’t fall. But here’s the thing, when she was fourteen, Azzi jumped off of her first hypothetical cliff. It had been on a plane, when after avoiding one too many deep questions, Azzi had admitted to a girl she barely knew,that maybe she could like girls. It was the first time she’d ever let herself acknowledge that truth about herself and the girl next to her was a stranger but there was something about her, something that screamed i’ll hold your hand and if you jump it’ll never be alone. And ever since then, that girl, Paige, has always been there. Hands outstretched, ready to jump off any ledge. Because if there’s hard ground underneath, then they’ll learn how to fly together and if there’s water, they’ll figure out how to swim. With Paige there has always been the promise that, whatever it is, they’ll figure it out together. And it’s with that promise in mind, that Azzi takes the leap of faith.

“Me too,” Azzi whispers, heart beating erratically.

“What?” Paige searches Azzi’s face, as if waiting for her to take it back.

“Us. You. You and me. I want that too,” a ghost of a smile begins to creep onto Azzi’s face, and for the first time in god knows how long, she feels feather light, a little bit like she’s floating on a rainbow.

“You mean it?” Paige asks earnestly, hands moving from the wall to clutch at Azzi’s waist, “don’t play-Azzi- okay- you mean it for real?”

“I do. I want this- I want this so much and I’m still- I’m still really scared and maybe it’ll be a disaster but I- I want to try. With you.”

Azzi used to think she knew all of Paige’s smiles. Her small, not quite fake, but only for cameras and people she didn’t quite know, smiles. Her just for my friends smile that was filled with mirth and childlike joy. Her basketball smile that transformed into a smirk when she got too cocky. Her only for Drew smile, soft and filled with so much adoration and pride. Her Azzi smile, the one only the brown-skinned girl gets to experience, a smile that made Azzi’s her heart swell with love. But the smile that stretches across Paige’s face now, is one Azzi’s never seen before. This one throws Azzi’s entire world of balance, so bright, so big, so full of emotions. If she could, she’d tattoo that smile onto her skin forever.

“We’re really doing this?” Paige asks, still a little stunned. It wasn’t what Azzi had planned for tonight. She hadn’t really had any plans for what would really happen. But then Paige had walked in and all Azzi could see was forever she was tired of fighting against.

“We should take it slow okay-” Azzi wraps her arms around the older girl’s neck, keeping their foreheads still against each other’s, “I don’t- I don’t wanna rush into things and fuck it up. I can’t- fuck- I can’t lose y-”

“You won’t,” Paige swears, squeezing at Azzi’s wait, “I won’t let you. We can take it slow. We can take it however you want- I just- we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” Azzi can’t help the grin that fills up her entire face, “yeah we’re doing this.”

And as they surge forward to claim each other’s lips, and as they meld every inch of themselves into each other, and as they smile and cry into the kiss simultaneously, and as they etch promises into each other skin, and as they let themselves finally fall into each other, for each other, it feels a lot like coming home.

***

July 2024

The early morning sunlight casts a dark shadow across Paige’s face, causing the still asleep blonde to scrunch up her face in irritation. Azzi, who’s been awake for nearly half an hour now, can’t help the fond smile that creeps onto her own lips. She shifts herself to block the sun and Paige lets out a content sigh, burrowing herself further into her pillows. And the thing is every moment with Paige is special but there’s something about waking up to her in the morning. Azzi’s always awake first and it gives her ample time to just admire the girl in her arms, blond hair tousled all over her pillow, lips parted slightly open, and one arm always, always, splayed across Azzi’s torso, holding her close. Over the course of time, Azzi’s found out that the second she moves, Paige seems to feel her leave, waking up instantly.

There had been an adjustment period if Azzi's honest. It had taken her a while to shake that fear of Paige not being there in the morning. The first morning, she’d been scared to open her eyes, even if she could feel Paige’s presence right next to her. That had been one of the few mornings that Paige was fully awake first, hovering above Azzi to wake her up. And when she finally did get the courage to open her eyes, the first thing Azzi had seen was Paige, blue eyes sparkling with unfiltered adoration, a smile filled with promises of every morning just like this. And that had been enough.

Azzi reaches out to brush a hand through Paige’s soft blond hair, mesmerised by how pretty Paige looks in the morning glow. A lot of Paige belongs to the world now and Azzi’s not opposed to sharing really, because someone so fucking perfect, deserves to be celebrated like that. But there are some parts of Paige that belong to Azzi and Azzi only, some parts Azzi cherishes as being only hers. This is one of them and Azzi takes a snapshot of it, knowing she’ll need it to function in a few months, when she won’t get the real thing.

“Are you watching Paige sleep?” Azzi almost jumps at the sound of Drew’s voice at the doorway, having been too immersed in Paige to have even heard the door open, “that’s kinda creepy Azzi.”

“Jesus Drew, whatever happened to knocking?”

“I forgot?” Drew grins, before he plops on the bed, the force of it making the whole frame shake a little bit.

“Drew!” Azzi chides, “you’re gonna wake her up.”

Drew cocks his eyebrows, sparing his sister, who seems unphased by the sudden little bit of chaos around her, still fast asleep, an unimpressive look, “please she can sleep through anything. Besides, it’s already 9. I thought we were gonna do things. I been up for aaaages.”

“She’ll be awake soon,” Azzi smiles, ruffling the younger boy's hair. Drew rolls his eyes and it’s remarkable how much he resembles Paige, not just by face, but the mannerisms too.

He huffs for a second before his eyes sparkle with an idea, “what if we pour water on her!”

“Drew!” Azzi chastises again, trying not to giggle.

“Boo,” Drew crosses his arms across his chest, “you used to be so cool Azzi.”

Azzi laughs as she’s reminded of a younger version of herself, scheming with Drew on how to wake Paige up. And it’s not that she’s beyond that really, tucking the water idea for a rainy day, but Paige looks too peaceful this morning and she wants to preserve that look of serenity on the older girl’s face for just a little bit longer.

“Hey Azzi,” Drew says after a while and Azzi hums in response, “when you and Paige get married, I can still be a groomsman right? Even if there’s no grooms?”

“Wha- where did that come from?” the brunette’s eyes widened at the question, sitting up a little straighter.

Drew peers up at her with all the innocence of a pre-teen, “you are gonna get married right?”

“I don’t-”

“It’s too early for your yapping Drew,” Azzi’s saved from answering by Paige’s tired voice entering the conversation. She looks over to find Paige’s eyes already on her, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at Azzi. If Drew wasn’t sitting right there, Azzi would lean over and kiss her and let Paige deepen it until they were both satisfied.

“Oh thank god,” Drew cheers dramatically, “I thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

Paige scoffs, the arm that’s still wrapped around Azzi’s torso tightening its hold, “I wish.”

“Well you’re awake now so get up,” Drew whines, moving from his spot on the end of the bed, to flop on top of Paige’s body instead, “get up, get up, GET UP.”

“Get off,” Paige groans but there’s no real force behind it. Azzi watches with a fond smile, as Paige flips Drew over so that she can tickle him, eliciting rounds of laughter from the younger boy. Something in her heart flutters, her mind going back to Drew’s question. She’s never really been one to think too hard about marriage and children and that domestic suburban life, leaving it up to fate, but now- well, maybe.

“Okay aight aight enough. Go get ready for breakfast and we’ll be down in a second,” Paige says, ushering Drew off of the bed.

“You can just tell me you want me to leave so you can kiss Azzi you know?” Drew scrunches up his nose, “you two are gross.”

Paige sends him a stern look and gets a dramatic eye roll in return but as he always does, Drew does as he’s told, mock saluting the two of them and skipping out of the room.

“He’s right by the way,” Paige says softly, turning back to where Azzi’s leaning against the backboard, “I do want to kiss you.”

Azzi smirks lopsidedly, “what’s stopping you?”

She squeals in surprise when Paige pulls her, the force of it causing both of them to tumble onto the front-end of the bed. Azzi ends up on top of Paige, hands resting around her neck, the blonde’s hands holding her waist in place.

“Good morning,” Paige grins, clearly proud of herself as she chases Azzi’s lips to pull her into a searing kiss.

“Good morning,” Azzi whispers back, thumb caressing Paige’s left cheek.

“Just so you know,” Paige pulls away, a determined glint in her eyes, “we’re so getting married one day.”

***

October 2024

Azzi’s mood has been rancid for the last couple of weeks. It’s terrible she knows; it makes her irritating to play with and a nightmare to live with. But even if this had been expected, that she would be on one end of the country and her heart would be on the other side, it doesn’t stop her from constantly being in a state of missing Paige. And it’s different from before, now that there’s a certain surety of of course i’ll see you soon but soon never really feels soon enough.

“Azzi can you please get the door,” Kiki calls from her room when the doorbell rings.

“I’m busy,” Azzi grunts back, snuggling further into her pillow with a book she isn’t actually reading, “you go get it.”

“Azzi please, I’m literally in the middle of getting dressed,” Kiki yells exasperatedly.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s pretty sure her teammates are about this close to plotting her murder, and deservedly so, Azzi would sink back onto her bed and let the incessant doorbell noise continue. But she does love her teammates, thinks Kiki probably deserves to change in peace, and it forces her out of bed, grumbling away about annoying visitors. Until she actually gets a look at the visitor. Paige stands on the doorstep, confident as ever, a bouquet of roses and peonies and lilies in her hand.

“You’re here,” Azzi breathes out, staring in awe.

“And thank fucking god she is,” Kiki quips from behind her, “maybe we can finally get our old happy Azzi back and not this bitch.”

Paige laughs, “watch how you talk about my girl Rice.”

“You’re here. You’re really here,” Azzi whispers again.

“I heard you missed me baby,” Paige says, her cocky smirk betrayed by the softness in her voice. And then Azzi is flying into her arms, throwing Paige off balance.

“So fucking much,” Azzi admits into Paige’s neck, eliciting a giggle from the blonde, “Kiki’s right. I have been a bitch.”

“Just a little bit,” Kiki calls out again but there’s a new fondness in her voice. It’s funny how her team, even the haters, have slowly become Paige fans. They’d been hesitant at first, just like the UConn girls, but now well, it seems the basketball world’s Montagues and Capulets have learned to accept their star players’ relationship.

“Missed you too Az,” Paige’s tone is vulnerable as they break away, “alright, go get changed, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Or…,” Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, “we could stay here and do something else.”

Paige shivers under her touch, stepping away to keep some semblance of control “n-no I have plans,” but she can’t help but kiss Azzi’s pout away, “it’ll be worth it, I promise. Besides,” she bites at Azzi’s ear, “there’s always later.”

***

“Your big plans are to bring me to the supermarket,” Azzi cocks an eyebrow as they walk down one of the many aisles, “you turned down sex for this? Should I be offended?”

Paige doesn’t say anything, concentratedly looking at signs, trying to figure out a specific section, before an aha! moment dances over her face, and she pulls Azzi with her, the younger girl going willingly, despite the eye roll. She stops triumphantly in front of the sushi section and Azzi looks at her quizzically.

“I’m getting you supermarket sushi,” Paige says pointedly, “and then you can get me mac and cheese.”

And if you brought me sushi I’d have brought you your favourite mac and cheese. Oh. The realisation of what Paige is doing trickles around Azzi a little bit like rain after a long summer drought. She thinks back to the bouquet, everything suddenly making sense.

“You’re such a dork Paige Bueckers,” Azzi says softly, tapping the older girl’s nose.

“Your dork,” Paige grins cheesily, “now hurry up and pick one. I don’t wanna miss the sunset.”

***

Once she catches on it, it doesn’t surprise Azzi to find that Paige has everything planned out perfectly, down to the exact spot in the park- the one by Paige’s recovery airBnB, the one they’d taken countless walks in trying to repair their friendship- where the two of them can be away from everybody else, in their own little bubble. And she has a picnic blanket, that’s a little small but they don’t really want space from each other anyways. They lean against a tree, food set up in front of them, Paige’s laptop, carefully piled on top of a couple of books to be the perfect height, set a little bit further away.

“So what NBA game are we watching?” Azzi asks with a smile and Paige groans, “what? Was that not part of the plan?”

“Dude come on. It’s the beginning of October. Please tell me you know the NBA season isn’t happening yet,” Paige rubs her temple, only a little endeared by the comment, “are you sure you’re a basketball player?”

“There are games in October. I swear I’ve seen them before,” Azzi says sceptically.

“Yeah at the very end of the month, not right now.”

“Well then close enough,” Azzi says indignantly, “I don’t need to know the exact day.”

“Whatever you say baby,” Paige acquiesces with a smirk and it earns her an elbow to the stomach, “what the fuck? That shit’s domestic violence you know?”

“Big words Bueckers, didn’t think you knew them,” Azzi teases, placing a kiss against Paige’s offended expression, before settling herself against the blonde’s side, sighing contentedly when she gets a kiss on her temple in return. They’re cliché enough to put on Love and Basketball, but Azzi doesn’t really end up watching much at all. In between slow kisses, she almost falls asleep a couple of times, the comfort of Paige’s arms like a blanket wrapping her in the warmth of this is my fairytale.

“THE POLAROID,” Paige’s shout breaks Azzi out of her haze as she feels her body being shaken off, the blonde rummaging through her bag for the camera, “we have to take the polaroid. My wall needs it.”

“Oh yeah a tiny polaroid picture of us inbetween all your Lebron posters, a perfect fit,” Azzi drawls only to be met with a scathing look from Paige.

“It’s for important things and Lebron is the most important of them all,” Paige explains with complete seriousness, as she finally finds the polaroid camera and shimmies back to Azzi with it in hand.

The sunset is beautiful. Pink, purple, orange and blue, all blending together to create the perfect picture. But Azzi thinks it’s not nearly as beautiful as the girl in front of her, not nearly as beautiful as the date Paige had planned, not nearly as beautiful as the future she can so clearly see now. Her mind drifts back to the night of the phone call, and she can almost hear Paige’s sobs again, can still hear her own voice breaking. Back then, they had seemed impossible, a butterfly like dream that danced out of their grasp.

“Hey,” Paige captures her chin with two fingers, “where’d you go?”

Azzi shakes her head, “nowhere. I’m right here. With you. Where I should be.”

“Sappy goof,” Paige snorts but she kisses Azzi like she’ll take those words and hide them in the labyrinth of her mind, protect them there forever.

Taking the picture is a task, both of them bickering about angles and lights. It’s unnecessary arguing, in true Paige and Azzi fashion really but there’s something so mundanely domestic about it that Azzi finds herself wanting to memorise this moment too. They finally get the frame just right, somewhere in between what they both wanted. Azzi smiles at the camera, her Paige smile, as the blonde in question presses her lips against her cheeks.

Click.

And Azzi hopes, that however many years later, when they have a home of their own, amidst all the photos that they’ll take over the next years, this one will be hung somewhere on their wall, a testament to finally realising every dream they’d dared to dream together.

***

December 2024

There are pebbles being thrown at her window and Azzi has to stop herself from laughing when she peers down to see Paige, freezing cold in the Virginia December air, staring up at her with a goofy smile. She shakes her head when her phone rings, knowing it’s Paige and answers it with her own foolish grin.

“What exactly are you doing?” Azzi asks, “come back to bed.”

“You said I was unromantic. I’m trying to be romantic,” Paige’s teeth chatter in the cold, as she balances her phone in one hand, still throwing rocks with the other.

“I didn’t say that and throwing rocks at my window is supposed to be romantic? You’re going to wake the whole house up.”

“That’s what they do in all the good rom coms. And you said and I quote ‘we’re kind of boring’. You might be boring Azzi Fudd but I most definitely am not.”

It had been a throwaway comment Azzi had made at dinner with some friends from high school. One of her friends had been going on and on about some adventurous trip that she and her boyfriend were going on, and then asked Paige and Azzi if they had any of that planned. To which Azzi had replied that they were a little too busy, considering they were college basketball players still in season, and besides they were “kind of boring” people. She hadn’t meant it in any type of way. Personally, Azzi likes boring. Paige however, seemed to have taken the comment to heart and Azzi had woken up at 2 a.m. to an empty bed and the sound of something being thrown at her window.

“Okay I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You're really interesting baby and the most romantic person in the world. Now will you please come back to bed,” Azzi concedes, already missing the feeling of being cuddled up in her blankets with Paige’s body heat keeping her nice and toasty.

“No,” Paige says indignantly, “come down here.”

“Paige, it's freezing. It’s gonna start snowing any minute.”

“Exactly. That’s exciting.”

“Sleep is exciting,” Azzi whines, but she’s already padding around her room looking for a warm sweater, grumbling under her breath about the warm California sun she’s missing. She tiptoes down the staircase, wincing at the one step that creaks just a little too much, before pushing herself out the door. And it’s freezing cold, there’s sleep in her eyes, but it’s all worth it Azzi thinks, it’ll always be worth it, just to experience Paige’s smile.

“Knew you’d come,” Paige grins cockily, mittened hands pulling Azzi into her.

“Yeah yeah. What are we even doing?”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige bellows dramatically, “may I have this dance.”

Azzi stares at Paige’s outstretched hand wondering if this is some sort of cry for help, but one look at Paige’s face tells her that the girl in front of her is being absolutely serious.

“This is your idea of exciting? Dancing in the street while it’s freezing with no music?” Azzi raises an eyebrow, but she takes Paige’s hand.

“It’s spontaneous,” Paige says the last word with a flourish, as she spins Azzi, “why not dance in the street when it’s freezing with no music?”

And well, that’s a fair point. If anyone were to look out their window that night, they’d probably think the two girls were somewhat crazy. Laughing and giggling and tripping over each other as Paige hums a melody and Azzi occasionally joins in. It’s ridiculous and corny and cliché and perfect. And then the first little bit of snow falls, white drops circling around the two dancing girls, snowflakes catching on their eyelashes. The dim glow of the streetlight is enough to catch identical smiles on the two girl’s faces as they revel in each other.

“You know some people say if you make a wish during the first snowfall, it’ll come true,” Paige whispers, still waltzing the two of them around, cheek pressed to Azzi’s, “you wanna try?”

And the thing is Azzi doesn’t really believe in all of that, in magic but something about Paige, something about this moment feels magical. It makes a believer out of Azzi.

“Yeah,” Azzi smiles, “let’s make a wish.”

They stand still, holding hands, eyes closed, both a little breathless, as they make their wishes. And when they open them, if it feels a little bit like maybe their wishes have already been granted, well they’ll share it in a secret smile but never out loud. After all, wishes don’t come true if you speak of them.

***

April 2025

7 seconds to go in the National Championship and Azzi’s UCLA Bruins are down by two points. It’s her last chance, having already declared for the 2025 WNBA draft, to win a national championship, to bring home their first basketball national championship since the 1978 team that had won the AIAW championship, to win their first NCAA championship ever. It had taken some sheer luck to get to this point if Azzi’s honest. As a two-seed in the Spokane region, they’d benefitted from their one-seed having been eliminated early and then getting to face a Cinderella six-seed in the final four. On the other side of the bracket, UConn, the favourites coming for a repeat, had been stunned by another team, the team that UCLA was now facing. That had caused a bit of a second-hand sting and Azzi’s not really trying to take revenge for Paige, but it'd be a lie to say the get back at them for me babe from earlier this morning isn’t ringing in her head.

The play is simple, set screens for Azzi, get her open, get her the ball. A two would get them to a tie and three would win it outright. Either will do. It’s a little too reminiscent of last year when Azzi had failed at tying the final 4 game and she can still feel that loss on the tips of her fingers. They break out from their last timeout, breathlessly running to their spots on the floor. The whistle blows, Kiki inbounds the ball and everything is a blur. All Azzi knows is the shot clock is winding down. She runs off of what feels like a million screens. And then she’s open on the wing, for a millisecond. A perfect pass from Kiki makes sure the ball lands straight in Azzi’s hand. And she doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even notice the defender put up a hand, she shoots the ball. There’s two people on the court that know for sure that ball is going in the minute it leaves Azzi’s fingers, the shooter herself and her biggest fan in the stands, who’s been just a little bit in love with that shooting stroke, since before anything else had even begun.

With a delicate swish, the ball falls through the net, the buzzer sounds around the arena, the crowd explodes in blue and gold, as the UCLA Bruins win the 2025 national championship.

Everything stills in Azzi’s brain for a second, her thoughts taking a second to catch up to reality. She’s never really been one to emotion on the court, keeping herself steely guarded through most games, even at the very end. But now, triumph and pride and just utter happiness at finally achieving one of her biggest dreams, comes roaring to the surface, manifesting itself throughout her entire body, as she lets out a scream of joy. Her teammates engulf her and she gets lost in a sea of hugs and tears and bright, decadent smiles.

As thing start to calm down, there’s really only one thing on Azzi’s mind and Paige’s words echo in her ears, because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. And Azzi thinks maybe Paige had discovered one of the biggest truths of their life with that, the truth that at the end of day, in any moment, big or small, happy or sad, the one person Azzi wants next to her, is her Paige. It’s been that way since she was fourteen, and too young to really understand the meaning of wanting someone forever, and she thinks if she has her way, it’ll be like that for the rest of her life, the rest of their life.

Paige is beaming in the crowd, standing next to Jon and José, a #35 jersey proudly adorning her torso. She waves when she catches Azzi’s eyes, always her biggest cheerleader. And Azzi throws caution to the wind, fuck it, not caring that there’s still a large crowd or that cameras are likely to follow her every move. She pushes her way into the stands, stopping right in front of the blonde.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad would kissing you right now be?” Azzi asks, still a little breathless.

A myriad of emotions flicker through Paige’s face before settling on a mischievous smirk, “probably pretty bad but you should do it anyways.”

Azzi grins before merging their lips together and everything else fades to the background, until she’s consumed by nothing but Paige. They break apart far quicker than either of them would like and Azzi expects to feel just a little bit of fear at what she’s just done, likely given the media a spectacle they could run a million and one stories about but instead, with her forehead still pressed against Paige’s, she feels nothing but calm.

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi whispers and Paige’s eyes widen. They’ve known it for a while now but it’s the first time either of them have said it.

“Say it again,” Paige demands.

“I’m so in love with you,” Azzi says again, grinning so hard, she thinks it might become her permanent expression, “like really fucking in love with you.”

“I’m so in love with you,” Paige whispers, pulling Azzi into a bone-crushing hug.

And this might not be the moment where everything finally comes together. There’s still so much life left to live, so much that they still need to work through, so much they’ve yet to deal with. But for now, Azzi has a national championship and she has the love of her life, the rest will work itself out, or so she hopes.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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sociopathicartist · 7 months ago

Text

In case I don’t tell you enough, I love you.

a letter from sans directed to you, his lover.

y/n,

it’s been five years since monsterkind was freed from the surface.

it’s been four years since i’ve met you.

it’s april, and i’m still missing you.

maybe it’s stupid of me to miss you considering that i left your house only a few hours ago, and i’m laying in bed writing this on some loose paper i found on my floor while i think of you.

weirdly enough, the silence in my room is now unsettling compared to how calming it used to be. i guess the fan in your room blowing wind on your bed that i’ve yet to see turned off has grown on me. or maybe it’s the rain sounds you always have playing on your tv that clash with the fan that grew on me.

or maybe it’s you that's grown on me.

sometimes when i have a nightmare or i can't sleep i play fan and rain sounds on youtube to help me rest, not even thinking consciously about it anymore. it always just makes me feel like i’m back in bed with you with my eyes closed, waiting for you to come back from the kitchen with the glass of water that you wanted.

i wish that i could sum it up and say i can't find the words to describe how i feel, but that’s a lie. i know exactly how i feel about you.

tracing my phalanges along the little scars and nicks of your skin when i’m next to you never fails to entertain me. neither does running my hand through your hair, or twisting the rings on your fingers, or kissing you quickly for the 1000th time. i never thought i would be fond of that sort of stuff, i never thought i was a guy for any sort of romance.

i guess i just never realized that all i needed was the right person to give it to me. all i needed was you.

i’m not the best writer. even my lab logs from the rare times when i help alphys with her scientific tests are messy and short out. it’s almost like having all these thoughts about you is starting to eat me alive. i guess i have nowhere else to put them but on a piece of paper. if we ever get married one day like i hope we do, i’d like to give this to you. who knows when that will be though, so i guess this letter will just sit in one of my drawers collecting dust until i can give it to you. it kinda sucks to think about the fact that these words might never reach you, but that’s the way life is. it sucks most of the time.

i get this weird sinking feeling in my ribs near where my soul rests sometimes. it’s mostly when i think about how i miss you. sometimes my hand reaches up and brushes up and down my shoulder blade when i’m lying in bed alone, mimicking the motion that your hand does to me all the time when we lay together. i don’t even notice it happens anymore, but when i do and i realize you’re not actually there, that’s when that weird sinking feeling happens. it also happens on the rare thought of you not being in my future one day, even though i know that won't happen. i know you wouldn’t leave me.

i can’t help but wonder what this feeling was before i met you, and why i never got it.

was i just empty all the time?

even though i remember in great detail why my depression was so bad back then, back before i met you, i guess these happy years with everyone have slowly washed away that feeling. i felt so horrible for so long, and i didn’t care to ever try and get better because there was no point back then, but for some reason whenever i try to think of what was there in my life that i had like this, it’s almost numbed away from my memories. it’s like a bad nightmare that got washed away with the morning light.

that’s not to say i’m not thankful and glad i’m doing better now. sure, i’m still working things out, but who isn’t? i don’t think i wouldn’t have ever actually gotten help if it wasn’t for you, though. you’re really the only person who's ever seen me so clearly. i love how i don’t even have to tell you if something is wrong anymore, you just look at me and know. did you know that i’ve never had anyone take the time to notice the small difference between my genuine smile versus my resting and permanent one? the day you pointed that out to me was the day i realized i liked you.

i also thought it would take me a while to realize when i liked someone seriously. i think the last time i ever had a crush was… actually, i can’t remember. in the movies and books, it’s always the same scenario of ‘i like you but i haven’t liked anyone before so i don’t realize i like you until it’s too late’ but that wasn’t the case. i knew the moment i liked you.

it was this odd twinge in me that just kinda sprung throughout my bones. i think it’s the same equivalent of getting butterflies in your stomach, but without a stomach. i noticed your looks before, and i guess this sounds weird to say, but it was like after so long of friendship that i actually… noticed you.

you looked so beautiful, and you still do.

the shock at work and from other people was really funny when they found out we were dating. i don’t think they ever actually thought i’d find someone to settle down with. our friends knew better though. as shocked as our friends tried to act, it was pretty obvious that they were expecting it. i can’t believe it was that obvious that we liked each other.

there’s no big resolution to writing this. i just felt like writing it so that i could share the feelings i feel about you but that i forget to say when we are around each other. it’s not like i can get a single word in with how much you smooch on me though. not that i mind.

it’s not to say that if my puns ever get too much for you, or if you decide that i’m too lazy and you feel like you can’t leave, you can. i just really don’t want you to. i have a strong feeling that you don’t ever want to leave either.

i can’t wait to see how the rest of our lives turn out together. when we move in, get married, and just enjoy each other’s time. i know it’s crazy to hear from me, but i can’t wait to do the dishes with you and put away the laundry as you fold it. i can’t wait to enjoy your company every day one day. i know it’s a bit selfish, but i hope that things stay like this forever.

i hope that you get to read this one day, and in case i don’t tell you enough, i love you.

#undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #classic sans #sans x you #sap #sans headcanons

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f0point5 · 7 months ago

Text

What if I told you I’m back?

This was a request but tumblr ate, you’ll all just have to believe me. Someone asked for a Max POV during the best friend era. So, I decided to go with this one ✨set 16th April 2018✨ the day after the Chinese GP, because I feel like we don’t talk enough about the early friendship.

I hope this finds its way to whoever sent in the ask and that you enjoy it 🫶

Max almost turns around three times on the way to your building.

The first time, it’s when he realises it’s late, gone ten p.m. on a Monday, you might be asleep. He should go home and come by tomorrow. But you’re a night owl, you won’t be asleep.

The second time, he thinks you won’t be asleep, but you won’t be expecting company. He hasn’t even texted, and he should have, but he left his phone in his jacket which he gave to his concierge to send upstairs with his bags. He shouldn’t intrude. But he’s not exactly company, he’s seen you in your pyjamas, it’s not like he’s suggesting you go out.

The third time, it’s the absurdity of the situation that gives him pause. He hadn’t even set foot in his building before setting off to yours. After three and a half weeks away one more night shouldn’t be a big deal. Maybe you’ll think he’s a bit strange. But equally, it shouldn’t be a big deal to just see you for a minute, right? If only just to give you your present.

He’s surprised by much he found himself missing you. It’s not like he hasn’t been used to being away from his friends and family his whole life, it’s not even like you didn’t talk while he was away. You talked a lot. But, he rationalises, he’d got used to having you around during winter break, you’d hardly been apart. You’d even come home to his mum’s with him just before Christmas. Your presence, your perfume, your way never letting him finish a sentence, it was all normal to him now. It wasn’t that he needed it, just that he had had to learn how to be without it, and that had been harder than anticipated. The last time he’d done that he was eight.

It only occurs to him now, as your building comes into view, that you might not feel the same way. You’d said you’d missed him countless times in the last three and a half weeks, but that didn’t signify. After all, he’d said it maybe twice and he here he was, asleep on his feet but at your door because he didn’t want to go home without seeing you.

He should just go home.

“Max?” No turning back now. He turns around to see you, dressed in a pretty blouse and a short skirt, teetering towards him on stiletto heels. “Maxy, Maxy, Maxy,”

You collide with him before he has a chance to laugh at the way you were squealing like a child. He hugs you back, holding you up when you lift your feet off the floor for a second. He’s half expecting you to smell like a distillery, unable and unwilling to comprehend that your reaction is all your own. But all he smells is your perfume, and it feels like Christmas all over again.

“Hey,” he says, lowering you to the ground and finally getting a good look at you. Your hair’s a little shorter, your face is- no, you couldn’t have gotten prettier. You’re a bit more tanned.

“I thought you were still in China,” you say, squeezing his shoulders. “You look so hungry, have you lost weight?”

“I just got back,” he says with a shrug. You’re almost his height in your heels, he notices for no discernible reason.

You take in his no doubt plane-rumpled appearance. “Did you come straight here?”

“Uh,” he clears his throat. He’s not going to admit that when you’re giving him a warranted look of confusion, but he doesn’t want to lie either. “I brought you a present.” He holds up the package, wrapped poorly on the flight home. Even the flight attendant had given him a sympathetic look as she watched him struggle.

“Aw, thanks,” you say, pressing your key fob against the censor and pulling open the door before Max can get to it. “Come up,”

“Are you sure?”

You give him an incredulous look, lit up by the golden glow of your lobby lights. “Of course,”

You tell him about the dinner you were just getting back from when he arrived, all the way up to your flat. Some people would find it odd or even rude that Max has been a continent away, racing the fastest cars on the planet in front of millions of people, and yet you’re perfectly at ease taking time to talk about your overly creamy pasta. Max likes it, relishes it, even. You’ve never seen him or his job as anything special. He went to work, you went to dinner. It’s normal. Just friends catching up.

You let him into your flat, heading straight for the kitchen, and Max takes the same seat at the breakfast island that he always does. He idly wonders if anyone else has sat in it since he’s been away.

“But then it’s not exactly Naples, you what can you expect. Sometimes I think the French sabotage Italian food on purpose,” you say, filling a wine glass with water from your fridge dispenser. “Great race, by the way. Glad my voodoo worked,”

Max scoffs. “So, you didn’t watch it,” he shakes his head as if that will help the memories fade quicker.

“I did. Got up at the crack of dawn and everything. And I cursed your car not to win,“ you say with a mischievous grin, pulling out a can of red bull from the fridge.

Max frowns. “What the fuck?”

“You can’t win when I’m not there to see it,” you declare, handing him the Red Bull. He reaches to take it, but you don’t let go until he looks at you. “I’d have been devastated,”

For the first time in his life, Max is actually half glad he didn’t win a race.

He chuckles, opening the can with one hand while sliding the gift along the counter towards you with the other.

“Well, I want to win,” he says, as you start picking at the copious amount of sellotape. “So you’ll just have to come to all the races,”

He’s surprised how much he means that.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Maxy. Oh my God, you can’t wrap for shit,” you say, finally managing to pull apart first Max’s wrapping, and then the box containing the, “Chopsticks?”

“Very fancy chopsticks,” Max explains. He points to the set of dark wood chopsticks you’re holding, gesturing to the intricate gold figures entwined on the top. “See, one set has dragons and one set has a phoenix? They’re famous in Chinese mythology. The guy said to give It to someone you like, they’re supposed to bring luck. Or something. I didn’t really understand his English,”

You stare at them for a while, a sort of bewildered smile on your face, and Max almost slaps himself. He should have just bought you a handbag. They had a Chanel in China. Why didn’t he just listen to his dad? This sentimental shit is weird and embarrassing and he should have just gone home.

“So,” you say, using the chopsticks to point at Max accusingly as you smirk at him. “You like me now? Who would have thought? After all those years of telling everyone how annoying I was, you like enough to want me to have good luck,”

“You-“ Max fights the urge to argue.

That smug look on your face still triggers him something awful. But behind it is someone who has become important to him. It’s not just that you know things about him that even he’s forgotten, it’s that he doesn’t want there ever be anything you don’t know about him. You him laugh, and he never wants to see you cry, and he’s used to being reviled and admired, and even liked, but you’re the only person who’s ever made him feel this understood.

“You’re my best friend,”

Once, he might have been embarrassed that you don’t say it back, but just like you know him, he knows you now, too. You grin at him, sipping your water as you look at him over the rim of your glass.

“Well, despite the fact that this whole chopstick story sounds like the beginning of an Indiana Jones movie, they’re beautiful, and I love them, and I promise I will only ever use them to eat Chinese food with you,” you say, putting the chopsticks back in their box. “And I’m glad you’re home.”

Max doesn’t say anything, fiddling with the can again, and you sigh.

“When are you leaving again?”

“Um,” he hesitates, like if he doesn’t say it then it won’t happen. He gives up and gives you an apologetic smile. “Thursday. Going to the UK for some work and then straight to Baku,”

“Oh,” your face, falls, and you toy with the stem of your glass, only for a few seconds, before you shrug. “Well, we should have dinner before you go, and then-“

“Do you-“ He cuts himself off, because he knows he should think about this more, but then you’re looking at him and he’s done thinking. “Do you want to come?”

“To the UK?”

“Yeah,” Max mumbles, looking down at his Red Bull as his fingers fiddle with the tab. “And to Baku,” he glances up to see your reaction, “and, I mean, anywhere,” he adds a shrug, because, obviously, the invitation is totally casual.

You shrug back. “Okay,”

He can hear his dad already, complaining about how you’re a distraction, you bring cameras and drama, how Max gives you too much of his attention on race weekends. But there’s worse things than Jos’s moaning, like not seeing you for another two weeks.

He barely has time to think about that before a Chinese takeout menu slides into his vision. He looks up at you, confused. “Didn’t you eat?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like you have in about a week. You are starting to get Cillian Murphy cheekbones,” you grimace. Max has no idea who that is but based on your face he doesn’t want to look like him. “And besides, I want to test out these magic chopsticks,”

#max verstappen x reader

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pinchofhoney · 9 months ago

Text

perfectly flawed

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

word count: 2.7k

warning: hurt without comfort, it might be suggestive but there's nothing inappropriate about it (friends with benefits but without any details)

summary: Finding love as a princess comes with its challenges, but becoming a mistress was never part of the plan.

a/n: two things; one, over these few months i forgot what it's like to write something that isn't an academic paper. two, in the process of writing it i forgot that i was supposed to write it based on a song. i suppose i'm already a different person than i was just the week ago when i asked you for your opinion, but regardless, feel welcome to read this,, thing<33

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

London, 18th April 1814

Dearest Readers,

The Season has barely begun, yet the glittering ballrooms of London are already abuzz with whispers and speculation. The cause of this fervour? None other than the captivating niece of Her Majesty. The fairy-like young lady, whose arrival in London coincided with the Season’s beginning, has ignited a flurry of theories.

Is she a princess, a countess, or perhaps a secret agent on a mission? The whispers echo through the salons, each speculation more imaginative than the last. Her regal bearing and the way she holds her fan hint at noble lineage, but her eyes hold secrets that defy easy classification. Could she be a pawn in a political game, or does her purpose lie closer to matters of the heart? Suitors line up, eager to claim her hand, but our debutante remains an unknown figure, casting doubt upon the intentions behind her smile.

Gentlemen of distinction have flocked to her side, vying for her attention. Lord Pembroke, the dashing heir to a vast estate, has been seen trailing her like a devoted puppy. The Duke of Ashford, brooding and aloof, has deigned to engage her in conversation. And then there is Captain Sinclair, whose sea-green eyes promise both danger and adventure.

At Lady Featherington's soirée, our young lady engaged in spirited conversation with none other than Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Their conversation delved into matters of politics—a most unconventional choice. Is our French princess a revolutionary sympathizer, or does she simply relish the thrill of intellectual sparring?

Rest assured, dear readers, that Lady Whistledown shall be your faithful guide through the twists and turns of this unfolding narrative. Prepare your fans and polish your silver spoons, for the London Season has just begun, and in the shadow of the Queen's niece, our world is poised to be turned upside down. Society must brace itself for a whirlwind of speculation, as we stand on the brink of a most intriguing chapter.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

‎

At the very core of the French Empire, you were raised as the epitome of grace and subtlety. With royal blood coursing through your veins, you were groomed to be the perfect lady, the jewel of the imperial court. Every step you took, every word you said, was a careful composition, painting the portrait of an eminent lineage.

From a young age, you were taught the art of etiquette, your days filled with lessons on poise, embroidery, and the subtle language of the fan. Your attire, always impeccable, was the evidence of your status and breeding. The world perceived you as the embodiment of perfection, a delicate blossom requiring protection from the harsh realities beyond the palace walls.

Yet, behind the facade of the devoted princess, a secreted truth blossomed. Beneath the tangled layers of silk and lace, your spirit, unyielding and untamed, stood in defiance of the expectations of courtly life. The allure of royal grandeur held little sway over you, and the burden of societal obligations felt like a daily donning of a suffocating corset.

The shimmering balls and elaborate rituals became stifling, making your heart to ache for those fleeting moments of genuine connection, uncontrolled laughter, and a subtle taste of the forbidden. Although French suitors eagerly fought for your attention and the allure of your family's wealth, your soul yearned for a partner who would daringly challenge the scripted norms, infusing romance with a breath of spontaneous authenticity.

And thus, to address your reluctance to accept the prearranged path, your mother came up with a plan. Sending you to the splendour of London under the watchful eye of the Queen, your beloved aunt, she hoped this change of scenery would guide you towards a dutiful marriage, in line with the expectations befitting your royal lineage. What slipped out of her seemingly perfect idea, however, was the playful nature of fate, particularly when guided by those who avoid predictability. So, your journey to the bustling heart of British metropolis grew with an outcome greatly different from your mother's expectations.

Your aunt, holding the most esteemed position in the United Kingdom, was admired for her wisdom and understanding. But the hours of lessons imparted to you from an early age, combined with your ability to conceal your rebellious nature from the public eye, had transformed you into a pretty great actress. And your performance, crafted over the years, was so convincing that even someone as sharp as the Queen herself failed to see through the carefully constructed act.

But perhaps, this time, you've got too close to the edge, because in the blink of an eye, you found yourself entangled in a situation that, if exposed, would not only scandalize all of England but also cast a shadow over France, where your family hopefully awaited news of your impending marriage.

And how did it all start?

The beginning of your tale remains in the memories of that fateful debutante ball, where a single innocent look changed the course of your luck. It was a brief moment, a shared exchange of glimpse between you and Benedict Bridgerton, that seemed to stretch time itself. In the glimmer of that ballroom, his bright eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and the world around you seemed to slow, as if giving space for something beyond a mere glance.

You had no idea what captivated you about the man who didn't really stand out among the other attendees, but most likely it was this quiet strength of his gaze. The gaze without the typical fascination you'd grown used to as a princess of the French Empire or the usual envy that flickered in the eyes of those desperate to secure a partner who determined their life's worth. Benedict's gaze was just different. It held no trace of the thought that you were merely a silly princess with a title. It carried the feeling that you were a masterpiece, a creation worthy of admiration. And it stirred a yearning within you, an insatiable thirst for freedom and authenticity that your heart had craved for so long.

A brief exchange of words with Benedict at the ball opened your eyes, making you believe that not every man who sought your company was doing so only for your family's wealth. As you danced together, his touch ignited a spark, a fleeting moment of intimacy that lingered long after the music faded into the night, and each stolen glance exchanged across the crowded ballroom carried the weight of unspoken desires. It felt as though the connection that binds soulmates was about to disappear when your paths crossed, signalling that you had, finally, found one another.

And so, it began. A secret affair that grew under the cloak of darkness, far from the prying eyes of nosy socialites waiting to catch a glimpse of scandal. In the hidden corners of London, where shadows whispered secrets and the night sky painted a canvas of stars, you found comfort in the arms of Benedict, a man not necessarily burdened by the weight of societal expectations, yet bound by his own hesitation to commit to anything beyond the present moment.

As the inappropriate meetings became routine, you assumed the role of a mistress, a position you never imagined yourself in, and the only rule you committed to follow during your secret dates was the lack of romantic feelings. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of emotional distance, your heart had a way of defying logic. With each stolen moment spent in Benedict's company, you found yourself drawn deeper into the labyrinth of emotions, a labyrinth fraught with longing and desire. What started as a simple agreement, devoid of romantic sentiments, soon evolved into something far more sincere.

And it genuinely scared you.

You walked nervously around the place of your every rendezvous with Benedict, your fingers nervously picking the cuticles near your nail—a gesture unsuitable for the lady you were expected to be. But in the fuss of events that have happened in London so far, such a thing seemed a minor violation. Not only did the task of slipping unnoticed from the royal palace grew increasingly difficult, but the relentless fluttering in your heart at the mere thought of Bridgerton haunted your sleepless nights.

Throughout your life, you had yearned for a love different from the one you had observed in French society. And now, when the opportunity to live your fairy tale presented itself, reality proved to be just an unrequited feeling. While you were happy to see Benedict and yearned for his presence, it seemed he may only crave your body, not the depths of your soul.

You wanted today's meeting to be the last one, a meeting where nothing would happen. Or so you convinced yourself. The purpose was clear: to say goodbye to Benedict and to draw the curtain on a relationship built on fleeting glances and secret meetings. And even though probably the best choice would have been to just stop showing up on these encounters and withdrawing from public spaces where you might cross paths, you didn't want to just pretend that nothing had ever happened between you two. The social season was still around you, and avoiding the consequences of your actions would only complicate everything. Maybe not for Benedict, but for you, for sure.

And then, the silence broken every second by your anxious heartbeat was completely shattered by the sound of footsteps. Turning, you were met with the sight of Benedict Bridgerton approaching with firm strides, and his presence seemed to overshadow your plans to say goodbye when, for a moment, the world seemed to pause as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and his touch sent pleasant shivers down your spine. The warmth of his embrace, coupled with the subtle brush of his breath against your skin, stirred conflicting emotions within you. Your heart quickened its pace, betraying the reason you came for this final meeting.

“I've been thinking about you all day,” Benedict whispered, and his breath caressed your delicate skin. But as much as the desire for intimacy flickered within, you held steadfast to the resolution you had set for this meeting.

With a gentle pull, you extricated yourself from his embrace, creating a safe distance between the two of you. The tingling sensation stayed on your skin, as a remaining echo of his touch that resonated through every fibre of your being. “We need to talk,” you said, your voice steadier than your racing heart. Benedict's eyes, once filled with a yearning, now searched yours for an answer to an as yet unspoken question.

“Talk?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful intrigue as he arched one of his eyebrows with his signature smile dancing upon his lips. “About what?” he pressed, and with an air of casual confidence, he crossed his arms over his chest as he ambled a few steps to the side. “You're not going to tell me you've fallen in love, are you, princess?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up from within, escaping between your lips before you could hold it back. In an attempt to mirror Benedict's movements, you crossed your arms over your chest, your head shaking with feigned amusement. “Fall in love?” you repeated his words, adopting a tone of playful dismissal. “Don't be ridiculous, of course not,” you declared, adding a scoff at the end, as if to fortify the illusion of light-hearted banter. Hoping to shield your true feelings, now concealed beneath a facade of amusement, you met Benedict's gaze with a look of mock disbelief.

“We should end this relationship,” the words spilled from your lips, hoping your voice wouldn't betray how fast your heart was beating at that moment. “I did not come to London to become just another woman in the arms of the Viscount's son. If my mother were to find out, she'd blame herself for raising me poorly, and that's not the truth,” you began to rationalize, your words flowing as an attempt to justify the decision you had set before both of you. “I have obligations to fulfil, a path to follow, and I won't achieve that by sleeping with you.”

Benedict watched you in silence, not knowing if you were serious. His gaze bore into you, seeking answers within the depths of your eyes.

“Now you're the one being ridiculous,” he retorted, his tone carrying a gentle scolding. Leaning against a nearby counter, he looked at you with a combination of disbelief. “Since when have you cared so deeply about living up to your mother's expectations?”

“I've come to understand that my mother wants what she believes is best for me. As a princess of the French Empire, there are certain expectations I must meet, whether I appreciate them or not,” you said, closing the physical distance between yourself and Benedict. Self-control was what kept your hands from reaching out as you stopped just in front of him. “Think about what would happen if our secret were to be exposed. It would be the end for both of us, and the scandal would echo across the entire continent. The Queen herself would likely seek our demise.” You emphasized your words by pointing a finger at yourself. “I cannot ruin the honour of the entire royal family for a fleeting moment of pleasure.”

Benedict met your gaze with a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words, yet beneath the veneer of understanding, a flicker of defiance danced in his eyes. “So, what are you saying? You're suddenly prepared to sacrifice your entire life for the expectations of your family that would see you married and bearing children with some man who would likely make you miserable?” he asked, a trace of frustration evident in his voice.

A moment of silence ensued as you fixed your gaze on Benedict. Finally, a disbelieving scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head. Taking a few steps away, you placed your hands on your hips, a gesture mirroring the internal conflict within you. “Perhaps you haven't noticed yet, Benedict, but I am a woman. And in a world dictated by the whims of men, the role assigned to women is often reduced to that of an obedient wife, tasked with bringing some affluent man's heir into the world. It's not about what I want; it's about what everyone else around me expects.”

As Benedict made a move to step closer, a surge of urgency propelled you to speak before he could interject. “I should be going now. The palace servants are growing increasingly suspicious.”

Despite the assertiveness in your tone, Benedict, keen to the nuances of unspoken emotions, closed the physical gap between you, and his touch went through the delicate fabric of your glove as he gently took your hand. “We can at least end this in a better way,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a suggestive undertone as he met your gaze.

A resolute “No” escaped your lips, infused with an overt firmness born out of the fear that another moment in his gaze might make you give in to your heart's desires. You couldn't afford the risk of surrendering to the tempting pull of his lips once again, the very lips you yearned for. “That's all I wanted to tell you today,” you continued, gently squeezing his hand as if to punctuate your resolve. Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you added, “It's over, but know that every meeting with you has been a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton. Goodbye.” Articulated so, you withdrew your hand from Benedict's grasp, leaving only the delicate glove in his hold.

With a swift spin, you turned away and your hurried footsteps carrying you out into the rain-soaked streets of London. A quick glance confirmed the absence of prying eyes, making you hasten your pace, putting distance between yourself and the building that housed your shattered heart. As you took each step, the words exchanged at that moment of parting reverberated in your mind. The relation between you and Benedict had ignited sparks of passion and left a sweet ache of longing. Now, the path ahead led you towards the marriage your family desired, a hopeful step to fill the void left by thoughts of Bridgerton.

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