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bigank · 1 day ago

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Thoughts I Wish I Never Had

Tagir Ulanbekov x reader

warnings: none.. slow burn , sort of abrupt ending, (Im ngl I did not know how to end the story don't get mad) angsty I would say.. idk, a pretty long story.

(FIRST POST & STORY 🩶)

(a.n: these little snippets of tagir that you see (if anyone sees) basically inspired this story & had me FERAL.

and omg..? when I realized there were people like me on here.... I made a new acc and went to straight to writing.. this took probably 2-3 days to write, revise.. and make sure everything made sense etc. so, whoever reads this.. I HOPE you like it as much as I liked working on it lol) & sorry if you get confused on what the reader’s thoughts are opposed to the narrator’s because they kinda merge in a weird way idk why 😅🙏

(desc. a quiet fighter catches feelings for the gym’s cleaning girl. something he never saw coming at all.)

a few weeks ago, I was desperate for a job. I didn’t care where I worked.. I just needed some cash to help my parents with their livestock and maybe fix a few things around the house. more than anything, I wanted to start doing things on my own for once. my parents were always saying they did everything for me. this was my chance to prove them wrong.

so, when I got hired to clean at the local gym, I didn’t complain.. to the owner of the gym, nor my parents.. well, not out loud, anyway.

once I actually started working… it wasn’t exactly fun. mopping floors, wiping down sweaty equipment, scrubbing mats, pretending not get annoyed when the same few people ask me to clean up their mess again, or pretending not to hear the dumb stuff people say...

it was always, “hey, ____. something spilled over there,” or “can you hurry? so-and-so needs the space clean before they get back.” usually right after I’d just finished cleaning seven other spots.. the only good part about working here was that I didn’t have to clean the bathrooms.

I told my cousin about it, and all she did was tell me that I wouldn’t last a week. she also said that it wasn’t “ladylike” to be a cleaning girl in a gym full of sweaty men and said I’d hate it. that it "wasn’t a job for someone like me.” I only laughed at her. because how hard could it be to clean up a gym?

————

I stood off to the side, mop in hand, half-asleep on my feet. my shift usually lasted late.. after the last person left. it lasted that long just so I could make sure the place was clean for the next morning. sometimes, if I finished early, I’d sneak into the back and chill for a bit—but honestly, working here, I was never really done. someone always spilled something, tracked dirt in, or knocked over a bottle like gravity had it out for them.

lately, I’d been thinking about asking my boss to cut my hours. just a little. I wouldn’t mind sleeping in for once without waking up to my alarm screaming at 4-5 a.m. that’d be nice. then maybe I wouldn’t be standing here about to pass out mid-mop—

wait. speaking of jobs… where’s my damn paycheck? I don’t even remember wh—

“____. I didn’t hire you to just stand there, did I?”

my thoughts completely derailed as a loud voice spoke up behind me. I flinched, startled, jumping a few inches off the ground. I hadn’t even heard him walk up.

“o-oh! sir, I— I apologize. I was just… uh…”

shit. what was I even doing? just standing there like a zombie. I scrambled for something that sounded better than ‘nothing, just standing here.’

“I was thinking,” I blurted, forcing a smile, “about the rest of the stuff I needed to get done in here.”

he narrowed his eyes. then, with a sigh, he muttered under his breath, “ah, women…” and walked off.

I couldn’t tell if he believed me or if he was already counting the days until he fired me. either way, I shoved the mop back into the bucket and got to work before he came back with an actual reason to write me up.

————

chanco and tagir sat near the water fountain, both breathing heavy, worn out from training. they knew this was only the beginning.

“abdulmanap is insane,” tagir muttered, collapsing onto the mat beside them, sweat clinging to his jawline as he caught his breath. the man’s sessions were brutal, and way too long for a human body to survive.

maybe he was just weak..

chanco rolled his eyes at the complaint, leaned forward, and took a few slow sips from the fountain. after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood tall again and shrugged.

“this kind of training’s necessary if you want to be the best.”

simple logic. no room for debate.

“yeah, yeah…” tagir sighed, irritation creeping into his voice. he knew that. he’d heard it a million times already. khabib, Islam…. all of them echoing the same mindset into his ear. still, it didn’t make the session any easier.

they weren’t even done. a few more rounds, then they had to go outside and run miles. at this rate, he was going to collapse before the day was over. chanco stepped aside, giving him room as he dragged himself up to the fountain. as he leaned over to drink, something caught his eye.. just a flicker at the edge of his vision.

someone sweeping.

at first, he nearly ignored it. of course someone was cleaning—gyms don’t sweep and mop themselves. but something tugged at his attention..

a few long strands of hair spilling loose from under a headscarf.

his brows furrowed in confusion, but he was still watching. “why do we have a woman in here?” tagir asked, still staring.

chanco followed his gaze, squinting toward the far end of the mat. “woman—?” he looked again, then broke into a grin. “oh... that’s just ____. the cleaning lady. she’s been here maybe a few weeks now.”

“…oh.” tagir nodded slowly, like he understood, but something stuck in his chest when chanco said her name.

“____.”

cleaning lady…

how had he never noticed her before?

maybe he’d just been too focused on training, too buried in the routine. the cleaning crew was always in the background.. so quiet, efficient, and invisible unless something got spilled.

but now?

now he was staring.

he recalled how chanco had spoken about her like she was just… someone’s aunt. merely a middle-aged woman working in the background.

but from where tagir stood, she looked nothing of the sort..

he was confused, almost mesmerized.

someone like her.. working here…?

willingly?

she could be out doing anything.. having fun, living her life—not mopping sweat off mats and scrubbing gym floors.

he let his eyes wander just for a second. he noticed the curve of her nose, then slowly… her lips. then, back up to her eyes.

big… soft..

focused..

and…

pretty.

the thought immediately hit him like a slap in the face..

pretty? seriously, tagir? pretty??

he blinked hard, like that would shake it loose. what the hell was he even thinking?

he looked away, suddenly feeling warm in the face. he wanted to smack himself. he didn’t even know her. he had just laid eyes on her a few seconds ago, and here he was… staring like some idiot.

that wasn’t like him. at all. and besides… stuff like that? It was frowned upon.

unprofessional.

inappropriate.

he let out a dry, nervous laugh, shaking his head…. It’s nothing. just a very wild thought . he’ll be back to normal in a few minutes.

he caught up with chanco, who was already walking off to rejoin islam for another round of training, he stood there for a second.

tagir threw himself back into it, fists up, eyes forward, trying to leave the whole thing behind. but even as he trained.. with body in motion, and his mind focused.. he couldn’t stop thinking about her. about the brief second his brain short-circuited. he kept trying to reason it out.

maybe it was a test.

maybe it was a distraction.

maybe it was satan himself playing mind games with him to throw him off.

because whatever that was…

he’d never experienced it before, especially to someone he didn’t even know… not even close. tagir had never really liked anyone. so, why now?

he went home that night, shook it off, and told himself to get some sleep. by morning, the whole thing had faded into the background—just a small thought. nothing more.

until he walked back into the gym.

same routine. same sweat. same mission. but this time, while he was jogging on the treadmill, minding his own business, he spotted you sitting off to the side… looking through your phone.

he tried to look away. really, he did. but as the morning dragged on, he caught himself stealing small glances every time you moved. every time you tucked your hair back under your scarf. every time you looked up and smiled at someone passing by.

abdulmanap was giving instructions, standing in front of tagir and a few others. tagir tried to focus.. but when he noticed the coach’s head was turned, his eyes drifted again.

back to you..

great… he thought

he was doing it again....

“TAGIR!”

**smack.**

a rolled up newspaper hit the side of his head and he flinched. “ah—!” tagir hissed, holding the spot where he got hit at, more startled than hurt.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at,” abdulmanap said sharply, “but you need to focus.”

tagir mumbled an apology, eyes glued to the mat in front of him.

⸻

days passed.

he tried not to look at you. tried not to let it get to him. but… he only found that he was cleaning up after himself more than usual.. not because he was suddenly responsible, but because he couldn’t bring himself to ask you to do it. he just didn’t want to see you on your knees cleaning up after him.

that’s when it hit him.

this wasn’t just a passing thought.

he liked you.

at first, he figured it was harmless. just a small crush. nothing wrong with that, right?

wrong.

even on your days off, you were in his head. he’d wonder when you’d be back, telling himself it wasn’t that serious.. but it was.

he waited out entire weekends just to catch a glimpse of you again on monday.

and when you did come back, there you were. In your long dress, sleeves rolled up, sweeping dust off the counters like it was the most important job in the world. calm and focused.. unbothered by the noises and the dozens of men walking past you. your quiet presence made it easier for him to look without being seen. like a total creep. which… he hated to admit, but he kind of was… he never wanted to be that guy.

he just couldn’t help it.

he caught himself watching the way your dress shifted when you leaned over to clean, the way your curves briefly outlined beneath the fabric, subtle but not impossible to notice.

and once he started noticing…

oh boy, he couldn’t stop.

“tagir… you good, man?”

tagir took a quick step back, snapped out of whatever fog he was in. the voice came from behind, and when he turned, he saw Islam staring at him with a raised brow.

only then did he realize that he’d just walked straight into Islam and spilled his drink all over the floor. a wide, wet splatter now puddled at their feet. “ah, shit… yeah, im good. sorry,” tagir mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

what the hell was going on with him lately?

he’d dozed off in the middle of training. got smacked with a newspaper by abdulmanap like some schoolkid. and now this? it wasn’t like him at all.

Islam gave him a knowing look, as if reading the thoughts going on inside his head. “It’s alright. I heard what happened earlier. happens to all of us. don’t let it get to you.” he put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

yeah, but “all of us” aren’t getting distracted by a woman.

that’s what made it way worse.

tagir nodded, trying to act normal, until Islam casually called out.

“____!”

he suddenly froze.

your head popped up, and before he could even think to walk away and exit the situation, you were already in front of him and islam. his whole body tensed. If he’d known Islam was going to call you over, he would’ve cleaned the damn puddle with his bare hands.

now it was seconds too late.

she had reached them with that warm, familiar smile he’d only ever seen from across the gym.

“hey guys, what’s up?”

your voice. he hadn’t even realized he’d never heard it up close before.. not this close. It was soft. lighter than he’d expected. he’d seen you talk to other people from a distance, heard the background noise, the laughter.. but this was different. this was directed at him.

Islam pointed to the spill, grinning. “tagir got a little clumsy.”

she glanced down, then looked back at tagir with a teasing smile. she shook her head like she was disappointed in him, but not seriously. It wasn’t rude. If anything, it felt playful.

kind…

he didn’t know what to do. smile back? apologize? help you clean..? perhaps try to start a small conversation? what would he even say??

“how’s cleaning going for you?”

no… terrible idea. why would he ask that while you were literally crouching down to wipe up his mess?

his brain short-circuited. he just stood there, lips slightly parted, mind completely blank. the nerves hit too hard, too fast.. and instead of saying anything, he did the worst thing possible

he looked you over once, then turned and walked off without a word. no smile. no thanks. no reaction at all. he caught up with the group, face still, and his jaw clenched.

inside, he was beating himself up.

you couldn’t at least smile back, you damn idiot??

tagir didn’t say anything. didn’t even look you in the eye as he walked off.

you blinked.. you were knelt down to clean up the spilled drink, just half-waiting for a “thank you” that never came.

weird..

not rude, necessarily… but definitely awkward.

you glanced up as he rejoined the group. he didn’t say much to them either—just stood there, face unreadable, pretending to focus on abdulmanap’s instructions.

was he always like that?

you’d seen him around the gym since you started, of course. always quiet, never too loud. he would mess around with his sparring partners here and there. but he was disciplined. with his eyes sharp. always minding his own business.

lately, he’d seemed… distracted.

and you had caught him looking at you.. more than once, actually... It wasn’t in a creepy way. tagir always looked like he had something to say.

you tried to understand.. why did it feel like something had shifted? you stood up and wiped your hands, still thinking about it.. and just like most things, you gradually forgot.

hours later, the gym emptied out slowly. one by one, guys trickled toward the exit, shoulders wrapped in towels, shoes squeaking on the mat. someone turned off the main lights in the locker room. a few murmured goodbyes. by the time you stepped out of the back room with your cleaning supplies, the place had finally gone quiet.

almost.

the low thump of a bag still being hit echoed from the far corner.

you looked over.

it was tagir..

his shirt was clinging to him by his sweat. knuckles wrapped, even more sweat dripping down the side of his head. he looked like he was trying to punch something out of himself.

you sighed, not because it bothered you,

well…

maybe it did.

it was him.

him, lingering.. this awkward moment where the two of you existed in the same space, sharing the same silence.. alone… like something might break it if you breathed too hard.

you cleaned quietly, wiping down the benches, then the mirrors, you were about to leave soon, anyway. the scent of disinfectant hung in the air, faintly sharp. you tried not to glance over too much. but you did.

eventually, the punching stopped.

you turned slightly and caught him looking at you.. really looking this time. he wasn’t frozen. he wasn’t flinching. he wasn’t pretending. just standing there. still.

so you forgot about everything and walked up to him, dragging your supplies along with you.

you said the thing you’d been meaning say, ever since you noticed him..

“why do you always look like you have something to say?” you called out.

it came out easier than you expected. no nerves. just truth. tagir blinked once, then twice.. like he hadn’t prepared for you to speak, let alone for it to be that.

he shifted on his feet, looked at himself, then back to you.

“…do I?” he figured that maybe she had found him out.

you nodded and chuckled a little. “every time I see you. you look like you’re holding something back.”

he swallowed, on the verge of grinding his teeth from all of the nerves... he finally spoke up. “I don’t mean to.”

that surprised you. you thought he might deny it—shrug it off, walk away again. but now… he looked like he wanted to say more.

and maybe he would’ve that night, if your fingers hadn’t fumbled just then.. your grip slipping on the trash bin lid as you tried to lift it.

It wasn’t heavy, just awkward, and it tilted toward you suddenly..

before it could drop, he moved, just in time... he took one long step forward. his hand steadied the bin, fingers brushing against yours for half a second.

“careful..” he murmured.

you looked at him up close, his face was calm, but his eyes were not.. there was something going on behind them.

“thanks.” you didn’t pull your hand away. neither did he.. at least not right away.

then his breath hitched, just a little, and he stepped back.. he didn’t say anything else, he just nodded, walked over to grab his things and left..

he should’ve said something.

anything.

but the words wouldn’t come.

they never did around you.

tagir walked home with his hoodie pulled halfway over his head, gym bag slung over his shoulder, shoes tapping lightly against the sidewalk. every few steps, he replayed it in his mind.

“why do you always look like you have something to say.”

because he does..

he still did.

but what the hell was he supposed to do with that?

the way you looked at him.. like you saw something under the surface.. it just made his stomach twist. he rubbed his knuckles with his thumb and tried to calm down. tried to focus on literally anything else. like how he wasn’t even supposed to still be at the gym that late. he’d already finished drills, rounds, and pad work, even ran. but he stayed. because lately he’d been slipping. spacing out during sparring and missing cues during drills.

he hated it. hated how he could feel abdulmanap’s disappointment behind every correction, every long look.

so tonight, he stayed longer and pushed even harder. he told himself it was about training.. about getting better. about making sure nobody could say he wasn’t focused. but deep down, he knew part of the reason why he stayed

was because you were there.

and now he was walking home like an idiot, too distracted to feel proud of anything that he’d done. he exhaled and tried to shove the thoughts away at least. but even now, blocks from the gym, cold air biting at his cheek. he could still feel where your fingers touched his.

————

so, after that encounter..

he had been avoiding you.

he started training harder, burying himself in drills and punishment. because that’s what he knew how to do. he thought maybe if he beat it out of himself.. whatever this was

that it would go away.

but it didn’t. it clung to the edge of his focus and lingered in his head every time he exhaled too hard. every time he washed his hands and thought about how soft yours were. it had been days since you touched.. barely.

days since you spoke.. barely.

worse than anything? he felt like a damn traitor to the mat every time he caught himself thinking about you…every time his mind wandered to your face instead of a combo… he felt like he was letting everyone down.

Islam… khabib… coach…

you were a distraction he wasn’t supposed to have. he’d worked his whole life to be focused. to keep his head down, to keep his heart out of reach, to train like it was the only thing keeping him alive. but now? now he was pulling punches in sparring because you were standing there.. ten feet away with a rag in your hand.

now he was imagining what your smile would've looked like if he had just said the right thing at the right time that day. now he was hearing your voice when he closed his eyes to sleep...

all of this wasn’t supposed to happen... so he just shut down.

he just did what he was taught to do..

ignore it. ignore you. it was necessary…

he figured “how can it be rude..?”

he didn’t even know you like that.

you didn’t need to be dragged into his mess. you didn’t need a guy who barely understood what he was feeling, let alone how to act on it. you didn’t need someone who’d been trained to fight through weakness, not feel it.

he hated himself a little, every time he walked past you without a word, while in his mind he was dying to talk to you. every time he looked, and then looked away.

but.. it was better this way. wasn’t it?

at least he thought it was.

until that night you looked back, with your worried eyes.

and suddenly, it didn’t feel “better” at all.

you noticed it first in the small things.

tagir used to hover. not on purpose. not obviously. but he’d linger after drills. stretch a little slower. wait patiently in the far corner to see if he could watch you without you noticing..

now? he didn’t linger. he trained harder, longer, like he was running from something. stayed later than the rest, but never in the same room as you anymore after that day.

you’d catch glimpses of him.. back turned, focused. not once did he look over like he used to. and maybe that shouldn’t have mattered. but it did.

because before, you could feel it.

his eyes. that low, nervous buzz under his skin when you were close. that electricity neither of you knew what to do with.

now, it was like it never happened.

—

you were wiping down the mats when he passed you. no hello. no nod. no glance. just the dull sound of his bag hitting the bench behind you and the shuffle of his shoes across the floor. you kept your eyes on the mat.

and just then… you caught him once. just once.

his reflection in the mirror.

standing across the gym. gloved hands resting on the counter.. he was looking..

right at you.

until you looked back.

then he blinked.. turned, and went back to training like he hadn’t just betrayed himself by sneaking a peek at you.

you lowered your rag, quietly.

you weren’t sure what was more confusing... the silence… or the fact that he clearly noticed you and was now trying so damn hard to pretend that he didn’t.

It was late, a random night, you had forgotten something at the gym earlier, you didn’t know what, but you noticed that you had one less item on you from when you had arrived.

you weren’t supposed to be there. the gym lights went all dark in front of you, leaving just the glow of the streetlamp and the soft sound of rain as it hit the pavement around your feet.

tagir stood there, near the curb in his rain jacket... like he’d been waiting on somebody to pick him up, or.. maybe he was just walking in the rain for the hell of it. who knows..

he caught a glimpse of you walking up to the gym too, you noticed he was still jittery from before. and it looked like he was trying so hard to not turn around and leave before you approached...to make it seem like he didn't care still..

i mean, you had to cross paths, either way.. you still needed to get inside.. so, you approached.. and you almost walked straight past and didn’t say a word.

until he looked at you while you walked past.. really looked. deep into your eyes. and for the first time in a minute, you didn’t feel as invisible.. so you came to a sudden stop and stepped closer. not too close. just enough to ask..

“did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” you just really wanted to know.. what did you do wrong? why was he like this when you were

simply.. existing.

his eyes shifted.. like the question stung more than it should’ve. “no,” he softly replied.

“you didn’t.” he shook his head, his expression blank.

you waited, but.. it seemed like that was it.. he didn’t elaborate. he looked at you for what it seemed like an eternity, he didn’t even blink…. and when he finally spoke back up ..it wasn’t just an answer.

It was the truth.

“I just… hate that I can’t stop looking at you…” he sighed, as he finally said what he had been holding back this whole time.

“even.. when I’m supposed to focus...” he said it slowly.. like it hurt.. because it did, he wasn’t able to speak, or act on anything..

he looked at the ground. he didn’t ever mean to say that out loud, especially straight to her face, to anybody really..

because it was only ever a thought in his mind..

but he couldn’t just keep it to himself.. he couldn’t walk away without at least letting her know that it wasn’t her fault, it never was. he didn’t even look her in the eyes. he couldn’t.. he was too embarrassed.

if anything.... it was his fault.. for everything..

for feeling this way..

It looked like he wanted to continue speaking, but he just didn’t.. he couldn't.. he left it off at that.. he shook his head, slightly.. disappointed that he ever even spoke up. he then turned and walked away.. disappearing in the rain, into the dark.

leaving you there...

to think..

#ufc x reader #ufc imagine #ufc #ufc fighters #tagir ulanbekov #fine shyt #magomed zaynukov #chanco #islam makhachev #bigank #angst #khabib #khabib nurmagomedov #khamzat chimaev #magomed ankalaev #ikram aliskerov #umar nurmagomedov #usman nurmagomedov

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londoncallingalondongirl · 2 days ago

Text

sugar-plum

liam gallagher x fem(baker)!reader

(part 2!!)

summary : where liam refuses to make a move, till its too late

warnings : insanely stupid amount of fluff - kind of angsty, dick boyfriend mentioned - booze and weed, usual oasis warnings.

word count : 1.2k

a/n : guys imma be so fr i tried with the angst - idk what i was doing im a pure hopeless romantic at heart, ill try harder for the other angst fics go full into it, but this was just me easing into the utter heartbreak - hope you all enjoy!!

The bell above the bakery door chimed, its tired little ring echoing through the warm haze of cinnamon, yeast, and half-sung Motown bleeding out of the back radio. You didn’t need to look up. You knew that sound - knew the weight of his footsteps, the low whistle that always followed, sharp and lazy like he had all the time in the world.

Liam, back in your bakery. Like clockwork. Like he never left.

“Alright, sugarplum?” he smirked, propping his elbows on the counter like this was the pub and not the place you’d been working six days a week since college. His fringe was damp from the drizzle outside, lashes too long, shirt collar popped like he was in some band.

“Don’t call me that,” you said, eyes glued to the till, counting coins and dealing spare change like cards.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he quipped. “Just that you look like one.”

You sighed. “You here to flirt or actually buy something?”

“Both. Obviously.”

He bought a black coffee and a pain au chocolat. Always did. Said it made him look ‘cultured’ even though he still called it a “pan of choc.”

You passed it over in a brown paper bag, your fingers brushing his. The touch made your breath hitch, you couldn’t tell if he caught it. His eyes didn’t move from yours. Not for a second.

He’d always looked at you like that, hadn’t he? Since you were both snot-nosed kids running down Burnage high street. Since he’d first told you some boy in year nine wasn’t good enough for you. Since he’d climbed in through your bedroom window at seventeen because your dad had been screaming again and Liam just knew. Booze and weed in hand like you could smoke it all away - like the cloud you felt like you were on in the crossfade would take you far away from this town, together.

But still. He’d never said it. Not properly. Not once.

It’d been like that for years. You loved him in the quiet way. In the waiting way. In the “maybe one day” kind of way.

You were best friends. You had your names carved into a bus stop bench, your first vinyl bought together, each other’s birthdays memorised down to the hour. He punched a lad once for calling you easy. You told his mum when he broke his ankle jumping off a wall because “he’d never have gone hospital otherwise, the daft twat.” Skipping school and giggling, running away into the winter light, just you and him.

But the years passed. And nothing ever changed. So, one day, you decided it had to.

You’d made a rule for yourself, a quiet little promise. If someone asked you out - really asked - you’d say yes. Not out of love. But as a sign. A nudge from the universe. A way to let Liam go before it wrecked you from the inside out.

And one day, someone did.

He wasn’t special. He wasn’t kind. But he was charming enough, said the right things, and for a while, it felt like maybe he could be a detour. You didn’t see the red flags at first. Or maybe you did, but you ignored them. Because anything was better than hoping.

“Don’t like him.” Liam said it like he was talking about the weather. Like it was a fact.

You were leaning against the back wall of the bakery after closing, apron tied loose, hands flour-streaked and sore, a bit of frosting snagged near your lips he was just itching to wipe off.

“You don’t have to, I do.”

He didn’t look at you. Just lit a cigarette, the tip glowing bright in the low evening light, smoke pooling low, lingering just enough to lead your eyes to his hands,

“He makes you sad. Don’t like that either.”

You turned away. “You don’t get to say that.”

“Like fuck I don’t.” His voice cracked then. Quiet but sharp. “I’ve known you since you were five. Since you cried over your first scraped knee and made me kiss it better. Don’t act like I don’t know the difference between your ‘I’m fine’ voice and your I’m-fuckin’-drowning one.”

Your throat felt thick. He looked at you. Really looked.

“But you won’t leave him, will you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“Thought so,” he muttered. “Maybe I waited too long.”

And then came the night. The one where you showed up to the pub with your boyfriend’s hand on your waist and Liam’s pint shattered on the floor not five minutes later.

He’d gone quiet. Too quiet.

Didn’t say a word until the bloke went to the loo.

“Is that it then?” he asked. “That your sign from the fuckin’ universe?”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

“You always said that, didn’t you? That when someone asked, you’d move on. Give up on… on whatever this is.” He gestured between you, voice rising. “Well. Congrats, love. Message received.”

“I didn’t know - ”

He laughed, dry. Harsh. “Didn’t know what? That I’d never look at anyone the way I look at you? That I’ve been writing songs about your bloody smile since we were nineteen? Dreamin’ about your laugh - gettin higher than that shite weed we smoke every time you do? That every time he touches you I want to set something on fire?”

You stepped back. His voice broke then.

“You’re it for me. Have been. Always. And if I fucked it by waiting too long, that’s on me. But don’t pretend I didn’t choose you, every fucking time, even when I was too much of a coward to say it.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. He stared. And then turned. But before he could leave, you caught his sleeve. Tugged him back like you always did, like you had since you were kids playing catch in the rain.

And then you kissed him.

Slow. Shaky. But real.

And he melted. Like every word he’d bitten back over the years was spilling out in the way he held you. The way he kissed like it was home. Like it was relief. Like it was you. He tasted like smoke, worn leather and backstage chaos, you tasted like cider, warm and sweet on his tongue. It sat heavy in his chest, he kept going, wanting, needing to feel more of you. You pulled back, breath mingling between you - tension easing with every touch. He opened his arms and you fell in, the gentle lull of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of your breath against his - making you both feel loose, this felt like belonging, like it was always meant to be.

Later, lying in his bed, your head against his chest, half asleep, he whispered,

“You’re mine, y’know.”

You smiled against his skin. ‘I know.”

“Not lettin’ you go this time.”

You looked up, eyes glassy and bright, voice dripped in honey and haze.

“Then don’t.”

34 notes · View notes

buwheal · 1 year ago

Note

I'm sorry, Spamton. I know you won't believe me, but I'm sorry we hurt you.

#GOD this fucker corrupted my gif again.#Ignore the page is missing im not gonna fix it. Hes looking at the paper. its just uhhh out of your view #made this one up on the spot lmao i dont have many inbetweens planned... if its not up to par to the others thats why #i wish i did do inbetweens but i only have the main ones planned #btw usually when he asks stuff like this he's looking for a response (im looking for a response. me.)#thank you anon oh my goooooodddd you were my descending angel while looking for an ask along these lines #this ask is perfect. Not too overcomplicated. nothing that would set him off. Short and sweet and to the point but its got nice impact.#in this context at least. I rlly needed it lol.#some were.. too much and some were really half assed apologies that go immediately back to asking him stuff LMAOOO #Guysss work with me here im actually trying to guide you to really apologize to him #[you've got mail!]#spamton #spamton g spamton #deltarune #deltarune spamton #deltarune chapter 2 #Ill fix the inside of the dumpster later. its not to scale goddamnit.#Typos in his speech are on purpose to clarify lol #spent a damn hour fixing the gif. grrhhhhh....

153 notes · View notes

tojbnuy · 4 months ago

Text

highly requested part 2 of roommate!sukuna :) part 1 !!

cw: lol. humping, rubbing thru panties what’s the proper term for this? soft!dom sukuna he thinks he’s mean but he’s a softie, sub!reader, she’s bit of a bimbo we love her, tit fucking, feelings if you squint. MDNI.

a/n : not proofread but thank you for all the love on part one, any suggestions for the jjk roommate series are greatly appreciated :)

sukuna had been thinking about it all week. been creating an intervention in his mind about your way of living. he was putting an end to this. the past week itself was enough to finalize it for him. nearly every night you guys had sat down on the couch together to binge watch your current show. and every night you had been in your underwear and a thin tank top. sometimes he even turned the ac on so you’d feel colder and put a cardigan on. that backfired however when you were still cold and decided to seek heat from your big warm roommate. sukuna had dug his own grave because for the next one and a half hours he had your tits pressed up against his side and your ponytail draped over his arms. he could feel your hard nipples, could smell your shampoo and could see practically the entirety of your ass. safe to say he had a very long and cold shower that night while you ran along to your bed. and last night you had walked past him in the kitchen and ran your fingers up and down his back ogling his tattoos.

‘i really like your tattoos kuna’ you had said with the sweetest little smile on your face. you really had no idea what you did to him.

so tonight was the night. sukuna was gonna tell you what was on his mind. and you had presented the moment perfectly by tiptoeing into his room at 2:13am with your bunny plushy squeezed tight in your arms. sukuna was shocked to see you, he was planning to make his was to your room where he knew you were awake scrolling on your phone.

‘kuna i wanna sleep with you.’

his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. knowing you, you would talk about sex so carelessly.

‘what??’

‘i wanna sleep with you.’ your voice was all tiny and whiny and you had that same fucking adorable tone that made him want to shove you in his pocket.

but to his relief (sort of) you peeled back the blanket and climbed into his lap, curling up like all the pictures of baby deers that you showed him. you made yourself comfortable by shuffling around some, your legs were around his waist, arms dropping to your sides.

‘why can’t you sleep in your own room.’

‘because i watched a scary video and it’s too cold in my room for me to get eight hours of sleep.’

Right. well his life just got ten times harder. he thought he’d have this problem sorted yet said problem was now in his lap. there were two ways he could do this. stroke your hair and pat your back as he explained what was bothering him. or pull your hair and smack your ass. unfortunately sukuna had never been much of a nice person.

‘listen doll there’s only so much i can tolerate.’

that had your attention, he rarely ever used this tone with you so you’d clearly made him mad.

‘i need to know exactly why you have no respect for me-‘

‘what? i respect you’

‘no you don’t. if you did, you wouldn’t be treating me like i’m one of your girlfriends. running around my place in your underwear. shoving your tits in my face every goddamn second of the day. grinding your little ass on me every time you fucking sit down.’

you had no words. you never thought sukuna would call you out on your behavior.

‘what? cat got your tongue now doll?’

‘i don’t like wearing clothes! i feel more comfy with no clothes on. i’m sorry.’

okay now he wasn’t tryna make you feel bad.

‘and you shoving your tits in my face every chance you get? jumping into my lap like a cat.’

‘i just. i feel nice when im close to you.’

‘nice? nice how?’

‘i don’t know how to say it. just feels nice.’

‘you mean nice here?’ he said as his hand cupped your warm cunt. immediately you gasped and shoved your face into his chest.

‘answer me.’

‘yes.’

‘knew you had it in you.’

‘now i would ask if you want me to carry on. but id say you deserve a little punishment for the way you’ve been acting don’t you think.’

he said as he lightly massaged you through you underwear. sukuna was so mean.

tiny little whimpers left you as his thumb drew circles over your clit through your panties, his other hand harshly gripping your ass cheek.

‘no no please. please kuna.’

‘please what doll? you think you deserve anything nice after acting like that? always so desperate aren’t you.’

‘please please, it hurts.’

you were growing frantic now, grinding your hips around and chasing for any more friction other than his single thumb.

‘only cos i’m feeling nice today. but i’m not giving you anymore than this. you need to learn a lesson.’

he pressed his index and middle fingers harder against your clit rubbing frantically as you all but wept into his chest.

‘sensitive baby aren’t you?’

‘feels so good kuna’

his fingers were relentless on your pussy, but he made sure never to move your underwear out the way. it didn’t take long before you were coming in your panties, tiny sighs breathed into his neck.

‘now doll. take your shirt off for me.’

‘mm okay’ and so obediently you lifted your shirt off and threw it to the floor.

sukuna took a minute to admire you. such pretty tits that he was finally seeing in their full glory. he grabbed a fistful of each and pulled harshly at your nipples.

‘you wanted this didn’t you? s’that why they’re always in my face?’

‘no no i wasn’t trying anything.’ you said with your eyes shut firmly at the slight burn. you couldn’t deny having his hands on you had that tingly warmth growing inside you again.

‘get my dick out for me doll.’

you knew not make him repeat himself. sukuna watched as your smaller hands (those trademark pink nails) shimmied his sweats down and reached into his boxers. he was already throbbing and you gasped at the sheer size of him in your palms.

‘please will you. can you-‘

‘what you wanna get fucked? you think you deserve that?’

‘yes i do please kuna’

‘yeah well i dont, now lay down here.’

he maneuvered you onto your back and peppered small kisses along your jaw. somehow kissing you on the mouth felt slightly too intimate.

‘push your tits together for me doll.’

‘like this?’

you said with the sweetest expression on your face, your small hands pushing at your breasts.

‘just like that doll.’

then he was straddling your chest and he began to thrust himself through the small gap between your pretty tits. fast and hard cos that was the only way to do it.

‘stick your tongue out for me’

and of course you did as told. this sight was all he needed from today onwards. you with the fat of your breasts spilling out your hands. eyes slightly teary and your tongue out licking at his tip.

he was quick to come himself, moving fast so he could cum directly on your tits.

neither of you spoke as he caught his breath. he could sense your shy demeanor coming back and as mean as he was, he wasn’t like that.

‘hey doll.’ he said with a little tap to your cheek to bring your eyes to his. he left hand stroked your cheek as his other used his shirt to wipe away the mess he’d left on your chest.

‘you still wanna sleep in my bed?’

‘yes please?’

‘always so sweet aren’t you?’

he picked you up and placed you on his chest. he wasn’t much of a cuddler but you obviously were. you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck and you warm tits were squished against his own pecs. it was still quite cold so he held you close, there was a lot more for the two of you to talk about which kept his mind busy while he attempted to put you to bed.

just as he had thought you’d drifted off, your little voice spoke up.

‘kuna?’

‘yeah doll.’

‘does this mean i can still not wear clothes in the house?’

he couldn’t help but laugh at that. your biggest worry being if you’d have to wear clothes from now on.

‘nah doll your good. you can keep em off’

‘yay.’

taglist: @totallygyomeiswife @26xidk @kamospeach @desi-laila @chaestwbryz @blueemochii @wrldtups

5K notes · View notes

jaysbaefie · 3 months ago

Text

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was: • you lived in seoul • you were 21 • you drank too much iced americano • and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release. your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut. you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 6 months ago

Text

"BIRDS OF A FEATHER"

Yall I am literally sleep deprived and I'm 90 percent sure im gonna fail my math exam. I wrote this to try and calm down but I feel like it sucks. I literally spent like 3 hours on this so be nice pls. Lmk what you think and if you have any questions! Send in asks! Love yall! Thank you for supporting my trash writing LMAO.

Prologue:,Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4:

The moment you stepped off the plane, a strange sense of dread washed over you. Gotham City. The place you had spent years trying to fit in. Here you were again, bound by some invisible force to the very people you had spent your life chasing after. "The Batfamily". The same family who had neglected you for years. Who had hurt you emotionally, time and time again, making you feel small and invisible. Making you feel worthless. And yet, now, they all seemed desperate to make things right. To make up for replacing you with Traitor Tiffany. Tiffany who stole your life, who copied everything you said and did to a T.

Tiffany who they loved for that year before she was exposed.

You were going to ignore them. For the next two weeks, you would just do your best to make it through, keeping your distance and focusing on the countdown to when you'd be back at boarding school in New York. That was your escape, your sanctuary.

But as you entered the manor, the familiar echo of its grand hall made you feel a strange weight in your chest. The vast space, once cold and intimidating, now felt like it was closing in on you. The walls, the grand staircase, and even the ancient floors seemed to watch you.

You barely had time to drop your bags in the entryway before you were ambushed by them. All of them.

“Hey!” Dick’s voice was light and cheerful, far too cheerful considering everything. You didn’t even look up at him, not even when he wrapped you in a tight hug. You didn't bother hugging him back. You weren’t sure if it was because you were tired, or because you just didn’t feel like dealing with his overbearing presence, but you kept your focus on your phone, fingers tapping away as you scrolled through messages from Ariel, Claire, and Rory

“You’re coming back in 2 weeks right? imy alr” “NYC is lame as fuck w out u. come back now.” “Call me literally everyday. two weeks is wayyyyy too long”

They didn’t know about this—your insanely weird family of spandex wearing losers. They didn’t know about Tiffany, or the spy drama, or how everything had shifted when you were 15 or that you were technically half snake. All they knew was that you were just you, and they loved you for it. This summer was the highlight of your life.

And now, here you were, trapped with them for two weeks, trying to figure out how to survive without completely losing your mind.

“Hey, kid” Dick repeated, taking a step closer, his words coming out strangely awkward and nervous. Good, he should be nervous. “come on. Let’s grab breakfast, yeah? You can’t be all that hungry, but we are. It’s family time. You wouldn’t want to miss it.” He smiled at you like you were a little kid.

You felt your lip curl into a slight frown, but you kept your eyes on your phone. Since when did this whole family breakfast include you?All you wanted to do right now was sleep. “I’m good. Not hungry.”

Bruce appeared from the shadows, his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway before you saw his face. The expression on his face wasn’t the cold indifference you remembered. It was warm. Too warm. He tried to hug you, but you quickly dodged him like he had the cooties. He took it like a champ, brushed it off and acted like he was reaching for your Goyard.

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, like he was trying to be gentle. "We’re having breakfast together. You don’t want to miss out on the family time. It’s important that we all reconnect.”

You didn’t even look up at him. You could practically feel the weight of his words pressing down on you. Reconnect? How could they possibly want to “reconnect” after all the years of neglect? The years of pretending you didn’t exist?

“I’m just fine here,” you muttered, fingers still flying across the screen as you tried to walk up the stairs.

Bruce didn’t take the hint. “Come on. You should eat something. It’s good for you.”

You wanted to snap at him, tell him you were tired of being treated like a child. But you didn’t. You were too tired for all that. Instead, you sighed. "I said I’m fine. I ate on the plane.”

Jason’s voice cut through the tension, his ever-present smirk on his face as he sauntered into the room, tossing his jacket over his shoulder. "Damn, it’s already this bad?" He raised an eyebrow at Bruce, then smirked at you. “Come on, little bird, you’re too grown up for us now, huh? Don’t you want to at least pretend to like us? Have too much fun over in St. Tropez? Too cool to hang out with your big brother?”

You rolled your eyes at his antics, suddenly annoyed. "Actually, yeah. Ya'll are lowkey losers." You were harsher than necessary but you wanted to make sure Jason got the hint. Make it known you haven't really forgiven him.

They were all obviously taken aback by your new attitude and mean girl habits, all too shocked to say anything.

Tim followed behind Jason, his ever-curious eyes flicking from you to Bruce, then to Dick. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just shrugged, settling into a lean against the wall.

“You don’t have to join us, but it’s not like you have a choice,” he added, his voice calm but firm, like he was waiting for you to push back. “We’re not letting you hide in your room forever.”

You scoffed, "So i don't have a choice. Bit of a contradiction there, smartass."

Your sure you heard Bruce mutter something about language but Tim simply side-eyed you and brushed it off, his confidence unwavering.

Cass entered next, moving quietly, as always. But her gaze, there was something in it. A kind of quiet insistence, like she wanted to make sure you didn’t slip away unnoticed. You’d always hated how silent she was, how intense her focus could be.

“Breakfast,” she said, her tone not quite a question, not quite a statement. It was just her way of saying we’re doing this, whether you want to or not.

You groaned, slumping a little as you looked up from your phone. “I’m literally only here for two weeks. I don’t need to sit with you guys at every meal. That's so lame.”

At that, Bruce stepped closer. His hand rested on your shoulder, a touch so gentle you barely felt it, but the weight of it was enough to make your heart skip. “You’re staying here for two weeks, and we’re all going to make the most of this time,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re part of this family. And that means we all spend time together. You don’t get to hide anymore.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, and you could feel the heat of everyone’s attention on you. They were all looking at you—waiting for you to say something, do something. It was unsettling. Unbearable.

You finally snapped, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I just want to talk to my friends, okay?” You waved your phone at them. “We were actually having a conversation before all of you interrupted.”

A soft laugh escaped Damian's lips, but it wasn’t kind. “You’ve got better things to do than talk to those people. You have to make up for your misconduct from last time. And tell us what you did while in St. Tropez.” There he goes again, speaking like an 80 year old man.

You felt a sudden wave of unease as you glanced at him, then at Jason and Tim. They both seemed to be looking at your phone with a sharp intensity. What was that about?

You tried to ignore it. You had to. But the more you looked at your friends’ messages, the more you realized that even your phone couldn’t offer you peace here. Bruce was standing too close. Dick’s eyes wouldn’t leave you. Tim was still leaning against the wall, his gaze locked on you with that knowing, calculating look that made your stomach twist.

Jason finally broke the silence with a lazy, teasing grin. “Don’t be a brat. You don’t need to text anyone right now, you've been gone two months. You've got me now.”

You rolled your eyes again and you couldn't stop the words from slipping out, "Oh yeah jason? How long have i got you for? Till some shiny new sister comes in? Or will you expire before that? Do I get you for 2 weeks or 3 or-"

Jason's face fell, he obviously thought he was forgiven just because of your conversation the night before you left and because you replied to his messages occasionally.

Bruce stepped forward cutting you off, taking pity on jason, "Enough. I understand your frustration, but we are trying. Let us try before you shut us out." He said his tone stern, he was demanding a chance to redeem himself, not asking.

Before you could protest, Damian spoke up, his voice still a bit too soft for comfort. “You will stay here with us. You’ll see, it’ll be better for you.”

Punk. If he was a normal kid brother, you would've long made him stop talking to you like that.

You gritted your teeth, fangs coming out and stood up from the couch, locking your phone and stuffing it into your pocket. “Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go to breakfast. But don’t expect me to start liking all this.”

Bruce smiled, just slightly. It was subtle, but there was something behind it. Something that made your skin crawl.

“Good,” he said, his voice almost too soothing. “We’re all here for you now.”

You walked toward the dining room with Bruce close behind you, his hand on your lower back as if ensuring you wouldn't runaway, a small, constant pressure that felt both grounding and suffocating. You wanted to shrug it off, but the thought of doing that in front of the others was too much. The others who were still watching, still waiting. You could almost feel their eyes on you like they were tracking your every movement, waiting for any sign of resistance.

As you passed through the grand entryway, you could hear Alfred’s familiar voice calling from the kitchen, his tone as warm and fatherly as ever. “Ah, there you are, Young Miss. I’ve made your favorite this morning. Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and Pancakes” He turned to face you with a soft smile, but it faltered when he noticed the scowl on your face. “I hope you’re feeling well. It’s important that you eat something substantial, especially after a long flight.”

You nodded noncommittally, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Alfred. I’m not really hungry, though…”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you see it,” Alfred said with a knowing wink. “Come now, don’t make me chase you down for a seat.”

He motioned for you to sit at the table. Dick, already seated with a glass of juice, grinned at you like you were a little kid being coaxed into something.

“Come on, just sit,” he said, motioning to the empty chair next to him. “It’ll be fun. It’s family time, remember?”

You could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on you. It was suffocating. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to play along with their sudden act of being a family after years of neglect. But you knew if you didn’t sit, if you didn’t comply in some way, they would only dig in their heels harder.

You sat down, pulling your chair in with a slight sigh. You didn’t want to, but it felt like the lesser of two evils. Jason gave you a little smirk from across the table, while Tim and Damian were already deeply engaged in a quiet conversation, glancing at you occasionally as if waiting to see how you'd react.

He spoke again, voice bright, like he was trying to lift the mood. "So, … what’s new with you? I bet you’ve been busy, huh? Euro summer? Did you have fun?" He smiled at you, but there was something in his eyes, something that lingered a little too long, like he was waiting for a response he had already anticipated.

You felt like a child that stole cookies from the cookie jar, "Yeah pretty fun. Didn't do much though." You shrugged trying to sound casual.

Bruce sat at the head of the table, the others falling into place around you. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, almost searching, before he turned his attention to the food. He wasn’t pushing, not yet. But there was a quiet, insistent presence in the way he looked at you.

“You know, (Y/N), it’s not just about the food. It’s about spending time together,” Bruce said, the softness in his voice unusual, almost too gentle for someone like him. “This is important. It’s part of being a family. We’ve missed you.”

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t know what to say. It all felt so fake. The kindness, the attempts to bond—it was all wrapped up in a layer of suffocating control.

Dick spoke again, trying to make you crack, to bring out the oversharer in you he remembered, "Any plans? Got anything to do?"

You shrugged, offering him only a brief glance before focusing on your plate. "Nothing much. Just school stuff."

"School stuff?" Bruce’s voice cut through, the sternness returning as his eyes bore into you. "What do you mean by ‘school stuff’? You’re not getting into trouble, are you?"

Your eyes flicked to him, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of his gaze. It was almost protective, but you didn't want that anymore. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were done with the overbearing dad act. You were 16 now—not a little girl who needed constant monitoring. You didn't need his attention, not anymore.

You picked up your fork and took a bite of the scrambled eggs, more out of habit than actual hunger. They were good, just like Alfred’s cooking always was. But the taste felt like nothing in your mouth.

“I was texting my friends,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your eyes flicking to your phone where the notifications from your friends were still blowing up. “They wanted to check I got here okay. I—”

Bruce cut you off before you could say more. “We understand that, ” he said, his voice low but firm, like a quiet warning. “But right now, you’re with us. And this time, we don’t want you distracted by those friends. You were with them for 3 months. It's family time now.”

You blinked at him, feeling a little breathless at the sudden sharpness of his words. Was that... affection? It was subtle, but it was there, in the way he spoke. It made your chest tighten. There was never family time before, at least none that included you.

“Don’t be rude,” Dick interjected, his tone light but with an edge of something else. He was looking at you more seriously now, no longer the playful older brother. “You can text your friends later. But right now, you’re here with us. And you’re going to enjoy it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but your phone buzzed again in your pocket, and this time, it was an unknown number. You pulled it out reluctantly, glancing at the screen. It was a guy from your European trip, the french prince, one you had been texting occasionally during the summer.

But before you could even open the message, Damian’s sharp eyes caught sight of the name, and his expression hardened just slightly. He straightened, his voice suddenly tight. “Who is that?”

You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing. Nosy much? “None of your fucking business,” you snapped without thinking.

The room went quiet. Too quiet. Everyone’s eyes were on you now, and you could feel the heat of their gazes like a thousand little pricks against your skin.

“Don’t get upset, (Y/N),” Bruce’s voice was almost soothing, but there was a new intensity to it. “We just care about you. You don’t need to talk to them all the time. You’re not going to be alone anymore.”

It wasn’t just a promise,—it was an expectation. . You realized, with growing unease, that it was a practically a threat.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Again. The sound was a welcome distraction, but you knew exactly what it was: a flood of texts from Ariel, Claire, and Rory. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you could sneak a glance without drawing too much attention. Should you risk it after what happened not even a minutes ago? But before you could decide, Bruce’s eyes locked onto yours.

“Let me see that,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding. It wasn’t a request. “Who are you talking to?”

You froze for a split second, caught off guard by his intensity. The entire table fell silent, all eyes on you. You hadn’t realized how quiet they had gotten until now.

You hesitated before responding and quickly shoved your phone out of reach. “It’s just my friends from school, the ones I spent the summer with.”

Only after you explained did you realize that you didn't owe him an explanation.

Jason raised an eyebrow, his playful tone dropping just enough to sound dangerous. “Really? Because it looks like you’re texting someone from Europe, given the country code and all.”

Your heart skipped. You had been texting Ariel, and now your friends were practically spamming you in the group chat. "The girls!!" you named it that just to be petty after leaving the one with Barbra, Cass, and Steph. You didn't even think about how it might look to the family, who had all but cornered you into their web of attention. You didn’t want to admit it, but now you felt the pressure. How long would they keep this up?

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you muttered, finally pulling your phone out and swiping away from the notifications, deciding to put it on Do Not Disturb around these psychos. You had a sudden, uncomfortable sense of guilt, like they were expecting you to explain yourself to them.

It was quiet and awkward for the rest of breakfast.

The morning after breakfast felt like an eternity. You had expected them to back off, to give you space after your little outburst, but no. The Batfamily had different plans. They were relentless. They didn’t just want to bond with you; they needed to bond with you. It was like a mission they had assigned themselves, as if they could somehow erase the years of neglect in just two weeks.

You knew better than to expect anything close to normal from them. But this was too much.

It started innocently enough, Bruce knocking on your room door, his usual stoic expression softening when he saw you sitting on the edge of your bed, surrounded by your belongings. You had been trying to shut out the noise of the manor, scrolling through your phone, ignoring the countless texts from your guys you met and the relentless buzz of Gotham in your head.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth, but there was a hint of something in it. Concern? Hope? You didn’t want to figure it out.

“Can we talk?”

You didn’t even look up, too busy focusing on the group chat from the girls. You weren’t ready to face him. Or anyone else. Especially not after breakfast. They all thought they had it figured out.

“You can talk to me while I’m on my phone,” you said flatly. “I’m busy.”

Bruce didn’t even flinch at your indifference. He took a step inside, shutting the door behind him as he sat on the edge of your bed. His presence felt heavy, like he was trying to make himself at home in a space that wasn’t his.

“You know, we’ve missed you, these two months felt like two years” he started softly, like that would somehow change the years of absence between you two. “I know this has been hard for you, but we’re trying. I’m trying. I’m just... trying to make up for lost time.” His hand hovered over the space next to you, but you didn’t budge.

“Stop trying so hard. You’re not going to fix anything, Bruce,” you muttered, your fingers tapping away on the screen.

“I don’t need to fix anything,” His voice was gentler now. “I just want to be here for you.”

Your eyes flicked over to him, and for a moment, you saw the guilt in his eyes. He was fighting against something, holding back. He was being real, honest. But you couldn’t let it get to you.

“I don’t need you to be here,” you said, your tone icy. “I’m not some little kid who needs you hovering over me, not anymore.”

He sighed, the disappointment in his voice sharp. "I know. I know, kid. But you are my daughter. And I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Not again. Especially with your..... abilities.”

The words felt like bullets, it hurt, the more he spoke the more you hurt. You just wanted him to go away.

The awkward silence that followed stretched on too long. Finally, Bruce stood up. His eyes lingered on you one last time before he opened the door. “Okay, but just know, I’m here when you’re ready to talk. I'll always be here.”

For the next two weeks, the family got more insistent on spending time with. The only thing that kept you going was that it would be over soon, or so you thought.

Damian was always the silent observer. The kid who knew how to push all your buttons without saying a word, the little brother who constantly attacked and ridiculed you.

One evening, he shows up at your door, a subtle shift in his body language telling you something’s up. His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s trying to break down the walls, bit by bit.

"Move over," he said, his voice devoid of its usual bite. Instead, it carried a strange urgency. He was holding a pillow, clutching onto it like a lifeline.

You narrowed your eyes, a growl rising in your throat. What the hell does he want now?

“No. What’s your problem?” You shot him a glare, rolling over on your bed, trying to make it clear you had no interest in him being there.

He didn’t move. He just stood there, waiting.

"Come on," he says flatly, crossing his arms, a rare hint of vulnerability in his tone. "It’s just for a little while. You used to bother me about this, don’t be so difficult now."

“Why are you always so insistent on being a brat? I've forgiven you for attacking me,” he muttered, stepping closer. “When we were younger, you always insisted on cuddling, begged for it even, always tried hugging me. You’ve grown up, yes, but that doesn’t mean things should change.”

When you refuse, Damian has none of it. He steps inside, closes the door behind him, and sits on your bed without asking. His demeanor is as sharp as ever, but his eyes flick to you constantly, waiting, hoping for some sign of compromise.

He walked toward the bed, pulling the blankets aside as if he was entitled to your space. You felt a flicker of that old resentment stir inside you, but the pressure of everything else, the family trying so hard to pretend everything was fine, Bruce’s repeated insistence on your bonding, the suffocating feeling that had followed you since you arrived, made you just want to give in.

You scoffed. “I grew up because you wouldn’t leave me alone when I was younger. You used to beat me up for trying to get close, remember? You literally threw me down a set of stairs. You never wanted to ‘bond’ then.”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips twisting into a brief frown. “Because you were insufferable.” His voice softened, a little, but still cold. “But I’m not the same as I was. Neither are you.

And then, without warning, he scoots closer, his shoulders stiff, as if awaiting your wrath. You almost let out a laugh; he still hasn't realized that maybe you don't want the cuddles anymore. But his face betrays something else: a quiet desperation. You could almost feel his need for connection, like he’s trying to make up for all those years.

He shifts awkwardly, a hand touching his hair, trying to mimic what you once did: the slight tap on his shoulder, the gentle nudge. But as he waits for you to break, you just stare at him, no words exchanged.

And that’s when he did something you didn’t expect: he laid down beside you, just like when you did to him when you were younger. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t even seem to care that you clearly were about to strangle him.

You went still, your heart pounding as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into an uncomfortable cuddle. You wanted to push him off, but you couldn’t, not when he was being so vulnerable.

Instead, you just shut your eyes, and let the anger mix with the humiliation. You wouldn't admit it, but it felt nice.

Dick was the first to bombard you with affection every morning for two weeks straight. He’s like the human embodiment of sunshine, and you can’t help but feel the weight of his unrelenting kindness. He tries to coax you into breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinners... you name it. His tactic? Overload you with so much “family time” that eventually, you’ll give in.

He makes it a point to show you that he’s willing to work on your relationship. Every morning he’s there with a bright, goofy grin, telling you stories of his past adventures. He tries, in vain, to get you laughing with ridiculous anecdotes about the circus, Batman, and his early days in the Teen Titans. He stopped once you asked him for Connor's number and another topless picture if him.

At night, he tries to “reconnect” by suggesting game nights or silly activities like arts and crafts. “Come on, you loved painting when you were younger!” he’d say, pushing a small set of watercolor paints toward you, clearly hoping for a nostalgic response. But you’re not having it. You just roll your eyes and text your friends, but he stays close by, watching. He doesn’t pressure you, but you can feel his eyes lingering, waiting for the moment when you finally break.

But the moments are few, and even though you keep pushing him away, there’s a slight glimmer in his eyes every time he talks about when you’ll finally bond.

You avoided Duke like the plague, hiding everytime he came too close looking to hopeful. His betrayal was too fresh.

Jason tried to appeal to you in ways that are typical of him: snark, sarcasm, and outright bad-boy energy. He brings up old memories he knows you cherish, things that will make you cave. He walks around the manor like he owns the place, tossing out insults and lighthearted teasing every time you pass by. He’ll try to lure you into movie nights, always choosing the most ridiculously bad action movies, or challenge you to random things in the game room.

“Bet you can’t beat me in this game,” he’ll say, tossing a controller at you. “Come on, I’m the pro around here.”

It’s his way of bonding, of trying to “get you” in his own unique, unpredictable way. He also, strangely, gives you random moments of tenderness, moments that remind you of the old Jason, grabbing your shoulder when you least expect it, offering a smirk that’s soft when no one’s looking. But like everything else, it’s hard to believe this is real.

Your trust and abandonment issues ran too deep to believe any of them were genuine, though they all clearly were.

After a particularly annoying spat one day, where you ignored him all day, he jokingly announced, “If you didn’t have that attitude, maybe we could actually have a decent time. Just saying.”

In moments like that, you feel the thrum of tension in the air, the frustration of someone trying to connect with you and the knowledge that you're just too far gone to care right now. Now he felt how you did. Still, Jason's persisted and it’s obvious he won’t give up anytime soon.

Your entire existence had become one giant performance for them. The two weeks finally came to an end and so did your torture. You and the girls spent all night calling as you packed and they planned you a 'freedom celebration' that would start as soon as you got to Rory's house.

The two weeks really were torture, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went to sleep, it was like you were the star of a reality show you never agreed to. Every time you tried to slip away, to find some peace of mind, they were there, trying to draw you back in.

Alfred had begun preparing “family dinners,” encouraging you to join in at the table, asking you questions about your life like they hadn’t been absent for years.

Dick insisted on taking you out on family outings, making sure you were included in everything from movie nights to visits to the Gotham Zoo.

Cass would show up randomly in your room with little presents, a sketchbook, or a necklace. “For you,” she’d say with her quiet smile, a silent plea for you to forgive them.

Tim’s persistent attempts to engage you in every intellectual conversation, trying to get you to talk about everything and nothing at once, began to feel like a strange form of manipulation.

And Jason? Jason kept throwing out random quips, trying so hard to get a rise out of you, until the sarcasm wore thin and left a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn’t funny anymore.

You couldn't wait to leave.

The morning of your flight, Bruce called you into his office, a serious expression on his face. “Good Morning,” he began, his voice a little too calm. “I need to talk to you about something.”

You stared at him, confused. “What?”

“You’re not going back to boarding school,” he said quietly, locking eyes with you. “It’s not safe. Tiffany escaped and is working with Patience again. They’ll come for you. They’ll come for all of us.”

Your blood ran cold. Tiffany. The girl who had stolen your life. The one who had tried to replace you. The one who had made everything about her and who had tricked the Batfamily into thinking she was you. Now she was ruining your escape.

“No. I’m not staying,” you spat. “I can’t be here. I won’t be here.”

“You have to stay here,” Bruce said, his voice firm, unwavering. “For your safety.”

“You can’t do this!” you screamed, jumping up from your seat, your fangs flashing as your emotions took over. “I don’t want to stay here! I want to go back! I’ll be fine in New York! You can’t keep me here!

But Bruce wasn’t backing down. His tone remained soft, even as the finality of his words sank in. “You’re staying in Gotham. And you’ll go to Gotham Prep. It’s safer.”

“No!” You felt the weight of your anger burst out of you. The room seemed to shrink. “I’m not going to Gotham Prep. I won’t stay here. I won’t live in this—prison!”

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and angry, and you could feel the pressure building inside you, the need to break free. But as your eyes met Bruce's, you realized—he was immune. He didn’t look scared of your fangs. He didn’t fear your powers, he didn't fall into your manipulation.

You later found out from Jason that Tim and Damian had been working on a serum, after what happened with Tiffany. A serum that made them immune to your powers.

There was no escaping now, not till you were 18 and Tiffany behind bars.

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2K notes · View notes

lovscb97 · 8 months ago

Text

— stray kids links [maknae line]

tags: maknae line!stray kids x fem!reader, established relationship, use of nicknames (baby, angel, puppy, sweetheart, etc), thigh job, oral sex (f. receiving), face sitting, squirting, oral sex (m. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (do not plz), rough sex, degradation (slut, whore, etc), dirty talk, punishments, begging, orgasm denial, creampie, pain kink, titfucking, praise, hand kink, shower sex, overstimulation, etc

wc: 2.95k

add. notes: hello,..,,...,... sorry for not posting consistently n for taking so long to do this i have been busy w exams as i said but i am almost free!!! in honor of that n both my links posts for skzenha hyung line reaching 2k+ notes, i present to u skz maknae line links :3 also im sorry 2 that anon who recommended i use reddit links i Did put one in from redgifs but tbh im lazy to find good stuff on there so most of this is from twt skjdjfhjhg i hope that is Ok.. anyways enjoy ehe

hyung line ver.

. . .

⥽ … HAN JISUNG:

link one.

one thing jisung will never say no to is a thigh job from you. he loves the feeling of your plush flesh enveloping his cock, squeezing it ever so slightly between your legs to give him that delicious pressure he so desperately craves. it's always after a particularly rough day that his eyes will light up at your offer too, and before you know it, you're both stripped down and laying on the bed, your frame resting on jisung's warm body as he bucks his hips up to chase the friction which will provide him relief at long last. sometimes, he'll ask you to do the work for him, enjoying the way you move your figure up and down his hardened length until you grow too tired, which just draws a small chuckle from his lips before he's pressing a kiss to your cheek and going back to the task himself. it always ends with him finishing between the crack of your ass, his groans reverberating through the room as he cums.

"oh, fuck. that's it, baby." your boyfriend moans below you, his pretty face contorted in pleasure as you move your thighs up and down his shaft, biting your lip at how his tip nestles itself against you. despite having been too lazy to let him fuck you, your juices still pool between your legs, acting as clear evidence of your arousal and helping in slicking up jisung's cock that's twitching from your onslaught ministrations. "sungie, 'm tired." you whine after a while, your muscles aching from the way you've been lifting them up and down for the last five minutes, to which jisung just huffs out a laugh. he wraps his arms around you, hugging you close to him and presses a kiss to the side of your face that has you smiling. "alright, lemme take over." he starts. "but, once i'm done, you're not going anywhere until you cum on my tongue." he whispers, sending shivers up your spine.

link two.

the first time you tried face sitting with jisung, you were hesitant. what if you suffocated him? what if he couldn't tap out in enough time and died? how would you explain that to your family at his funeral? despite your overthinking, jisung hushed away all your concerns, caressing your cheek with his thumb as he flashed you his signature smile after claiming all he needs in life is your pretty pussy smothering him. you'd gasped at his crude words and smacked him on the arm, but something about his admission had you thinking. after that, it didn't take much longer for you to give in to his fantasies, and once you got into the rhythm of it, you found yourself riding his nose and tongue often. jisung claimed you were his stress relief, and that eating you out made him feel like he was on cloud nine. you doubted his exaggerations, but as long as it made your boyfriend happy, you didn't mind.

obscene slurping fills the room, paired with your cries that bounced off the walls as jisung's tongue flicked through your wet hole. he'd been going at this for the past half an hour, hungrily lapping up at the essence dripping out of you and spreading it all over his face with the way he forced you to rock your hips back and forth. "ah, 'm close." you whimpered, making the mistake of looking down at your boyfriend who's currently got you perched on his mouth. his doe eyes make contact with yours, and you physically melt with the way he's glancing up at you so eagerly. if anything, after your announcement, his actions only get harsher and rougher, and it isn't long before you're squirting all over his face. jisung doesn't mind though, making sure to drink all of it up as he pulls you back down for another round, promising to make you cum even harder this time.

⥽ … LEE FELIX:

link one.

felix is a sensual lover through and through. he treats you to your favourite meal, buys you the clothes you want, takes care of you on your period, and of course, fucks you like he means it every single time. his favourite thing to do, however, is have you on your back with your legs spread and core on display in front of his awaiting mouth. he'll start by pressing wet kisses to your inner thighs, sucking ever so gently on the flesh just enough to make you squirm and grow wet. when he's got you leaking on the sheets, that's when he'll part you by the knees and dive in, warm tongue flicking out to caress your clit with its tip as you writhe under his hold. he does it so passionately too, enjoying the way you spray on his tongue and let out low noises which echo through the room alongside his lewd actions. he'll always milk at least one orgasm out of you before he even thinks of sinking inside you, but if you're being honest, you're sure doing that is much more pleasurable for him than actually fucking you.

"mm, lixie, baby. that feels so good." your mouth parts open in a soft gasp, feeling the way your boyfriend nudges his nose against your nub as he sticks his tongue out to lick inside your opening. you're sure that you're a mess of your own juices and felix's spit by now, but neither of you seem to care with the way he's swirling his wet muscle against your folds, too engrossed in his goal of making you cum all over his face. every so often, he groans lowly into you, causing the vibrations of his noises to rush through you as you clench around nothing. "c'mon, angel. give it to me." felix mumbles after pulling away momentarily, making direct eye contact with you as he moves back to push his tongue right against your swollen bundle of nerves. a few more deep licks and sucks from him have you falling apart in a silent scream, felix helping you ride out the tides of pleasure before he kisses his way back up your body. he's all smiles when he reaches you, which only prompts you to pull him in close to you. god, how you loved him.

link two.

your boyfriend may be the epitome of perfection, but one thing you debate felix loves as much as you are his gaming sessions with his friends. it's gotten to the point where he'll spend hours on no end punching buttons on his controller and cursing at enemies in front of his computer screen, too focused on his current round to pay you any attention. you've thought long and hard on how to get him to stop or at least give you some of his focus, and the only solution is obvious: sex. so, when felix is in the middle of a break, you take your chances, sinking to your knees and situating yourself underneath his desk much to his obvious confusion. his eyes widen when your fingers quickly make work of unzipping his shorts and tugging them down, small hands running across the fabric of his boxers as you bite your lip at the way he chubs out instantly. before he can even protest, you're yanking them off and taking him in your mouth in an instant. safe to say, his game is long forgotten after that.

felix's brows shoot up when he returns to find you waiting for him under your desk, mouth going dry when he sits down and you immediately go to take his cock out. the first press of your soft lips against his semi-hard length almost sends him spiralling, and he blames that on the fact that he hasn't touched you properly in the last day or so. he reckons that's why you're being so needy right now, watching with hooded eyes as your warm mouth wraps itself around him. he hisses at the sensation, heart thumping against his chest in alarm when his friends ask if he's okay from the other side of the call. "y-yeah, just stubbed my toe." felix lies, biting back a groan at the way your tongue licks at the underside of his dick. "pay attention, baby." you hush after pulling off of him, not even giving him a chance to recuperate before you're pushing him back in your mouth. he can hear his friends scolding him for being afk from his headphones, but their complains are far from his attention. all he can do right now is try not to cum on call, sinking back in his gaming chair as he locks gazes with you.

⥽ … KIM SEUNGMIN:

link one.

you know seungmin like the back of your hand, so you're well aware of the fact that he takes very lightly to your teasing and efforts to rile him up. on days where you decide to act out in front of his friends, he'll clench his jaw and go quiet in public, grip around your thigh tightening at most as he monitors your next moves carefully. nobody will suspect anything of it due to his nonchalance, but once he's got you back in private, that's when his facade comes crashing down. you won't even be able to speak before he's dragging you off to your shared bedroom, ripping you out of your clothes and manhandling you onto your stomach. you get no chances to protest either as he slides in without warning, your pained yelp for him to slow down falling upon deaf ears when he snaps his hips into yours with erratic thrusts. he'll degrade you and edge you until you're crying, truly looking to break your mind and body by the time he's done. he knows you'll misbehave again in the future, but in that very moment, at least he's got you right where he wants you: spread-legged and taking his cock like the slut you are.

"s-slow, minnie. hurts." you hiccup, broken words muffled when your boyfriend just pushes your head down into the sheets at your efforts to ask him to go easy on you. his scoff can be heard from above you, and you whine at the way his movements seem to pick up even rougher than before, arms pinned to your side as seungmin's body weight cages you in underneath him. "oh, please. you like the way it hurts, like it 'cause you're nothing but a whore." he taunts, his voice dripping with venom as you simply moan at his words. his balls slap against your clit with the way he's thrusting in and out of you, and all you can do is lay there and take it, your high rapidly approaching for what feels like the nth time today. "don't you dare fucking cum." seungmin growls when you clench down on him, leaving you begging wetly as your limp limbs give out on you. you're about to tether off the edge when he pulls out suddenly, laughing sadistically at your protests before pushing in once more to resume his actions. he repeats this over and over again, eventually filling you up but leaving you denied as punishment.

link two.

you've recently discovered your favourite way of making seungmin cum, and that's with your tits. it's especially on days when you can't be bothered to undress and get in the mood whilst your boyfriend is feeling insatiable that you'll resort to this, stripping out of your shirt and getting down on your knees in front of him. it doesn't take long after that to have seungmin's leaking cock snuggled between the valley of your chest, both your tits squeezing it in a soft hug as he groans with closed eyes. some days you don't even bother taking your bra off, using it as leverage for making sure his dick stays between your breasts. it's even more enjoyable for you despite not being able to cum, because the way seungmin becomes reduced to a whining mess through your actions fills you with pride. if you're feeling particularly like putting in the work, you'll wrap your lips around his tip just before he's about to cum, feeling it twitch against your tongue as your boyfriend empties himself in your mouth.

it's two in the afternoon when you find yourself giving seungmin his fourth titjob of the week. he's got you in front of him while he's seated on the couch, legs spread as his hard length stays encompassed between your chest which rubs itself up and down. despite being a mess of spit and precum, you're mesmerised by the way your boyfriend's aching red tip catches between your boobs, biting your lip before sneaking a glance up at his fucked out face. it's seldom you see him so desperate, but recently you've been blessed with the sounds of his airy moans more often, realising that this activity may have become his favourite way of getting off. "doing so good, puppy." you coo, not missing the way he twitches between your breasts at your words. his last straw is when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck slightly, a barely audible warning escaping him as he creams onto your awaiting tongue.

⥽ … YANG JEONGIN:

link one.

jeongin is well-known for having large hands and slender fingers, his long digits always being the main reason behind your fascination with his body. you like the way they wrap around your waist or back, making you feel protected whenever your boyfriend is near you, especially when you're both out and you can feel other men staring at you. it reminds you you're his. it's in the way that they're so much bigger than yours too, easily being able to take both your hands in only one of them. something about it turns you on to no end, which is why you often find yourself with your hands pinned behind your back in one of jeongin's, a sinister smirk etched across his beautiful face as he fucks deep into you. he'll mock you for your little obsession, the way his voice is laced with condescension leaving you pooling wet around him which only makes him tsk and ram into you even harder. deep down though, you know he adores the way you're so easily pliant for him.

"innie! innie, please." you choke out into the pillow that's currently got your face stuffed in it thanks to your boyfriend, hearing him sneer at the way you try and move around under his hold. jeongin has both your arms gripped in just one of his hands behind your figure which is laying on your stomach, his movements quick yet deep with the way he rolls his hips to drive his cock into you. "like my hands, sweetheart? like them so much that you're dripping ever since i pinned them behind you, huh?" he mocks you, grunting as he speeds up his thrusts. the way he's drilling into you makes you see stars, and the dirty sound of skin slapping being the only thing resonating throughout the room besides your moans is all is takes for you to cum around him soon enough. you reach your peak with a wail of jeongin's name on your lips, clenching when you feel his fingers squeeze in below your body to flick at your swollen clit. "don't run, take it." jeongin growls, pushing your head into your sheets once more as you drool all over the comforter.

link two.

you're not sure when it started, but recently, having sex in the shower has become a reccuring occasion for you and jeongin. maybe it's the fact that you're both busy throughout the day and it saves time to engage and clean up together under running water simultaneously, or maybe it's because jeongin is just always looking to fuck you with his high sex drive, but it's definitely become a game changer for your relationship. you know he likes the way your tits are lathered with soap, bouncing from the frequency of his thrusts inside you as you lean a hand against the wall to support yourself. jeongin also always makes sure to steady his grip on you before fucking up into you under the warm stream coming out of your showerhead, groaning into your wet ear as he pulls you back by his large palm splayed across your hip. he likes the way your moans echo off the walls in the small bathroom you both share, always making sure he's giving it to you good regardless of where you both may be.

the splatter of water cascading down your bodies drags you out of your thoughts, a low noise rumbling from the back of your throat as you feel the heavy drag of your boyfriend's cock pushing in and out of you. he's got you arching your back, pulling you back on him every now and then in a way that makes his cockhead press up against that spot inside you deliciously. if you were in a hurry to go somewhere, you know you surely would've been late with the way you keep cumming and asking him for more, unable to satiate the spiking desire that's been burning through you since this morning when jeongin opened the door and asked if he could join you in rinsing off. "fuck, angel. not gonna last long." jeongin swallows, mouthing at your shoulder as you let your head fall back against him. "don't care. cum in me. cum inside, baby. please." you keen at a specifically harsh thrust, mewling when jeongin's thumb finds your engorged nub, rubbing it in quick circles to get you there at the same time. a scream rips out of you as the coil in your stomach eventually snaps, and you shudder as jeongin's seed spills warm inside you.

2K notes · View notes

femreader · 8 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆LN4 .ᐟ wow, media sucks ass

🎧ྀི : summary: social media is always commenting unnecessarily

🎧ྀི : genre: angst, comfort, fluff

🎧ྀི : pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

📍Instagram

liked by yourbff, lando and others

Yourusername: on and off-track 🧡

View all 1,058 comments…

yourbff: 🫷🏼😌🫸🏼 back up folks she’s hot I know but let the girl breathe

User1: her in Spa was so cute

User1: the way she was jumping and clapping

User2: fr best wag

lando: 🧡

User3: you cant tell me that lando can actually carry her…

User4: yeah professional athlete and all but

User5: how bout yall stfu

User6: guess some like some extra 🤷🏻‍♀️

📍Instagram

liked by yourusername, user1 and others

lando: off and on-track 🧡

View all 8,670 comments…

User1: not him copying his girl’s caption 😭 so cute

Yourusername: i write his captions unpaid :’)

User2: the way i want to be at an f1 party so baadddd

User3: she made it into the dump yay!

User4: her face did. Like always…

User5: lmao look at his like history, either he has an aesthetic type or this is some sort of PR thing

User6: those were like three years ago?? They’ve been dating for 6 months??

User7: yeah but c’mon… she’s not exactly the typical wag

yourbff: who is that pretty girl on the first pic 👀 she single orrrrr…?

lando: oi

Yourusername: you knew we were a package deal when you took me out

📍 Instagram

Liked by user1, user2 and others

F1wagsgossip: @ yourusername posted on her instagram story of taking a walk in the Monaco city centre! 👀

View all 1,098 comments…

User1: white jeans are a brave take

User2: im just still shocked party boy lando is dating this

User3: i know like given his exes, nothing alike

User4: hottiiieeeee

User5: she does know that… you know health is a thing???

User6: stfu she’s healthy even though she’s not a twig

User5: nah if she actually exercised and ate right she’d look different I said what I said

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

Liked by lando, yourbff and others

Yourusername: dinner & movie = happy me

View all 2,098 comments…

yourbff: sickeningly cute stop it

yourbff: do it again

User1: brb jumping into a bath with a toaster

lando: ❤️

User2: eh

User3: …yup

User4: i just dont see it guess my type’s different

User5: get a longer dress girl coming from a stylist

User6: dunno what’s more dissappointing, the fact that during lord’s year 2025 yall are STILL commenting women’s bodies or lando just chilling like half of the internet isnt blasting his girlfriend

liked by Yourbff

Yourbff: that’s my wife

Yourbff: prenup is made

Yourbff: you can still get all my money

Yourbff: come back home the kids are missing you

📍Instagram Story

Yourusername: lounging

Comments are restricted

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by lando, yourbff and others

Yourusername: 1. me, 2. relationship testing and 3. us <3

view all 3,178 comments…

User1: yall adopt?

User2: you look like you’ll give the best hugs 😭

Yourbff: THAT’S MY WIFE

Yourbff: LANDO NORRIS WHO THAT’S MINE

Yourbff: WOOF WOOF

User3: …

User4: i just want her to be healthyyy

lando: she is

User5: maybe it’s a hormonal thing?

lando: she’s fine

User6: Wish i had this amount of confidence

lando: fuck off

User7: lando is being a pr nightmare 😭

User8: good because maybe he will for once stand up for his girl

User9: nah too thick

lando: perfectly grab-able

lando: everywhere

lando: fuck off

User10: go to the gym jesus

lando: she deadlifts my weight

User11: what a bitch

lando: stfu, you know nothing, she wont choose you and neither will i :)

📍Instagram

liked by OscarPiastri, yourusername and others

lando: logging off to have my girl in my bed for 6 continuous hours, then we’ll destroy a bucketful of spring rolls and go back to bed again. Once again yall don’t know shit, my girl is the hottest there is and you can kiss my ass.

view all 5,897 comments…

User1: his pr is getting gray hairs wdym he just casually dropped sleeping with his gf for 6 HOURS ?!! 😭

User2: i weirdly approve this

User3: idk what everyone’s been saying she’s amazing! I go to same uni classes with her and she’s like disney princess incarnate. Just waiting a bird to land on her shoulder in the middle of comms

Yourusername: 😭😭 i didnt know i had to train stamina at the gym I just lift

Yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️

Yourbff: i am ignoring the fact he dropped yalls sex life to the internet because WOOF FUCKING WOOF WHO IS THAT

user4: jeSUS CHRIST

user5: i am sorry for breathing the same air as you

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #femreader f1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris smau

476 notes · View notes

lilirae00 · 14 days ago

Text

Delay of Game - Part 2

Summary: Follow up from Part 1 here…Paige and Azzi finally meet back up after 10 days apart.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: a lot of sexual tension, and smut, 18+

Masterlist

—

By the time the Wings’ charter bus jerked to a stop outside the team hotel in D.C., the engine giving one low rumble as the driver cracked open the luggage hatch, Paige was wiped.

It was the same standard pre-game travel slog: they’d spent half the day in transit, breathing in half a day’s worth of recycled plane air, sitting in cramped seats, overused jokes with teammates, flipping through game notes and trying to not think too hard about the rematch tomorrow night.

But even though she was dead tired, the second she spotted Azzi’s familiar silhouette just beyond the automatic doors, Paige felt something twist tight and hot in her gut.

Azzi was waiting in the lobby, one hand stuffed in the pocket of sweatpants, eyes hunting around the bus windows like she might be able to spot Paige through the dark, tinted glass.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Paige knew the Mystics had just finished their own shootaround hours ago, and Azzi could have easily waited for tomorrow…but of course she didn’t.

Of course Azzi was there, like she didn’t know how to help herself.

Paige pulled her carry-on off the bus step with one hand and tried to disguise the stupid smirk tugging at her mouth.

Arike strolled off carrying her duffel over her shoulder, and immediately caught on the direction of Paige’s gaze. “Well well,” she drew out, voice low and shrewd. “Look who couldn't wait for you to check in first.”

Paige elbowed her, but didn’t bother to deny it.The lobby was filled with the noise of Wings staff handing out keys, the front desk was ringing phones and the revolving door squeaked every time it let someone in.

The moment Azzi spotted Paige, her eyes lit up, her whole body straightening, shoulders relaxing, mouth curling into something that was full of relief and heat and something so tender it made Paige's chest ache.

Paige didn't even bother pretending to keep it cool. She closed the distance in three strides and dropped her bag with a thud on the polished floor, arms wrapping around Azzi's waist and hauling her in.

Azzi immediately went with it, arms wrapping around Paige's neck and burying her face in Paige's shoulder.

"Hey," Paige murmured into her hair, voice ragged.

Azzi breathed out a laugh that sounded like she had been holding it in for days. "Hi."

They kissed. Not soft, not quick, Azzi's fingers threading into Paige's hair and Paige angling her head to deepen it, ignoring Arike and Nai snickering behind them.

"Jesus, get a room," Nai muttered, earning an immediate delighted cackle from Arike.

Paige flipped them off behind Azzi's back without ever even pulling away from the kiss.

Finally she forced herself to break the kiss, leaning back just enough to see Azzi's face. Azzi's cheeks were flushed, lips wet, eyes blazing in a way that sent another sharp jolt straight through Paige.

"You didn't have to come all the way out here tonight," Paige murmured, voice low enough for only Azzi to hear. Azzi's mouth pulled down into that stubborn line Paige knew too well. "Yeah I did," she said simply.

Paige exhaled, heart racing. She pressed a quick kiss to Azzi's temple before pulling back completely. She bent to pick up her bag, but Azzi stole it first, the strap over her own shoulder. Paige raised an eyebrow at her.

"I only have like fifteen minutes," she said quietly, trying not to sound disappointed. "Coaches need us back downstairs to watch film."

Azzi flexed her fingers on the bag strap, but nodded, her mouth a hard line. "Yeah. I know."

Paige's teammates were still staring at them, trying and failing to hide their smiles. Paige glared at them until they all pretended to look at their phones. She reached out and brushed her thumb across Azzi's cheek.

"Come upstairs with me?" she asked quietly. "Just for a minute?"

Azzi's face softened immediately. "Yeah," she breathed. "Of course."

They didn't say anything as they walked towards the elevators, Paige's teammates catcalling halfheartedly behind them. The doors slid shut with a soft ding and they were alone.

Azzi was quiet on the ride up, but didn't let go of Paige's wrist where she'd grabbed it, her thumb absently tracing over her pulse. Paige watched her in the mirrored walls of the elevator, heart racing, stomach tight.

They both understood they didn't have time for anything tonight. There were meetings, a curfew, and a game tomorrow. But Paige couldn't not have this. Fifteen minutes was better than nothing.

When the elevator chimed their floor, Azzi passed back the bag, so Paige could swipe her key. The room was basic…king bed, tiny desk, and a TV awkwardly mounted to the wall. Paige dropped her bag on the floor and turned immediately toward Azzi.

Azzi closed the space between them, and they were crowded into the door against one another. Paige felt her mouth dry up.

"I've missed you," Azzi said, in a low, tight voice, as if saying it cost her something.

Paige swallowed hard, her throat working. She raised her hands to cup Azzi's face. "God, I've missed you too."

Then they kissed again, slower, more intentional, the kind of kiss that had Paige aching, had her head swimming. Azzi's fingers were digging into her hips, pulling her impossibly closer. Paige let her.

When they finally broke apart they were both breathing heavily.

"Tomorrow night," Paige said, rasping, as she pressed their foreheads together, "I swear to God. I am going to make it worth it."

Azzi's fingers flexed on Paige's hips, her eyes narrowed just a little despite the flush in her cheeks. "You better," she murmured, voice low but teasing. “Because last time I saw you, you said you couldn’t wait ten days and I had to make sure you got off before you even made it to the airport.”

Paige’s grin was feral. She squeezed tighter on Azzi’s waist again and ducked her head closer, lips ghosting just below Azzi’s ear. “Oh baby,” she said, drawl wrapped in promise, “just you wait.”

Azzi visibly shivered, breath catching. She swallowed hard to keep herself steady but her fingers tightened even harder in Paige’s shirt like she would fall over if she let go.

Paige felt it all—the tension ripping between them, the promise of later, the soft vulnerability they never really showed anyone else. She softened just enough to land a careful kiss on Azzi’s temple before pulling back to meet her eyes.

“Tomorrow night,” she said, softer but no less sure. “It’s gonna be worth every second you had to wait.”

Azzi’s face finally cracked into a reluctant smile, and she huffed out a breath, bumping her forehead to Paige’s with a tiny laugh.

A knock at the door gave them both a start.

“Yo, Bueckers! Meeting in five!”

Paige cursed, and landed one last kiss on Azzi’s mouth.

“I have to go,” she breathed, pulling away with obvious reluctance.

Azzi nodded, eyes glassy. She turned and grabbed the door handle but not before stealing one last look over her shoulder, her gaze raking over Paige like she was trying to memorize her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered.

Paige nodded, choking back everything she wanted to say.

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “Tomorrow.”

And then Azzi was gone, and the door shut behind her with a click, leaving Paige with nothing but the thud of her heart, and the ghost of Azzi’s lips on hers.

—

The next day, D.C. greeted Paige with a cloudy blanket over the dreary city. The clouds were heavy, and it felt like they were weighing everything down, trying to crush the city. Paige didn’t sleep great. She never really did on game days, and knowing Azzi was literally in the same city, sleeping just across town, didn’t help one damn bit.

She dragged herself through breakfast with the team, tapping her fingers restlessly on the table while one of her teammates busted her balls for barely eating.

Film session was torture. She wanted to pay attention, really. But her mind had other plans. Azzi's hair spilling across her pillow. Azzi's voice, husky with desire in her ear. That tiny, needy noise she made yesterday when Paige kissed her a little too deep right before she had to shove her out of the room to make it back to meetings on time.

Focus. Focus.

When they finally arrived for shootaround at the Mystics' arena, Paige felt wracked with jitters, the wired, electric way that meant she was too hyped, too early.

She was chewing on the drawstring of her practice pullover, adjusting her shorts, tapping the ball against her hip when she saw Azzi across the gym.

Azzi was already there, shooting easy warm-up jumpers in her annoyingly calm, lethal way. Her hair was pulled back, neat and perfect, and her white practice tank was sticking to her shoulder blades in damp patches.

Paige watched her sink three in a row, all net.

Azzi turned just a little, saw her, and stuttered. The ball bounced off her knee and skittered away.

Paige snorted and jogged over.

Azzi caught the ball and scowled at her own hands.

“Hey,” Paige said, voice dropping into something low and easy, even though she was buzzing inside.

Azzi wouldn’t meet her eyes at first. “Hey.”

Paige stepped right up to her, close enough that Azzi had to tilt her chin up. She did it reluctantly, cheeks already going pink.

“You good?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s eyes finally lifted, and the look in them nearly sent Paige’s heart skidding sideways.

Heat. Frustration. Desperation.

Paige felt her smirk escape before she could get a grip on it. She lifted a brow. “You look a little… distracted.”

Azzi’s glare was equally murderous, but it was ruined by how her eyes dropped to Paige’s arms, bare and slick with sweat, muscles tensed from drills.

Paige watched Azzi swallow hard.

“Oh my God,” Paige teased softly, voice dropping even lower. “You can’t even look at me without getting all squirmy, huh?”

Azzi snapped her eyes up to hers, breathing sharp. “Paige.”

Paige was suddenly too aware of the eyes on them—teammates, coaches. She gentled her expression, stepping just a little bit closer but not enough to be obvious.

“Hey,” she murmured. “Look at me.”

Azzi did. Paige reached out as if she were just brushing lint off of her tank, but her fingers ghosted over Azzi’s side.

“Breathe.”

Azzi blinked.

Paige demonstrated, slow and deliberate. Deep inhale. Slow exhale.

Azzi copied her, rising and falling.

Again.

Finally Azzi’s shoulders dropped just a little. The tightness in her jaw eased up.

Paige gave her a small, private smile. “There she is.”

Azzi scowled. “Shut up.”

But her voice had lost that brittle edge.

Paige’s grin softened. “You gonna play like shit tonight if I don’t help you calm down?”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. “You’re the worst.”

Paige shrugged, letting her hand drop but not stepping back just yet. “I just want my girl to go off. Can’t have you bricking shots ‘cause you’re too busy thinking ‘bout later.”

Azzi made a strangled noise that sounded equal parts pure frustration and pure want.

Paige winked. “Focus up, Fudd.”

Azzi shoved her shoulder, muttering under her breath as she turned back toward her team.

Paige watched her go and bit back her laughter. But inside, she felt warm. Settled.

Because as much as she loved seeing Azzi all wound up and ready to pop…

She also loved making sure Azzi could do what she did best.

And tonight, Paige would give her the game.

But after?

After, Paige was going to ruin her.

—

The arena was loud tonight. The crowd was electric, churned to a low boil of spirited discussion with every quarter. Paige thrived on that noise. The squeak of shoes on a court, the bounce of a basketball, and the long blast of the whistle.

It felt like home, even on the road.

But this night felt different.

Because Azzi was there too.

They had competed hard their whole careers. Even back at UConn, their practice battles became the stuff of legends. Now it was the WNBA, and there was no Coach to remind them to take it easy on each other.

And Paige wouldn’t want to..

But tonight... Azzi was off.

Paige noticed it in the first quarter. The way Azzi's shot was a touch too flat, her passes just a hair too late, and the way she kept glancing at Paige out of the corner of her eye as if she couldn't help herself.

Paige tried not to smile every time she caught her.

But the game was close. Too close.

Coach had them pressuring hard and playing all-switch defense, and Paige felt her breath ripping in and out like a bellows. She was soaking wet. Muscles burning. Head as engaged as it had ever been.

Except for when it came to Azzi.

Because even while she played, Paige had been tracking Azzi the whole game. Watching her bite her lip after a turnover. Watching her mutter to herself after an awful miss from three.

At one point, during a timeout, Paige glanced across the court to look at Azzi. She was on the bench, rolled arms, clenched jaw. Paige dropped her head, regained her breath, and had the slightest smirk.

Azzi's look could have melted steel.

Paige felt her heart beating, heat curling in her stomach, and made herself look back to the huddle.

Focus.

Except, she couldn't. Not fully.

The fourth quarter was brutal. The Mystics had cut down the Wings' lead possession by possession. The crowd was on their feet, the scoreboard that now tied with seconds ticking down.

Azzi had the ball on the wing. Paige switched on to her with her footwork perfect, chest up, hips low.

Azzi drove hard.

Paige only felt the contact one millisecond too late.

She heard the whistle, harsh, and sharp.

Paige froze for a half beat, the realization crashing into her like a vicious body blow. She may have reached a bit too far across Azzi's driving lane and slapped her arm so hard, she was certain the whole arena had heard it.

"Foul on Paige Bueckers. Two free throws for Azzi Fudd."

The ref's voice sounded like it was a million miles away, the cheering crowd drowning out any possible reception.

Paige blew out a furious breath, and she did her absolute best not to bang the floor in pure frustration. She bent down a little to brace against her knees running the sweat pour from her nose. Her heart pulsed in her ears.

When she lifted her head, she craned to catch a glimpse of Azzi walking to the line.

Azzi looked… tense. Wound so tight she was practically vibrating. She dribbled the ball once, twice, her shoulders stiff.

Paige recognized that body language.

The way Azzi's jaw tightened. The way her mouth was set.

Fuck. She was rattled.

Paige shifted her weight, chest heaving, eyes locked on Azzi's face.

Azzi didn’t look at her.

So Paige took slow deep breaths, trying to push the anger and frustration down. She squared her shoulders, and jutted her chin out just a tiny bit.

Look at me.

Azzi blinked, and finally her eyes flashed up. Just for a moment.

Paige didn't flinch. She held her gaze, calmly. She took a slow deep breath that filled her chest. She exhaled at an even slower pace.

She was speaking to her without words. You’ve done this a hundred times. You know how to breathe. You know how to make these shots.

Azzi's eyes widened just a bit, like it finally clicked for her. Her shoulders dropped. Her grip loosened on the ball.

She took a breath.

Bounced the ball once.

Then twice.

Rolled it off her fingertips.

The net snapped.

Thunderous cheers erupted all around.

Paige's fists clenched down at her side, tightness in her chest that was pride and heartbreak all rolled into one.

Azzi took a little longer to settle herself, swallowed hard, eyes darting back to Paige for just a flicker. Paige nodded again. Just once. Almost imperceptibly.

You got this.

Azzi took another breath. She went into her routine smoother this time. Exhaled. Shot.

Swish.

The building lost its mind.

Paige stayed frozen. Watching as Azzi's shoulders finally relaxed. The tiniest hint of a victorious smile crossing her face.

Timeout was called, benches cleared. The Wings scrambled for a final prayer of a play. Paige ran it, set her feet for a desperate three as the clock expired.

It bricked off the rim.

Ballgame.

The buzzer was deafening.

Paige bent over, palms on her knees, sweat dripping onto the polished court. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She thought her heart was going to give out.

And she looked up through the organized chaos of players and staff and fans. Azzi was overwhelmed by her team, hugs and back slaps and laughter ringing loudly throughout the gym. Her face was bright, alive, eyes glowing from relief.

Paige's mouth quirked.

She stood up slowly. Shoulder soreness was setting in. Her knees were screaming.

Damn it.

—

Paige charged through the tunnel, shoving sweaty hair out of her face. She was pissed. Proud. Pissed and proud. The contradiction swirled around in her chest like a live ember.

Back in the locker room, it was just as bad. Bags were thumping. Tape was ripped. Players were talking to themselves or snapping at staff.

Paige flopped onto the bench with a grunt, taking off her shoes like they had personally betrayed her.

Arike walked past her, patting her on the shoulder. "Hell of a game, P."

Paige didn't even think to smile. Just nodded.

When her name was called for media, she breathed out a long exhale. She really didn't want to talk, but she wiped her face with a towel and forced herself to get up.

The little press scrum across the hallway made things worse. So many mics. So many lights.

She squinted under the flash from a camera, and tried to answer as few questions as possible.

Until somebody asked that question.

"What did you make of Azzi's performance tonight? Given your relationship, what was it like seeing her at the foul line in that moment?"

Paige felt her pulse in her throat. She swallowed, jaw tightening.

She looked away for a second. Long enough to see a familiar silhouette lingering just outside the media ring.

Azzi.

She was watching. Still in her Mystics warmup jacket. Hair pulled back in an effortless bun that allowed curls to spill on either side of her temples. Her mouth was parted, as if she had been mid-sigh. Her eyes were dark, her gaze completely focused on Paige.

Paige felt this like a punch to the chest.

She forced her gaze back on the reporter, going low and steady with her voice although her heart was beating like a jack hammer.

"She's clutch," she said simply. "Always has been. That's Azzi. She's the reason they won tonight. That's who she is."

Her voice cracked a little on is, but she didn't care.

For a second no one said anything.

Then the reporters started asking more. Paige ignored them.

She stepped back, the handler was trying to pull her for more, but she shook them off and mumbled, "I'm good."

She grabbed her backpack and slung it across her shoulder, barely feeling the weight of it.

As she stepped away from the lights, she saw the tiniest sliver of Azzi's face.

Their eyes locked.

Azzi's expression was unreadable at first. But Paige saw it, the second Azzi's mouth softened.

Like she was forcing herself not to smile. Like she just heard the one thing that she needed to hear.

Paige swallowed hard, felt heat licking her rib cage.

She nodded once, barely perceptible.

Azzi nodded back.

When Paige finally got changed, muttering curses at the squeak of her locker door, she found Azzi waiting just outside the locker room.

Paige's heart fucking stuttered.

She walked toward her, keeping her face as neutral as possible, even though she just wanted to break out into the stupidest, goofiest grin. Azzi didn’t say anything. Just let her approach.

Finally, Paige stopped in front of her, the hallway crowded with teammates and staff heading different directions, but it was as if everything suddenly faded to silence when they made eye contact.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, she just searched Paige's face as if she were searching for something she needed to see there.

Then she spoke, voice lower and rougher than usual. "You fouled me."

It wasn’t an accusation, not really. More like a memory, something raw that they were still both feeling.

Paige felt the heat creep up the back of her neck. She exhaled sharply through her nose, trying to brush it off.

"Yeah," she mumbled, head tilting, as if to shake off how tight her chest had gone. "Sorry about that."

Azzi's mouth twitched, but the smile did not quite emerge. Instead, the expression softened, staring deep into Paige's eyes with something that made Paige feel like she had been hit in the side of the ribs.

Azzi shifted on her feet, lowering her voice just enough so that no one else could hear what she said.

"Thank you." she said, quietly and sincerely.

Paige blinked. Confused. Thrown. She frowned, the word catching her off guard. "For what?"

Azzi held her gaze. She took in a breath like she was gathering herself.

“For breathing with me,” she said, voice cracking just enough that Paige’s throat felt tight. “Out there. You could’ve let me brick those shots.”

Paige's throat caught, something folded on itself in the space of her chest. She swallowed hard, desperate to look anywhere but at her, desperate to not show how much Azzi's gratitude messed her up.

She gave a small, awkward shrug, like it didn’t matter. Like her heart wasn’t lying in pieces at Azzi’s feet.

"Yeah, well." she said, thickly, the corner of her mouth began to twitch whether or not she liked it. "I know what missing those would have done to you."

Azzi huffed a little half relieved, half sorry laugh. She dipped her head away for a second, and composed herself before she looked back up at Paige, dark eyes glassy, so fucking intense.

Paige felt the world shrink down enough that the space between them was its entirety.

Azzi reached out her fingers, barely brushing Paige's wrist before it dropped. "Get your stuff." she said, voice low and soft but firm. "Let's get out of here."

Paige didn’t argue. Didn’t even have the heart to joke. She nodded, waist turning toward the locker room and making a silent prayer that her heart would stop pounding against everything around her, the sound ringing like a drum in her ears.

"Yeah." she rasped. "Okay."

She squeezed Azzi's wrist once and turned, grabbed her own bag, letting her team manager know she was out for the night.

—

They shoved through the heavy-duty security door into the back corridor, the muffled roar of the arena behind them. Inside, the air was damp and cool in the concrete hall, the fluorescents buzzing overhead.

Paige adjusted the gear bag on her shoulder, the strap digging in. She winced, rolling her sore shoulder. Every muscle in her body felt wrecked from the game, but, really, none of that mattered right now.

Azzi walked next to her, quiet. Too quiet.

Their arms brushed. Paige could almost feel the tension radiating off Azzi like static electricity.

Paige dared a glance to the side. Azzi's cheeks were flushed. Her dark hair was slipping out of her bun, curling around her face. Her warm-up jacket was tied crooked at her waist, just like when she was in a hurry, and her chest was still rising and falling a little too fast.

Paige's mouth went dry.

Jesus.

They rounded a corner and passed a couple of arena staff pushing a squeaky cart stacked with towels. Paige cleared her throat roughly and dragged her gaze away from Azzi's parted lips.

"Hang on," Paige said hoarsely, snapping her hand up to catch Azzi's elbow before she could push through the door to the loading dock. Her fingers gripped Azzi's elbow just a second longer than necessary, like she couldn't help it.

Azzi turned back, slow and heavy-lidded with her lashes sweeping against flushed cheeks. Her lips parted slightly at the edges, and Paige thought for a second she was going to say something.

Paige had to clear her throat to speak. "I gotta...let the manager know I'm not getting on the bus," she muttered. Azzi blinked as though she remembered they were not the only two humans alive. She sighed, took a very big breath, and moved her head in a rapid jerky nod. "Yeah. Okay."

Paige let her grip go. Her fingers dragged on the soft fabric of the sleeve, lingering almost to the absolute end. She turned, and walked toward the Wings team manager, trying to at least regroup her mind.

"Hey," she rasped out low, forcing some resolution into her voice. "Take me off the bus list. I've... got other plans tonight."

The team manager, not even looking up from her clipboard, simply marked it on the page. "Sure. Be safe."

Paige huffed a breath that was half relief, half anticipation. “Sure,” she mumbled, trying to sound casual even though her heart was beating so loud she could hear it.

She turned a little too fast and almost ran into Azzi, who had been standing there, waiting.

Azzi's eyes flicked over her face, dark and knowing. The corners of her mouth twisted into something like a smile. "Other plans, huh?" she asked, softly and slowly, teasing with her words.

Paige's lips twitched into the crookedest of grins, fire exploding from her eyes. She reached her hand out to brush Azzi's wrist with her thumb. "Yeah," she said, lowering her voice. "The best plans I've had in a month."

Azzi's breath caught and she didn’t take her eyes off of Paige. Neither did Paige. Everything outside of their space blurred and muted into the background. Paige turned her attention back to the door, grin widening into something much more hungry.

“C’mon,” she said softly. “Let’s go.” This time, Azzi didn’t hesitate at all.

They walked down the loading dock side by side, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls, eyes fixed on the shape of Azzi’s car at the very end.

Paige’s fingers brushed Azzi’s for a brief moment before she pulled her hand away and smirked, glancing toward the car.

She moved a little closer and dropped her voice an octave and a half lower, heavy with lust. “Gimme your keys.”

Azzi blinked slowly, her pupils blown wide.

“W-What?” she breathed.

Paige smirked, tugging on the string of Azzi’s waistband to pull her even closer. Her other hand slipped around, and she began to reach into Azzi’s pocket, but she did it very slowly.

Azzi jumped at the contact. She let out a small broken gasp, the sound made Paige smile wider.

Paige dropped her voice lower.

“C’mon,” she murmured against Azzi’s ear, brushing her lips against the skin ever so slightly, making Azzi shiver. “You really think I’m gonna let you drive like this?”

Azzi’s fingers curled into Paige's biceps.

“I'm f-fine,” she tried to say, but she ended up cracking halfway through.

Paige pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. She raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Baby. You’re shaking.”

Azzi glared weakly at her.

Paige’s grin turned sharp and knowing. She finally tugged the keys free of Azzi's pocket and dangled them between their two faces.

“Good girl,” she purred. “Now hop your pretty little ass into the car.”

Azzi’s mouth dropped open in outrage, but no words came out.

Paige’s smirk widened. She clicked the car unlocked with Azzi’s fob and popped the trunk so she could drop her gear into it.

When she turned back, Azzi was still just standing there on the passenger side, chest heaving.

Paige met her eyes across the roof of the car.

Azzi's knuckles were turning pale on the door handle.

Paige raised an eyebrow and took her time letting her voice sound lazy.

“Get in.”

Azzi swallowed painfully.

Her voice came out ragged. “Paige…”

Paige opened the driver door without breaking eye contact.

“Oh baby,” she drawled, sliding into the seat with a dark smile. “You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

—

Paige parked Azzi's car in the apartment parking lot with precision. She had her hand on top of the wheel for a moment when the engine stopped running.

The stillness felt heavy. Azzi held her breath in the passenger seat, wide eyes flicking between the windshield and Paige's profile, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Paige finally turned to look, her eyes dark and hungry but softened by the faintest smile.

She reached her arm across and traced Azzi's wrist with her fingers. "Come on." Her voice was low but steady. "We're here."

Azzi responded with a quick nod, her hands shakier than she intended as she opened the door. Paige was already out and walking around to the trunk to grab her small duffel bag.

When Azzi got around the car, Paige's eyes skimmed her too quickly, pausing on the shallow rise and fall of Azzi's chest and the flush in her cheeks. Paige felt something pull in her own stomach in a near painful way.

Azzi had been on edge since yesterday. Since Paige stepped off that bus and walked into the lobby to find her there. Since Paige made that promise. And she intended on keeping it.

Azzi led the way up to her apartment door but her steps were uneven. She fumbled through her bag for the keys, an erratic breath escaping her as she dug around. Paige stood right behind her, close enough that they were nearly touching.

"Az," Paige murmured, her voice soft and low, one hand resting lightly on Azzi's hip. "Breathe."

Azzi made a strangled sound but nodded. On her second try the key slid in. She turned it and pushed the door open. Paige didn't wait for her to move, she slipped in behind her and nudged the door closed behind her with her foot.

The door clicked. The apartment went quiet, muffled city sounds filtering in through the window. Azzi tossed her keys down on the counter, unsteadily. Paige dropped her duffel bag on the floor below.

For a moment, neither of them moved…they just looked.

Azzi's pupils were blown wide, black and glossy. She was biting her bottom lip like she was holding herself back. Paige was breathing a little heavier, trying to keep it steady and together. To stay controlled.

Paige took a slow step into the last bit of space between them, her hand resting on Azzi's waist again. Azzi tilted her head back slightly, her eyes fluttering closed when they made contact.

Paige's voice was low, kind of a raspy growl. "Been waiting to touch you all damn day."

Azzi let out a shaky breath, hands dancing at Paige's sides. Eventually she gave in, holding onto her shirt. "I know," she breathed, voice cracking, "Paige, please..."

Paige tightened her fingers around Azzi possessively. She bent down and brushed her nose along the curve of Azzi's temple, breathing her in. "I know, baby," she said softly. "I know."

Azzi shivered under the attention, the tenderness in Paige's voice was worse than what she knew was coming.

She turned her face, pressing her lips on Paige's jaw. Paige’s eyes drifted shut, her hands sliding to Azzi's back, holding her tighter.

They just stood there for a moment, bodies pressed close together but unmoving. As if they both needed a second, needed to feel each other solid and real before the world yanked the ground out from beneath them.

Paige pulled back first, just enough to see Azzi’s face, her thumb brushing Azzi’s cheekbone with a maddening softness. She looked her over. Azzi's lashes were damp. Paige felt her own chest constrict tight.

"Tell me what you want," Paige asked. Her voice was little more than a broken breath.

Azzi's breath caught. She blinked at Paige, both desperate and determined. "Paige," she whispered. "I want you."

Paige's mouth curled into something that was somewhere between a smile and a snarl. She pressed their foreheads together. "Good," she breathed. "Because I'm done waiting."

Azzi whimpered and pressed in closer. Paige let her.

And for one moment longer, they stood there.

Hearts pounding. Breaths mingling. Hands wandering everywhere—slow, deliberate, almost shaking.

Paige's thumb brushed over Azzi's lower lip before she finally leaned in. She kissed her like she had been dying of thirst and Azzi moaned into her mouth, fingers digging into Paige's sides.

Paige groaned low in her chest, pulling Azzi fully against her. Azzi gasped when she felt Paige's hands slide lower, fingers flexing, gripping her hips with purpose. She pulled back just enough to see Paige’s eyes, wide and dark and burning.

“Bedroom?” Paige asked roughly.

Azzi nodded, breathless.

Paige didn’t wait for anything else. She took Azzi’s hand, their fingers laced tight.

They made it into the bedroom only because Paige wouldn’t let them stop in the hall.

Azzi tried, god she tried, her hands buried in Paige’s hair, her mouth dragging along her jaw, teeth catching on her earlobe with a desperation that felt feral.

Paige laughed breathlessly, her fingers at Azzi’s waist, guiding her back step by step until her knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Paige,” Azzi hissed, her hands already fumbling at Paige’s shirt, trying to remove it swiftly.

“Hold on,” Paige growled, pressing in close, her lips ghosting Azzi’s. “We’ve got all night. I want to see you first.”

Azzi let out a frustrated groan, but did lift her arms. Paige peeled her shirt off slowly, tracking every inch of newly exposed skin.

Azzi’s sports bra was dark against her skin, her breathing ragged. Paige tossed the shirt aside with little thought and ran her thumbs around the elastic band of bra and flesh, making Azzi shiver.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Paige murmured. She bent down and mouthed along Azzi’s collarbone, biting just the right amount to make Azzi’s knees buckle. Azzi’s fingers tightened in Paige’s hair and gave a tug.

“Off,” Azzi demanded, voice breaking. “Paige, please, just—off.”

Paige chuckled, low and dark, pulling back to remove her own shirt. Azzi’s eyes devoured her. They always did, Paige knew the look, had seen it enough times to know when Azzi was right about to snap.

Bras came next, fumbling and frantic. Paige pressed her lips to Azzi’s chest as soon as the fabric fell away, kissing one breast then the other, teasing at the nipple with her tongue until Azzi’s head tipped back with a sharp moan.

They kissed again, teeth and tongue, messy, deep. Paige’s hands roamed up and down Azzi’s back while Azzi’s fingers dug into Paige’s abs like she wanted to climb inside.

Pants came next, dragged down awkwardly as they stumbled onto the bed. Paige pushed Azzi back gently, then hovered above her while she kicked her own pants off.

Azzi was left in nothing, sprawled and sticky on the sheets in the low light, skin dark and glowing. She was breathing like she’d run a sprint. Paige just paused to take in the sight in front of her.

Azzi squirmed, self-consciously trying to close her legs. Paige stopped her with hard hands on her thighs. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she rasped.

Azzi whimpered.

Paige crawled over her, dragging her palms up Azzi’s legs, kissing her knee, then her inner thigh. She purposefully skipped over the place where Azzi was wet and aching, kissing her stomach instead, biting lightly.

Azzi let out a frustrated sob. “Paige,” she gasped. “I need you to touch me.”

Paige pulled her head up, looking infuriatingly calm. “I am touching you.”

Azzi actually growled, she pulled on Paige's hair, yanking her back in. “Not like that. You said I didn't know what I was in for tonight? Then show me.”

Paige's smirk dropped when she saw Azzi's eyes. They were darker than anything she’d seen before and glassy, almost wet. She was wrecked. Paige's chest squeezed tight.

She pressed her forehead against Azzi's, their breaths mingling. “Jesus, Az,” she whispered, voice cracking. She kissed her, slow and deep, then pulled back just enough to whisper, “I know you've been waiting 31 days for this.”

Azzi quaked, her hips rolling up into Paige's belly involuntarily.

Paige's fingers tightened on her waist. She dropped her voice low, commanding but unbearably sweet. “Okay. Listen to me.”

She kissed Azzi again, barely biting her lower lip before letting it go. “You come however you want right now. Fast and dirty, take it. I'll give you anything but afterward…”

Azzi blinked, panting, barely following.

Paige's eyes caught hers, dark and possessive. “Afterward, I get to decide. Okay?”

Azzi let a broken sound escape her throat, it might've been a whimper or a moan. She nodded, her head bobbing frantically. “Yes, anything, just…Paige, please.”

Paige smiled this slow, filthy curl of her lips that made Azzi shiver. “How do you want it, baby? Tell me.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, like she needed a second to collect the words. When they opened, they were glazed with lust, voice low and raw. “I want... I want to ride your stomach.”

Paige didn't say a thing. She just moved. One second Azzi was on her back, the next Paige had them flipped, Azzi straddled at her waist, gasping from the motion. Paige's hands steadied her hips.

Azzi's thighs trembled once she realized the position they were now in. She looked down, seeing Paige's abs flex toned under her, the hard lines of muscle she had dreamed of grinding against.

Paige gave her a look that was pure sin, eyebrows lifted in challenge. It was a silent challenge. She dropped her gaze to her stomach and then flicked her eyes back up at Azzi, daring her.

Azzi groaned, squeezing what she could at Paige's sides with her knees. "Fuck," she whispered, voice trembling.

Paige moved her hands on her ass, guiding her to scoot forward. "Come on, baby," she rasped. "Show me how bad you need it."

Azzi whimpered, but complied, lifting herself and dragging her wet heat along Paige's abs. The contact made them both moan. Paige's muscles were hard, unforgiving under her, the friction exactly what Azzi had been craving most.

She rocked forward, then back, pace slow in the beginning, taking in every ridge of Paige's body under her. Paige's hands squeezed her ass, guiding her movement, taking in every second with hooded eyes. "Look at you, " Paige whispered, her voice so husky it was all but a growl. "You look so good like this."

Azzi let out a stuttered, cracked sob and her pace wavered as she tried to grind against her harder. Paige matched Azzi's rhythm, giving her just enough friction, while never letting her go too fast too soon.

Azzi was panting now, hair sticking to her forehead, sweat trickling and gleaming on her collarbones. Her fingers were digging into Paige's chest for balance, leaving small stamped crescent marks in her skin.

Paige never looked away. She kept her eyes locked with Azzi's, taking in the flutter of her eyelids, the flush climbing her up her chest and throat, the way her mouth opened as she took in ragged breaths.

It was so fast, so raw. She didn't try to make it last because she didn't want to. She just needed it. She chased it hungrily, rocking hard and fast on Paige's abs, grinding in frantic, desperate circles.

It hadn't even been that long, just enough…enough to finally feel what she'd been craving for 31 unbearably days.

Azzi's moan pitched, voice shaking apart. "Paige…I'm—"

Paige's hands tightened on Azzi's hips to steady her. She tilted her chin just enough from where she looked to let her voice carry. It was low, gentle but clear. "That's it baby. Let go for me. "You've been waiting for this too long."

Azzi choked on a sob and lost all composure. Her hips twitched, grinding down with abandon as her orgasm ripped through her. She was loud, primal and messy, shaking as she completely lost herself on Paige's abs.

Paige held her through it, hands firm on Azzi's waist and ass, guiding her even as she shook. When Azzi finally collapsed forward onto Paige, breathy and with tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, Paige simply caught her. She wrapped her arms around her, one hand cradling Azzi's head, the other stroking her back lazily. She kissed into Azzi's hair, into her temple, whispering hushed, reverent words.

"That's it. Fuck, Azzi. You're perfect. Got you. Always got you."

Azzi just lay on her, wrecked and shaking, warm breaths against Paige's skin.

Paige felt the heat of Azzi's cheek, the sweat of their skin meshed to one another. She kissed Azzi's temple, heart racing at how beautiful Azzi looked, wrecked and radiant.

But Paige didn't give Azzi long.

She adjusted the hold on Azzi's hips, rolling them smoothly to guide Azzi's back onto the mattress.

Azzi followed along easily, realizing only when her back hit the sheets. She blinked, pupils dilating, breath catching as Paige's hair framed their faces.

Paige propped herself up on one elbow, cupping Azzi's jaw with one hand. "You okay?" she asked softly, brushing a thumb over swollen lips.

Azzi swallowed hard, her voice still hoarse. "Yeah. Just…fuck."

Paige grinned, something hot and wicked flashing in her eyes. Then she leaned in, nose brushing against Azzi's cheek, letting her breath ghost across Azzi's skin until she squirmed.

"You know I'm not finished with you yet, baby," she whispered, voice low and deep.

Azzi was still fighting to catch her breath after coming, her chest laboring to inhale air that did not seem to want to come.

Paige watched it, entranced by the lift and falling, the flush creeping up Azzi’s throat like a brand she’d put there herself. Paige kept quiet. She didn’t have to say anything.

She dropped her head, allowing her mouth to drift over Azzi’s collarbone, her tongue tracing the salt of sweat there before dragging her teeth gently along the curve.

Azzi shivered, muscles spasming beneath her. Paige could feel Azzi’s body trying to buck, searching for more, but she kept Azzi pinned, hands splayed low over her ribs, holding her steady.

Azzi grabbed onto Paige’s arms, her fingers digging in lightly, trying to make Paige move quicker. But Paige just smiled against her skin, her lips melting lower, her teeth grazing along the swell of one breast, catching the nipple between them and flicking at it with her tongue until Azzi gasped.

Paige could feel Azzi’s thighs shifting, her hips lifting in little needy movements that took her closer to friction, even if it was just air. When Paige’s hand finally slipped lower, it was slow enough that she felt Azzi curse under her breath, fingernails pulling in just a little bit deeper.

Paige trailed her fingers down Azzi’s belly, grazing gently, teasing just between Azzi’s legs where she was wet, hot, pulsing with need. Azzi’s hips bucked against the slight contact, a strangled sound escaping throat that was both pleasure and pure frustration at the actual lack of contact.

“Fuck Paige, please,” Azzi gasped.

But again, Paige didn’t give her what she wanted, only tempted and teased her with featherlight touches down slick folds, drawing circles so slow and so close that it was cruel.

Azzi’s body trembled, trying to lift to meet her, to make her do something, anything.

Paige felt Azzi's legs tense, her breath coming out in short, incidental puffs of frustration.

And Paige just watched her. Drinking her in. She felt the gravity of it…Azzi was completely exposed in front of her, undone and stripped bare in a way that no one had ever seen.

Paige's own heart thudded so hard and was so full of want and love, it felt like it might burst.

When Azzi tried to thrust up harder into her hand, Paige pushed down tightly, completely stilling her. She lifted her eyes and allowed Azzi to see the promise in her eyes.

"Remember," she breathed, voice low and dark with meaning, allowing her thumb to stroke softly across Azzi's pulsing clit. "I decide."

Azzi let out something between a sob and a laugh, her head dropping back into the pillow, surrender evident in every trembling line of her body.

And Paige felt it, way back in her chest—the raw, insatiable need to give Azzi everything she wanted, but in the way that Paige decided.

Paige's fingers finally sank in deep, slow and patient while she pressed past that tight heat with an aching slowness that made Azzi's entire body tense.

She let out a low, broken moan, hands scrambling for purchase on Paige's upper arms. Paige continued, curling her fingers into Azzi with every slow pull, tracing circles against that spot she knew would make Azzi see stars.

She watched Azzi's eyelids wiggle, lashes damp, mouth slack in a silent gasp. Paige felt each clamp against her fingers, each tremor of the strong thighs she adored.

Paige leaned in, opened mouth kisses along Azzi's throat, across her collar bone, nipping along the soft curve of one breast. Azzi's skin was hot and slick with sweat, tasting like salt and something that Paige could drown in.

Azzi's hips jerked up toward Paige's hand, to get more friction, more pressure, more anything. Paige felt the tremor of need and it clenched her heart, but she didn’t speed up.

She purposely slowed, out and in, just to hear Azzi whimper and mutter a curse.

Paige's voice came out a warm purr on Azzi's neck. "Easy," she crooned, her thumb teasing at Azzi's clit in barely there circles that made Azzi sob. "Not yet. I want to take my time with you."

Azzi choked on a strangled, frustrated noise, her nails digging into Paige's shoulders.

Paige loved the burn. She loved seeing Azzi so desperate like this because she knew Azzi trusted her to be the one to take her apart, and put her back together again.

She soaked it all in. Pressing kisses lower, nipping gently at Azzi's ribs. She couldn't get enough of the way Azzi's muscles twitched underneath her, couldn't help flicking her tongue out and tasting sweat and heat.

Paige felt like she was starving, and Azzi was the only thing that would ever feed her.

"Paige, please." Azzi's voice cracked.

Paige lifted her head just enough to look at her. Azzi's pupils were blown wide, cheeks pink and damp with sweat. Paige's heart pounded. How was she this enamored, possessive and protective of someone so completely?

"You feel good, baby?" Paige whispered, brushing her thumb firmer against Azzi's swollen clit.

Azzi's hips bucked. "Yes," she panted, voice cracking on the word. "Please, Paige… I need to come."

Paige smiled slowly. She bent down to lick a wet stripe right up the middle of Azzi's chest, feeling Azzi shiver. "I know," she said softly. "Not yet. Hold off for me."

Azzi let out a strangled sob of frustration, her hips pushing up again, trying to force Paige's fingers in deeper and faster.

Paige felt Azzi's walls fluttered and clenched around her, so she stilled her fingers completely.

Azzi actually whined, loud and desperate, her back arched off the bed. Paige kissed her again, teeth tugging on a nipple, tongue soothing after and making Azzi writhe beneath her.

"Shhh," Paige murmured softly, trailing down Azzi's body with devastating slowness. "You can hold it."

Azzi's whole body trembled, muscle spasming under Paige's hands. Paige bit her own lip to hold back her own moan looking at her…open, ruined, beautiful.

She bent lower and kissed around Azzi's wet folds, purposely avoiding her clit. She could hear Azzi take a shaky breath, like she was grounding herself and trying to focus through the overwhelming rush building inside her, trying to hold on just a second longer.

Paige smiled against sensitive skin. "Good girl," she praised quietly, hearing Azzi's whimper in response.

She ran her tongue teasingly along the seam in response, finally flicking it against Azzi's clit in a wet, practiced swirl. Azzi actually screamed and clapped her hand over her own mouth, too late to stop it.

Paige's fingers resumed that slow push and pull and she was curling just right. Her mouth was attacking Azzi's clit with devastating precision, alternating soft sucks with relentless flicks of her tongue just like she knew would drive Azzi wild.

Azzi was babbling a mess, mumbling incoherent curses over and over again along with Paige's name.

Paige’s own hips were grinding like a reflex into the mattress, wetness slick between her thighs at the taste and smell of Azzi. She didn’t stop. She didn’t even pause when Azzi’s whole body went taut beneath her, thighs trying to clamp around Paige’s head.

Azzi's voice cracked into something raw and helpless. "I can't, baby…I can't hold it."

Paige's voice was so low, and wrecked, vibrating against Azzi's clit, "You can let go. Come for me, right now.'

Azzi shattered. Paige felt it, every clench, every stuttered breath, the loud, broken moan that spilled from Azzi's lips as her hips bucked, violently, and freely.

Paige didn’t stop licking, sucking, working her fingers in deep, tight, perfect curls even as Azzi fell apart under her mouth, sobbing her name, muscles quivering and locking.

She didn’t wait for Azzi’s body to stop shaking. Paige used that raw, vulnerable moment—while Azzi was still feeling the tail end of her orgasm, hips twitching and clenching around nothing—to roll them over once again.

Azzi gasped, breath catching in surprise. Her orgasm was still rocking through her core, as Paige maneuvered her limp body to straddle Paige's chest. Azzi blinked down at her, eyes glazed, wet, body trembling all over. But Paige didn’t give her an opportunity to breathe.

She gripped Azzi’s thighs tightly, pulling her higher without asking, guiding her forward until Azzi was hovering over her mouth.

Paige’s voice was a whisper, eyes dark and aching as they connected with Azzi’s. “C’mere,” she breathed. “I want you like this.”

Azzi's breath stopped. “It’s too much,” she whispered, voice cracking on the words.

In that moment, Paige’s eyes burned hot and full of love. “You waited 31 days,” she rasped, voice dark and full of certainty. “I know you can.”

She guided Azzi down to her mouth and began to devour her. Azzi’s cry was loud then hoarse, her hips bucking hopelessly.

Paige gripped Azzi’s thighs tighter, holding her in place as she licked and sucked, intentionally rough again, pushing Azzi past what she thought her limits were.

Azzi sobbed out Paige’s name, half plead, half curse, hands gripping Paige’s hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. Paige only groaned, the vibrations forcing Azzi to move her hips harder against Paige’s mouth.

Paige could hardly see straight. Azzi was riding her mouth like she needed it to stay alive, whimpering whenever she rolled her hips. Paige felt her own clit throb, a deep, aching pulsation she had been building for hours, days—hell, weeks.

The taste of Azzi on her tongue, the frantic little sounds slipping from her lips, the grinding of her hips, it was too fucking good and too much of everything. Paige’s whole body was covered in tension, strung tight as a bow.

She couldn’t help it. Her free hand slipped between their slick, hot bodies to rub tight, messy circles against her own clit.

She hardly even needed it. She felt like she could have come just from tasting and looking at Azzi. But the ache was too much, too insistent.

She chased her own release, even while continuing to keep her mouth locked on Azzi, devouring her with meticulous precision.

Azzi’s thighs were shaking violently on both sides of her head, nails digging into the headboard as she used it for leverage to keep from collapsing.

Paige gripped Azzi’s thighs tightly, knuckles going white from the force, both to keep her still and also to help hold herself in place as she teetered on the edge of release.

When Azzi came again, her third, raw and determined, it was so hard and fast she sent out a strangled cry, hips bucking, whole body seizing.

Paige felt the pulse ripple through her own body too, like the weight of a fuse was catching fire. She moaned against Azzi, mouth full of her, tongue pressed against her clit one last time as her own orgasm finally rushed through her body.

Azzi nearly collapsed forward from the intensity, Paige's hold being the only thing keeping her upright. They both shook, riding through wave after wave, coming down until there was simply the sound of their broken breaths and overstimulated muscles quaking.

Slowly, Paige eased her back down, letting Azzi collapse against her chest. She hugged her tight into herself, kissing the salt-warm tears away from ragged cheeks.

Paige's chest was heaving, the aftershocks of her own orgasm buzzing through her body, but all she could think about was Azzi.

"Breathe baby," she murmured into her hair, her voice wrecked. "I've got you. I'm right here. Just breathe."

Azzi could only sob as she gripped Paige like she would disappear. Paige simply held her, rubbed her back, kissed her face again and again, whispering love into the darkness of the room until she felt Azzi become settled.

Azzi smelled like sweat and sex, the sweet taste of her arousal still hanging in warmer, tender heaves in Paige's mouth, but she wouldn't have moved even if someone paid her.

"Easy," Paige murmured, voice low and hoarse from what she had just done. She pressed her nose to Azzi's hair. "Breathe with me."

Azzi sucked in a stuttering breath and let a long, shivery breath out. Paige felt the warmth of Azzi's tear-stiring face on her chest. It punched something soft and protective in her gut.

"I've got you," Paige whispered, softer still, like a promise. Her hands rubbed gentle circles between Azzi's shoulder blades, her fingers slipping over slightly damp skin. She could feel every tiny tremor, that Azzi's pulse fluttered in her neck.

Azzi didn't answer at first. She just held tighter, her fingers digging deep into Paige's sides like she was trying to fuse them together. She finally spoke, and it was so quiet Paige almost missed it.

"Can't feel my legs," Azzi mumbled, voice wrecked and hoarse but with a shaky laugh caught up in the exhaustion.

Paige snorted a laugh that broke in relief. She craned her head and pressed another soft kiss to Azzi's temple. "Pretty sure that's my fault," she said, smiling against Azzi's skin.

Azzi let out a half-sobbing half-laugh that shook them both. She twisted just enough to bury her face in the crook of Paige's neck. "Asshole," she mumbled, voice cracking.

Paige's chest ached with how much she loved her. She squeezed her even tighter, one hand drifting up to cradle the base of Azzi's head. "Yeah," she agreed, softly. "I am."

Azzi made a small, exhausted sound in her throat and moved again, trying to melt even closer to her, as if she couldn’t get enough. Paige let her, adjusting just enough to settle them comfortably into the disheveled sheets.

Silence fell around them, weighty with the shared understanding of everything that had just happened. Their breathing was slowly matching, deep and ragged, chests melded together.

Paige threaded her fingers through Azzi’s hair, combing through any knots gently, over and over until Azzi’s breathing was more even.

Paige cleared her raw throat and pressed her mouth onto the top of Azzi’s hair. “You okay?” she asked, voice low but steady.

Azzi shifted, just enough to lift her head and meet Paige’s eyes. There were glistening tears in her eyelids, lashes all clumped together. She nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah. Just... wrecked.”

Paige’s lips turned tiredly to curl softly. She brushed her thumb under Azzi’s eye, catching the tears. “Good. You deserve it.”

Azzi let out a weak laugh, breath ghosting sweetly across Paige’s already parted lips. “You fucking jerk.”

Paige smiled wider, kissing her soft and slow, knowing that they didn’t have heat left, just love. She felt Azzi's breath sigh against her mouth, her body beginning to let go of all the tension.

Eventually, they pulled away as if they weren’t separated by skin. They met by resting their foreheads together, both their eyes slipping shut. Paige kept one hand on the soft skin of Azzi's cheek, the other running gently on her back, fingers parted protectively.

“Stay here,” Paige rasped eventually. “Just like this. Don’t move.”

Azzi didn't try and argue. She nodded while still pressed into Paige’s skin, cheek against her collarbone, lashes hanging heavily. "I wasn't planning on it," she mumbled, her voice already drifting, slurring with tiredness.

Paige swallowed, pressing a careful kiss to Azzi's damp hair. She let her hand smooth slowly over Azzi's spine once, then twice, before she felt the tension in the muscles ease slightly.

Then, taking a breath, she gently eased Azzi back into the mattress and said, "Shhh. Only for a second. I'll be right back."

Azzi made a soft, incoherent sound of protest, one hand weakly pawing at Paige's wrist, as if she couldn't bear to unhand her.

But Paige just caught a hold of her fingers, squeezed them tight, and pressed them against Azzi's chest. "Two minutes," she promised roughly. "Promise."

She pushed herself upright, her shaky arms helping her up, her muscles protesting every movement, and started to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

Her stomach was a sticky, shiny mess, Azzi's wetness slicked across her abs and ribs. She didn't care, not really, but she would be damned if Azzi was going to fall asleep in it too.

Paige padded to the bathroom, flicked on the dull overhead light, and winced at the harshness of it. She ran the warm water over a washcloth, squeezing it out with her shaking fingers.

She was still coming down herself…her thighs quaked, and her own heartbeat was coursing through her whole body. She took a deep breath, made a conscious effort to center herself, and wet the cloth again.

When she returned, Azzi hadn’t moved a muscle. She was stretched out like starfish across the sheets, inhaling but not quite asleep, and blinking like she had just been told to stay awake.

Paige didn’t know why her heart twisted at seeing this tough, focused, competitive girl turned gooey for her.

"Hey," Paige whispered as she crawled back on the bed, nudging her hip softly. “Come on. Let me clean you up.”

Azzi muttered something unintelligible, but did obediently raise her hips just a bit, allowing Paige to slide the warm cloth between them. Paige explored her with caring tenderness, as if she was fragile.

Paige wiped away Azzi's thighs, her belly, every trace of their need. Azzi fluttered her lashes, and a tiny shiver swam through her, but she didn't put up a fight.

Once she was done caring for Azzi, Paige exhaled and cleaned herself up. She threw the wet cloth down, thoughtlessly, towards the floor and immediately wrapped around Azzi, pulling her into her.

"Okay," Paige sighed, burying her face into Azzi's hair. "That's better."

She stayed awake just long enough to feel Azzi’s breathing slow, even out, her entire body going loose and heavy with trust and satisfaction.

Only then did Paige let her eyes close. She pressed one last kiss to Azzi’s hair and whispered, so quiet even she could barely hear it:

“Love you so fucking much.”

Basketball would always take them to different cities, different nights, different beds. But it didn't matter. They would always find their way back to one another, as their bodies would crash into one another like inevitable pull of gravity

Soulmates.

That was what this was.

Paige clung to that thought as she drank in the warmth of Azzi, enjoying the shape of her pressed tightly into her. No matter how often they said goodbye, they would always find their way back to one another—wrapped into each other, hearts pulsing the same way in the quiet dark.

#paige bueckers #pazzi #paige and azzi #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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velarisdusk · 24 days ago

Text

The Silence You Built

Azriel x Reader

-> part 2 summary: You betrayed him once. He never let you forget it. Now you're on the same side again, bound by court politics, old grudges, and a mission that ends in blood. word count: 19,803 content: [ alcohol, arranged marriage, death, explicit language, explicit sexual content, killing in self-defense, murder, near-death experiences ] author's note: this IS a one shot i promise, but tumblr says 1000 blocks max per post so i am having to split it into two posts.....smh ANYWAY this concludes the 1k apothecary celebration!!! yay!! thank you everyone who sent in reqs and everyone who's been reading, i appreciate it immensely :") also dont focus too hard on the logistics and the ‘why’ just enjoy the ride. also also please know i wrote this exclusively between the hours of 12am – 5am oops ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a dash of blaze enhanced with echo leaves & glimmer dust whirled THANK YOU @feerique FOR THE REQUEST AAAAAAA i loved writing this one, it was really hard to get started and planning drove me insane but im really happy with how it turned out and i think you will be too mwah thank u lyla love u mwah mwah mwah

The gown was Autumn Court red—more blood than flame. Gold embroidery stitched its bodice in curling tendrils, each thread tugging tight against your ribs like a reminder: this was not your court. This was not your choice.

The formal engagement dinner was held in one of the Day Court’s lesser palaces, its golden spires catching the last light of sunset like spears. Helion had offered the venue as a gesture of neutrality—though everyone in the room knew where his loyalties leaned. Still, it was distant enough from Prythian’s eyes to serve its purpose.

Neutral. As if anything in this room could be.

You sat beside Eris Vanserra at the long obsidian table, a wine glass balanced delicately between your fingers. Eris’ fingers tapped the stem of his own glass in rhythm with the orchestra playing at the far end of the hall. Every movement he made was a performance: the amused tilt of his head, the lazy spread of his fingers on the table, the pointed glances he cast toward the Night Court’s High Lord.

Rhysand sat across from you, dressed in midnight and stars, his expression unreadable. Feyre sat to his right, offering you a nod that felt too soft, too pitying.

Cassian’s glare could have cleaved the table in two. Morrigan looked ready to break something lest she break herself. Azriel—

Azriel stood at the wall, half-shadow, half-sentry, his attention fixed anywhere but on you. His siphons glinted cold blue, and when Eris placed a hand on the back of your chair, Azriel’s eyes flicked over like a dagger drawn mid-step.

You didn’t flinch. Not outwardly.

“This is a rare thing,” Eris murmured near your ear. “A bridge forged from ash and bone.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t look at him. You sipped your wine instead, letting its sharpness anchor you. It tasted like Autumn: rich, biting, with the threat of fire.

The political maneuvering was endless. Courtiers from both courts circled like hawks, each conversation another layer of performance. The betrothal was sold as a diplomatic triumph, a union to symbolize cooperation between once-hostile courts. But everyone knew what it really was: leverage. You were leverage.

You should be used to playing a role, Rhysand’s voice murmured in your mind, smooth and quiet as silk, when you stood to excuse yourself.

You didn’t stop walking. Funny. Some people think I prefer masks.

His reply was a soft, almost regretful hum against your thoughts. But he let you go.

The hallway beyond the dining chamber was cold, narrow, carved from the bones of the mountain itself. Your footsteps echoed. And then stopped.

You weren’t alone.

“That color doesn’t suit you.”

Azriel’s voice was a blade in the dark. He leaned against the wall near the archway, arms crossed. His shadows flickered like restless smoke.

You met his gaze. “It’s tradition.”

“So is throwing yourself on the sword. Doesn’t make it noble.”

You turned away as he pushed off the wall. “Why?”

The question dropped between you like a gauntlet. You kept walking.

He caught your arm.

His hand was calloused, scarred—burns trailing up like old ghosts. You stared at him. He didn’t let go.

“You’re good at this,” he said. Voice low, rough. “I’ll give you that.”

You didn’t pull away. “And you’re good at pretending you didn’t help make me this way.”

His wings folded close, tense and coiled steel. “You don’t get to pin this on me.”

“Don’t I?”

“You didn’t even know who I was.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Wish I had. Would’ve saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.”

The silence stretched.

Then, softly, you told him:

“I didn’t ask you to take me there.”

He let go of your arm. Your skin burned where his fingers had been.

“You didn’t have to, you knew I would. You were banking on it.” He turned back toward the dining hall.

The sound of distant music bled faintly through the stone.

You straightened your spine, took in a breath of fresh air, and walked back into the fire.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hadn’t always belonged to Eris Vanserra.

Once—long before the wine-dark gown, before politics turned your spine to steel and your face to glass—you had belonged to no one. Hunted, half-starved, you’d clawed your way through frostbitten hills and timeworn protections until you reached the Night Court.

Azriel found you there.

Not in a meadow or a clearing, not wrapped in moonlight like some storybook waif. You were curled between the roots of an old spruce tree, blood smeared down your arm, one boot missing, breathing shallow. Your lips were cracked from the cold. You flinched from the light glinting off of his siphons.

He watched you for a long moment, unreadable. Shadows coiled around him like wary dogs, uncertain whether to snarl or protect.

He should have left you.

You were nothing. No scent he recognized. No Court colors. No identifying insignia, not even in the lining of your tattered cloak. Just the ragged, wild-eyed tremble of someone who had fled through hell and hadn’t yet realized they’d made it out.

He crouched beside you, unreadable.

Your eyes fluttered open. Glanced at the midnight sky. Then at him. And you whispered, hoarse and cracked:

“Please… Please, don’t take me back. I can’t go back. They’ll find me.”

Azriel said nothing.

“Please.”

You reached for him. Your fingers barely touched his leathers before falling away, but it was enough.

He didn’t know who they were. But your terror wasn’t fake. And he’d seen enough in his life to recognize when someone had been hunted.

So instead of doing the sensible thing and alerting Rhysand, instead of dragging you to the River House, he took you somewhere else.

To the only place no sunlight touched.

The Hewn City was not merciful, but then again, neither were you.

Once your wounds healed—slowly, under Azriel’s careful regulation and disapproval—you didn’t waste time asking why he’d helped you.

You didn’t ask when he would send you back. Only if.

The others living underneath that godsforsaken mountain watched you with thinly veiled hunger. Curiosity. Disdain.

But they didn’t touch you. Because the shadowsinger had brought you.

He visited irregularly, always from the shadows. Spoke in clipped sentences. Never stayed long.

But you remembered the first time you asked him a question:

“Who do they think I am?”

He didn’t answer. Not really.

“They think what you let them.”

And you—feral thing that you were—learned to adapt, to survive, to become something they wouldn’t dare touch. You sharpened your tongue, practiced stillness. Learned the power in saying nothing at all.

You danced with courtiers and whispered truths like poison into the right ears. You clawed your way into the inner circle—not a power, not a threat, but a presence. One Keir allowed to linger in the background of his court. You played the game.

And Azriel—he watched it happen over the years. His visits grew colder. Shorter.

Eventually, you spoke.

Eventually, you smiled. Not kindly. Not ever.

You never told him what you were running from. But you told him what you remembered. You told him how pain nests in bone. How fear rewires the mind. How cruelty speaks in lullabies and lessons and leashes.

And he listened.

Azriel, who said almost nothing and felt far too much, who watched the world like it owed him blood—he listened to you.

Maybe that’s when it started.

Maybe that’s when everything went wrong.

Because what bloomed in that darkness wasn’t love. It was need. Mutual. Messy. Ugly.

The way he stared too long when you called him by name. The way you touched his shoulder when he turned to go. The way you both let silence stretch, like it could hold something sacred. You never kissed, never undressed, never asked. But the knowing was there.

Just not the kind that offered answers. Whether you were a loose end or a long play. A liability or a choice he still regretted making. And you never asked Azriel why he’d left you there. Maybe it was mercy. Maybe it was a mistake.

When the supply caravans came—laden with wine and medicinal tinctures—you learned when to disappear.

Ten minutes at most. Ten minutes in the trees before your absence became suspicious.

Your contact never told you who they worked for. You didn’t ask. You only knew what they wanted: names, movements, conversations. Details of the Night Court’s power. Of Rhysand’s visits. Of Keir’s ambitions.

You only needed ten minutes.

But you took eleven.

By the time you returned, heart still hammering from the sprint through wet leaves and root-tangled earth, the caravan wagons were already groaning back through the canyon mouth, the mountain and wards closing behind them with a sound like bones grinding beneath the earth.

You froze just beyond the treeline, caked in soil and sweat, your lungs clawing for air. Too far to be seen—but close enough to know you’d been shut out.

The Hewn City would take your absence as treason. Keir would make a spectacle of your punishment and subsequent execution. And there was no one left to cover for you. Not after what you’d just done.

So you ran.

Not south, not toward the border—the patrols were tighter there. You knew that from the meetings you’d sat in on. You went deeper.

Past the wild rivers and night-blooming groves, past the reach of mapped terrain. You ran until your boots bled, until the cold sank into your marrow and every cracked branch sounded like pursuit.

You slept in tree hollows and between boulders. You drank from puddles that tasted like rot.

And when the shadows came, you thought they were phantoms of your own exhaustion.

Until they weren’t.

You woke the next morning to the smell of smoke—low and bitter, like burnt pine—and the press of a blade at your throat.

He didn’t speak, not at first.

Just knelt in front of you in the snow, his wings half-furled, the morning mist clinging to him like armor.

Azriel.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t beg.

You only looked at him and said, hoarse and raw, “It’s too late.”

Something flickered in his face—recognition, maybe. Or fury. But the knife withdrew.

You wouldn’t learn until much later that Rhysand had spoken to him in that way only he can. That Rhysand had ordered him not to touch you. That the information you’d shared had quickly gotten people killed.

Azriel’s eyes bore into yours, and he said, low and quiet, “Get up.”

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t flinch when his shadows slithered closer, cold and damp against your skin. You only rose—slow, unsteady—and followed him in silence through the forest, their chill coiling tight around your limbs like shackles half-formed from smoke.

The journey back took less than an hour. You’d wandered in a panic, looped in circles, maybe. Or maybe he’d known exactly where to find you all along.

The mountain loomed, silent and cavernous, its sealed threshold parting at his approach.

You didn’t expect a warm welcome, but you also didn’t expect that.

No words. No accusations. Not even from Morrigan, who looked at you like she’d seen a ghost and then walked away.

Rhysand only looked at you once, cool and unreadable, before nodding to two guards.

“Solitary,” he said. “She doesn’t speak to anyone.”

Azriel stepped forward, grip on you tight as ever. “She killed—”

“That’s an order.”

A pause. Heavy, cutting. Azriel didn’t look at you, but the air around him felt as dark as the blade he hadn’t put down since he found you.

They locked you in the farthest cell in the lower wards. No torchlight. No contact. You weren’t even questioned.

Time frayed. Days unspooled into weeks, into months—into something that stopped mattering.

They gave you food, barely. No one spoke. No one came—until Rhysand had.

Not until the bruises healed. Not until your nails grew back, after splitting down to the quick. Not until your voice recovered from the croak it became through night after night spent screaming. Not until that croak became one from disuse.

Then he appeared one night, without warning. No guards. Just him and that damned velvet darkness curling behind his shoulders.

“Interesting,” he said, surveying your wrecked form. “I expected you to break.”

You didn’t answer. What would’ve been the point?

He stood outside the bars, hands folded behind his back like this was a court meeting, not a prison cell.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said lightly. “You’re going to tell me what you know. I’m not asking for everything. Just enough. And in return… you get out.”

Still, you said nothing.

You knew how this worked.

“A room. Food. Warm clothes. And your life.” A smile, thin and sharp. “For now.”

Your voice was raw when you spoke.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Don’t you?” Rhysand disappeared into the curling darkness, which slithered through bars of your cell. Slowly, he reappeared in front of you, crouched down on a knee. “I kept my spymaster from breaking your legs. Worse, likely, considering that your choices that night cost the lives of some good males.”

You laughed—a rasping, broken sound you hadn’t made in quite some time. “He wouldn’t.”

Rhysand only looked at you.

And that’s when you realized that, yes, he absolutely would have.

You’d stolen something from him. From all of them.

“You’ll work for me,” Rhysand said. “Not openly. Not as part of the court. But I’ll call on you when I need eyes where mine can’t go.”

His gaze raked over you, assessing.

“You’re good at slipping between cracks. I need someone no one will recognize. You’re already halfway gone.”

“And if I say no?”

Rhysand’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Then Azriel gets what he’s been waiting for these last eight years.”

Rhysand was true to his word.

He found you a cabin tucked so deep in the mountains you sometimes wondered if even he could find it again. It sat nestled among wind-bent pines and snow-worn strone, far from any road or trail. There was no village nearby. No neighbors. Just the howl of wind across slate and the hush of drifting snow.

You kept to yourself. Hunted, grew what little you could. Rhysand sent care packages every week—always enough food, always quietly extravagant in the details. Wine from Velaris. Salted meats. Books, when you dared to read again. New boots when your old ones began to tear.

It should’ve felt like exile. But after the lower wards, the sounds of nature were a mercy. The solitude, once sharp and echoing, dulled into stillness. Predictable. Painless. Better than stone walls and screaming. Better than the dark. And in time, it became something close to peace.

You didn’t speak aloud for months. Didn’t hear your name for longer.

It was years before you were called on again.

Not often. Not publicly.

A coded letter. A knock at your door. A job that looked nothing like a job. Just names. Observations. A slip of information overheard in the right alley. Those were the only times you ventured into the city, Velaris, he’d called it.

Azriel didn’t come to see you. Didn’t speak to you at the odd meeting you attended. But you felt him watching—when Rhysand spoke your name in strategy sessions, when your intel proved true, when the court called the job finished and Azriel still tracked the trail for weeks after.

The resentment simmered. Not just for what you’d done, but for the fact that Rhysand had chosen you again.

Rhysand trusted you with the cracks Azriel couldn’t squeeze through, though his shadows were entirely capable.

And Azriel—Azriel—who bled and killed and fought for the court, had to listen to his brother say:

“She gets results.”

He didn’t speak to you, but once—months after your first assignment ended, after you’d ghosted through the Palace of Bone and Salt and returned with names Rhysand hadn’t even asked for—Azriel passed you in the hall.

His voice was quiet.

“You think this makes you loyal?”

You didn’t look at him. And you didn’t answer.

Because even now—especially now—you still don’t know what he wants from you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The hall hummed with low conversation, the scrape of fine dresses and sharp-edged laughter weaving between sips of wine and clinking glasses. You settled back into your seat, eyes trained on the flickering candlelight, the firelight playing across the obsidian surface of the table.

Eris’ smile was slow, sharp, predatory as he caught your slight hesitation before you sat. He leaned close, voice dripping with poison and amusement.

“So, you returned,” he said, eyes flicking toward Azriel, who remained unmoving at the wall. “I was beginning to worry that another of Rhysand’s Illyrian brutes had soiled my bride-to-be yet again.” His gaze landed deliberately on Morrigan across the table, who met it with a single, elegant middle finger—graceful somehow.

The room’s atmosphere crackled, but no one dared speak the unspoken tension aloud.

“I must admit, I’m surprised,” Eris continued, voice quieter but no less venomous. “The Night Court’s High Lord, lending you to the Autumn Court’s cause.”

Cassian’s jaw clenched, Morrigan’s fingers curled, Feyre’s eyes flickered with unease. Even Rhysand’s mask of calm showed the faintest tightness.

Eris’ smile curved cruelly. “But I’m confident you’ll adapt. The Autumn Court has its own ways of… refining wild things. Turning them into something more palatable. With enough time, even embers learn to behave.”

You caught Rhysand’s gaze across the table then—a cold, steady lock of eyes that spoke volumes in silence. No words, no commands, just the faintest warning wrapped in concern: Hold steady.

You met his eyes and held them.

Cassian’s glare shifted to Eris, then back to you, his silent fury almost tangible. Morrigan’s hand tightened on her glass, her voice cool when she finally spoke. “Funny—males always think that. Right before they learn the hard way.”

Feyre’s nod was subtle but firm. “She’s not a pawn to be moved.”

Eris’ smirk faltered for a heartbeat, but he recovered quickly. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

The music swelled, a haunting melody threading through the tension as the night stretched onward. The players in this deadly game were all here, watching, waiting.

And you were no longer invisible.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Back at the River House the next day, the afternoon light shone through the tall windows of his office. The heavy curtains had been drawn back, but the chill in the air hadn’t lessened. Your head still buzzed from last night’s poisoned words and veiled threats, but the game had only just begun.

Rhysand stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the sun’s beams reflect off the Sidra. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was firm but tinged with something like frustration.

“They’re insistent,” he said quietly. “No flights. No winnowing. You have to walk the entire way to Autumn. It’s their condition. Their way of testing you—or breaking you.”

You didn’t say anything. You’d expected nothing less.

He gestured toward the door, and before you could ask, Azriel stepped through. His presence was a silent storm, all tightly coiled muscles and simmering resentment.

“I’m sending him with you,” Rhysand said, voice low but steady. “Azriel will escort you. Keep you safe—or keep you in line.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Azriel’s eyes met yours—sharp, cold.

Rhysand looked back at you, just for a moment.

“Did you neglect to tell your hound you were sending him out?”

The insult earned you a look. “It wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”

That much was true. You had to bite back a laugh at Azriel’s reaction.

“This isn’t how any of us wanted this to go,” he continued. “But it’s how it has to be.”

You held his gaze, unflinching.

“You leave in two weeks,” he finished.

And you did.

When he knocked on your cabin door the morning of the trek, you were already dressed, a worn pack slung over your shoulder, supplies carefully arranged inside. Azriel stood beside him, silent and still as ever, shadows coiling faintly as his boots like restless hounds. He didn’t speak, didn’t so much as glance your way. Just waited. The moment you stepped out and took his arm, Rhysand’s magic curled around the three of you like a shadowed cloak as the world blurred and twisted beneath your feet. In a blink, the moss-soft earth and pine-thick air of your cabin vanished—replaced by a quiet stretch of open land where the sky hung in a swirl of eternal dusk, smeared with the last blues of night and the first golds of day.

You landed silently, boots pressing into damp, moss-softened earth. Azriel’s shadow flickered beside you, his wings half-furled, muscles taut and ready. The only sounds were the distant call of night-birds and the whisper of the wind threading through ancient trees.

Rhysand exhaled softly, the sky casting lavender shadows across his face. “This is where I leave you,” he said, not without gentleness. “There are wards along the path—through Day, at least—ones keyed to Az’s magic. They’ll know you. They’ll protect you.”

You glanced between them. “And after that?”

Rhysand’s mouth quirked. “Then you’re on your own.”

You tilted your head. “Comforting.”

For a moment, none of you moved. Then Rhysand stepped forward, adjusted the strap of your pack on your shoulder with a care that surprised you. “Try not to insult anyone too important.”

“I’ll do my best,” you said dryly.

Azriel’s eyes locked on yours, sharp as ever. There was no warmth in them—only duty, and something like disdain.

The pop of Rhysand’s departure left a vacuum behind. The silence he’d abandoned was heavy, taut as a wire. You stood still for a moment, letting it settle—letting the full weight of what lay ahead press against your ribs.

Azriel adjusted the strap of his leathers. Already turning south. Already done with this.

You followed. Of course you did.

For the first mile, there was only the sound of boots over grass, the hush of wind combing through heavy, green-drenched branches. The sun filtered in patches—honeyed and slanting, more glow than heat. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you, didn’t so much as glance to make sure you were keeping up.

So you tried, after another stretch of silence. Tried to breach the tension, if only to feel less like a prisoner being marched to the gallows.

“You miss them yet?” you asked lightly. “Your shadows.” Only one seemed to brave the sun today, creeping along behind him like it wasn’t sure it belonged here..

He didn’t slow. “No.”

“They miss you.”

“They’ll survive.”

You bit your lip, eyes narrowing. “Right. Because you’re known for your warm and chatty companionship.”

He stopped.

Just—stopped, so abruptly that you nearly collided into him.

Azriel turned, and when his eyes met yours, they were razor-edged. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” you shot back, heat licking your voice now. “Forgive me for trying to make this a little less miserable for the both of us.”

“I don’t care if you’re miserable.” His voice was low, steady. “I’m walking you to the Autumn Court. That’s it. That’s all.”

You stared at him. At the steel in his posture, the flatness in his tone. The calculation in every breath.

“Fine. Got it.”

He turned away again, already moving.

“And if the Mother loves me,” he said without looking back, “Eris will kill you before we make it to his gates so I don’t have to.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you—but the cruelty of it landed like a blade you’d half expected and still failed to dodge.

You made it twenty miles that day, and your boots started to betray you. The pain had crept in slowly, like rot in damp wood, until every step throbbed with heat and raw friction. Azriel hadn’t looked back once. Not when you stumbled. Not when you bit back a wince. Not when you trailed behind, your pride dragging like a second shadow.

By the time the sun dipped low, painting one of the many white-stoned Day Court cities in amber and rose, you’d stopped feeling your legs entirely. Just numbness and grit and the slow, cold curl of resentment in your chest.

Azriel said nothing as he strode through the open gate. He didn’t ask for your opinion when he slipped the innkeeper a silver mark or when he took the single brass key and climbed the stairs ahead of you.

You expected him to disappear into the room and slam the door behind him, leaving you to find your own bed of hay and splinters. But instead, he opened the door. Waited. Let you step inside first.

It was a modest room, clean and plain, with sun-washed curtains and a washbasin in the corner. And one bed. Just one.

You stared at it. Then at him.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t frown. Just crossed his arms and said flatly, “I’ll go back and ask. You sleep there.” He nodded to the bed, then glanced toward the door like he already wanted to be through it. “Alone.”

“Oh, thank the Cauldron,” you muttered. “For a second, I thought you might make me sleep on the floor out of spite.”

Azriel didn’t blink. “Tempting.” Then he turned and left.

No slam. No hiss of shadows. Just the quiet click of the door.

You dug through your pack in silence, unwrapping a strip of dried meat and forcing down a few mouthfuls. It tasted like ash. Like the inside of your cheek, bitten raw

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Absolutely not.”

“Azriel, come on–”

“Don’t–”

“It makes sense and you know it.”

“The hell I do!”

“We’d be halfway through Dawn by now!” you snapped, gesturing at the empty horizon like the open fields could argue for you. “We’ve been walking for four hours, my feet are shredded, and we’re wasting time because you’ve got some sort of martyr complex about actually walking the whole fucking way.”

His jaw clenched so tightly you heard the grind of his molars.

“It would get me out of your hair faster.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you bit out, stepping closer, bracing. “If we keep this pace, I’ll make it to Autumn in pieces. Only one of us is a trained soldier here, and it obviously isn’t me. So unless you want to hand me over half-dead, grow up and fly us.”

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him. A warning. His shadows snapped tighter around his shoulders, jittering like they weren’t sure if they should’ve joined him today.

You waited, chest heaving, sweat stinging your eyes as you stared him down.

Finally, he exhaled. It was a sound scraped from stone.

“Put your bag across your front,” he said, voice low and deadly calm. “Strap it tight.”

You did, fingers fumbling with the buckle, half-expecting him to change his mind. When you looked up again, his face was unreadable. Detached. Like this wasn’t happening to him.

He stepped toward you.

Then, without a word, he scooped you into his arms—fast, efficient, like hoisting a sack of grain. His hands were careful, impersonal. One under your knees, the other braced around your back, calloused fingers and scarred skin brushing your clothes like even that contact cost him. He avoided your skin like it might burn him.

You felt the tension in him, coiled and precise. Every muscle held in check. Like carrying you required more restraint than violence ever had.

“Don’t move,” he said tightly.

You didn’t dare.

And then the world dropped out from under you.

Air roared in your ears, whipping past in cold, sharp streams as Azriel launched into the sky. His wings beat with ruthless efficiency, each stroke sending you higher, faster, away from the dirt and blistered miles.

It was silent—except for the wind. Too loud for talking. Too much movement, too many things to hold onto. You didn’t dare wrap your arms around him, so you gripped the strap of your bag instead, knuckles bone-white as you pressed back against the unyielding wall of his chest.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t glance down, didn’t speak.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the cold or the quiet.

The view was stunning. It was always stunning—the Day Court’s golden sprawl stretching out beneath you like scattered coins, gilded trees and glinting rooftops, rivers catching the sun and throwing it back tenfold. You might’ve said something about it. Once. A lifetime ago.

You kept your eyes on the horizon, not his arms, not the steady rhythm of his breathing or the strength beneath you. Pretending it was nothing. That this was nothing. That you weren’t half-curled against someone who hated you, who had no obligation to carry your weight.

And still he had.

You hadn’t seen him come out of any room at the inn, hadn’t heard him come back in, hadn’t heard a word. Had he slept outside? In silence with shadows for company?

You told yourself you didn’t care.

You told yourself a lot of things these days.

Still, after the first hour—when your pulse had steadied and your heart had stopped mistaking his proximity for threat—you tried.

“Your shadows are probably jealous,” you said, tilting your head toward his shoulder. “They’re missing all the fun.”

It wasn’t a great joke. You hadn’t really meant it to be. Just something to fill the air between you, something that might loosen the steel in his spine.

It didn’t.

Azriel’s jaw ticked. His eyes remained locked on the horizon.

“They’ll survive.”

You swallowed the next line. Let it dissolve on your tongue.

Right.

You didn’t say another word for the rest of the flight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“We’re stopping?”

Azriel didn’t respond right away. He landed hard, wings flaring wide to keep from toppling as he set you down on your feet.

“We’re walking from here.”

“Why?” You adjusted your bag, breath catching as you turned in a slow circle, realizing: the terrain ahead was…wrong. The trees grew in twisting patterns, roots curling over one another like veins. The sky was still blue, but the light felt off—too gold, too late, like sunset bled in where it didn't belong. And silent. Too silent.

He exhaled through his nose, gaze sweeping the horizon. “This is The Middle. It doesn’t answer to any court. Not even Rhys.”

“So?”

“So, there are wards. Old ones. Things that twist magic, turn wings to lead if it feels like, scramble your senses if you fly too high. Winnowing’s out of the question, too. You could end up inside a tree.”

A beat passed. Then, quieter: “We fly over it, we die in it. We walk.”

“That seems excessive.”

“The Middle doesn’t care what seems excessive.” He finally looked at you then, eyes shadow-slick and unreadable. “It isn’t a forest. It’s a graveyard that hasn’t made up its mind yet.”

You swallowed. “And we’re walking into that?”

“Unless you want to turn around.”

You held his gaze for a beat longer than you usually could. “No.”

He nodded once. “Then stay close. No firelight. No loud voices. No touching anything that doesn’t want to be touched.”

“Sounds like traveling with you.”

Azriel didn’t smile. But his shoulders loosened by a hair’s breadth.

The ground was damp beneath your boots. Not muddy, not wet—just… damp. Like the earth hadn’t dried in centuries, like the land breathed out mist and rot and kept it curled close to the ground.

The Middle didn’t look like much. Not yet. A thick belt of trees, mountains, a breeze that didn’t match the direction of the clouds. But you could feel it in your chest, like a second pulse that didn’t belong to you. A watcher. An echo. A something.

You adjusted your bag straps quietly.

Azriel walked ahead, wings tucked tight, blades visible but quiet at his sides. His steps were nearly soundless. The only real noise came from your own boots snapping thin twigs, crushing brittle pine needles.

The trees grew stranger as you went. Bark in shades you didn’t have names for. A vine that shimmered like glass. A rock shaped exactly like a skull, and not old.

Azriel murmured, almost like he couldn’t stop himself, “Middle doesn’t care what side you’re on. Doesn’t care about courts or bloodlines. You enter, you play by its rules. Or it eats you.”

You swallowed, forcing your voice low. “You’ve been through it before?”

He nodded once.

“Alone?”

A pause. Then: “That was the first mistake.”

You didn’t ask for the rest. You wouldn’t get it anyway.

The quiet stretched again. But it wasn’t awkward now. Not quite. Just careful. Measured, like even your thoughts ought to walk in single file.

Eventually, you said—more breath than sound—

“You always like this when you travel with people?”

Azriel didn’t stop walking. “I don’t usually travel with people.”

You snorted, barely. “Lucky me.”

But he did glance at you then. Brief, unreadable.

“You’re not dead yet,” he said.

You smiled, but you didn’t feel smug about it.

A wind passed through the trees, colder than it should’ve been.

Azriel slowed slightly, motioning for you to walk closer to his side.

“Stay where I can grab you,” he muttered.

You didn’t have to be told twice.

And for a moment, just one, you thought you heard something breathing beneath the roots.

You shook it off.

It was probably just—

A rustle to your left.

You stilled.

Azriel kept walking.

Then—snap. A crunch, low to the ground. Fast.

You turned your head—

—and screamed.

It launched out of the underbrush like a dart—small, fast, furred but wrong, too many teeth in the wrong places. You stumbled back just as it leapt for your throat—

Steel caught it mid-air.

Azriel’s blade punched straight through its gut, pinning it to the moss-covered tree behind you with a sickening thud.

It gave one final spasm before going still.

You were breathing hard. Chest heaving. Hands half-raised in disbelief.

Azriel didn’t look at you.

He just withdrew the blade, and the thing’s corpse hit the ground with a wet, final thunk. He shook off the blood, and wiped it on a cloth from his belt. “Don’t scream,” he said evenly.

Your voice came out shaky. “It had teeth.”

“Everything here has teeth.”

You exhaled, still rattled, and brushed yourself off. You’d fallen back after your stumble. There were pine needles stuck to your pants, a smudge of dirt on your sleeve, something on your hand. Sticky. Unidentified. Fantastic.

And just as you stood, Azriel reached over—without ceremony, without pause—and plucked two curled leaves from your hair.

His fingers were quick, impersonal. Like swiping lint from a jacket.

Then he turned and kept walking.

“Stay close,” he said again.

Not unkind. Not sharp. Just… matter-of-fact.

You caught up with him, still glancing back at the gnarled corpse slumped against the bark.

“What was that?” you asked, trying to sound more annoyed than embarrassed. You weren’t sure it worked.

Azriel didn’t glance your way. “Spinecrawler.”

You blinked. “Spinecrawler?”

“They like damp places. Dead things. Roots. Small birds, if they’re lucky.”

“That thing went for my throat.”

Now he looked at you—just a flick of his eyes, unreadable.

“They’re territorial,” he said. “But mostly harmless. They bluff a lot.”

You stared at him, still catching your breath. “You’re saying that was a bluff.”

Azriel’s mouth quirked.

“I’ve seen people take a dagger to the ribs without making that much noise,” he said mildly.

You bristled. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

His eyes returned to the path ahead, voice dry. “Clearly.”

You let out a breath—half a huff, half a laugh. “Asshole.”

But your voice wasn’t sharp, and for the first time in days, you weren’t just tired.

He didn’t smile, but the silence that followed the next few minutes felt easier.

Quieter, in a different way.

You were about to ask how much farther when Azriel’s head snapped up.

He stilled—completely. Like a statue dropped mid-stride.

You stopped, too, one foot half-raised. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer.

Shadows curled off him like smoke.

“Run.”

The word was low. Sharp. Laced with command.

But you didn’t have time to obey.

A crimson-cloaked figure burst from the trees ahead—no warning, no sound. Just motion and steel and the glint of an Autumn crest burned into battered armor.

He lunged for you. Azriel was already moving.

Steel met steel with a clash that rattled your bones. Azriel intercepted the blow mid-swing, blade sparking off blade. He shoved the attacker back with brutal force—but more were coming.

Dozens.

Had Eris really…?

They stepped out from the trees like ghosts—nobles and guards and hardened veterans, their armor weathered, their eyes painted red.

“They knew,” Azriel murmured, voice taut with fury. “They planned this.”

He reached for your arm. “We’re getting out—”

But two charged from behind before he could finish. You ducked instinctively—barely in time. Azriel whirled, one blade striking true, the other arm flung wide.

Light burst forth from his palm.

It wasn’t a beam so much as a line of obliteration.

The Autumn male behind you never screamed. The blast tore straight through him, then through the tree beyond—splintering bark, igniting rot, reducing it all to a searing smear of flame.

Your ears rang, the males that had been closing in on you both faltered.

Azriel didn’t hesitate. “Stay down!” he snapped, already stepping over the body to meet the next two.

You scrambled behind a tree—useless, stupid, too slow.

He was everywhere at once. Blades flashing, siphons flaring. A line of blue-white power burned a semicircle into the earth. One attacker caught in it crumpled with a smoking hole punched through his chest.

You’d never seen anyone fight like this… Without restraint.

There was something brutal about him like this—elemental.

Every movement was exact. Each strike landed with purpose, never wasted.

And the way his shadows moved with him—rising like a storm, lashing out where he could not reach fast enough—it was like watching a god descend.

Not just a warrior.

Not just a male.

Something more.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until your eyes flicked to the next soldier—another Autumn male, burnt red cloak trailing, sword glinting. And another. And another.

Why?

You blinked hard.

Why was this happening?

You had helped Autumn. Years ago. You’d betrayed the Night Court for them. Risked your life to smuggle out intel to one of Eris’ contacts—given him the chance he needed. So why now? Why send soldiers after you like an enemy? Why—

A war cry split the air.

You spun just in time to see a male charging straight for you.

Eyes wild. Mouth twisted in rage.

His blade was raised and ready.

“For Beron!” he screamed.

… Beron?

You barely had time to gasp.

“Az—!”

The name tore from your throat as you stumbled back.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the male, couldn’t even think.

You flinched. Squeezed your eyes shut. Braced for pain. For steel.

But it didn’t come.

Instead—an arm wrapped tight around you, hauling you back.

And then the world split.

Not in light. Not in color.

In shadow.

You felt it like cold water crashing through your lungs, like being dropped into an abyss with no bottom.

But something was wrong.

This wasn’t how it had felt before. This was ripping.

Like being caught.

The grip on your waist vanished.

You landed hard—slammed into wet ground that stank of rot. And everything went dark.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He felt it the moment she slipped.

One heartbeat she was pressed to his side—warm, solid, if a bit shaky.

The next, she was gone.

Yanked sideways by the wards’ interference—by something other.

“NO—”

The snarl ripped from his chest as he twisted, shadows shrieking out of him in all directions.

But he couldn’t find her. Couldn’t feel her.

The trees screamed with light. His siphons flared uncontrolled.

Strong hands grabbed his arm—he threw them to the ground without looking.

Where was she?

Azriel hit the ground hard.

Shoulder-first. Mud splashed, cold and reeking of rot and old blood. The impact jarred up his spine, but he was already moving—already pushing to his feet, scanning.

No sound. No scent.

No (y/n).

His shadows whipped out like hounds, searching. Useless.

He turned in a slow circle.

Trees—twisted and wrong, their bark slick like bone marrow.

His jaw clenched. He inhaled once—deep, steadying. Then again, sharper. Shallower.

“… (Y/n),” he said. Low. Controlled. As if quiet might anchor reality. Might make her answer.

Nothing.

He started walking.

Then striding.

Then running.

Shadow after shadow shot out like flares—searching, reporting back with nothing but silence.

He winnowed once. Twice. The magic resisted like thick oil. The third time, he nearly retched. But still—he moved. Kept moving. Branches tore at his wings. His leathers. His face.

He called out again—louder this time, but still composed. Still hoping.

“(Y/N)!”

Still no answer.

His pace broke. He stopped. Listened.

Then louder—harder—because she should’ve answered by now.

“(Y/N)!”

Still nothing.

His breath was ragged now.

He turned in place again. Something in him—the part that always found people, that always knew—was blank.

“(Y/N)!”

The cry cracked out of him like thunder.

It echoed. Nothing answered.

“Fuck!”

His fist shot toward the nearest tree, stopping inches short. He ground his teeth, the bark rough against his skin. Restraint tasted like fire, but he held back. And started running again.

Before he knew it, the sun was low, skimming orange against the horizon, bleeding rust through the trees.

He’d looped the same stretch of forest three times. Four. He didn’t know anymore.

The woods in the Middle didn’t repeat themselves, not truly, but they liked to pretend they did. Trees where they hadn’t been. Paths where there were none. Tracks gone the moment he turned his back.

Still no trace.

No sound. No voice.

Just trees. Just silence.

His jaw clenched hard enough to crack.

He was supposed to find people.

Even when no one else could. Especially then.

So where the fuck was she?

His heart slammed harder with every step. It had been hours. Too long.

Too quiet.

The shadows whispering around him had gone feral.

They knew something was wrong. They hissed through the trees like blades, fanned wide and searching, searching—coming up empty.

And now, despite himself, despite everything—

He was planning how he’d say it.

What he’d tell Rhys.

“I lost her.”

“I lost her, I—fuck, I don’t know how—”

“No, it wasn’t on purpose, I swear it wasn’t—”

Because Rhysand would ask.

And he couldn’t answer.

He didn’t have an answer.

Just the rising certainty that something had taken her.

That she was gone.

That it was his fault.

His chest constricted. The air burned in his lungs.

She’d called him a hound. She wasn’t wrong.

But even hounds couldn’t track ghosts.

And gods, that’s what it felt like.

Like she was gone. Not just missing—gone.

No… Not dead. He would’ve known.

Wouldn’t he?

His pace stuttered. His vision blurred.

He turned in place again, dragging a hand through his hair, panting.

Nothing.

Still—nothing.

And then—

A flash of red.

Caught on a thorn, barely fluttering in the still air.

He went utterly still.

His shadows surged ahead like an extension of his panic—rippling down the path.

Blood.

Not much. Just a few dried flecks, but it was her.

He knew it was her.

And something inside him snapped.

“(Y/N)!”

He surged forward, feet pounding against the leaf-strewn earth. The forest seemed to close in around him, thorns clawing at his skin, roots threatening to trip him, but he refused to slow. Every instinct screamed that she was near.

“(Y/N)! FUCKING SAY SOMETHING! PLEASE!”

Nothing.

He nearly tore the forest apart.

Branches slapped across his face, brambles tore at his leathers, but he didn’t feel any of it. He sprinted now, wild and unthinking, shadows streaming ahead like black fire.

Then—

Then he saw her.

Crushed low in the underbrush. Barely there. Half-buried in leaves, tangled in thorns.

Still.

Too still.

A sound tore from his chest—raw, ragged, animal—and he was on his knees before he knew he’d fallen.

She was pale—so pale. Not dead. Not dead. Please, not dead.

He pressed his fingers to her neck.

Not dead.

He touched her shoulder—shaking, adrenaline surging—then dragged her against his heaving chest, like that might steady him.

His hands fisted in her torn shirt, arms wrapped so tightly around her body it could’ve broken them both.

And then he buried his face in her hair.

Not a word.

Not a breath.

Just that.

He inhaled like he’d been drowning. Like her scent might drag him to shore.

His mouth found her temple. His nose pressed to her scalp. His grip didn’t ease.

Not even when she stirred with a weak sound—a wince, a gasp, a breath that might’ve been his name.

Still, he said nothing.

He just held on.

And she—

She didn’t push him away.

She cried.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to die alone, Azriel,” she whispered, voice thin and frayed.

“You’re not going to die,” he said, voice rough—not detached, not controlled, but strained. Like the truth of it had to shove its way past the fear choking him.

Her fingers twitched near his chest.

“Didn’t…” A sob cracked through her. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Shh…” He cradled her closer. “Shh, you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here.”

His shadows curled protectively around them both, as if even they couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

And though the forest still loomed—dark, ancient, watching—Azriel only held her tighter.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You awoke to warmth you didn’t feel.

A thick quilt weighed down on your chest. Another was tucked tight around your legs. The mattress beneath you felt too soft to be real, and still—

Still, you were cold.

Your body ached. Your skin felt like it didn’t quite fit right. Your mouth tasted like blood and dirt and something older. You didn’t want to think about it.

You turned your head very slowly, every joint protesting. A dim room came into view—four walls, a low-burning hearth, a wooden chair—

Azriel.

Slumped in it like a male who hadn’t meant to fall asleep, one wing draped awkwardly over the side, the other crammed too tight between the chair and the wall. His arms were folded across his chest, shadows curled lazily around his boots. His head tilted just enough to bare the sharp line of his throat.

He looked… peaceful.

Not serene. Not soft. But stripped of something.

That cold, impenetrable sternness he wore like armor was gone in sleep, carved away by exhaustion.

He looked—

Gods, he looked almost boyish.

You let your eyes wander. The scarred hands. The long legs splayed out in a graceless sprawl. The rise and fall of his chest. And his eyes—

They were open.

Piercing. Alert. Fixed on you.

You flinched so hard you nearly knocked one of the blankets off the bed.

Azriel didn’t move.

His eyes stayed on you, unreadable in the firelight, and for a long moment the silence pressed in—so thick it felt like it might snap in two.

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat.

“Where… are we?”

His voice was low, rough with sleep or something heavier. “Healing center. Small one. Winter Court.”

Winter.

You blinked, tried to sit up—and failed. Your body gave a single trembling protest before settling back into the mattress.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough that the firelight brushed the edge of his face. “You passed out. I carried you out of the Middle during the night.” A pause. “You were freezing. As soon as we hit the border, I flew.”

You stared at him. His hands, resting on his knees. The faint soot-stain along the side of his jaw.

“I had to fly low,” he murmured. “You were so cold. Shaking in your sleep.”

Another pause.

“Had to cross the mountain range.”

Your brows pulled together. “You—flew over a mountain range in Winter? Are you alright?”

His mouth twisted slightly. Not a smile. Something tired.

“I found this town on the other side. Got lucky—they have a healer. She’s the one who patched you up.”

He didn’t add how long he must’ve flown. Or how hard it must’ve been, carrying your weight, flying in the cold, his wings nearly giving out.

But it was there. In his voice. In the look he gave you.

In the way his wings still hadn’t settled.

You didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to hold the weight of what he’d done.

“You flew over a mountain range,” you repeated softly. As if saying it again might make it make sense. Might ground you in the warmth of this unfamiliar bed, these too-many blankets, his unreadable stare.

Azriel only inclined his head. As if it had been nothing. And maybe for an Illyrian it was. As if he hadn't been pressing your frostbitten skin to his chest for miles of snowy sky.

You looked at him, really looked at him.

There was a tightness around his eyes he hadn’t had before. The circles beneath them were bruised-dark. His leathers were still streaked with dirt, his hands scraped, one of them bandaged at the knuckles.

“You saved my life,” you said. Voice raw. Disbelieving.

That made him shift. His eyes dropped to the floor. “Don’t make it sound like that.”

“But it was like that,” you whispered. “You—”

Your throat closed.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he said quietly, firmly. Still not looking at you. “I have somewhere to get you, in case you forgot.”

Something clenched in your chest. You stared at him—at the shadows writhing slowly along his shoulders, at the set of his jaw, at the tattered edge of your cloak still half-draped on the chair.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you admitted, because it was the only thing that felt true.

His eyes lifted to yours again, piercing and unreadable.

“You don’t have to.”

But you did.

Somewhere inside, a door had opened. Quietly, without ceremony.

And you didn’t think it would ever fully close again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next two days were rough, a combination of flying and walking so Azriel could rest. His wings were stiff in the cold. He insisted he was fine, you insisted he shouldn’t risk tearing them.

But you spoke all the way, as if words could hold off the chill burrowing into your bones.

The Autumn Court finally came into view when it was nearing sundown.

The next two days were hard going.

A grueling rhythm of flying and walking, flying and walking—Azriel pushing himself until the cold stiffened his wings too much to continue, until you could see the strain in his shoulders no matter how tightly he gritted his jaw.

He claimed he was fine.

You called bullshit.

Neither of you backed down, but he let you walk beside him a little longer each time before taking to the skies again.

You kept talking. About nothing and everything. Filling the silence with rambling observations, old stories, things you weren’t sure you’d ever told anyone. Just to keep your teeth from chattering. Just to keep him present with you.

By the time the golden trees of the Autumn Court came into view, the sun was a red smear against the horizon.

You were both dragging your feet.

Azriel scanned the treeline, eyes narrowed like he was hunting ghosts. “We’re too close to the border to get a restful night’s sleep,” he muttered. “Let’s find shelter further in before it gets dark.”

The forest thickened as you moved, trees clawing overhead, the air still sharp. It wasn’t long before Azriel veered off the path entirely, leading you through thickets and brush until the terrain sloped into a narrow ravine. Half-hidden by vines and moss, there it was: a shallow cave dug into the ridge.

It wasn’t much. But it was dry. And hidden.

He checked it first, of course. Shadows sweeping the interior like a second pair of hands, silent and fast.

When he gave the all-clear, you staggered inside, teeth chattering, and sank to the ground like your legs had given up.

Azriel followed, wings hunched awkwardly to fit beneath the low stone ceiling.

“I’ll take first watch.”

But you didn’t want to sleep.

So you sat up and pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, legs stretched out in front of you, boots still caked in half-frozen mud.

Azriel settled across from you with a soft grunt, his back to the wall, one knee bent loosely. The mouth of the cave framed the forest beyond in deepening indigo. The wind outside hissed low through the trees.

You glanced over at him. “You think the cave’s full of spiders?”

His mouth twitched. “Probably.”

“Good. I was worried this was going too well.”

That earned a real smile. Brief, but warm.

For a while, there was only the rustle of wind and the distant creak of branches bowing under snow. His shadows slipped along the cave walls, slow and drowsy, curling like smoke around his shoulders.

“You ever camp out like this?” you asked eventually. “No fire. No tent. Just barely not freezing to death.”

He tipped his head back against the cool stone, throat bared, a quiet, gruff sound slipping past his lips—half sigh, half groan. “There was a stretch in the Steppes, centuries ago. I was tracking a defector. Went eleven nights without fire or light. Didn’t sleep more than ten minutes at a time.”

You winced. “Was it worth it?”

Azriel’s eyes met yours, steady. “Yeah.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. Just tired. Heavy.

You shifted closer to the wall and tugged the blanket tighter. “I don’t know how you don’t fall asleep standing up.”

“I might,” he said. “You’ll know because I’ll fall on you.”

You huffed a laugh, your breath fogging in front of you.

He went quiet again. But this time it felt different. The stillness stretched—not companionable now, but thoughtful.

You didn’t look at him when he spoke again.

“Are you really okay with this?”

Your heart stuttered. “With what?”

He didn’t clarify. Just gave you a look that made it clear he didn’t need to.

You looked out at the woods beyond. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“You do.”

“Not one that matters.”

A pause.

“Just say the word,” Azriel said, voice low, “I’ll take you back if that’s what you want. Right now. I’ll fly you straight to Velaris and we won’t look back.”

You blinked.

He held your gaze, steady and calm, like he wasn’t offering to burn his court’s entire future down for you. Like it was nothing.

“Even if it’s at the altar,” he said. “Even if it’s the last second. I’ll take you out of there.”

You stared at him.

Then scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t just—” You looked away, exhaling hard. “You don’t get to say that like it’s simple. Like I could just walk away and that would fix anything.”

“It would get you out,” he said quietly.

“It would start a war, Azriel.”

Azriel didn’t respond. His shadows were still.

You pressed your hands to your face, fingers digging into your temples. “You think I haven’t thought about that? About running? About saying no? What do you think I was thinking about every hour of those two weeks—after the dinner, before we left?”

“I didn’t say it would be easy.”

“No,” you dragged your hands down. “You just said you’d throw me over your shoulder mid-vow and fly me off into the fucking sunset.”

His expression didn’t waver. “If that’s what you wanted, yes.”

A laugh broke out of you—sharp and bitter. “You think you’re doing me a kindness, but it’s cruel. Don’t—don’t offer me choices I can’t afford to take.”

His jaw shifted. But he said nothing.

You looked away again, blinking hard at the cave wall. “I don’t need saving,” you muttered. “I need this to work.”

A beat of silence passed. His voice was even softer when he spoke.

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because you couldn’t trust your voice not to break.

You just stood, stiff and silent, and crossed to the far side of the cave. Curled yourself up in the thin blanket you’d managed to cram into your bag, tugging it over your shoulders like it could shield you from more than just the cold.

Azriel watched you settle, his eyes shadowed.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he said again—firmer this time, like he needed you to hear it differently. Believe it.

Still, you said nothing.

“We can figure something out.”

That did it.

You sat up, fast. “No, we can’t.”

Azriel blinked, taken aback by the snap in your voice.

You weren’t looking at him, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the stone just past his boots. “There’s nothing to figure out. This is the plan. It’s happening.”

“You don’t sound like someone who’s at peace with that.”

“I don’t need to be at peace with it,” you bit out. “I just need to get through it.”

His brow furrowed, a slow crease forming between his eyes. “Why are you—?”

“I’m not anything,” you cut in, too quickly.

He fell silent, watching you now with quiet caution, like he was re-evaluating everything he thought he understood about your choices.

You shifted back under the blanket, turned toward the cave wall to put an end to the conversation.

Azriel didn’t speak again.

But you could feel it—his eyes still on you. The weight of what he wasn’t saying pressing into your spine like a question you didn’t want to answer.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

-> part 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic