#I can finally soft reset

[basil-under-a-blanket]

My 3ds shoulder buttons have been unresponsive for literal years and I was ready to take it apart to clean it.. until I read someone saying to blow into the shoulder buttons, and it actually worked. I feel both impressed and dumbfounded.

So satisfying.. also I can actually play kid Icarus uprising again.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | comfort after a bad race, except its you.

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid & driver!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : comforting you after coming off a rough race weekend.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 1844

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

it’s not in max’s nature to be soft, but the second he sees you sitting on the pit wall, still in your race suit and staring out at the empty track, he knows not to joke. no teasing, no smug remarks—just him dropping down beside you in silence. he offers his water bottle, nudges his knee against yours.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he mumbles. “just sit with me, yeah?”

you do, and when you finally speak, he listens—really listens. and when you break, voice cracking mid-sentence, he places his hand over yours and whispers, “bad race doesn’t mean you’re a bad driver. you know that, right?”

yuki tsunoda

yuki finds you in the cooldown room post-race, curled into the corner of the couch with your head in your hands. he doesn’t say anything right away, just sits beside you and lets out a long sigh. “that was shit,” he says bluntly. “but you’re still better than half those idiots out there.”

when you laugh weakly, he lights up. “there’s my rival,” he grins, bumping your shoulder. then softer, “i know how hard you worked. they’ll see it next time. i promise.”

he even lets you steal his favorite onigiri snack as a peace offering.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

george finds you in the back of the garage, helmet still on, shoulders stiff and unmoving. he doesn’t say anything at first—just crouches in front of you and taps gently at your gloves.

“i know it’s shit,” he says quietly, eyes searching yours through the visor. “but one race doesn’t erase who you are.”

when you finally pull your helmet off, blinking fast to hide the tears, he just pulls you into a hug and lets you bury your face in his shoulder.

“you’re not alone in this. i’ve been there. tomorrow we reset, yeah?”

kimi antonelli

he’s awkward at first, unsure how to approach you. but the moment he sees your clenched jaw and how you refuse to meet anyone’s eyes, something clicks.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” he mutters, handing you a cold water bottle and sitting beside you on the pit wall.

he doesn’t talk much—just lets the silence wrap around the both of you while your breathing evens out.

later, he surprises you with a quiet “you’re still the person i look up to. one bad race doesn’t change that.” and it nearly breaks you.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

he finds you in your driver room, pacing, still in your suit, muttering under your breath about everything that went wrong.

“mon amour,” he says gently, stepping inside, “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

you break down the second he pulls you into his arms, hiding your face in his chest while he rocks you slightly, murmuring, “it’s not your fault. i saw you fighting out there. you gave everything.”

later, he makes you sit down and eat something, even if it’s just a few bites. he knows the weight of a red suit and how it can feel like the whole world is watching—so he makes sure you remember it’s okay to stumble.

lewis hamilton

lewis sees the storm behind your eyes the second you step out of the car. he knows that look—it’s familiar. he’s worn it too many times himself.

“come here,” he says softly, pulling you aside into a quieter corner of the paddock.

“you are so much more than one result,” he reminds you, thumb brushing a tear off your cheek before it falls. “don’t let today rewrite your story.”

later that night, he sends you a playlist he made years ago for moments like this. it’s full of soft strength and quiet hope, just like him.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

he sees the frustration on your face before you even say a word, and his heart sinks right along with yours.

“hey,” he whispers, catching your wrist gently before you can storm off to your room. “don’t go spiraling. not today.”

sits with you on the floor of your room, helmets and gloves tossed to the side, just the two of you in quiet.

“you drove your heart out. i know it doesn’t feel like it mattered, but it did. you matter. we’re allowed to have shit days.”

pulls you into his side, kisses the top of your head, and adds, “but tomorrow? we try again. and i’ll be right here.”

oscar piastri

he doesn’t say much at first—he lets you vent, listening with those quiet eyes and soft nods that tell you he’s really hearing it all.

once you stop, chest heaving with the weight of it all, he speaks: “you’re allowed to be upset. but i need you to remember this doesn’t define you.”

he’s calm, grounding, the steady energy you didn’t know you needed.

later, he hands you a water bottle and sits beside you on the floor of the garage, legs stretched out, shoulders touching. “bad days happen. but you’re still one of the best out there. never forget that.”

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

he watches you from across the paddock, eyes narrowed, reading you like a strategy sheet.

“you are angry with yourself,” he says quietly when you pass him, and you just sigh. “good. that means you still care.”

he doesn’t sugarcoat it. he respects you too much for that.

but later, he finds you alone in the motorhome and sits beside you. “you learn the most when the race hurts. and you—you're already better than half of them out there on your worst day.”

he doesn’t offer a hug, but he does leave you with a smirk and a softened, “come. let’s debrief over coffee. my treat.”

lance stroll

you’re curled up on the floor of your room, suit half-off, still sweaty and furious, when he knocks gently and peeks his head in.

“i brought snacks,” he says with a tiny smile, holding up your favorite post-race comfort food.

he doesn’t push. he just sits near you, eating in silence until you start talking, even if it’s just mumbled complaints.

“look,” he says eventually, nudging your knee, “you’re not allowed to quit, okay? not when you’ve worked this hard. not when i believe in you this much.”

gives you the softest, warmest hug when you finally let yourself cry into his chest.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

he finds you slumped in the garage, helmet still on, and just wraps his arms around you from behind. no words, just warmth.

“don’t talk yet,” he whispers into your shoulder. “just breathe.”

once you’ve calmed, he gently pulls off your helmet and tucks a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“you don’t have to be strong with me,” he says, eyes soft. “i know you gave it everything. and that’s enough for me.”

drags you out of the paddock and insists on bubble tea and cartoons in the hotel to cheer you up.

carlos sainz

paces around like he’s the one who DNF’d—frustrated, muttering in spanish, raking a hand through his hair.

the moment he sees you, all his tension melts into concern. “mi amor… come here.”

holds your face so gently, as if you might shatter. “you were brilliant. the car wasn’t. that’s not on you.”

kisses your forehead and murmurs sweet nothings in spanish while you lay on his chest in the motorhome.

promises to personally have words with whoever screwed up your strategy.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

he’s awkward at first, doesn’t quite know what to say when he sees you with glassy eyes and your suit half unzipped in defeat.

“hey… um. that sucked. really sucked.” then hugs you a bit too tightly.

rests his chin on top of your head. “but you’re still the coolest person in this whole paddock to me.”

pulls you away to the haas sim rig and makes you crash the car on purpose just to make you laugh.

“we’re gonna fix this. next race, you’ll be untouchable. i’ll make sure of it.”

esteban ocon

immediately knows something’s wrong just from your body language. pulls you aside the second he gets the chance.

his voice is calm, low, and soothing. “you’re allowed to be upset. but you’re not allowed to think you’re anything less than brilliant.”

sits beside you in the back of the hospitality unit, quietly holding your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

brings you a bottle of water, wipes your face gently, and whispers, “you don’t need to put on a brave face with me.”

tells you about every race he failed to finish, just so you know you’re not alone in it.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

sees you storm off toward the garage and immediately follows, no cameras, no questions.

doesn’t ask what happened — just wraps his arm around your waist and murmurs, “talk to me when you’re ready.”

when you finally break down in the motorhome, he brushes your hair out of your face and pulls you into his chest.

“you’re allowed to be upset. but don’t forget you’re the fiercest driver i know.”

kisses the top of your head. “and if anyone says otherwise, they can deal with me.”

isack hadjar

tries to joke at first — “at least your helmet still looks good?”

but when he sees you’re genuinely crushed, his expression drops immediately.

sits beside you on the floor, backs against the wall, knees touching.

“hey, you’re allowed to cry. i know i would’ve punched someone by now if it were me.”

quietly adds, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. you’re already enough. more than enough.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

finds you pacing behind the paddock, biting back tears, helmet still on.

gently unclips your helmet, brushing a hand down your cheek as he takes it off.

“i know that look. i’ve worn it too many times.” his voice is soft, steady.

pulls you into a quiet room away from everyone and sits you down.

“you gave it everything. the result doesn’t erase the effort. or your talent. or how fucking proud i am of you.”

franco colapinto

catches the tail end of your radio message — the frustration, the cracked voice.

waits for you just outside parc fermé with open arms, doesn’t care who sees.

“you did your best. the car didn’t. that’s not on you.”

rubs your back as you lean into him, forehead pressed to his shoulder.

whispers in spanish, “sos increíble. y nada de esto cambia eso.” (you’re incredible. and none of this changes that.)

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

you storm off after the cooldown lap, helmet still on, teeth gritted. he doesn’t say a word — just walks beside you.

waits until you're seated in the garage corner before crouching next to you.

“want to break something? or sit in silence? your call.”

hands you a water bottle and his usual sarcasm fades: “you’ve had worse, i’ve had worse. we come back. we always do.”

adds, quieter, “you’re too damn good to let one shit race define anything.”

gabriel bortoleto

finds you hiding in your driver room, curled up with a towel over your head.

knocks once, then slides in anyway. “i brought snacks.”

doesn’t push you to talk — just sits beside you, legs touching, playing some silly tiktok sound on his phone to try to make you laugh.

“i’m still proud of you. even if today sucked. especially because today sucked.”

when you finally lift your head, he grins and says, “next time? we show them who you really are.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[sluttyminghao]

for ur writers blog prompt:

bf!wonwoo whose dedicated to fucking you on every surface of his new apartment? =D

you wake up to wonwoo's heavy breathing in your ear, accompanied by a soft moan. it's at that moment you realise he's managed to slot himself between your legs and is rutting his cock between your thighs. a smirk grows on your face, after not hearing your boyfriend's moans for a few weeks, this is what you both needed.

he'd been so busy with his job and moving into his brand spanking new apartment over the last few weeks you had only seen him once or twice to help him move his belongings, and even then it was short lived, due to your own work commitments.

"good morning baby," your voice comes out low and crackly, laced with sleep. his hips hold briefly, before resuming their pace while he lets his lips drift to your warm skin and presses a lazy kiss to it.

"gonna fuck you everywhere today, make sure you don't wear underwear, think of it as me breaking the apartment in," his rumbly low voice sends chills down your spine as he grabs your hips and slides himself easily into your pussy, his soft moan turning to a low growl as he picks up a steady pace.

it doesn't take long for him to cum, his warm chest pressing against your back. after a moment, he's getting up and dragging you to the bathroom, presumably to "clean off" but with your mind still half-asleep, it takes you a few seconds to realise that he's got you bent over the bathroom sink as he slides himself into you again, fucking you awake essentially until you're both cumming.

the day continues like this, although you are thankful he does give you some time to calm down and reset before he's bending you over another surface. he fucks you on the counter of the kitchen, in front of the bay window where people can walk past and potentially see in, and even in the tv room where he fucks you on the floor until you're left trembling.

you have lost count of how many times you've cum today, and can't even remember what you ate for lunch because wonwoo's dick has wiped that memory from your mind completely. the sun is just setting over the horizon, bathing the apartment in a beautiful orange glow, just as you decide to hop in the shower to wash the day away.

"did you think I was done with you?" wonwoo appears from behind, arms snaking around your abdomen as you let the water from the shower drench the both of you. you can feel his cock between your thighs, and you whimper as he slides himself into you one last time, his frantic pace only leading to you bracing yourself against the cool glass of the shower, your moans echoing around you.

when he finally cums, he pulls out and groans at the sight of his cum dripping from your swollen cunt. he gets on his knees immediately and lets his mouth get to work, sucking and licking until you cum on his lips, your hands gripping his hair like it's your life support.

"what a great day."

[blues-stories]

I haven’t really worked up to smut but I’d do have an interesting head cannon for the boys when they’re doing the ✨Devils Tango✨.

Imaging The LADS men loosing control of their Evol during sex:

Xavier:

Picture this- the room is starting to heat up as you and Xavier are frankly going at it like bunnies. You’re Exhausted, Over Stimulated, and quite frankly SORE from the positions he’s manage to bend you into. (Who knew you were so flexible? You sure didn’t) And right as he’s pistoning into you for the umpteenth time, you start to notice a….Subtle difference…At first.

One second he’s panting and sweating as he hovers over you, your back flush to his chest, and the next he’s become a Mother fuckin glow stick.

It only gets brighter as he keeps going, chasing his high until eventually- once he does cum- You’re literally getting flash-banged from the bright flash of light that emits from him. Alarm clock? Needs to be reset. Lights? Three bulbs busted from the surge of power. Xavier? He’s finally dimmed down as he collapses onto of you, mumbling about replacing everything tomorrow.

Rafayel:

Once again the scene is nothing new. This time you’re on top of him as he sits on one of the blush sofa like chairs in his studio, Hands digging into your hips as he guides your movements. What started as you taking control quickly turned into him guiding your body like a puppet on strings….Not that you particularly cared though.

He’s got you bouncing and grinding faster- HARDER even as he tries to pull you and himself over to that metaphorical finish line- and my god would you both be finishing. His face is getting flush- his skin scalding hot to the touch, so much so that you’re starting to get more and worried..

Poor Rafayel is so lost in the moment that he doesn’t notice the fireplace starting to roar to life, nor does he notice the steam rising from his body…It’s mere moments until he locks you on top of him as you both reach your high, his finger tips feeling as if they’ve scaled you in the process….Unfortunately the burned cloth of your Hunters uniform and the very mild Hand prints on your hips do nothing to help his case.

He makes whispered promises to you to buy a new uniform and soothe the marks on your hips with some aloe… (I imagine them as sunburn marks instead of actual burns)

Zayne:

Ironically his and Caleb’s are the one that started this rant.

THIS time you’re not at home like the others- you’re actually at his office (Very original I know) And the scene is shocking to anyone that knows Zayne.

You’re laid back against the desk as Zayne stands between your legs, a hand on each thigh as he keeps you nice and spread so you can really take all of him…Now zaynes Evol acting up isn’t exactly a new thing, but what you’re starting to see now is DEFINITELY different.

Soft grunts can be heard from him with each thrust he gives you, his once warm hands have now gone cold- bone chilling so as that feeling seems to spread throughout his body…Up his arms and onto his chest, down his stomach and- oh god it’s like you’re being fucked by a icicle…To make matters even more complicated, Ice and frost start to spread toward the ground- coating the floors and crawling up the walls with how intense things are getting…

And the moment- the second he does finish deep inside you? The door to his office has frozen shut, and a big fat glob of snow seems to come raining down onto you…Zayne tries his best to hold it together as you sit up with snow flakes on your lashes, a slightly red and runny nose, and a big dollop of snow on your head…

He assures you it was an accident as he oh so kindly starts to dust the flakes from your hair, already planning your care plan for when you inevitably catch a cold from him…Of course that can wait till AFTER he’s done with you though…Now that the door is frozen shut, why waist this opportunity of alone time?..

Sylus:

Sylus has you under him with his hands pinning yours over your head, his fingers intertwining with yours as he ruts and grinds into you. That luxury mattress and bed frame he brags about? Absolutely rocking with each thrust of his hips, the post probably putting dents- if not HOLES- into the wall.

Now Sylus’s Evol is unpredictable- more so in the sense that it possibly can do just about ANYTHING- so if he were to ever loose control, who knows what’ll happen…But you know who’s about to know? You. At first it’s minor really- that familiar red and black mist oozing off of him as it slowly surrounds both you and Him- spreading like vines across the bed in a slow and meticulous manner…

Too lost in the sauce- Sylus keeps thrusting and thrusting with his eyes pinched tight and his teeth bared, a low growl leaving him as he buried himself to the hilt inside you and blows his load…You soon follow after… However instead of the usual blissed glow on you face, he finds your brows knit and mouth forming a thin line on your face. The reason? In the midst of his high, all those stuffed animals that had littered your shared bed had gotten wrapped up into the mist, squeezed so tight until they simply burst into energy…

His mumbled apologies do little to sooth your anger- Especially as he mumbles about replacing your limited edition stuffy you oh so proudly had displayed…Sure you had won the war against being single, but my god had it come at a cost…

Caleb:

This fucker right here-

Unsurprisingly, you were sprawled out on the soft sheets of your bed, hands fisting the pillow you lay on as Caleb’s head is tucked happily between your thighs..He’s been at it for hours- and despite your pleas and protests, he hasn’t stopped yet.

Caleb’s favorite place is between your thighs, making you squirm and fall aprat all from his tongue alone…He loves it so much actually- that he’s lost count of the amount of times he’s gotten off just from watching you writher in pain and pleasure…Just like now as he feasts on you, ignoring your words along with the rest of his surroundings while he feeds…

Unfortunately, despite that coil in both your bellies growing tighter and tighter, you can’t help but watch as the stuff on your bedside starts to shake…It’s small at first, a few pens on your night stand, then your dresser- then all the furniture in the room starts moving as if there’s a earthquake….But Caleb’s eyes are on you as he eagerly and hungrily awaits you to reach your peak…

Just as you do, the bed as well with the rest of the furniture are lifting off the ground, the entire room looking like something out of the exorcist movie…Your climax crashes over both of you with a wave as you arch your back- Caleb spilling his own release on to the bed in the process…And just as quickly as it happened, everything in the air seemingly drops back to the floor with a loud thud, your own body sitting up from the sudden falling sensation, and the sound of something very fragile shattering…

Not even Caleb’s cooking will be enough to calm the rage that comes with shattering your entire collection of little baby figures you’d worked on these past few years…But hey- at least you both came right?…

[jarofstyles]

Haze

Hi bestie babes, here is a best-friends-to-best-friends-with-benefits piece! I am unsure if I'm doing a second part but if I did it'll be later on down the line.

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Send us requests in our inbox if the mood strikes you

WC- 8k

warnings- use of marijuana, friends with benefits, biting, daddy kink, soft Dom H hehe

“H? Do you really think I’m pretty?” Y/N’s voice was slightly slurred, a mix of both tired and high as a kite from the joint they’d finished just a bit ago. The cool air flowed in from the window they’d cracked in order for her landlord not to get a call to complain, but she welcomed the chill. She always got a bit hot in her skin when the high hit her. “Don’t lie to me. Give it to me straight.

She loved smoking, sure, but she hated how it made her mind think about things she had purposely been putting off. Like her awful fucking dating life and how stupidly lonely she was.

Harry sat next to her on the sofa, his legs spread in an obnoxious manspread, his fingers messing with the Rubik’s cube. It wasn’t uncommon for them to smoke together- he was her best friend- but she wanted his opinion. The poor man was going to be subject to her insecurity.

Her string of bad dating experiences lately had made it hard to believe it wasn’t a her problem.

"Pretty? Babe, you're beautiful. Come off it." he mumbled, eyes still on the puzzle game. He was in that fluid mindset, neither here nor there. His reassurance felt nice but at the same time, a little vague. Her face contorted in a frown as she looked over at him. He was still baked, so she got it, but still. A little more would be nice.

“You have to say that. You’re my best friend. Tell me honestly, H. What is.. what is wrong with me? Because I don’t know how someone can go on so many bad dates and it not be a them problem.” It had been plaguing her the whole time and harshing the high. The words needed to come out. ��I’m the common denominator.”

Finally, he put the Rubik's cube down and turned to face her fully, his gaze locked on hers. Sure, he was dazed from the weed, but he wanted to be sincere with her once he had heard how she had actually been a bit torn up from it. As hard as she tried, it wasn’t easy for her to hide her emotions from him. Even high Harry could see past the playful quips she had made lately. It had only been a matter of time before she had asked him about it and in his opinion, it was bullshit. There was nothing wrong with her at all. Y/N was amazing, but it was only natural to become a little insecure when someone had the string of bad luck like she had.

"Y/N, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you. I'm being completely honest with you, I swear. It's not you, it's them.” He winced knowing how cheesy it sounded but it couldn’t really be helped at the moment. “You're a fuckin’ amazing, smart, beautiful, funny, talented, kind person... I could list off all your good qualities cause there’s loads of ‘em, but m’high and can't think straight enough right now t’give you the fancier words like… exuberant? Pretty sure that one’s right ."

Y/N let out a little laugh. She could hear it in the low tone of his voice and how it seemed to take him longer than normal to say things when he was stoned and trying his absolute hardest to get that out, but it was a little cute. Too bad it wasn’t enough to get her out of her wallowing.

“Then I’m doomed.” She groaned, sinking into the couch. Her hands came up to cover her face, a tired sound leaving her as she tried to reset. “Dude, do you know how entirely and overwhelmingly exhausting it is? And don’t you dare call me dramatic.” Her eye peeped up at him before she fell back into a huff. “I know you get sex on tap but for the rest of us normal folks, it’s like a war zone out there.”

Harry snickefed at her little quip as he watched her sink into the couch. Letting out a sigh as he really thought about it though, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "I understand how you feel, trust me. It's not easy for anyone. Although I have to admit, I can't exactly relate to your dating struggles, not really. I just happen to be lucky enough to have a very dedicated fanbase."

He was joking but… not really. He always teased her about this. The women who tended to hang out around the garage or try to get near him after hours to ride him in the cars that he just fixed… It wasn't hard for him to get what he wanted. Being good looking, tattooed, solid and single, it got you a lot of places, and a lot of ass. If only she could relate.

“Yeah, yeah. Slut.” She grumbled lightheartedly, kicking her foot against his thigh. It wasn’t fair it was as toned as it was. “You’re a mechanic and you’ve got all the rich soccer moms throwing themselves at you for a romp in the backseat while their husbands are at work. That’s nice and all, but the dating pool for us commoners is abysmal at best.”

Shooting him a glare, she grabbed the bag of goldfish shaped crackers and popped some into her mouth. “At this point I’d be fine with a friends-with-benefits sorta thing- but god damn it, I just want someone to love me at some point.” There was a moment of silence before she cleared her throat. They didn’t really discuss their sex lives and stuff often so she took his silence as one of not knowing what to say- which was fair. She was sorta dumping this all on him. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t that insane. Everyone went through shit like this. “Sorry. I don’t mean to actually be dramatic this time.”

Harry shook his head at her remark, giving her a reassuring smile that had his eyes crinkling at the corners. He locked his gaze on her face as he listened to her speak, his expression softening with understanding instead of the smug joking he was giving off before. "Hey, s’alright babe. You're not being dramatic. It's how you feel, and I understand that. Everyone deserves love, and I have no doubt you'll find it."

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. When he spoke again, his voice low and sincere as he knocked his hand against her thigh to get her to look at him.

"Y/N... can I ask you somethin’? And don’t make it weird.” He warned, making her unsure what the hell he could be asking.

Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she turned to look back at him with a questioning look on her face. “Sure. What’s up?”

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure whether he should ask or not. It would most definitely change their dynamic if she was offended or freaked out by it, but regardless he felt like it it was something he knew he had to ask. He shifted on the couch, turning to face her fully, taking a deep breath and letting his gaze lock on hers before speaking.

"Y’know how you were saying how you're open to a friends with benefits thing? And how you're tired of being alone?"

“Yeah…. I literally said it like, two second ago.” She replied, voice slow and drawn out. She knew she was foggy, but damn. Of course she didn’t want to draw conclusions but she had to wonder why he would be bringing that up again. Her heart beat a little harder as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

His gaze remained steady on hers, his expression unreadable. He took a moment before speaking again, his voice low and slightly hoarse. Of course he wanted to be careful with his words, in the off chance this could offend her but he knew that he’d kick himself for not asking if he avoided it. He took a deep breath before asking the question.

"I was wondering... if you'd be interested in having an arrangement like that... with me."

Blinking rapidly, she had to be sure she wasn’t just hearing things. Usually she wasn’t the type to have hallucinations when high, but she didn’t know if he would ever actually suggest that. “Uh.. can you repeat that?”

Harry smiled softly as he saw her surprise. He knew it was a big ask, but he was committed to the idea now.

Leaning forward, his voice was smooth and deliberate as he repeated his question, this time with more confidence considering she hadn’t completely looked disgusted at the idea.

"I was asking if you'd be interested in having a friend's with benefits arrangement with me. No strings attached, just a... way to fulfill certain needs without the commitment. What would you say to something like that?"

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” The nod was casual, as if that hadn’t just completely freaked her out. Not in a bad way! But in a…. What-the-fuck-my-best-friend-just-asked-me to-casually-hook-up-on-the-regular, sort of way.

“Uh… I’m not saying no, but I have to ask why you’d suggest that? I didn’t think you were attracted to me in the slightest.” It had completely come out of left field. The intent behind complaining wasn’t for him to offer but to get genuine advice from him considering he never seemed to struggle in the dating department.

"Who the hell said I wasn't attracted to you? I’ve always thought you were stunning.” It wasn’t supposed to come off defensively but he had to wonder in the moment if maybe it did. Harry had never once thought of her as anything but mind blowingly gorgeous.

“Okay, but you have to say that. You’re my best friend, like I said before. I just….” Hesitance grew on her face, looking over his own for any sign of joking. If he was, her ego really couldn’t handle another blow. “I really don’t want to be a pity fuck. And I also don’t want to like… no offense to you, I don’t want to sleep with someone who isn’t exclusive with me? Not like in the dating sense but like, I’d ask you not to sleep with anyone else for safety and I don’t know how you’d feel about that.” Maybe she was rambling but thoughts were running rampant in her already overcrowded brain. Asking him not to fuck anyone else felt like an overstep for some reason.

As she spoke, Harry nodded along, listening intently. He understood her hesitation and appreciated the honesty; it was one of the things he had always loved about her- But he certainly didn't want her to feel like a “pity-fuck” either. That was the furthest thing she could be. He could respect her wanting a certain degree of exclusivity, especially for safety. He knew he was a bit of a whore and he wasn’t ashamed of it, but he had full ability and sometimes the wish to be monogamous- more than he expressed. Granted, if it were anyone else he’d probably feel a little suffocated in an ask like that but… It didn’t sound so bad when it came to Y/N.

"I get it," he said, nodding in agreement. Reaching out and placing a hand on her knee, his touch warm and gentle, he tried his best to reassure her. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't find you attractive, Y/N. It's not about pity, it's about wanting a connection with someone I know and trust. And it’s not like it isn’t a convenience for me, too. No awkward leaving afterward, no like… ‘here I’ll get you a cab’ or saying no to a sleepover. We’ve slept in the same bed loads of times and you know I love a cuddle..”

Sharpening her gaze on him, she tilted her head. “Is this because you wanna do some crazy kinky stuff? Cause I’m open but I dunno how crazy I’ll get.” She was kind of kidding…. But kinda not. There were her own things she wanted to explore, but she didn’t want to be a lab rat.

Harry's eyebrows raised at her question, slightly taken aback. He couldn't help but laugh lightly at her tone, but there was also a hint of genuine interest in his reply.

"You really think I'm into kink, huh? Some sort of freak in the sheets?” Wiggling his brows, he teased her. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t obvious that he was a bit of a frequent fucker, but he didn’t have much shame in that. It wasn’t a kiss and tell sort of situation, but he wasn’t shy about letting her know he’d had a lovely night the day prior when need be. “Well, maybe. But no, that's not the only reason..." He let out a breath, a smirk on his lips. "But I'd loveeee to find out what you'd be open to, if we did this."

“Nope, you first, casanova.” She bounced in her seat, getting closer. Her nosy tendencies took precedence over everything else, it appeared. Getting to know more about him that was was enticing and she couldn’t hold herself back. “What's the crazy stuff you’re into? C’mon, we never talk about this stuff.”

Harry was open about the fact he had a healthy supply of offers and hookups but she had stopped him a few times from giving details. Mostly for her sake, so she didn’t see him as some sort of deviant- even if he was. Now, though, knowing she was potentially someone who could experience said things? Her curiosity was killing the cat. Her cat. Metaphorically speaking.

The man’s lips curled into a small smile as he saw her eager expression. He leaned back on the sofa, his arm stretched out behind her. He was throughly enjoying her nosiness- maybe for the first time- considering it gave him the perfect opportunity to tease her a bit more. "Oh, where do I even start... I have quite a few kinks, darling. But I have a feeling you'd like to hear about a certain one..."

“Okay… so tell me.” She rolled her hand to motion to him to continue. Patience really wasn’t Y/N’s strong suit and it was beginning to show, even if the smoking had initially relaxed her. “Let’s hear it. I want to know what I’d be getting myself into, besides greasy hands and the smell of motor oil.” Though she’d never admit how she’d learned to enjoy it, too.

He couldn’t lie and say he wasn't enjoying how intently she was looking at him, how her gaze was fixed on his every move. He leaned forward just a bit, his voice dropping lower as he continued* "Alright, y’wanted to know, you'll get to know like the princess y’are. But keep in mind, I've got a few of these, not just one." The taunting made her give him that impatient look he was used to, snickering under his breath as she bore her eyes into him.

“Okay. Lay them on me, tell me!” She huffed, knocking his knee. “You’re edging for no reason. I already know that one because you’re gross. Tell me the real stuff.”

Raising a brow at her eagerness, he leaned back again with his arm still draped behind her. He began speaking again, letting his voice drop a bit. "Alright, just a little tiny taste then… See if you can handle it. I've got a thing for power dynamics, darling. Particularly, I like to be in control."

“Mm… I could have guessed that. You’ve got the whole smolder thing, and you do the…” Y/N put her hand behind his neck before pulling it off. “Then you do the neck holding thing when we go out. You like to control where people go. Boss me around. So I had a clue. Give me one I wouldn’t expect.”

The perceptive observations hadn’t been something he expected, but it did amuse him. He reached up to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, his fingers lingering against her skin.

"You know me too well, little dove." He muttered, his eyes sparkling with mischief. This was a conversation he was enjoying. Not one he anticipated tonight, no, but one that had him on the edge of his metaphorical seat. His real seat was leaned against the back of the couch. "Okay then... how about this? I also enjoy a bit of exhibitionism. Kinky enough for you?"

“Oh?” She sat with it for a moment. “Actually… that makes sense too. You’re understated in public but you still get a lot of attention. Behind the scenes you’re an attention whore and stuff, which I know first hand but… yeah.” She huffed. “Damn. Can’t believe I didn’t guess that sorta stuff.” Another question popped into her mind. “Wait… what have you done with that? Are you talking like. Dressing rooms, cars? Or in front of people for real?”

Harry grinned as she continued to analyze his kinks, watching her as she went through it in her head. Had she thought about it before on her own? That wasn’t something he’d mind, in all honest. He chortled at her question and leaned back, his arm wrapped behind her. He didn't want to reveal too much but he was enjoying this back and forth. Maybe a tad bit more than he should be.

"You've got good instincts, darling. Yes, I enjoy exhibitionism. And yeah, both dressing rooms and cars are on the list. But not just that... I like a bit more of an audience sometimes. But that’s a different conversation. I can explain why I like it, though. Since you seem to be so curious.”

“Do tell.” Yes, maybe she was a little nosy but… it was slightly arousing. Harry was interesting to her before but now, with the idea of her being in those scenarios, she felt an elevated desperation to know.

Harry noticed how her eyes darkened with excitement as she listened to him and it made a feeling of satisfaction twist in his gut. Having an effect on her was something he hadn’t realized he’d enjoy so much, but now that he had a taste he wanted to see more of it. He shifted a bit closer, his voice dropping into a low whisper. "I like the thrill of being caught. The danger of it, y’know? I love that it’s risky, that your adrenaline pump and you’ve got t’be quiet. Or you don’t, and you have people see- when it’s appropriate.” That was something he’d experienced a few times. “I’ve had it happen before. Maybe I could arrange that, if that’s something you’d want. People watching, not touching, just watching me touch you... and I’d touch you plenty, darling."

“I think um, I’d like it” It was hard to talk with how her tongue felt tied. “I’ve not done a lot of it but I think I’d be open to seeing and doing more of it.” Her voice weakened, feeling him close to her. His cologne was warm and slightly spiced, his fingertips brushing her arm. Y/N had never experienced the sort of thing he was describing. The most she had done was fuck in a car. “Y-Yeah. I think that’s something we could um… try.” She cleared her throat, trying not to show how affected she actually was. It was hard not to. “What other kinks? Anything I wouldn’t guess?”

Harry saw right through her attempts to seem unbothered and he grinned, his hand continuing to lightly brush against her shoulder. He was enjoying the effect he had on her, the more the minutes passed by. It was a brand new side of her that he hadn’t been privy too prior, but now that he had a chance to? He was going to indulge.

"Glad you're up for trying it, darling. And as for other kinks..." He paused for a moment, his gaze trailing over her body before he spoke again in a deeper voice.

"I'm also into a bit of rope bondage, but that’s for another day too. The typical things you’d expect in kink too, the rougher stuff sometimes, but I really like working you up until you can’t take it anymore. Making you desperate, y’know?"

“Ropes?” She swallowed the shock. “Oh. Hm…” it made sense given the other things but for some reason she hadn’t expected him to be into actual ropes. “I’d have thought maybe more handcuffs but you do like being difficult, don’t you?”

It was a joke but it slightly intimidated her. Nothing she wouldn’t try, though. She trusted him to do that sort of thing with her, if they got to it.

Harry hummed at her surprise and leaned a little closer, his hand coming up to her chin to tilt her face towards him. His eyes locked with hers, his tone serious. It was hard to ignore how beautiful she was now that he was allowed to think that way. It was something he’d tried to limit his brain from indulging in before, but knowing he’d have all the rights to be the one to stare and touch her, he felt like a layer had been peeled back.

"Yeah, darling, I like being difficult. And I like being in control. But we'll take it slow, alright?" He saw the hint of intimidation on her face and the small act of rebellion he liked to see in her. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, her skin hot and soft under his touch. “Nothin’ you don’t want t’do. I’ll make sure you're comfortable. Even if you’re a miserable little brat sometimes.”

“I…” her train of thought was stalled by the tender touch. Harry was… he was being a lot more liberal with his touches. Sometimes he was when he was high in general but this itself had her feeling hot under her skin. There was that intention now that this was slightly more than what friends do. “I can’t lie and say I’m not slightly intimidated by the thought of us doing stuff together. You’ve done a lot more than me.” She admitted meekly.

Harry simpered as he heard her confession and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He appreciated her honesty, understanding her intimidation. It would be the same for him in her position, but luckily he was going to use his advantage for good. "I know I've done more than you, but that's not a good nor a bad thing. Everyone is experienced in their own way, darling. And that's the point of us doing this... to explore each other, to learn what the other likes." He ran his hand down her arm, his fingers lightly tracing her skin, sending chills across her body.

His fingers curled around her wrist, lightly pulling her up and leading her to straddle his lap. This wasn’t at all where she had expected this night to go but… she couldn’t complain. With her nerves aside, Harry was by far one of the most attractive people she had ever met. There was no way she could turn away the opportunity to feel the way he touched someone romantically.

“You’re really okay not sleeping with anyone else in order to do stuff with me?”

Harry gazed up at her as she straddled his lap, his hands sliding up her thighs, pulling her closer against him. He looked up at her with a mix of desire and affection, appreciating her concern for his boundaries. "I'm absolutely fine with it," he assured her, his voice a low rumble. "I don't want anyone else." His hand came up, gently cupping her jaw. "I want to make you feel good, Y/N. I want to give you all the pleasure you deserve, and I want to be the only one doing it."

Y/N let out a weak sound as his lips pressed against the corner of her mouth. Having him so close was making her feel lightheaded, placing her hands on his shoulders as he tugged her closer to him, chest to chest.

“What do you want to do tonight?” She mumbled, eyes dropping to his lips back up to his eyes. “We don’t have to do like, everything and stuff but… I dunno.” The weed definitely made her aroused.

Harry chuckled softly, his lips just barely grazing the corner of her mouth, teasing her again. Feeling her body against his, her hands on his shoulders, it sent a wave of heat through his body. He doubted she knew that he’d started getting aroused when she started talking about what he’d be into.

"You're cute when you're bashful, darling. And high." He teased, his lips curving into a smirk as he spoke against her skin. "As for what I want to do... I just want to enjoy this moment. Maybe smoke a bit more, later. But mostly I just want to touch you."

“O-okay. You can touch me however you want.” Giving him that opening was bold, but she also knew she needed to just let him take charge. He said he liked to dom, so he would take care of her. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt soft presses of his lips over her cheek, down to her jaw.

“You smell really good.”

Harry could feel himself holding back the pleased noise. The little compliment was a welcomed one, but he didn’t get them often from her. It was a new part of their dynamic but he couldn’t find himself upset with it. In fact, he was going to do everything he could to get some more out of her. He glanced at her, enjoying the way her eyes closed in response to his touch. Running his nose down the column of her neck, he took a little inhale of her scent. Sugary Sweet. Just like her.

"So do you, darling." He spoke against her skin.

In a test of how she’d react, he let his hands slid under her shirt, his fingers tracing along her bare skin. There was no stiffening, so he continued slowly moving closer to the hem of her bra. His lips continued their path down, leaving behind a trail of tingling sensations and wet marks on her skin.

The shaky exhale was louder than she had wanted, his hot fingertips burning a trail over her skin. He took the permission to heart, tracing the bottom of her bra as his lips moved down her collarbone.

Her breathing hitched as she felt his teeth sink into the skin lightly, a firm sucking making her fingers grip his shoulders tightly and nails dig into him just a bit. “Oh, shit… why does that feel good?”

Harry giggled against her skin as he felt her nails digging into his shoulders, enjoying the fact he was already getting a reaction out of her. He continued to kiss and bite her skin, occasionally sucking on the sensitive parts, marking his territory and drawing out more sounds from her.

"Cause I know what I'm doing, darling." He murmured against her skin before biting her collarbone again, this time a bit rougher.

“Oh my god.” She keened, head falling back as her hand came up to cup the back of his head. Fingers curled in his hair, feeling his mouth mark her up while his hand went under her bra, cupping her in his palms. “Fuck.”

Y/N felt the pulsing between her slick thighs, her sleep shorts riding up as she shuffled closer and pressed his mouth harder against her skin. It had been a while since she’d gotten laid but it was a little embarrassing how quickly he managed to get her to feel completely insane.

The sounds of her keening and breathing and the feeling of her arching into his touch was making his own need for her grow. His lips continued to work her her skin, marking and kissing and doing all the things he wanted because it felt like heaven to have this on tap. He could only imagine how much better their smoking sessions would be, how much more fun sleepovers would be if he got to love her up like this without a second thought.

“H…” she whimpered. Rocking her hips slightly, she rubbed against his bulge she could feel clearly between her thighs. “You’re h-hard already?”

Harry hummed quietly, feeling a thrill as she rubbed against him. His lips curled into a smirk against her skin before he lifted his head up, looking at her with darkened eyes. "Yeah, 'course I am, darling. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

Moving his hands back down to her hips, he gripped them tightly to grind himself against her. Give her a taste of just how hard his cock got for her. There was no reason for her to doubt. “You did this, sweet girl. S’all your fault.”

“Oh, shit.” She groaned, giggling at the end as she felt his mouth fall onto her chest. Wet, sloppy kisses were placed on the tender skin as she felt him guide her back and forth, setting a pace for the friction. “I can’t tell if it’s been a long time or if uh… if you’re just really good at this.”

Both. It was absolutely both.

Harry chuckled against her chest, his breath hot against her skin before his smirk widened.

"Mm, I would like to think it's because I'm really good at this," his hands guided her hips, setting a slow, torturous pace. "But maybe also a bit of both. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “9 months.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her response and tilted his head to the side.

"Nine months? Damn, babe." He murmured, his hands going under her shirt, his fingers tracing up her sides, making her shiver. Getting the reactions from her felt almost as good as her rubbing over his cock. "That's a long time."

“Just didn’t find anyone good enough to let in my bed.” She retorted, using her grip on his head to guide him back to her chest. “Take my shirt off.”

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He quickly pulled her shirt off, throwing it over his shoulder, before his hands came back up to her body, slowly tracing up her stomach, his fingers brushing over her skin. The thought had been there quite a few times over what she’d look like bare, but this was a brand new vision for him. One he absolutely adored.

"Beautiful." He murmured, his gaze wandering over her chest as he took in the sight of her bare skin, his breathing growing a bit heavier.

Her voice interrupted his inspection of her body. “Bra, too, please. Have to bite the bullet.” Despite her nerves that maybe he wouldn’t like what he saw, she felt comfortable with him. Harry wouldn’t ever make her feel bad. That much she knew for certain.

Plus… she wanted to feel more of his mouth.

Harry chuckled softly and nodded, his gaze locking with hers for a moment as he ran his fingers over the straps of her bra, pulling them down over her shoulders.

"You're so beautiful, darling. Don't ever feel nervous around me," his reassurance grounded her, his voice gentle but firm.

He reached behind her back, quickly unclasping her bra and pulling it off, tossing it away. Taking a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, his eyes lit with desire. “God. You don’t even understand how phenomenal you are, do you? M’a lucky son of a bitch that you’re letting me touch you at all.”

Y/N continued to rub herself against him, feeling flushed at the praise. It was embarrassing that she had a pretty good idea that her sleep shorts were getting soaked, but she was swollen and wet and the motions itself of him between her legs were getting her embarrassing close.

Feeling his mouth kiss over the naked skin, she let out a moan that she hadn’t expected to. He was delicate but demanding, taking what he wanted.

Harry groaned as he felt her rubbing herself harder against him, his hands gripping her hips tightly to guide her movements. He couldn't resist the need building up inside him, the need to make her moan and whimper and squirm beneath him.

"You sound so pretty, darling," The compliment murmured against her skin, his lips traveling down her chest, stopping every so often to leave wet kisses, claiming every inch of skin he could. Selfish, possessive, needy. He wouldn’t deny any three of those allegations should she so choose to label him.

“It’s gonna feel so good when you’re inside of me.” She whispered, almost in awe. He was thick and long and she could feel every inch under her. It was almost intimidating to feel it and know that was going to be inside of her at some point. “But I… we have to wait for that. Wanna do that when we aren’t all… you know.” High. At least the first time they fucked, she wanted to be sober completely. “I think I could get off just like this, though. I feel so good right now.”

Harry nodded, his lips continuing to leave wet kisses on her skin, his hands roaming up her sides as he continued to grind himself against her.

"Impatient, aren't you, darling?" He teased, nipping at her neck before moving his mouth to her ear, whispering in it. "You'll just have to wait for that, though. But...there's always other ways to get us both off, hm?"

“Which way?” She breathed, eager to hear any and all suggestions he had.

Harry held her gaze, his eyes dark and full of desire as he spoke in a low, husky tone.

"Let me show you."

He gently pushed her back until she was laying down, his hands running down her thighs, pushing them apart slowly. Shifting his position, he hovered over her, his body fitting perfectly between her legs. His weight rested on his forearms as he looked down at her, she felt her world right itself from how it had been tipped over.

Y/N hadn’t expected the shift of direction but she liked it. Feeling him on top of her, she felt… delicate. Protected. Even if his gaze was predatory and hot, she knew he was good hands to be in.

She also hadn’t expected his hands to grab her shorts, pulling them off and tossing them to the side- but as soon as her panties were exposed, he settled back between her thighs. It was less of a barrier between them.

Harry hummed in approval as he got a glimpse of her panties, taking a moment to admire the sight before him. "You're so fucking wet, darling. Made a mess of those useless shorts. Panties aren’t much better." He murmured, his eyes roaming over her body before they went back up to her face. "And I fuckin’ love that you're all mine right now."

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. Grabbing his face, she pulled it back up to her own and kissed him. Taking matters into her own hands, she felt him reciprocate immediately. And god, could the man fucking kiss.

Harry let out a soft curse at her sudden action but didn't hesitate to kiss her back through it all, his lips moving against hers hungrily. He pressed his body closer against hers, trapping her beneath him as his tongue delved into her mouth, greedily tasting and claiming her like he had been teasing the whole time.

“I wish you could fuck me right now.” She whimpered, feeling him rock against her. His cock perfectly pressed against her cunt and their mouths lapping against one another’s, it was heated and desperate. They couldn’t, not right now, but the idea of it had her slick and throbbing. It was unfair how her body was so primed and ready for him but she had to do the right thing. He’d feel so perfect inside of her and she’d be so full and they both knew it. “I wish you were inside me.”

Harry groaned at her words, the sound almost like a growl as he buried his face against her neck, his breathing getting heavier as he heard her whimper. He rocked his hips against her, his own need growing stronger with every second that passed.

"You have no idea how badly I want that, darling. But we can't...not yet." He whispered against her skin, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “I’m plenty patient, though. I’ll wait for you to want it, and then…” the pause was heavy. “Then I’ll give you every fucking thing you’ve ever wanted out of a fuck. Can promise you that.”

“I know. I know.” There was no doubt that he was fully and utterly capable. She swallowed back her desperation, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull them closer. “You just feel so good against me. I never expected this…” she whispered against his mouth. “But I’m so happy you decided to be horny and suggest it.”

Harry laughed, leaning down to press his lips against her neck again, licking at the skin as he continued to move his hips against hers, his body hot and heavy against hers. He lifted his head up slightly, looking down at her with darkened eyes as he took in how she had started to look a little blissed out. Just how he wanted her.

"I didn't expect it either, darling. But... I'm glad I did." He murmured, his fingers caressing her skin as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Rubbing back and forth, rocking his clothed cock into the sticky heat of her ruined panties, he knew her scent would be on them and that just sort of did something to him. Her own mark left on him.

Y/N felt the bubbling pleasure in her tummy. Feeling him rutting against her, the softness of his tongue as it brushed against her own, his hand curled around the back of her neck in such a possessive and firm grip, she felt controlled in the best way. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him grind harder against her.

“Fuck, Daddy. That feels so fucking good, feeling you against my cunt.” She purred, keeping herself glued to him. There was a pause of moment but she could feel him twitch against her, the sharp intake of breath as he tried to catch himself. It had been a shot in the dark, but one that hit the bullseye. “You like when I call you that? Does it make you feel good too?”

The reaction was visible. The man liked it more than she could even seem but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to play into it to see just how far it went. “Daddy… daddy…. Dadddy.” She taunted, whispering it against his skin. “You’ll make me cum like this. Just keep grinding into me…. Just like this.”

Harry groaned at her response, his lips moving down to her neck, leaving biting kisses in his path. The honorific had him weak, even more worked up than he had thought he could be in this scenario. Little Y/N was getting bolder by the minute and he fucking adored it. It made him wonder what else he could get out of her.

"You're gonna get it, darling. Jus’ be patient and let me make you feel nice, the way you’ve been wantin’ too." he murmured against her skin, his hips continuing to move against hers, keeping a steady pace. His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him, his eyes dark and intense as he looked down at her. "Daddy's gonna take such good care of you, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt it."

Harry was hot to the touch, her fingers guiding his face back to kiss her as he ground his cock into her. She could feel how it twitched against her, her legs keeping him close so they could stay glued together. “That feels…” she babbled. “S’good. So good, H. I feel so hot and I’m so fucking wet and I wish there wasn’t anything between us but we gotta be good. So good.” She rambled. It was hard to control what left her mouth. She would call it temporary insanity if he brought it up again outside of their arrangement, but the simple movements were making her lose her goddamn head.

Harry's breathing was getting heavier by the minute, his heart pounding against his chest like they wanted to escape his ribcage as he continued to rock his hips against hers. He felt hot and needy, every fiber of his being screaming to be closer to her, but he held himself back, knowing that they had to at least try to be good. He’d get to sink his cock into that hot cunt another day, make her cum around it and squeeze and milk every drop from his balls into her. That was something he was going to look forward to. But for right now they were testing the waters, and he liked it way more than he thought he would.

"Y’feel so good, darling. So, so fuckin’ good, can barely stand it." He murmured against her lips, letting the praise flow easily off his tongue. It’s what the woman deserved. All these shitty hookups and no one knew how to get to those little itches she couldn’t scratch- but he could read her so easily. Harry knew what she needed. "You're doing so well for me, being so good. Daddy's proud of you."

The last sentence made her whine out loud. Pleasure flowed through her at his praise, wanting more of it. All of it. It had been so long since she had been touched by someone else, and while the last person she had expected to do it was her best friend, she had also never felt this level of desperation.

Harry could feel her body responding to his words, her whimpers and whines making his own desire for her grow even more. He loved knowing that his praise was making her feel good, that she needed to hear his words. He continued to murmur sweet, filthy things in her ear as his body moved against hers, his need for her growing more and more intense with every second.

"That’s my girl, sweetheart. You're doing so well for me, letting me take care of you like this."

He knew it had been a long time for her, felt it in how she kissed. Selfishly he would be glad to be the one she got to take care of her. No one else really deserved it. Maybe he didn’t either, but he cared for her genuinely. He liked her and he wanted the best for her- so that’s what he was going to do.

“M’gonna cum, daddy.” She whispered. “I feel it. You’re getting my clit so perfect each time you move… god, s’so embarrassing to cum dry humping but I forgot how good it feels.” Or maybe it just hadn’t ever felt this good with anyone else. It had been a while, sure, but she hadn’t actually had dry sex with someone since she was sneaking around with her boyfriends back home. Something about it made her know that it had to be a Harry thing, though. That he’s the reason it felt this fucking good and why she was desperate for it.

Harry could feel her words shooting straight to his core, his body growing hotter in response. He could tell that she was close before she had even said so, by the way her body trembled against him, by the way her words got breathier and more desperate. Hearing her say so only made him more eager to get there.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let daddy make you feel good, darling." Harry murmured in her ear, his hands gripping her tighter, his body moving against hers more frantically now as he chased his own release alongside hers. She was going to cum, she was going to cum because of him and fuck if that wasn’t the sweetest reward he could think of- he wasn’t sure what was. "You're doing so perfect for me. Just let go for me. You can do it. I've got you, sweet girl."

Y/N felt it approach quicker than she had wanted. It was no wonder, though. Harry was giving her everything she didn’t know she needed in the simplest way, and he wasn’t even inside of her yet. She felt safe and appreciated as his fingers held her and his lips cooed encouragement to her, the rhythmic back and forth of his cock rutting against her poor, soaked panties, the heat boiling over.

“I’m gonna- m’cumming, m’cumming, I’m cumming Daddy- Harry.” She babbled as her eyes welled up with pleasured tears, nails digging into his skin as she came.

Harry's breathing hitched as he felt her grip on him, her hands digging into his skin and her body trembling against his as she came. “There you go baby, there you fuckin’ go. Yes.” He gasped, feeling himself tip over the edge. His name leaving her lips in a strangled whimper had been the final straw, his own release hitting him like a wave, his body shuddering against hers as he followed her over the edge. Shooting right into his briefs, he felt the hot and sticky load and momentarily mourned the loss of it not being inside of her, but it was quickly passed over as the orgasm washed over him.

"God, darling," the man groaned, his voice low and rough as he buried his face against her neck. Mouthing over the skin as he tried to gather his bearings, he mumbled sweetness into her. "You did so well for me, sweetheart. You're so perfect. So good for me. Sweetest fuckin’ peach."

The loud groan that followed her own had caught her off guard, the sharp thrusts of his hips making her cry out in overstimulation but she did little to stop it, keeping her legs around his hips. “What the fuck was that?” She laughed, head falling back on the sofa with her eyes blurry and wet. It was hard to think.

Harry couldn’t say anything, his own brain fuzzy and his body in overload after that climax. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his forehead resting on her shoulder. His curls brushed her skin, scalp slightly damp as her fingers settled in the mess of hair and brushed through it without a second thought.

"Bloody fuckin’ hell, babe." Harry finally managed to say, his voice a bit shaky. "That was… incredible." He lifted his head up, looking down at her disheveled and flushed form, his eyes roaming over her.

It was just dry sex, but it had been better than some of the full on stuff he’d had. Maybe it was just their connection, their vibe, maybe even being high, but he knew it felt impeccable. This was something he wanted to revisit- and he would, especially when he was all alone with his hand on his cock.

“If it feels good like that, what the hell are we gonna do when we do the real thing?” Y/N blinked up at him, the flush of her orgasm glowing on her skin. She felt her body shivering slightly, her poor panties a complete mess she’d need to change into, but there was no regret so far. It took her by surprise considering she had been anticipating a bit of awkwardness between the both of them but there was no hint of it as they recovered, a light kiss pressed over her cheek as his hazy eyes looked down at her.

Harry let out a half-laugh, his body still feeling heavy and spent after that intense release- one that had been a welcomed surprise. There had been no prior indication that would be happening tonight but for as insane as it was that it happened, he was more than happy that it did. Getting to experience this side of Y/N had been something he liked far more than he could have ever anticipated.

Leaning down, his forearms rested on either side of her head as his eyes locked with hers while he spoke. "I have a feeling that the real thing will be earth-shattering." He said, his voice low and slightly hoarse. "The wait might kill me, though."

[writeriguess]

Can I request an established relationship with katsuki x reader where reader has a healing quirk, but whateber injury she heals, she feels a fraction of the pain and drains her own energy.

she had to heal a lot of civilians in the mission and katsuki finds her before she passes out

Borrowed Pain

The battlefield was finally quiet. Smoke and dust still clung to the air, the acrid scent of destruction mixing with the metallic tang of blood. It had been a brutal fight—villains tearing through the city like a wildfire, leaving behind wreckage, wounded civilians, and far too much loss.

But you had done your part.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against another injured civilian’s body, your quirk flickering to life in a soft, golden glow. You gritted your teeth as their deep gash slowly sealed itself shut, your skin prickling with the familiar burn of borrowed pain. The moment the wound disappeared, a sharp sting lanced through your own abdomen—a phantom pain, a fraction of what they had endured, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You had lost count of how many people you had healed.

Your body was barely holding together. Each time you healed someone, it took something from you—your energy, your strength, your stability. The worst part wasn’t even the fatigue; it was the cumulative pain, layer upon layer of injuries you hadn’t actually sustained, but still felt as if you had. Your arms ached as if they’d been broken and reset a dozen times over. Your ribs throbbed with phantom bruises. Your head was spinning from the strain.

But you couldn’t stop.

Not when another civilian, a mother clutching her unconscious daughter, was crying out for help.

Not when people needed you.

You forced yourself forward, dragging your heavy limbs across the debris-littered ground. You sank to your knees beside them, nearly toppling over from the sheer effort of staying upright. The little girl was breathing, but her leg was bent at an unnatural angle. Fractured, at the very least.

You exhaled shakily. “I’m going to fix her,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, because the mother’s sobs made it clear she wasn’t hearing anything beyond her own panic.

You placed your hands on the girl’s leg and summoned what little energy you had left. The glow of your quirk was duller now, weaker. You weren’t even sure if you had enough in you to mend the break.

But you had to try.

The moment the healing process started, a searing pain shot through your own leg. You bit down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the strangled sound of pain that threatened to escape. It felt like your bone had snapped, like the marrow itself was burning—but then, after a few agonizing seconds, it was gone.

The girl stirred with a soft whimper, her leg whole again.

But you—

The world tilted violently. Your vision blurred, colors bleeding together in a hazy mess. You tried to push yourself up, to move onto the next person, but your limbs refused to cooperate.

Your heart pounded sluggishly in your chest. You could barely feel the ground beneath you.

Too much.

You had given too much.

Your body swayed, and just as you felt yourself pitching forward, a voice—loud, rough, unmistakable—cut through the fog in your mind.

“The hell do ya think you’re doing?!”

A pair of strong arms caught you before you could hit the ground. The scent of burnt caramel filled your senses, familiar and grounding. Katsuki.

You wanted to say something, to reassure him that you were fine, that you just needed a second, but the moment you met his gaze, the words died in your throat.

His expression—fierce, scowling—was betrayed by the sheer panic in his crimson eyes. His hands, calloused but warm, cradled you carefully, as if afraid you’d break apart if he held you any tighter.

"You overdid it again, dumbass,” he growled, voice thick with frustration. “I told ya not to push yourself like this!"

You tried to smile, tried to play it off, but even that was too much effort. “People needed help,” you mumbled instead, eyelids fluttering.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, his jaw clenching. “And what about you, huh? Who the hell’s gonna help you when you’re passin’ out on the goddamn street?!”

You had no answer.

Because, deep down, you hadn’t even considered yourself.

You had only been thinking about them.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, exhaustion wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Your body felt weightless and unbearably heavy all at once, limbs refusing to respond, breath shallow and uneven.

Katsuki tightened his grip, as if he could physically hold you together with just his arms alone. His heart was pounding against your cheek. “Don’t you dare pass out,” he muttered, shaking you slightly. “Oi, stay with me.”

But you couldn’t.

You fought it—really, you did—but the darkness was already creeping in, dragging you under. The last thing you felt before everything went black was Katsuki pulling you closer, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the icy numbness in your veins.

And the last thing you heard was his voice, raw and desperate.

“I got you, alright? Just—fuck—just stay with me.”

*-*-*-*

Your eyelids felt like lead, heavy and unyielding, but the warmth pressed against your side was familiar. It anchored you, coaxing you from the depths of unconsciousness. The air was different here—cleaner, free of smoke and dust, carrying the faint antiseptic scent of a medical ward.

You stirred, your body protesting with a dull, lingering ache. Every muscle felt wrung out, every nerve frayed at the edges. A low, irritated grunt sounded beside you.

"'Bout damn time you woke up."

The voice—gruff and unmistakable—sent a wave of relief through your foggy mind. You managed to pry your eyes open, blinking against the dim light. Katsuki was slouched in a chair beside your bed, arms crossed, brows furrowed in a scowl that didn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders. His usual hero gear had been replaced with a simple black shirt and sweatpants, but he still looked battle-worn—his hands wrapped in gauze, a faint bruise darkening his cheekbone.

"Katsuki…?" Your voice came out hoarse, your throat dry and sore.

His scowl deepened. "Yeah, dumbass. Who else would be here watchin’ your reckless ass?"

You tried to push yourself up, but the moment you moved, a sharp pain lanced through your limbs. Katsuki was there in an instant, his hands firm but careful as he eased you back against the pillows. "The hell do ya think you’re doin’? Lay the fuck down."

A weak chuckle escaped you. "I feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Yeah? Well, servin’ yourself up on a silver platter like that’ll do that to ya." His voice was gruff, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed something deeper—anger, frustration… concern.

You let your head rest against the pillow, exhaling softly. "How long was I out?"

Katsuki hesitated, then muttered, "Almost two days."

Your eyes widened. "Two—?" You tried to sit up again, only for his hand to press firmly against your shoulder, keeping you down with surprising gentleness.

"I swear to god, if you don’t stop fuckin’ movin’, I’ll tie you to the damn bed."

You huffed a tired laugh but obeyed, sinking back. "What happened?"

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "You pushed yourself way too far. You were burnin’ up, shakin’ like a damn leaf. Could barely fuckin’ breathe." His fingers curled into fists. "You scared the shit outta me."

That last part was muttered under his breath, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. But you did. And it sent warmth blooming in your chest, even through the exhaustion.

"I just…" You swallowed, throat tight. "People needed me."

"Yeah? And what, you don’t?" Katsuki snapped, eyes flashing. "You think you can just keep throwin’ yourself away for everyone else and it won’t fuckin’ matter?"

His words struck something deep inside you, something raw and unspoken. You had always known the risks of your quirk. The cost of healing. But you had never really thought about what it did to you—only what it did for others.

Katsuki dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Look, I get it. You wanna help people. That’s what heroes do. But not at the damn expense of your own life, dumbass."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don’t know how to stop."

For a moment, he just stared at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then, with a sigh, he shifted closer, resting his forearms on the edge of the bed. "Then I’ll make sure you do."

His voice had lost its usual bite, softened into something steadier. A promise.

You met his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself lean into the warmth of someone else’s care.

"Okay."

[btsbabe7]

Keep Me (In the Shadows)

Word Count: 5.4k

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, impregnation

Synopsis: The walls of Hogwarts contain many secrets of their own, but on a late night, you and Draco Malfoy find yourselves uncovering one of your very own.

“Is it true,” Draco begins, voice ragged and rough around the edges, “that everything in this blasted castle resets at midnight?”

You watch the way the hem of his ebony robe propels on a soft wind over the dusty cobblestone tiles of the corridor. He remains a few strides ahead as he always does, walking quickly, yet aimlessly. He’d once told you it’d been his way of deflecting attention. If his eyes remained straight ahead, naturally he’d be unaware that you’re following his every move or anyone else for that matter.

So, you trail him inconspicuously, keeping your eyes glued to the empty corridor walls, the back of his robe, and his platinum hair with no real destination in your mind either. Your only goal is not getting caught alone with him this late in the night when students are forbidden to be outside of their dorms. If one were to stop you two, say a professor, you’d both lie and say you were returning to your respective areas. Draco’s speed walking would be believable enough.

“I’m sure there may be some logic behind that, but ultimately, I doubt it…”

“And you and Potter? Did that relationship reset at midnight? Better yet, what’s the logic behind that?”

Draco practically spits the words out in spite and you come to a sudden halt as they echo throughout the corridor. His words are far too large for a space so empty, for a space where perked, attentive ears may overhear or eavesdrop. In a corridor where lurking eyes may pry around corners in search of the next day’s gossip, you have to be careful. It’d happened before, not to you and Draco, but other students, and their secret escapades had been aired out to all who dared to listen over the next morning’s pumpkin juice. Yet, Draco cares more about this than the idea of being caught and the risk of detention. You can sense it in the way his shoulders and back stiffen with his walk.

Tossing your left arm over your right, you give the upper portion a soft squeeze while inhaling deeply through your nose. Dust tickles your nostrils and the faint smell of leftovers fill the air. You take in the toastiness of roasted chicken, the garlicky herbs that had been marinated into bite-sized potatoes, the sweet cinnamon sugar coating that had been dusted over pumpkin pasties and handcrafted pies, and the savory aroma of buttered rolls as they all congregate in a single whiff. With a sharp exhale through your mouth, you spew your thoughts.

“And who told you that? Your loyal gang of servants over this morning’s breakfast? Crabbe and Goyle? Zabini perhaps? Is that why you avoided me in Potions today?”

Draco stops mid-step and glances down at the obsidian leather crafting the wholecut Oxford shoes laced at his feet. His inhale is just as sharp as your exhale had been and he spins on the heel so quickly that the violent whip of his robe is enough to take your breath away, even several steps away. His eyes laser in on you and the space between your bodies suddenly feels smaller. Tighter. Suffocating.

His strides are few, long and confident, and you know he’ll land in front of you before you have a chance to finalize your true opening argument. With the click, clack, clicking of his expensive shoes bringing him closer, you whimper.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. I want to know if it’s true. What they’re saying about you and Potter getting back together, dating again, and when you were planning to tell me. All these nights we’ve been sneaking about the castle together and you didn’t bother mentioning it,” he hisses the words in a rush and sneers at the thought of you with the oh so perfect chosen one while he’s left on the sidelines. “You didn’t tell me you were considering it, considering him again. You didn’t mention it on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower, not in stacks of the Restricted Section, not in your dorm nor mine, and certainly not here, in this blasted corridor. Why not mention it a week ago when y—“

“Don’t finish that sentence, Draco,” you snarl.

His brows pinch at the challenge, but your eyes go wide in alert from the words you know were close to escaping his lips. Lewd and shameful they would have been had they reached the atmosphere. You glance up and down the seemingly void corridor with those same wild, worried eyes. You know how things can be twisted to snare even the brightest and most innocent of witches, but the words that clung to his tongue wouldn’t need to be twisted in order to ruin you both. Your quick search is fruitless and you let out a shaky sigh while rolling your shoulders back.

“I was going to tell you, Draco, that I was considering it… considering him, again.”

“When?” He demands. “Or were you going to wait until my tongue was halfway down your throat? Again.”

“Before, of course! Merlin… What kind of girl do you take me for, Draco?”

“You and I know exactly what kind of girl you are,” Draco retorts and studies you smugly.

His lips seal in a tight line and fire and ice blaze in the depths of his eyes before he spins once more and storms off in a blinding rage. You watch as he strides off prematurely, before hearing you out. He mutters something about how he knew things were too good to be true as he continues down the endless hall. You watch the way his hand clasps the nape of his neck under his long blonde hair and he keeps it there for a good while.

Once you gather your own thoughts, you hurry your strides in an attempt to mirror him, but you struggle to keep up with his head start and longer strides. The perks of being tall, you remind yourself. When you do catch up, he’s almost at the very end of the corridor, a dead end anyways, but you snatch him to a halt by the hood of his robe.

Draco falters and lets out a guttural groan when the sound of a ripping seam cuts through the silent air in response.

“You’ll pay for this, Y/ln!”

You feel prepared now. You’re ready to make your argument, to stand your ground, to explain yourself. You know that you have the right words sorted out and that with Draco cornered, he’ll have to listen.

Until he turns to face you.

His pink lips are pulled into a grimacing tight-lipped frown and an indented line appears down the center of his forehead where his thick brown brows are drawn together. His eyes shift over your features erratically before settling on yours, sharp like a double edged dagger ready to pierce. Two furious, impenetrable walls of frozen silver. Your body frosts over and you shrink where you stand. You struggle to meet his gaze and chew on the inside of your cheek as your mind goes blank.

You can’t think.

You can hardly breathe.

And when Draco opens his mouth, you wonder how you’re still alive when your heartbeat is racing so rapidly that your chest could easily explode.

“Tell me, Y/n,” he seethes.

A violent flame dances behind the walls of ice in his irises as his gaze flickers over the features of your face in frustration. Your lips are reddened and cracked from nibbling at them in nervousness and your nose appears swollen and puffed as if you’re attempting to hold back tears. Draco would usually swallow his pride seeing you in such a state, but he needs answers, so he settles on the wildness behind your dark eyes before continuing.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “When he fucks you, do you think of me?”

Your eyes dart towards his and your cheeks grow unbearably hot. You choke on the words as if you’re the one who dared spout them out. You’ve never experienced Draco this livid. You’d never heard his words become this vulgar, at least not with you, and that makes you all the more nervous. You’d convinced yourself that these nightly escapades meant nothing to him, that you were nothing more than a girl he could use or discard at his own will. He’s Draco Malfoy for heaven’s sake, and he could have any girl he pleased, that had come with the territory of having power and money at your disposal. You’d thought tonight would be the last night when you’d received his owl and that he’d be alright with that fact.

Clearly you’ve never been more wrong in your entire life.

You watch his tongue glide across the smooth plains of his natural pink lips and the fire blazing quietly in the torches overhead reflect a glistening orange on the thin coat of saliva left behind. You fixate on his features, from those shimmering lips up to the bridge of his nose. Your eyes roam up to the very roots of his platinum blonde hair before retracing your gaze and focusing on his eyes once more. They’ve softened a bit, not from the fire in the torches, but from the fire now kindling between you two.

He lets out a scoff as if he’s annoyed by you, as if you’ve been the pain in his arse all along. Before your brain can register the noise that escapes the base of his throat for a second time, he delves into you.

His lips are the first part of his body that comes into contact with yours. They’re warm against yours and so pillowy soft that you can’t bear pulling away. Instead, you bring your arms up to his collarbones and allow your index finger and thumb to mold into the curved base of his long neck. His artery pulses wildly underneath your grasp and your heart warms at the rhythmic expansion. You love the feeling, the palpitating of thick blood quickening through his body, underneath his skin, all livened by your touch.

Draco takes the final step to close your bodies together more comfortably and brings his arms around your waist to mold you into the perfect contours of his slender body.

“I can’t stop,” he mutters against your mouth and drops his lips into the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to stop, Y/n.”

He knows this will ruin you. It does every single time. With his lips against your neck and his words growing more desperate, lower and needier with each breath. You know exactly what he’s playing at. And yet, you allow your head to tilt back for more. More. More. And more. You’ll always need more of this, more of him. You rake a hand through the hairs lying against the nape of his neck. They’re course, yet silky in your gentle grasp and you close your eyes to the ceiling with a sweet smile as it drives him deeper into your flesh.

“Draco,” you purr.

He doesn’t bother responding with words. He only deepens the way he’s been working his lips against your flesh before allowing his burning tongue to trace a long column up the full length.

With this, you know exactly what is going to happen tonight and you take no desire in stopping it, not for Harry’s sake nor anyone else’s. In this very moment, it’s just you, Draco, and your desperate need for each other.

Need is a fickle thing and the need had begun long ago, long before your months of sneaking around to be together. It started when you were with Harry and Draco’s icy eyes would meet yours from across the room. Potions, the Great Hall, Herbology. Hell, even during their Quidditch practices. Somehow his eyes had always found yours in every room, and perhaps, some part buried deep inside of you liked it.

Every single glance had you feeling things Harry never made you feel during your three years of dating. It’s made you feel warm and dizzy as if you were going mad. Yet, nothing truly begun when you’d ended things with Harry. It’d been just before Christmas break. Harry planned to return home for its duration, so you had the comfort of knowing he’d be able to mend himself surrounded by those he loved, family and friends, while you stayed behind.

All your friends had called you mad when they discovered your frequent whereabouts—studying with Draco in the courtyards, his frequent smirks gifted across the dining tables during breakfast or dinner, his need to suddenly partner with you in Potions right after the break. You never truly expected them to understand the hungriness of your yearning for each other, that need for constant contact. Something in Draco’s presence had brought you back to a primal state of being, of craving and desire. Something feral melded in the deepest parts of your core and engraved itself in your very bones when his eyes met yours, but you couldn’t tell your friends that. So, instead of going behind Harry’s back, this is the alternative. This is freedom.

Draco takes a single step back and relishes the way you shiver when he releases a cool breath against the wet trail he’d left behind. He watches you slowly unravel from the ribbon of your high while shuffling out of his robe. Your eyes remain glassy and wide, glazed with lust as you work off his tie and snake it around your own neck before moving in to unbutton his shirt. The shiny black buttons are slick against your fingers as you round them out of each hole. One by one they expose a pinch more of his creamy white skin, so smooth and pale and familiar, and your mouth froths at the sight.

Draco manages to remove his belt from the buckle and unbutton his pressed trousers as you work at the buttons. By the time you’ve finished unhooking the last, his pants pool around his ankles with a soft thud. He backs you against an opening and hoists you up on the ledge of one of the many oversized lattice windows lining the corridor wall. Silver moonlight plays in the sharp grayish hues of his irises and you watch it as he focuses on you. He kneels to work your black stockings off and your stomach knots. He’s become quite the expert in doing this, managing to get the black fabric off and having your skirt and panties out of sight within seconds.

Draco smirks, a cocky smile that reflects his satisfaction after they plop onto the floor with a quiet thud. He drapes your legs over his forearms, hooking his arms underneath your knees, and stares into the void between your bodies. Your brows furrow as you study him. You swear you can sense worry creeping over his features. Perhaps the thought of you going behind Harry’s back has him rattled, or perhaps the idea of getting caught, even though you two never have before.

He relaxes his shoulders and lets out a sigh that would’ve gone unnoticed had you not been watching him. But the worry slips away just as quickly as it’d come, and in a few blinks of your eyes, the only evidence remaining is the gentle twinkle in his eyes when they finds yours again.

Murals of silvery grey fall upon you as the pressure between your thighs rings sharp. You need this just as much as he does. There are no games and the foreplay remains the small tiff you two just had as the aching pleasure of him slipping against you engulfs all your senses. You gasp in relief, eyes lowering at the feeling of his stiff sex gathering your sticky arousal. He teases your bottom lip with his tongue and grazes his chill breath over your warmth.

Draco watches you squirm uncomfortably on the stone ledge. He has to admit that this wasn’t the best place for sex and he hates the idea of your bare ass plastered on the dusty, frigid sandstone bricks, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t wait until one of you found a more respectful place to relieve yourselves. He couldn’t be bothered either when he’d led you to the stacks of the Restricted Section for the first time months ago during Christmas break, nor when he’d taken you in his dorm knowing his friend’s would be asleep in the same room. The list goes on, and yet, he needs you just the same now. He would’ve taken you in the Great Hall if he had to, would have risked everything to have lain you out like his own personal spread to devour whole. That’s how crazy you drive him, that’s how mad you make him feel, and he can’t wait another second. Not even when the idea of betraying Potter in such a way lurks heavily in the back of his mind, even after the whispers, the rumors of you two being back together. It’s the ultimate betrayal, but he cannot stop himself. He has no control over this.

Your mouth parts to let out a moan. As it does, Draco places his palm firmly over it, covering those beautiful lips and muting the sound before slithering between your decadent folds. His teeth sink into his bottom lip to rein in his own pleasure. You feel like a tight hug and he almost loses himself in the feeling. So warm, so comforting, so cruelly wet. Aside from the last fact, he’s sure this is what heaven feels like, what home should feel like, and he knows he can’t let this go. He can’t let this feeling of belonging be stripped away if he finally gets a say in it.

Your head rolls back with the first snap of his hips and you mewl softly. It’s only been two days and you’d magically forgotten how delicious and blissful the first taste of his cock is. You’d forgotten the pleasure in feeling his heat and hardness running deep along your walls and pulling your orgasm closer with each motion. He thrusts in again and your back arches. You watch your breaths fog against the exposed glass panes, weaving their own intricate patterns between ebony lattice, and it takes you back to the first time Draco had claimed your innocence.

On Christmas morning, after breakfast, you’d sent your owl from your dorm window with a letter that contained only two lines:

Restricted Section tonight.

Don’t be late, Malfoy.

Since that magical night in the stacks, you’ve never loved anything more. Every week for a month, you’d sought him out. It’d been pathetic, but you were unable to liberate yourself from the yearning of taking him again. Your need wouldn’t subside, even after you’d taken him. He’d turned you into this feral, insane being, and you found yourself chasing that body to body connection and the slow build up of your pleasure around his length endlessly.

Draco’s pants fill your ears with the sweetest melody as he plows into you, leaving no more room for nostalgia. With each violent rut of his hips, neither of you have the time to recover from the ecstasy prickling in your veins. The heat pooling in your core keeps your mind centered and your gaze focused on him.

“Draco...”

You watch him through heavy, lidded eyes, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip in a teasing grin as you watch his hips burst forward. The rhythmic sound of your skin colliding and his low howling heightens your senses. Suddenly, you’re keenly aware of the little ache unraveling like a ribbon in the pit of your belly, but also the bareness of his chest begging to be touched.

You glide your fingertips up the plain of his stomach, taking in the darkened hairs forming around the edges of his navel. You follow the faint trail up to his lanky chest, taking in the slight bit of muscle around his pecks before continuing up and over his shoulders. You curl yourself around him and trace circles over the bone when he falters closer. Beads of sweat form over the span on his forehead and you watch the way it collects like glistening raindrops against his scalp before trickling down streaks of his swaying platinum hair. You fight every instinct in order to spare him of the sensation of your fingers running throughout his hair and massaging into his scalp. He’d shutter in pleasure if you were to so, and right now, he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Draco’s fingernails burrow into the flesh of your hips and you howl at the feeling, abandoning all prior thoughts. He thrusts forward. Harder. Deeper… Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. Then, again and again while a series of moans pour from your parted mouth.

“Tell me you won’t miss how good I make you feel?” He murmurs. “Isn’t that why you’re here tonight? Because poor little Potter cannot be bothered with pleasing his own woman? He should be treating you like the chosen one. Doesn’t he know you are?”

You bite into your lip again, but this time it’s to keep your mouth shut. You know there’s no use in telling him the truth, that Harry hadn’t as much as lain a finger on you in this way. Not once in all the three years you’d been together. Though, you know he’s wanted to. Draco is the only one that’s ever had you this way, completely defiled you, talked you down, brought you to your lowest and highest all at once.

Your eyes roll again as Draco steadies out his rhythm to catch his breath.

Surely the portraits will spread word in the morning of how they heard students moaning and followed the sound after seeing you and Draco disappear down an unlined corridor moments before. You’ll have to talk to Harry and admit it. That’s one thing you’re certain of. If you don’t, they’ll call you scandalous and Draco would get it worse. Dumbledore may even have to expel you faster than Professor Snape can chastise Malfoy for his lewd, unacceptable actions, in which his father, Lucius, will truly not want to hear about.

“Shit…” he hisses. His eyes snap shut and his lips tremor with his ragged pants. His nose crinkles and the movement of his hips grow erratic once again. With his grip tightening on your flesh, he lets out a low groan. “I’ve almost forgotten how good you feel. I might blow my load inside of you… teach you a lesson.”

“You will not,” you protest, straight faced and using all your strength to not react to the pleasure radiating throughout your body. “Draco, we can’t.”

“Or what? You’ll curse me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Draco sneers and leans down until his face is hovering above yours. He allows your ankles to rest against his shoulders, knees parallel to the ceiling. He watches the way you fight every instinct of pleasure, how you keep your eyes on his instead of allowing them to sink back, how you hold his triceps when you want nothing more than to have your hands grasping your aching breasts or to have them wrapped tightly around the base of his throat. He chuckles at the fact that you wish to moan, but your duty to privacy holds steady, keeps you quiet and whimpering instead of letting loose. And he watches in amusement as you slowly unravel with every swift and sharp stroke of his hips. As he does, he begins to realize just how much he actually cares about you.

“Tell him you’re mine,” Draco demands. “Tell me and tonight you’ll tell him so I can spend all day showing you how well I treat my personal possessions.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease. “Is that right, Draco?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You let out a sharp giggle and rope him in closer by the back of his neck, so close that you can take in every breath exhaling from his lungs and pull them into your own. You watch the way the iciness in his eyes melts away and glaze over with something more warm and comforting. And your core ripples at the possibility of something more than lust looming between the both of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re this close already,” he complains, truly embarrassed for you by the look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Mmm… I think I am,” you whimper and grasp the lapels of his crinkled button up to yank him a breath closer. “Fill me up, Draco…”

He scoffs.

He is truly embarrassed for you, but you wish he could see himself panting, slicked with sweat, eyes soft, and looking so sexy whilst buried between your thighs. He’s the portrait of pathetic and you know you should make him beg.

“Beg,” you croak and yank him down until his lips are just above yours.

Your throat stings, sore and scratchy from attempting to leave it shut as Draco plowed through your slick folds one thrust at a time.

“You’re insane,” he chuckles and glimpses down at your reddened lips.

“Only for you,” you whisper and swallow a moan as you caress the sharpness of his cheeks. “Make me yours, Draco.”

His lips tug into a sharp smile and he presses his lips against yours hard and hungrily. He’s tired of your games. Perhaps he realized that much sooner than tonight and the thought of losing you had become too unbearable for him.

“Fuck,” he huffs into the sticky air between the both of you before reclaiming your lips.

“Love your cock being buried inside of me, Draco.”

You finally moan against him. After all, you aren’t evil enough to keep edging yourself when you’re both this close. He pulls his mouth away, panting heavily as he plants his palms on either side of you and stiffens.

“Are you finished?”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means. It only confirms that he’s serious now, serious in showing you exactly how he takes care of what’s his.

He glances down at his hardened length, only the tip remains hidden inside of your depths, and the rest gleams in your sticky, sweet arousal. He wants to taste you, but more than anything, he wants to bury his load deep inside of you. He wants it so deep that it doesn’t dare to trickle out. He doesn’t care about the consequences this close to graduation; he only cares about you filled to the brim with a piece of him, no matter what it is.

He thrusts inside and watches the way you swallow him greedily. Then, repeats the action again and again in a rapid rock of his hips. He senses your falling apart—legs trembling against his body, eyes softening to a roll, your arousal warming to slick wetness, scorching hot with each plunge. He takes pride in his string of thrusts, delivering them in a steady rhythm. Though, he wishes to tear you apart, your freed moans keep him from doing so. They guide him and keep him steady like music in his ears.

He grasps your chin and pulls your lazy gaze back to him.

“Keep your eyes right here, darling,” he demands sternly. “I want to see the way they roll when you release.”

With clenched teeth, you attempt to snatch your chin back, but he keeps his grip firm and your maneuver hardly wavers as he picks up speed with a groan and chuckle.

“You thought I’d let you dominate me?” He teases, his chuckle cutting through your moans. “I almost had you convinced. But don’t forget, my love, I’m always in control. No one tells me what to do.”

You whimper as he presses a thumb into your mouth to pacify you before ripping through your depths. His thrusts grow quicker with each second and you have no time to recoup from the pleasure prickling through your veins and pulsating in every corner of your being like liquid fire. Just as your eyes begin to roll, Draco snatches your jaw, showing just how much in control he truly is.

“I wish Potter could see how well you take me,” he pants cockily. “Just imagine if he knew the way I fit inside of you. So perfectly, if I do say so myself. You should see the way your cunt grips around my cock. You should see how wet you are for me. I dare you.”

You hum against his thumb and the vibration ricochets through you in a deep wave as you dare to glimpse between your thighs. You catch sight of his cock, a pulsing red with a vein so thick that it looks as though it hurts, and your arousal coating the surface in a glistening sweetness. Draco watches with you and your head spins.

“It’s been two days since I’ve felt you tightening around me. I can’t wait to feel it again.”

You keep your lips clasped tightly around his thumb. Your mind can hardly think of a quip, let alone find any words to overpower him. You don’t want to. You focus on the way his cock feels slipping in and out of your depths at different lengths, growing unsteady with each sway of his hips. You focus on his silver eyes staring into yours and his mocking grin as you finally come to terms with the fact that you are his. You’ve always been his. He’s just known it much longer than you have.

A bead of sweat drips from the tip of his swapping bangs and plops against your bare stomach. Draco chuckles and slicks his damp hair back with one hand while using his thumb on the other to massage the moisture into your skin. He presses in with a bit more pressure in attempt to feel himself plunging in and out of you. He keeps his thumb pressed firmly against you and steadies himself until he feels the motion underneath it. In and out. In and out, bulging at the center of your tightening core.

“Perhaps one day you’ll write about how well you take me,” he purrs. “And we’ll fill our library with books on our lovemaking.”

“I’m sure such books already exist,” you gasp, recalling all the steamy muggle romances you’d read over the summer.

“Then you’ll read one to me one of these days. Share your findings?”

“I’d rather show you,” you whisper.

He smiles, almost faltering before regaining his composure and finding your hips again.

“Draco?”

“Mhm?”

“Tell me I’m your favorite,” you mutter and buck up against him.

He stops suddenly and his nails dig deep into your pillowy flesh. You feel his cock twitch deep inside of you and you smirk when his eyes land on yours again.

“Being sneaky are we?” He muses and rams into you.

His palm finds your mouth again just before a bloodcurdling moan slips out.

He does it again with a teasing smile.

Then again.

And again.

And again until you’re whimpering and trembling around him. You reach for his forearm, but he denies it and presses into you harder.

Your eyes roll and you grasp the ledge underneath yourself, but it’s too hard. You go for his wrist, the same one allowing his hand to keep you almost silenced. You shiver around him and your thighs go limp against his thrusts. It’s not long after that his pants turn into a sharp hiss and a new heat overwhelms you.

Draco falters on top of you and stares straight into your eyes as he fills you up to the brim with his warm seed. You search his eyes for any form of deceit, but you find none. There never has been, not when it came to you and him.

His hand slowly retreats and you let out a loud inhale, taking in the dusty air of the corridor before slinging your arms around his neck and rushing your lips against his. He tastes of tart apples, salty sweat, and the sticky strawberry taste of your lipgloss. You never knew you needed to taste such a combination, but if it came from him, you’d take it. You’d take it all.

“Y/n,” he mumbles.

“Yes, Draco?”

His eyes focus on yours as if the stars he’d once seen dancing around your face are slowly subsiding, and the cloudiness of lust and desire fade.

“You truly are my favorite,” he breathes and runs a hand through your curls before peppering your lips with kisses. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

And somewhere deep in your gut, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you hear those words, especially since you’d forgotten to confirm that it had only been a rumor going around the school, mere whispers. Someone had lied about you dating Harry again, but you don’t mind when the result of it brought Draco crawling back to you.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

[kaechu1]

Hermes x noble!reader

note: this fic takes longer than it supposed to be soo...and this is for my pookie @plushiesssforcrying HERE YOU HAVE IT NOW LET MY FAMILY GO!

warning: ranged marriage, mommy issues? idk but the mother being an ass.

pronounce: this was supposed to be gender neutral but now it's fem reader!! i didn't even notice until i read it

it was early in the morning when [y/n] decided to wake up and get herself ready for the day, her mother tells her there's something important she want to discuss with her so she make sure she wake up early.

[y/n] was excited thinking it's just her mother rewarding her again for doing great with her studies or for taking good care of her little siblings like always.

but she wasn't ready to hear what she meant.

as [y/n] sit from her bed and straight to her closet to choose something to wear she heard a noise coming from her balcony. she smile softly as she didn't even need to turn her head to know who was standing there.

"visiting me so early, huh hermes?"

said [y/n] as she continue looking through her clothes for something to wear as she hear his little cheeky giggles behind her.

"how couldn't i? you know i miss you my darling" says the god as he enters her room and starts walking towards her "why didn't you miss me?~"

[y/n] giggles as she turn her face to him, seeing how the sun kissing his face so beautifully "you know that's not true, i always miss you." says [y/n] as kiss his cheek before going back through her closet

"i know darling, no one can reset my charm~"

"you're so full of yourself"

"but you love it, don't you!~"

"yes, i do"

[y/n] giggles softly as hermes wrap his arms around her waist from behind as he rest her head on her shoulder. "feeling comfortable i see?" [y/n] say softly. "how can't i? you're so soft and tiny compared to me" said hermes as he giggled again feeling the room with his silly and cheeky giggles.

"I'm happy you're feeling comfortable love , but i need to go, my mom wants to talk to me about something important this morning. i think it's another reward for doing great in my studies" said [y/n] happily as take one of the dresses in her closet and push Hermes away slightly.

"and don't you have messages to send anyway?" said [y/n] as she smirk looking at hermes who look a little bit disappointed

"well, yes but i thought I'll check on you first and who knows, maybe I'll get a little kiss in return~" says hermes as his smirk finds it way back to his face as he bends a little so his face was in front of hers.

[y/n] sigh softly as she chuckles "okay you'll have your kiss, but you need to go. don't want anyone to see you here okay?"

"sure sure, don't worry darling. no one will know that [y/n] the daughter of the wealthiest nobles is kissing and making out with a god~" he said before his smirk get wilder as his voice dripping with sarcasm.

[y/n] giggles softly before she get closer cupping his check pulling him closer as their lips finally meet. hermes didn't waste anytime as he hold her waist pulling her even closer as their kiss got deeper.

but before anything else happened, [y/n] start hearing sounds of steps coming closer to her bedroom door. she quickly push Hermes breaking the kiss. "someone is coming you should go, now!"

"[y/n], are you still sleep?"

[y/n] jump as she hears her mom calling her from behind her door as she knock on it. "you should go Hermes, now!" [y/n] said quietly as she didn't waste anytime and start pushing Hermes to her window again "but we didn't even finish kissing!" said hermes quite as he stood outside her balcony.

"we'll continue it later, now if she enters and sees us, we're done!" hermes just sighs as he looks disappointed. "fine... but you own me!" says hermes as he gets his fret off the ground ready to head off "sure sure love, just go now. bye"

said [y/n] before waving to hermes as she close her window. and then her door open. "[y/n], why didn't you answer me when i knock? and why aren't you ready yet?"

"m.. mother i was just getting ready before you knock, I'll be ready just give me seconds" [y/n] said as she smile nervously hoping her mother won't suspect anything.

her mother on the other hand either didn't notice or didn't care enough to bring it up."we're waiting for you, get ready and come to eat breakfast"

"sure mother!"

then as the door closed [y/n] sigh deeply as she sit on the ground calming herself down for few seconds before she decided to stand up and start getting ready.

as [y/n] start walking down the stairs she sees her her siblings and her mom and dad, and she she start walking towards her seat her father voice stops her. "[y/n] my dear, why won't you come?"

[y/n] was confused at first but she didn't ask as she go and dit beside her father as he start petting her head. "you've grown so much my dear." said her father softly as he look at her with caring eyes.

[y/n] blush a little at her father sudden affections towards her but she didn't ask anything. "yea you know, I'm aren't the same little girl you used to know, im all grown now!" said [y/n] as smile at her father.

"i know my dear, that's why me and your mom have decided something..." said her father as he looked at her mom waiting for her to say it. [y/n] was confused at first but then it hit her.

"me and your father decided to marry you to one of our noble friends son"

suddenly everything was silent. [y/n] froze in her place as she look at her mother with wild eyes before she turn to look at her father "what.."

"listen dear i know this isn't what you expected but believe me, it's going to be great! I have known this friend for a long time and his son is such a gentleman, he'll treat you right, i promise you my dear!"

[y/n] just look at her father for few seconds before the realization hit her. "you marry me off to someone without even asking if i wanted that!?" [y/n] stand up as she slam table look at her dad

"you don't get a say in anything, it's not about what you wanted, it's about what is the best for you and this family"

[y/n] just stand there staring at at her mom for few seconds in disbelief before she felt her father holding her arm, trying to comfort her "[y/n] dear, why won't you sit down so we can talk like fa-"

"No I'm not! because you guys clearly do not understand how fucked up that is!" she cut him off as she raised her voice as the whole table went silent, not even a single move.

"you better watch your tongue young lady, we already decided so yelling won't solve it, so i suggest you sit down and act like a lady"

said [y/n]'s mother as she continues eating her food like nothing really happened or like she doesn't really care.

[y/n] couldn't take it anymore. she push her chair as she strom out the room running towards the stairs to her room.

[y/n]'s father try to follow her, to make her calm and listen but his wife voice stops him "leave her. she'll understand it by herself. she's a smart girl after all."

her father hesitates for a second but then he sighs deeply as he sits back down. "i hope you're right.."

"I'm always right."

as [y/n] strom to her room she enter as she slam the door close as she sit behind ut and start letting her tears out. she can't believe that her own parents did this to her, the same people who promised to love her snd protect her. and now they're marrying her to someone else.

someone she doesn't love.

how will she face this? how will she face... hermes.

as the thought were running through her mind, she heard a familiar sounds coming from her window. oh fuck this is the worse timing..

"my darling im back~ did you miss m-" Hermes though was cut short as he sees his lover sitting on the ground with her eyes full of tears and messy hair. he had never seen her like this. and he wished he would never have to.

"[y/n]... are you alright? why are you crying?" says hermes as he rush to sit in front of his lover as he cup her face brushing her tears away with his thumbs.

"did someone hurt you? just tell me who, I'll make them pa-" as the god starts to get frustrated, his lover stops him mid track.

"no Hermes! It's my parents, they marry me to some of their noble friends.." [y/n] suddenly snaps as she couldn't keep it in her anymore. "i try to tell them that's not what i want but they wouldn't listen... i don't want to marry anyone.. i want you Hermes.."

the god stays silent as he hears his lover pouring her heart to him, as tears continue to go down her face non stop like a waterfall. but he doesn't say a word, just continues holding her checks as he tries to brush her tears away.

the room felt quiet with only the cries and the soft sobs of his lover felling the room. he just stared at his lover for a few seconds before standing up again.

"I'll be back, stay here and wait for my love"

as the god was heading to the window where he came from his lover followed him as she held his hand with hers.

"please Hermes... they're still my parents.. please don't do anything to them, I'm begging" says [y/n] as she look down still holding her lover hand. as much as he hated all this, she don't wish for her parents to be hurt.

Hermes turns around as he cups his lover check again with his hand as the other one holds her hand back rightly. he then makes her look straight into his eyes. his loving and caring eyes.

"don't worry my love, I'd never do anything to hurt you or your family. just stay here okay? I'll be back soon i promise"

he said before kissing her forehead as he disappeared from her sight in godly speed.

[y/n] was laying on her bed as the thoughts were running through her mind again. it's been hours since hermes left and she start to get worried.. not about him but about what he's capable of doing..

he could curse this whole island if he left like it.

but [y/n]'s thought were cut as she heard knocks on her door. is it her father again? she already refused to talk to him and pushed him away 5 times in the past few hours..

"[y/n]! open the door right now you need to hear about this!" to [y/n] surprised it wasn't her father but her younger sister. Eliana was one year younger than her and they're the closest out of their siblings.

"Eli please leave, I'm not in the mood for anything." says [y/n] as she sigh deeply not wanting to talk about anything at the moment.

"[y/n] your marriage have been cancelled!!" Eliana said from the other side of the door which makes [y/n] jump from her bed.

cancelled? CANCELLED?? even the god of truth couldn't convince her that was true.

she didn't waste any time as rush to her door opening it to come face to face with her sister.

"tell me everything."

"you mean to tell me that they just... cancel it? without reason just like that??"

"pretty much yea, my father even said that the noble was terrified and refused to talk and even demanded that him and my father cut things off" said Eliana before she put another fruit in her mouth.

[y/n] was sitting on her bed staring at her sister who was eating the fruit that was on her desk with shocked.

but how? and why so sudden- oh.

it was Hermes wasn't it?

"anyway dear sister you better thank god that he refused, i heard that he's an asshole towards women" wow. how shocking, a noble who's an asshole, once every full moon. [y/n] thought as she roll her eyes.

"and my mom told me not to tell you this so you didn't hear that from me! yeah i better go before she suspects my disappearing, byee" Eliana said as she left but not before taking the fruit plate with her leaving [y/n] with her thoughts.

[y/n] sigh before going after sister to close the door behind her. and as she did she hears a familiar giggles coming from behind her. the same giggles she love and adore.

"heyy sweetie I'm back~" said hermes as he stood behind her looking as happy as ever, as if he just won some kind of prize, and maybe he did. the prize was you.

"hermes, what did you do this time?" said [y/n] as she turn with her arm Crossing looking at her lover. shes trying her hardest not to chuckles at her lover silly face.

"what? i didn't do anything what are you talking about?" said hermes acting like he never did anything wrong in his entire life.

"hermes? did you traumatize my suiter away?"

"what?? i would never do such a thing!" said hermes with yelp and hand on his chest as if your words wounded him deeply. what a play.

"are you sure?" said [y/n] before she finally let out a soft laugh as she start walking towards him. then she stops infornt of him as she cup his face "hermes?"

Hermes blushed as he leaned into his lover's hand "okay maybe i did something, not not much! i just sent a little... message." said hermes as stare into his lover's eyes for a few seconds admiring them, before he left her up and started swirling her around the room.

the room was now filled with nothing but their laughter and happiness for the moment before he stopped as he held her tightly to him as if she could disappear if he left her, as he rest his forehead on hers closing his eyes enjoying her laughs.

[y/n] smile wildly as she close her eyes resting into her lover arms. that's all she ever wish for, for moments like these with her lover, no thought, no anything. just her and her lover enjoying each other. oh she would trade the world for these moments.

for a few moments they didn't say anything, just enjoying each other's warmth in silence. well at least that's what they thought.

"you still owe me for cutting off our making out session last time!"

"hermes!!"

note: fuck this fanfic man. if there's anything wrong then just ignore it im not touching this fanfic ever again. this fic cause me my mental health so you better like it.

[pawstriez]

୨୧ ˗ˏˋ OTAKU HOT GIRL ! | suguru & satoru x yn “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass.” ꒰ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ! ꒱ this is me being delusional srry, but thinkin ab gojo & geto fucking tall, curvy! reader after she begs them to watch her favorite anime with her . . like ugh rn. also forgive me if this is pure degeneracy. i was bein a horn dog n’ there’s no plot rlly :/ inspired by the one n only stallion ofc, we luv u mama

꒰ 𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 ꒱ : blk fem reader, uses she/her pronouns, usage of pet names like cocksleeve, love, baby, babe, sweetheart, etc. positions included such as doggystyle, double pen, themes such as choking, bratty reader, dom! satoru & suguru, rough sex ??, oral fem recieve, oral male receive, dirty talk, mentions of a size kink, lots n lots of cum, mmm yum so gross — 5.3𝑲 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕

“hurry up, boys! m’ gonna’ be mad if you miss the intro. it ruins the whole experience of watching for the first time!”

“we’re comin’, woman. calm down.”

both satoru and suguru scurry around in your shared kitchen, gathering the rest of whatever horrid snack combinations they could find before jogging lightly to make their way over to you on the couch. with your feet positioned criss-crossed n’ a warm bowl of popcorn sizzling down in your lap, the only thing really missing were the two imbeciles of men you mistakenly decided to roommate with around a year or two ago.

you roll your eyes fondly as satoru and suguru finally plop down on either side of you, their arms laden with an assortment of junk food. satoru’s got a family-sized bag of cool ranch doritos tucked under one arm and a jar of peanut butter in the other hand, while suguru’s juggling a pack of oreos, a can of whipped cream, and what looks suspiciously like . . ew, a jar of pickles. what?

“are y’all for real right now?” you laugh, eyeing their haul with a mix of amusement and disgust. “ we’re about to watch anime, not enter a county fair eating contest.”

“hey, don't knock it til’ you’ve tried it,” satoru grins, ripping open the doritos and the peanut butter simultaneously. his gaze dips briefly to your chest, taking in the way your soft pink lace cami clings to your curves. “besides, we’ve gotta’ fuel up. you said this show is, and i quote, ‘a cultural reset that will redefine our understanding of feminism and body positivity in media.’ i don’t know man, that sounds intense.”

suguru snorts, unscrewing the oreo package. his eyes briefly lingering on the bare expanse of your thighs, the flimsy matching shorts riding high as you curl your legs underneath you. “pretty sure she just meant it’s got a lot of ass shakin’ and women empowerment. still, sounds pretty lovely.”

you chuck a kernel of popcorn at his head, giggling when it bounces off his nose. “excuse you, that’s a very tiny observation of ‘megan - sama : twerk hero for a new generation.’ s’ a journey of a woman’s adventure to self-love and confidence in a world that constantly tries to tear her down. she uses her sexuality as a form of power. she like, challenges the male gaze and double standards with, well . . every clap of her ass.”

satoru blinks at you, a glob of peanut butter sliding off the dorito he’s holding halfway to his mouth. “that . . was surprisingly deep, yn.”

“mmm, that's our girl,” suguru says proudly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. his fingers skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “beautiful, brilliant, and able to find meaning in the most unlikely places. like a twerking anime.”

you elbow him playfully in the ribs, warmth blooming in your chest at the casual praise even as heat prickles across your skin at the contact. “you’re jokin’ but m’ serious,” you whine, “it celebrates a body type that’s so often shamed and or fetishized, like i dunno’ . . she faces some of the worst - but she never gives up, and that self-love is what ultimately gives her the strength to change the world around her in the end . .” you keep gushing, waxing poetic about megan’s badassery and the show’s powerful message. the boys listen attentively, nodding along, but you don't miss the way their gazes keep drifting south, tracing your figure with barely-concealed appreciation.

you hated to go on your fourth tangent of the week right now, but god, representation really did matter. it was practically rare to see your body type in entertainment — let alone that exact body type standing at a whopping 5’10. this was . . like you said, a real cultural reset.

a comfortable silence then settles as they finish taking it in, the low murmur of the anime’s opening theme — otaku hot girl, now filling the room. you sneak a glance at satoru out of the corner of your eye, surprised to find him looking thoughtful rather than skeptical like any other guy your age would.

“i can dig it,” satoru says slowly, popping a peanut butter dorito into his mouth. “more representation of different body types in media, s’ important. and i mean, objectively speaking . . .” he rakes his eyes over your form, lingering on the swell of your hips and ass. “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass. ain't nothin’ wrong with a little extra somethin' to hold onto, y’know?”

you raise a brow, something playfully bold and a little reckless brewing in your chest. “is that so? didn’t know y’liked your girls thick, gojo.”

satoru swallows, adam's apple bobbing as his gaze snaps to yours. “no, yn. i love, my girls thick,” he says, voice pitched low. “well that and, exploring your sexuality n’ confidence in general is jus’ sexy . . as hell.”

“hmmm, i see. getou?” you turn to suguru, head cocked. “any thoughts?”

suguru’s smile is slow and devastating, dark promise in his eyes. “he’s not wrong. m’ sure you know that though. body like . . yours, s’the kinda canvas i could spend hours worshipping. takes an incel to not appreciate it, honestly.”

“oh please. all that bravado, but i can’t you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.” you shimmy your shoulders, drawing attention to the truly tremendous amount of cleavage your cami isn't concealing. “you'd probably bust in your boxers if you so much as touched this ass. thank youuu.”

but even as you say that with all the confidence in the world, you can’t help but to think . . ‘what if?’ what if they could? what if you were talkin’ straight out of your ass right now just to have it be thrown in your face later on? — no, never, couldn’t be.

and later on, as the end credits of the final episode roll, you stretch languidly, you’d forgotten about the thought, feeling pleasantly buzzed from two pretty drinks the three of you had earlier and the easy camaraderie of the night. satoru and suguru have been the perfect viewing companions, cracking jokes and providing commentary that had you in stitches more often than not.

but all in all, underneath the lighthearted banter, you can feel something else tiptoeing - a tension, an electricity that’s been building all night. it’s in the way satoru’s gaze lingers on the curve of your throat as you tip your head back to laugh. it’s in the heat of suguru’s palm on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent circles that inch higher and higher with each passing minute.

“so . .” satoru drawls as the autoplay timer counts down to the next season. “that was . . actually enlightening annnd i just followed megan on instagram. so, when will she be mine?”

“mhmm, told you,” you laugh, feeling loose and languid from the warmth of the alcohol in your veins and the solid press of their bodies on either side of you. “and i dunno, join the club. she’s a fuckin’ queen. knows what she wants and goes for it, she’s inspirational, and an overall bad bitch, duh — i want her too.”

“kinda like someone else we know,” suguru muses, a sly curl to his lips as he turns to face you. his eyes are dark, heated in a way that makes your breath catch. “ain’t that right, yn?”

you swallow, pulse picking up speed as you meet his loaded gaze. “oh? and who might that be?”

“you,” satoru says bluntly, shifting to angle his body towards you as well. the movement brings him close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the firm press of his muscular thigh against yours. “talkin’ all that shit earlier, bout’ how we couldn’t handle you. you think that, babe?”

oh . . so maybe you were wrong.

and they had planned on it proving that to you.

there’s a challenge in his tone, a dare that sends a frisson of anticipation skittering down your spine. you lick your lips, noting with a thrill how both their gazes zero in on the movement, “maybe i did,” you say, pitching your voice low and breathy. “what’re you gonna’ do about it?”

suguru makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, fingers flexing on your knee. “oh, well since you asked . . we can give a little demo - show you exactly what we’re gonna’ do about it. ain’t that right, satoru?”

“damn straight,” satoru growls, a wicked gleam in his eye. “whaddaya’ say, sweet thing? why don’t you go ahead n’ show us what makes you a hot girl, yn?” he finishes.

heart pounding, skin prickling with goosebumps, you lift your chin in clear provocation. “tch, whatever. bring it on then, bitches. show me what you’ve got.”

of course you’d challenge them. why wouldn’t you? you quite literally had the power of god and megan on your side.

twin groans meet your bold words, suguru’s hand tightening convulsively on your leg as satoru’s eyes blaze with intent. “don’t mind if we do,” satoru rasps, voice gone low and gravelly with want. “been fuckin’ gagging for it all night, watchin’ you all curled up and cozy in this tiny ass pajama set, lookin’ good enough to eat . .”

“gonna’ fuckin’ devour you,” suguru vows, already shifting to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. “gonna’ put this bratty little mouth to good use, fuck, been dyin’ to feel these pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

you moan, head tipping back to grant him better access even as your hands come up to fist in satoru’s hair, dragging him down for a filthy, biting kiss. he groans into your mouth, licking past the seam of your lips to tangle his tongue with yours, one large hand palming roughly at your breast through the flimsy lace of your cami.

“fuckin’ tease,” he pants when you break apart for air, fingers already working at the tiny buttons holding the top closed. “prancin’ around in this scrap of nothin’ all night, like a slut. y’knew we wouldn’t be able to stop thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“why don’t you tell me?” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant need in their faces, the desperate flex of their hands on your body. “c’mon, boys, use your words. what’ve you been thinkin’ about doin’ to me all night, huh? how’re you gonna’ shut me up, put me in my place?”

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” suguru swears feelingly, wrenching himself away from your neck to stare at you with wild, hungry eyes. “keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna lose it, i swear.”

“then lose it,” you purr, hooking a leg over his hip and using the leverage to grind yourself against his straining erection. he hisses, hips rocking forward to press the thick line of his cock harder against your aching center. “c’mon, sugu baby, show me how bad you want it. show me exactly what this bratty little tease does to you.”

“fuck, you fuckin’ - get her naked,” suguru snarls to satoru, already fumbling with the tie of your shorts. “fuckin’ get her naked right goddamn now, i can’t - i gotta’ taste her, gotta’ get my mouth on this sweet cunt before i fucking explode . .”

satoru doesn't waste any time, practically ripping your cami open in his haste to get at your bared tits. you cry out sharply as he latches onto one straining nipple, suckling hard and grazing the sensitized bud with his teeth. “oh fuck, oh god, yes!”

your shorts and panties are yanked down your legs, the sudden rush of cool air on your heated flesh making you gasp. and then suguru is shouldering past satoru to find his way between your thighs, pushing them open wide and burying his face in your dripping cunt with a guttural moan of satisfaction, “i call first,” he mumbles into your pussy.

satoru scoffs an agitated, “not fair, but whatever,” and you can’t help but to giggle at the sheer fact that they were quite literally bickering over who was gonna’ eat your pussy first.

“shut the fuck up — ”

“aht, aht! hey, all my munches get along so . . y’all about to argue all day or what?” you mutter, and as if they were being scolded back in their early sourcerer days - they hush, and then, “holy shit!” you whimper, back arching clear off the couch as suguru goes to town, licking and suckling at your clit like a man starved. “o-oh my god, sugu, you’re s’good . .”

“mm, y’like that, sweetheart?” satoru husks, sucking and then pulling off your nipple with a lewd pop. his hand palms roughly at your other breast, plucking at the stiff peak, drawing high, breathy cries from your throat. “like the way he eats this pretty pussy, fucks you with his tongue? gonna’ make you cum so hard you scream, baby, gonna’ make you fucking flood his mouth.”

“y-yes,” you gasp, fisting your hands in both their hair as suguru goes even harder, slipping two fingers into your clenching hole and pumping them in time with the relentless suction of his lips around your throbbing clit. “yes, fuck, m’gonna cum already, gonna’ come on your face sugu, please, fuck, m’ so close . .”

“that's it,” satoru coaxes, pinching your nipple viciously, making you yelp. “give it up, yn, fucking come for us like a good girl, wanna hear you scream . .”

suguru crooks his fingers just right, rubbing mercilessly against the spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids, and you shatter with a raw sob of their names. your cunt clamps down vise-tight on his thrusting digits as you gush around them, release flooding his chin and dripping down his wrist.

he works you through the aftershocks with hitching praises and soft kitten licks, only pulling away when you start twitching from oversensitivity. he rocks back onto his heels, wiping and licking around his mouth with the back of his hand and tongue, eyes hazy and satisfied as he takes in your wrecked, limp form. “fuckin’ gorgeous,” he slurs, words edged with wonder. “shit - look at you, jesus, all fucked out and dripping just from my mouth. i told you i could spend hours between these thighs, baby, i wasnt lyin’.”

“h-hours, huh?” you manage, breath still coming in shuddery gasps. “that mean you’re done with me already, sugu?”

his eyes sharpen, a predatory curl to his lips that sends a bolt of heat straight to your core. “not even close, pretty girl. m’ jus’ gettin’ warmed up.”

“why don’t you let her catch her breath,” satoru suggests, something dark and intent in his gaze as his eyes rove over your naked, trembling body. he palms his cock through his sweats, hissing at the contact. “still gotta put that mouth to work, remember?”

your cunt clenches weakly at the implication, arousal already starting to rekindle in your veins. “gimmie’ a minute to recover and i’ll put it to work all night long,” you promise, licking your lips. “wanna’ choke on it, toru. want you to fuck my throat . . please.”

“jesus, fuck, you’re so nasty,” satoru groans, fisting a hand in your hair and dragging you up for a brief, brutal kiss. “gonna’ wreck you, baby. gonna’ fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else, mark you up inside n’ out until all you can think about is us, all you can feel is us stretching that hungry little pussy wide . .”

“oh please,” you whimper, already halfway there just from their words, their roving hands, the hot press of their bodies caging you in on either side. “god, please, i want it — fuck me stupid, i don’t care.”

“and we will,” suguru vows, fingers dipping back between your legs to circle your slick, twitching entrance. “gonna’ pump you so full of cum, baby, shit, gonna fuckin’ breed this cunt.” you keen high in your throat, the images they’re painting sending heat licking through your veins like wildfire. you want it, want them, with an intensity that’s scarce.

“so what’re you waiting for?” you rasp, disentangling yourself from their groping hands to shimmy off the couch and drop to your knees between their splayed thighs. you rest your palms high on their legs, thumbs teasing at the straining bulges tenting their sweats. “i believe i was promised a face fucking . . and y’know i hate broken promises. don’t make me beg.”

“brat,” satoru husks, eyes practically black with lust as he lifts his hips so you can tug his pants down his thighs. his cock springs free, thick and ruddy and leaking at the tip, and your mouth waters at the sight. “let’s see how cocky you are with your mouth full. won’t be able to sass when you’re chokin’ on dick.”

“choking? you promise, daddy?” you purr, shuffling closer on your knees, hands running teasingly up and down their thighs. suguru makes a strangled noise, hands clenching into fists at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to grab you.

“open,” satoru demands hoarsely. “open that smart fucking mouth. lemme’ feed you.” you part your lips obediently, tongue darting out to swipe at the swollen head of his dick. he jerks like he’s been electrocuted, a guttural moan punching out of his chest as you proceed to lave at his cock like an ice cream cone, all kittenish licks and teasing flicks that have him cursing up a storm above you.

“gonna’ kill me,” he grits out, hips flexing like it's taking everything he has to keep from fucking up into your mouth. “yn, jesus, quit teasing and suck it, shit — suck it baby, please . .” deciding to put him out of his misery, you open wide and sink down, relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you can. he shouts, hands flying to your hair as you set up a steady rhythm, bobbing and sucking and swirling your tongue until he’s leaking a steady stream of precum down your throat.

suguru is panting harshly on your other side, fisting his own cock with short, rough strokes as he watches you work over satoru. “look so fuckin’ pretty with a dick in your mouth,” he praises raspily, thumb collecting the bead of moisture at his tip and reaching down to smear it across your lips where they're stretched wide around satoru. “made to be a fuckin’ eater, weren’t you sweetheart? made for us, made to take what you’re given, aren’t you?”

you whimper around your mouthful, the degradation making your cunt clench up hard. you redouble your efforts, relaxing your throat and sinking down until satoru’s cock is nudging the back of your throat, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

“holy fucking shit,” he wheezes, fingers tightening in your hair to hold you there. “oh my god, oh fuck, your fucking throat, m'gonna come, gonna come right down your slutty little neck . .”

“do it,” suguru growls, hand still fisting his own cock, the wet slap of skin on skin obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room. “feed her that load, man, fucking paint her throat, make her gag.”

satoru cums with a hoarse shout, cock pulsing on your tongue as he empties himself down your throat. you swallow it all, working your tongue along the throbbing underside to draw out every last drop until he's shaking and pushing you off with an overwhelmed grunt. and you pull off with a gasp, lips swollen and spit-slick, chin wet with drool and the remnants of his release. before you can even catch your breath, suguru is grabbing you by the hair and dragging you over to his waiting cock, the head an angry purple and weeping steadily.

“looks like s’ my turn now, hm?” he grits out, tracing the seam of your lips with his cock, smearing the slickness around like obscene lipgloss. “back open, c’mon.”

you let your jaw drop wide once again, and then he’s pushing in, stretching your lips wide around his girth as he feeds you every thick, throbbing inch. he sets a punishing pace from the start, one hand cupped under your chin to feel his cock moving in your throat as the other winds tight in your hair, holding you still for his thrusts.

“oh fuck yeah,” he rasps, eyes fever-bright as he stares down at you, taking in your glazed eyes and drool-slick chin, the vulgar bulge of your throat. “takin’ it like a champ aren’t ya’? so pretty like this, baby. y’like it, like daddy’s cock buried in your throat like this?” you moan around him, looking up at him through your lashes as you hollow your cheeks and suck viciously — vacuum technique doing absolute wonders by the looks of it. he curses, rhythm faltering as his cock throbs warningly against your tongue.

satoru is suddenly there, pressing up against your back, arms banding around your waist as clever fingers find your aching nipples and pluck at them roughly. “your face is so pretty,” he husks in your ear, stubble rasping against your neck as he mouths at your throat. “it’ll look even prettier painted . . c’mon make him cum, you’ve earned it.”

the filthy words combined with the sharp mix of pleasure pain of his fingers on your nipples has you shuddering, cunt clenching down on nothing as a bolt of heat sizzles up your spine. suguru’s is close, you can tell by the way his thrusts are going erratic, his cock pulsing faster against your tongue.

“f-fuck, oh fuck, m’gonna cum,” he warns, high and tight, hips snapping forward once, twice more before he's pulling out abruptly, fisting his cock with desperate strokes. “open your mouth, fuck, stick out your tongue baby, wanna’ see it, fuckin’ shit!”

you obey mindlessly, tipping your face up and extending your tongue, a lewd, pornographic presentation. suguru loses it at the sight, shouting brokenly as his orgasm crashes over him, cock jerking in his grip as he paints your face with ropey streams of pearlescent white.

you moan shakily, back arching as some of his release hits your waiting tongue, the salty-musk taste of him flooding your senses. you feel debauched, utterly wrecked and still desperately turned on, your cunt a throbbing mess of need between your legs.

“holy shit!” suguru pants, slumping back against the couch, chest heaving. he takes in your cum - streaked face, the way you’re panting and squirming, still perched on your knees between them. “you’re a fuckin' vision, you know that? prettiest thing i’ve ever seen, all messy and marked up, fuck.”

“mmm, but she’s not finished though, are you baby?” satoru purrs, fingers drifting down to tease through your soaked folds, making you gasp and buck your hips. “look, she’s still hungry for it, so ready for more like the insatiable little slut you are. tell us what you need, sweetheart. tell us how you want us to wreck this pussy.”

“both of you,” you manage, voice a needy rasp. you reach down to circle your swollen clit, putting on a show for them. “want both you in me, filling me up t-til’ i can’t fuckin’ take it.”

“fuck,” satoru swears emphatically, cock already twitching with renewed interest. “yeah baby, we can do that, no problem. so sorry if we make you cry.”

“we gotta’ get her on the bed,” susguru demands, pulling you up and herding you towards satoru’s room. “need you spread out for us, wanna’ wreck you properly.”

you go willingly, eagerly, practically trembling with anticipation as they usher you into the bedroom, tearing their clothes off as they go. they descend upon you like men starved as soon as your back hits the mattress, hands and mouths roving over every inch of bared skin until you're writhing and keening beneath their attentions.

suguru pushes your thighs open and buries his face between them, groaning at the taste of your arousal. he licks into you like a man dying of thirst, tongue delving deep and curling just right to make you see stars. “fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to circle your entrance with one long finger, gathering the slickness. “absolutely soaked for it, aren't you baby? dripping for our cocks, greedy little pussy desperate to be stuffed full.”

“please,” you whimper, back arching as he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep, pumping them lazily. “oh fuck, g-getou, more, need more!”

“ive got you,” satoru rasps, rolling on a condom and slicking himself up with lube. he shifts up the bed until he’s bracketing your head with his knees, the thick jut of his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. “gonna’ give this filthy mouth something to do while sugu opens up your hungry cunt, yeah? gonna’ fuck your throat while he fingers you sloppy, get you nice and ready for us both.”

you open eagerly for him, relaxing your jaw as he feeds his cock past your lips. he groans at the wet heat of your mouth, at the way you hollow your cheeks and suck, working your tongue along the throbbing underside.

“there you go,” he praises roughly, grabbing a handful of your hair and giving a shallow thrust. “just like that baby, fuck, feel like heaven around my dick . .”

you moan around him as suguru works a third finger into your dripping cunt, scissoring and curling them just right to graze that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. the dual stimulation has you shaking, the obscene sounds of satoru’s cock gliding through the slick clutch of your throat and suguru’s fingers pumping wetly into your pussy filling the room.

“she’s good to go,” suguru declares after a few endless minutes, pulling his fingers free and wiping them clean on the sheets. he slicks himself up, shifting into position between your spread thighs. “gonna’ wreck this pussy, baby, you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted this, wanted you. i think about you while i dream . .”

how could something said be so blended with both degeneracy and sweetness.

he pushes in on one smooth glide, the breath punching from his lungs in a guttural moan as your walls clench down greedily around him. “mm, what a tight fit. shit. gripping me, yn, goddamn.”

you sob brokenly around satoru’s cock as suguru bottoms out, hips flush against yours. he gives you a moment to adjust before he starts moving, rolling his hips in deep, devastating grinds that have you seeing stars.

satoru keeps rocking into your mouth, hands fisted in your hair to hold you in place for his thrusts. you take it eagerly, gagging a little when he hits the back of your throat but relaxing to let him push deeper, until your nose is pressed against his pelvis with every pump of his hips.

“m’ gonna’ cum down your throat again,” satoru grits out after a few minutes of spit-roasting you between them. “gonna’ get you all warmed up, honey.”

you moan helplessly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe around his considerable girth. just as spots start to dance in your vision, satoru stiffens and curses, hips jerking erratically as he spills into your mouth with a hoarse shout. “there you go baby, breathe for me — agh fuck yes. choke on daddy’s dick, thas’ good girl.” he then pulls out carefully, cradling your jaw as you cough and gasp, chest heaving.

suguru is still working into you from below, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls almost unbearably good. you’re so fucking full of him, stretched around his thickness, but you still feel so empty, aching for more.

“please,” you rasp, looking up at satoru with wet, pleading eyes. “need your cock inside me too, need both of you fucking me, filling me, please.”

“such a needy little thing,” satoru marvels, eyes dark and hungry on your face. “gonna’ give it to you, baby, don’t worry. want me to stuff that pussy, hm? confuse you on whose is whose,” he laughs.

he slides down your body, shifting to kneel behind suguru between your lewdly spread legs. slicking up his fingers with more lube, he circles your stretched rim where suguru is steadily pumping into you, dipping just the tip of one finger in alongside his thrusting cock.

you keen high in your throat at the added stretch, the slight burn as he works you open further. suguru groans at the increased tightness, at the filthy drag of satoru’s fingers around his pistoning cock as he meticulously stretches you out. “god, look at you,” suguru pants, sounding absolutely wrecked as he stares down at where you're taking them both, hole straining wide and shiny-slick with lube and your own arousal. “pretty, little cunt all desperate for it, practically begging to be stuffed full. you want that, baby? want both of us crammed up in that pussy, wanna’ be our fuckin’ cocksleeve?”

“yes,” you sob, past the point of shame or restraint. “please, fuck, want it, want you both so deep in me, wan’ it to almost hurt . .”

“holy shit,” satoru swears feelingly, pulling his fingers free and lining his cock up alongside suguru’s. the blunt pressure against your already stuffed hole has you nearly hyperventilating, squirming down onto them eagerly. “okay, baby, deep breaths. gonna’ put both of us in, yeah?” you nod, and he pushes in hard, forcing his cockhead in alongside suguru’s with a devastating stretch. you wail brokenly, back bowing as you’re split open on their straining cocks, the burn of it so intense it borders on both pleasure and pain. but then suguru is rolling his hips and satoru is grinding into you and oh, oh it’s fucking perfect, the drag of them against your walls, the way they throb and pulse in tandem inside you.

“fuck,” suguru wheezes, sweat rolling down his temples. “o-oh fuck, fuck, fuck!.”

“m’ not gonna last,” satoru warns, voice absolutely shattered as he starts to move, drawing out only to slam back in, forcibly creating space for himself in your overstuffed channel. “yn, o-ooh, pussy’s stranglin’ me, baby — m’gonna cum.”

“do it,” you demand breathlessly, rolling your hips up to meet their thrusts, taking them impossibly deeper. “cum in me . . claim m-me.” with twin shouts they comply, snapping their hips forward one, two, three more times before they’re cumming hard, cocks pulsing in tandem as they empty themselves into you. you moan brokenly at the feel of it, of their release flooding your cunt, marking you up from the inside out.

they collapse against you as they come down, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat. you whimper as their softening cocks slip free of your abused hole, a river of come slipping out after them to soak the sheets.

“holy f-fuck,” satoru rasps after a long moment, pressing a reverent kiss to your shoulder. “that was fucking crazy . .”

“and incredible,” suguru adds, sounding just as dazed. “yn, baby, fuck. we wrecked you, jesus.”

“mmm, you did,” you agree, feeling utterly boneless and fucked-out in the best way. “absolutely ruined me for anyone else, jus’ like you promised.”

“good,” satoru growls, something fiercely possessive in his gaze as it rakes over your limp, satisfied form. “because this pussy? this filthy, perfect pussy? it belongs to us now. you belong to us now . . .”

you glance briefly at the tv, dick drunk and pleasure high. part of you thinks you should probably pay your respects to the anime that facilitated this unexpected but very welcome turn of events, but the rest of you is preoccupied with trying not to black out as satoru and suguru keep their attention on you.

megan-sama, you think muzzily, just before suguru starts to nip at your shoulder again, bless your ratchet heart. you the real mvp.

and then coherency flees completely as your boys descend on you once more, cutting off anything resembling higher thought.

the last fleeting thing you remember is a deep, unshakable gratitude for your beautifully crafted body and the incredible dudes about to spend the foreseeable future worshipping it.

thick thighs save lives, indeed.

there’s only one you.

we love you meg.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Javelin

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: You and Ona are each other's homes

The first time you met Ona, she kicked you in the face with a football.

In revenge, you threw it straight back at her and she accidentally lost a tooth from the impact.

You'd been best friends ever since then and your parents could barely keep the pair of you separated.

And as with all things like that, a relationship was naturally the next step.

Fumbles in the back rooms of the family home, making out in your room during family reunions, a kiss after Ona scores in an important match.

And all of those soft, teenage fumbles transformed into something much more beautiful.

You'd followed her to Manchester when she left Spain.

It had taken a lot, uprooting your whole life and moving to a different country whose language you hadn't paid much attention to in school.

Ona helped though.

Ona always helped.

That had always been the case.

Ona helped you and you helped her.

Your training never really went as long as hers. You weren't away from home as often as Ona was. Throwing a javelin wasn't quite as physically draining as football was so you were able to cook dinner and clean up and go to almost all of her matches to support her.

"That smells good."

Arms close around your waist gently and a head rests between your shoulder blades.

"Taste," You say, bringing a spoon up to Ona's lips straight from the pot," Good? Too salty? Not salty enough?"

"Perfect," Ona says," Perfect like always. You spoil me."

"You deserve to be spoiled."

Ona giggles a little, a soft kiss being pressed against your neck as she moves away. "I'll grab the plates."

You make a home in Manchester together before Barcelona come knocking and you're more than willing to return to Spain again.

You get another coaching team. You train in the heat.

You and Ona discuss a dog but nothing has come of it just yet. You bask in each other's company. You return to family reunions and seeing Ona's family on the weekend right until the summer.

The run up to the Olympics is brutal.

You're both tired and drained but it's a dream to represent Spain on a stage like that, to show people around the world just what you can do.

People watch events that they don't usually watch and if you can even convert one person into a javelin fan then it'll be an Olympics well spent.

You have your goals for this Olympics and Ona has hers.

And you hate seeing that her goals will be left unfinished.

"Hey..." You say gently as she approaches you at the barrier," I'm sorry."

You can see her putting on a brave face. You know it's fake.

You lean over and gently draw her closer.

Spain hadn't made it to the final. They'd lost the bronze medal.

Ona had lost the bronze medal.

Your own gold medal for javelin feels like a weight in your bag, heavy and you wish you could throw it in the river so Ona wouldn't be able to see it.

But you know that she knows you won it.

She'd sent a very long rambling text before setting up an accompanying phone call where she declared her love for you and told you how proud she was and how she couldn't wait to see your medal.

Now though, you don't want her to see it.

You don't want her to see it because you know she'll be reminded of what she's just lost and you can't do that to her.

You won't do that to her.

You refuse to do that to her.

So you hold Ona against you now as she rests her head in your shoulder and you play with the soft baby hairs that rest on the back of her neck.

"We've got a break now," You whisper to her, voice quiet and soft and everything she needs to hear right now," We'll go somewhere hot. With a beach. We'll relax and have some fun before the season starts again. Relax and reset."

"I wanted to win you a medal," Ona chokes out against your skin," I know you've already got one but-But I wanted to get you another one."

"I don't need another one," You assure her," I've got you. That's enough for me."

[mimiii-3]

The Food Chain Pt.1

Yandere Platonic Batfam x Fem Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes

…

The overlapping chimes and songs of the games create a cacophony of excitement. You imagine that it mirrors the effect of the slot machines in Gotham’s seediest casinos.

The neon lights flash rapidly as you stalk down each isle of the arcade. Your day is made of soft reminders to not shake the claw machine or resetting a prize back to its starting position.

It’s not the most glamorous job but it feeds you. And you can’t deny the contentment your inner-child feels at living each day in a colorful arcade.

There’s normally two of you on these slow Thursday nights but it’s just you today. Camilla called in sick with the flu and there’s no one else to take her place.

The owner, Charlie, is an elderly man. With the deterioration of his joints and love for children, you know he won’t help out for the evening shift.

It’s not bad. Working the arcade by yourself makes you feel mature. You can prance around and act like you own the place for a few hours of independence.

The warm, orange and pink hues of the sunset melt through the large windows and illuminate the darkest corners of the arcade. With spring rolling around, the no-AC arcade feels warmer than usual.

It’s humid, but not enough that it makes you feel faint. You round the prize counter and take a quick swig from your dented water bottle.

That last family of three files out of the arcade with a quick ‘thank you.’ The little boy bounces away, arms full of stuffed animals he won in the claw machines.

“Have a nice day,” you chirp in your customer service voice. There goes the family of otters. They were quick and a bit noisy but they seemed sweet.

You like to assign everyone you see with an animal. The lady that lives next door, a mongoose. Charlie’s a penguin and Camilla is a rabbit.

You deemed yourself as a pig. Cute and smart but eats a lot of trash. That’s why Camilla and Charlie call you Ms. Piggy.

You look up at the clock to see how much longer you’re working today.

3 hours. It’s not very likely that the arcade will get busy on a Thursday evening so you settle into the white foldable chair in the corner of the prize area.

You pull out your phone and scroll lazily through your friends’ posts. They’re spending spring break in the Bahamas or France while you stay tucked away in Gotham.

You’re not jealous of their lavish lifestyle. But there’s a strange sense of loneliness you feel while gazing at the group pictures they take without you.

“Watch them act like they missed me,” you mutter bitterly. You can’t help but dread Monday morning when they will inevitably drone on about their fancy spring breaks.

Your murky thoughts are interrupted by the bell on the door ringing for new customers. You stand up from the chair and center yourself behind the counter. You put your best smile on and await the patrons.

Their light conversation grows closer and you sneakily eavesdrop on the approaching customers.

“-and Duke fell down both flights of stairs. You should have seen Bruce’s face, he looked like he was about to blow a gasket,” a gentle voice explains.

You hear another voice chuckle at the story, “God, I wish I was there to see that.”

You finally get to see the two as they make their way around the last coin-pusher. They’re two men, both raven-haired and polished.

The taller one has striking blue eyes and a mischievous expression. That one seems like a fox: cunning but still cute like a puppy.

The shorter one’s hair is messily combed through and he has dark circles under his eyes. That one feels like a stag, pretty but skittish.

The two spot you and hold your eye contact. You don’t yield to their intense gazes and widen your smile, “Hi! Welcome to Charlie’s Games. How many tokens?”

The fox’s smile widens and makes his way to the prize counter. He places his palms on the glass and leans on them to get a better look at you.

He taps his fingers rapidly against the glass, “This is actually the first time we’ve come here. How many tokens do you think we’d need to win big?”

The stag follows behind the fox and watches you carefully. You maintain your easy-going persona and reach under the counter.

They both stiffen at your movement. Their wide eyes and tightening fists let you know what they’re feeling.

“Relax guys. It’s not a gun, just a basket for the tokens,” you explain with a smile. Their bodies relax as you fill the basket with 40 tokens.

“40 tokens for twenty bucks. This should be more than enough to win big,” you jest.

The fox’s shoulders sag ever-so-slightly and the corner of his eyes crinkle. “Sorry we just,” he glances back at the stag and clears his throat, “y’know…this is Gotham after all.”

You nod at him and look between him and the stag. You raise your hands, “I get it. Gotham tends to be a nightmare but you can think of this place as a little escape from the guns and murder.”

“Thanks. That’s just what we need,” the stag speaks to you for the first time. He pulls at the left sleeve of his hoodie and tries to bite back a smile.

You snicker and they both look at you quizzically. “I’m sorry but you guys are so awkward, it’s adorable,” you cover your mouth with your hand as your laugh grows in volume.

They exchange a sheepish look and join in on your laughing. Your teary laughs die down and you sigh, “oh my gosh, I needed that laugh.”

“Us too,” the fox utters softly. The moment returns to its awkward beginning and you take it upon yourself to end the interaction.

“How about five more tokens - free of charge. That should make it impossible for you to walk away with nothing,” you say as you push the extra tokens across the counter.

The fox doesn’t say anything and just continues to smile down at you. The stag senses your discomfort and speaks up, “thanks again! We’ll be back for our prize.”

The stag picks them up and grabs the fox by his arm to lead him away. All while being pulled away, the fox watches you. You wave and offer a closed-eye smile to satisfy whatever it is he wants from you.

That seems to do the trick and the fox turns to walk with the stag over to the racing games. Once they’re out of sight, you slip into the employee-only room behind the prize wall.

You fall back onto the sofa and let out an obnoxiously loud sigh. That was…intense. They seem like cool dudes but man do they have a staring problem.

You turn on the couch and lay back against the arm rest. You resume your scrolling and pray that was the only awkward customer interaction you’ll have for the rest of your shift.

~

Your not exactly sure how much time passes as you scroll through Instagram and TikTok. Your unsolicited break is interrupted from the ring of the silver bell sitting on the main counter.

You slowly rise from the couch and stagger back to the door. Pushing aside the hanging beads, you take a quick peak at the clock. 20 minutes till closing, perfect.

The two men stand there with a handful of tickets. Their faces resemble those of children waiting at the door on Halloween.

“Wow! Looks like you two went all out. Let’s count em’,” you say cheerily. You take the tickets from their hands while making sure not to look them in the eyes.

You feed the tickets into the rickety machine. You purse your lips and stare up at the water-stained ceiling. ‘Just pretend like they’re not even there,’ you think.

After a minute or two, the receipt for their tickets pops out. You wrestle the receipt out of the machine before flipping it over and reading the number, “4,860 tickets. That means you get a yellow prize.”

You point up at the yellow-painted shelf and look back at the pair, “which one would you like me to get for you.”

“We don’t really have a preference. How about you pick one for us,” the stag blurts out before the fox can even open his mouth.

“Hmmm let’s see,” you muse. You scan the array of plushies on the self. There’s anything from a Chucky doll to an out-of-season reindeer.

Your eyes finally land on a pink glimpse tucked behind a ghost and mermaid plush. You go on your tiptoes and pull the plush off the shelf by its tag.

Interesting. It’s a pig. A pink, round-bellied pig wearing a monocle. Part of you contemplates putting it back, not wanting to offer up your twin to these two strangers.

But then again, you’ve already pulled it out and they’re watching your every move. You turn and hold out the pig to them, “here. This is what I’d choose if I were you two.”

“It’s cute,” the fox man says giddily. He plucks the pig right out of your hand and brings it close to his chest.

The stag rolls his eyes and places the token basket in front of you, “Thanks for the extra five tokens. I don’t think-”

“Do you work here everyday?”

The bizarre question stuns you into silence. You look over at the stag who’s bewildered expression must reflect your own.

“I’m so sorry. He’s weird,” the stag stumbles out an apology as he repeatedly elbows his friend.

The fox chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry! Just ignore me. It’s been a long day.”

“I get that,” you nervously laugh. The sudden ringing of your phone draws your attention away from the two men.

“Oops! That’s my alarm. It’s time for me to close the arcade,” you sigh in relief.

“Oh great,” the fox speaks up, “we can walk you out.”

Normally, you would hate it if a random man offered to walk you somewhere….but this is Gotham. And being a young woman in Gotham is the same as walking around with a sign on your head that says ‘please murder me.’

You swallow down your pride, “that’d be great actually. Mind if I grab my things and lock up real quick?”

The two are quick to assure you to take all the time you need. It takes about eight minutes to run around the break room and collect your belongings.

You swing your purse onto your arm and skip out from behind the counter. You briefly introduce yourself and address the two men, “before we head out, what are your names?”

The fox puffs out his chest, “I��m Dick. This thing here is my kid brother, Tim.”

Dick the fox and Tim the stag. Neat.

Tim, previously known as the stag, rolls his eyes. “I prefer Tim and his idiot brother, Dick,” he huffs. The two start to slap each other and bicker over their perceived superiority.

You soften at their interaction, “you guys are lucky. I always wanted a brother.”

Their mini-brawl ceased instantly. Dick and Tim turn to look at you. You can’t read their expressions. Maybe you said something wrong?

“Ok, let’s go! I made you guys wait long enough,” you squeak.

You start to walk towards the exit with Dick and Tim in tow. You hold open the door for them and lock it behind the three of you.

In complete silence, Dick and Tim walk you to your car. It’s a dingy, little thing that looks like it’s five seconds away from combusting.

“This is me. Thanks for keeping me company during closing,” you say gratefully.

Before they can say anything, you speak once more, “I work here every Tuesday through Thursday. The rest of the week I’m in class.”

You’re not sure why you shared so much information. Maybe the only child in you got carried away by the sibling bond the two share.

Nevertheless, they seem relieved at your answer. “Perfect,” Dick responds, “we’ll be sure to come back with some more family.”

You nod appreciatively and climb into the driver’s seat. You roll down your window and wave bye to the pair as you exit the arcade parking lot.

You can see them waving back to you in your rear view mirror. You drive away feeling content. This might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

What you didn’t see was the tracker that Tim subtly threw into your backseat. Or Dick taking a picture of your license plate. Or the deluxe sports car tucked away in the corner of the parking lot.

…

Extra notes: I’m so excited to continue this fic

Tag list:

@jjsmeowthie @shawty-a-lil-baddie @butratherbutrather @shirp-collector-of-fixations @stove-top96 @yaoizee @bellethesleepypotato @salfishers @eli-mayhaveatencats @wisefuncherryblossom @c4xcocoa @twismare @icanmeltanigloo @tatsuri-zomushiki @wizzerreblogs @crazycaoticsimp @burningkittenprince @dakotali @vanilliona @galaxypurplerose

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: 🍓

One Page At A Time

Exam stress is something Lily and Oscar never want to see from their daughter. So they do what they can. They help her.

The house was quiet — not peaceful, but tense.

Upstairs, the only sound was the furious scratch of a pen on paper, the occasional frustrated sigh, and the muffled thud of a textbook being slammed shut.

Y/n Piastri-Zneimer sat hunched over her desk, hair piled into a messy bun, eyes darting over formulas and facts that refused to stick. Her room looked like a war zone — colour-coded notes scattered across her bed, flashcards stuck on the wall like battle plans, and a half-finished mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

It was exam season. The final exam season.

The one that decided her future.

University applications were around the corner, and her grades this year would carry the most weight. And though Y/n had always been a steady, self-motivated student, the pressure had started pressing in on all sides like a slow tide. Her highlighters were running dry. Her sleep was inconsistent. And she hadn’t smiled — not really — in days.

Oscar had noticed.

So had Lily.

They had heard the small, tired voice from behind her door whenever they checked in. Had seen her rubbing her temples at breakfast, eyes still glazed over from late-night revision. Oscar had even found her dozing off on the couch with her physics notes stuck to her cheek one evening after a study break turned nap.

That night, as Lily stirred pasta in the kitchen and Oscar leaned against the counter with a quiet frown, they exchanged a look.

“She’s going to burn out,” Lily said softly, voice laced with concern.

Oscar nodded. “I keep telling her to take a break, but she won’t listen. Says she doesn’t have time.”

“Then maybe we make the time for her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Operation Parental Intervention?”

Lily smiled. “Exactly.”

It started small the next morning.

Oscar brought her breakfast in bed — toast, berries, and a soft-boiled egg with a silly little smiley face drawn in sharpie.

Y/n blinked at the tray. “Dad… what’s this?”

He shrugged casually. “Brain fuel. Straight from the Piastri pit crew. You’re the car, exams are the race, and you can’t win if you don’t refuel.”

Y/n laughed softly despite herself. “That was so cheesy.”

“I aim to please.”

Later that afternoon, Lily walked into Y/n’s room with a stack of hot chocolate, fluffy socks, and a candle that smelled like vanilla and old libraries.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands. “Five-minute breathing session, followed by a twenty-minute reset walk with your very stylish mum. No negotiation.”

“But I have—”

“Y/n.”

Y/n looked up and saw the gentleness in her mum’s eyes. The kind that didn’t push too hard, just held space. Slowly, she closed her textbook.

“…Fine. But only because I’m starting to smell like exam stress.”

They walked around the neighbourhood, talking about everything but school — their dog barking at leaves, the colour of the sunset, how Lily once fell off a Segway in front of a busload of tourists.

And just like that, some of the weight fell off Y/n’s shoulders.

But the big move came the next evening.

Y/n was hitting a breaking point with her maths exam. Graphs and derivatives blurred together, and nothing made sense. Her hands trembled from too much caffeine. Her chest was tight.

“Stupid curve,” she muttered, eyes burning. “I don’t get it, I just… don’t get it.”

A knock sounded on her door.

Oscar poked his head in. “Hey, I need you for something.”

“Dad, I’m really not—”

“Y/n.”

She sighed, standing reluctantly.

But when she followed him downstairs, she blinked in confusion.

The living room had been transformed.

A blanket fort — a giant one — took over the couch, twinkly lights draped along the top like constellations. A projector lit the wall with her favorite movie’s opening scene. Popcorn sat in a bowl shaped like a racing helmet. On the floor was a handwritten sign:

“NO EXAMS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.”

Lily popped her head out from under the fort flap. “Come on in, Professor. Time to shut off that brain.”

Y/n stared, eyes wide. Then she let out a choked laugh.

“You guys are ridiculous.”

Oscar beamed. “And you love it.”

She crawled inside, curling up between them under a mountain of pillows. Her hand found Oscar’s and squeezed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He squeezed back. “One page at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That night, after the movie ended and Y/n had fallen asleep against her mum’s shoulder — breathing finally even and calm — Oscar looked down at her peaceful face and smiled.

She’d be okay.

Because she didn’t have to carry the pressure alone.

Not when she had them in her corner, cheering her on — no matter the grade, no matter the result.

Just like he’d always wanted to be for her.

Another piece of work done :)

I'm heading to bed now. I can't wake up upset or anything or I'll miss the bus, since I have school and all.

That's Gang Gang out!!!!

[westside-rot]

Therapy Hours

Pairing: husband!terry richmond x black fem!reader

Words: 3.7k words

Summary: Terry seeks comfort from the only person who can give it to him.

Notes: Minors DNI. Smut, oral: fem receiving (0ver-stimulation) and cursing. Light by my standards lol. I had to force myself to stop revising this so please forgive any errors. I'll find em eventually and fix it. 😭 In the future I plan on alternating between fluff and smut so the next one should be fluffy/angsty.

Here's a visual of the position used. Not quite the same but close enough 👀: *nsfw pic link* *link #2*

Also please don't repost this on any other sites. Reblogs/comments/likes make me happy.

Tags: @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov

Something isn’t right. You look over to the side and discover the space occupied by your husband is empty. He was there a moment ago, proud and silent in his admiration for you while you sat mesmerized by the view. This picnic was the culmination of a month-long struggle to find balance with work and each other. All you cared about was reconnecting with him in a garden straight out of a fairytale for as long as possible, forever if you had it your way. Now he was nowhere to be found.

You rationalize his absence by assuming he must’ve forgotten something in the car. Likely an item you’d noticed earlier and convinced yourself not to purchase. Satisfied with your answer you lay back on your thick cotton blanket face to the infinite stretch of blue, uninterrupted by clouds with your arms and legs stretched out in opposite directions as far they'll comfortably reach. That’s when you notice the dress you’d been wearing has somehow vanished as well.  You don’t bother pursuing logic this time. It’s beautiful outside and warmed to the ideal temperature for sunbathing. Now you’re a part of that beauty, perfectly made and carefree.

The sun’s warmth penetrates your brown skin and you relax into a gratified acceptance with your eyes closed and a smile on your face. A breeze grazes your skin. You part your legs to it exploration. It's subtle at first then harder as it sweeps up your legs and fixates on your intimate parts. You moan as your hips begin to move in a sensual dance interrupted by something you can’t name. Then you realize the golden reddish hue behind your eyelids is gone. It's dark, darker than it should be for the time of day. You find it impossible to care with so much pleasure running through your system. It doesn’t matter who or what is responsible for your predicament. They can keep you so long as they promise never to stop.

The unknown force answers with more delicious suction. It draws your body into a tight arch and pulls the breath from your lungs. Breathing is pointless where you’re headed. While your brain can’t fathom the destination, it doesn’t get in the way of supplication once you're finally pushed over the edge.  

"Terry..." You moan the name forever present in your heart and mind. His location is still unknown, you trust him to always find you.

"I’m here love." The voice is muffled. You recognize its owner the second you hear it.   The pleasurable void you’ve fallen into rematerializes as soft sheets against your back. Everything else gradually comes into focus, your husband's massive hands anchored on your waist, the prick of his facial hair as his tongue and lips move along your slick folds made warm by each labored breath he takes. Your eyes reset themselves forward as you attempt to reorient your place in the real world, a simple task made difficult by his unwillingness to pull his tongue from your drenched hole. Delirious but still guided by habit you manage to catch sight of the alarm clock on your nightstand. 3:00am.

"Shit…We have to be up in a few more hours--" Your hands act in contradiction to your words, pulling him in closer by the neck to keep him on the right spot. "Baby..."

"I know." He flattens his tongue against your clit and latches on. You realize he's responding to the urgency in your voice and not the truth you’re attempting to speak.

Where your first orgasm was tempered by your dream, the second attacks your senses at full force. His strong capable hands absorb the shock as they hold you in place.  It's several minutes before your thrashing subsides to gentle undulations from the heavy breaths passing through your body. His fingers knead the flesh around your waistline. Even though his lips are still dangerously close to your pussy you feel more like the wife he’s attempting to soothe and less like the midnight snack you've been made into. You melt among the pillows with your eyes closed one hand loosely cradling the back of his head, the other bent and draped across your face as he makes out with your inner thighs. It takes you a while to recover your voice, a little longer to remember what you intended to say next.

"What’s wrong papa? Did your regret for not playing with me earlier finally wake you up?”

He doesn’t speak right away. The answer reaches you in the silence long before his words give confirmation.

"I’d take regret over these dreams I keep having. They’re getting worse."

Six months ago, Terry nearly lost his life attempting to protect his cousin. His outer wounds have healed up nicely. It's the scars left on his soul that provoke your bloodlust. If you had your way those piece of shit cops would’ve received their karma long before the worst happened. Mike would be alive. The man you love, a man accustomed to sleeping peacefully by your side every night wouldn’t be routinely attacked by demons you couldn’t see.

Most nights you’re promoted to the role of big spoon. You hate the circumstances, but it settles the panic in your heart to hold your mountain of a man in your arms and grant him the protection he’s given you over the years. Tonight, he's found a different way to cope, a method worth keeping in your toolbelt even if it means resembling a zombie for the rest of the day.

"Baby I’m sorry. You should’ve woken me up." You reach down to massage his ears with both thumbs before attempting to bring him to eye level. He resists by nuzzling his face in your thigh.

"Technically I did wake you up." He mumbles, filtering kisses between increasingly labored breaths. The path his lips are taking force you into a conundrum. Press the issue or trust his methods. Brains weren’t meant to work this hard at this hour. It’s cruel and unfair when you realize Terry isn’t weighted down by the same predicament. Every time his breath passes over your sensitive lips you feel your logic slipping further away. He’s giving you a reason to forget and move on. You’re also his wife. The one person on this shitty planet he can always rely on, the only person crazy enough to sacrifice a third orgasm so close after the second to protect his heart from the lie he was attempting to maintain.

You find a compromise in the minute that passes, maybe two. It’s hard to separate the details when he’s making every attempt to bury his face in your pussy. You struggle to be assertive. It’s the desperation in your voice when you say his name that eventually gets him to lift his head.

The room is dark, the moonlight casts a glow across the top half of his face just enough to see his eyes. He reminds you of a sad puppy being chastised for something they don’t understand. The expression breaks your heart and makes you smile as you stroke his jawline, your upturned lips on full display to match his sad look.

“I need to make sure you’re okay and not telling me what you think I need to hear. We deal with this together. Not apart.”

He nods and turns his face into your hand to kiss your palm. There's an uncomfortable silence in the room, but you remain patient, resisting the urge to pry the answer from his now visibly tense body.

“I dreamed I lost you.” His delayed response is both a relief and heartbreaking as the previous dreams he’s shared replay in your mind. All include some variation of him being imprisoned. None include a happy ending for him or for Mike. Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, you mimic his vice like hold once he buries his face in your stomach.

Regret mixes with the anger you were already struggling to contain. It fills the room, ensnaring you in contradictory thoughts. Sit on his face to make you both feel better or do what Terry refused to and murder the men responsible for making him feel anything less than a hero, for desecrating the space in his heart reserved for the people he loved.  You could only really be mad at yourself for pressing the issue. Orgasms were a far better reward than listening to the gruesome details of your presumed demise. Given what he's been through your mind takes you to the worse possible options. You’re prepared to listen but aren’t sure how you'll get back to sleep afterward this.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." You soothe him with more kisses and tender reassurances. He answers with a tighter grip like he’s expecting something to challenge your words.

"We fought about everything…” He starts. You prepare for the story to get progressively worse. “One day you show up with some random ass light skinned fucker with a crooked hairline. I’m thinking he’s the new gardener only to find out you’re leaving me for him. You kicked me out. Had me sleeping in a tent in the backyard while some bum ass bitch wore my clothes and fucked my wife. Losing you is one thing. Losing you to a leprechaun who can’t grow a proper beard is bullshit."

 You were anticipating having your throat slashed or a hole torn in your chest by a monster you couldn’t outrun. This was somehow worse because Terry was dead serious yet nothing he said warranted a serious response.

"Ok, first of all, you’re light skinned too."

Clearly you were being tested and failing miserably. You'd taken a deep breath in the hopes of drawing something positive and meaningful into your thoughts. All you managed to do was bring up a past hilarious debate about him being caramel and not chocolate like he proclaimed himself to be. Terry’s head shot up like someone had lit a fire underneath him. You can feel him staring you down and instantly crack under the pressure.

"Be serious woman."

The poor man is clearly traumatized. You bite down on your cheek for his sake before giving him a direct view of your face, wide eyed and filled with doctored innocence that crumbles by the second. “I’m trying!” You fuss. “But you’re being awfully specific about this man's appearance."

"I saw the fucker clear as day like I’ve seen him before…I’m taking you to work. Might even stay just to be safe."

The conviction in his voice tells you not to brush off his words.  You can imagine him now posted up in your office surveying the area. He wouldn’t hover or say much, his domineering presence and chiseled muscles on full display would guarantee no woman within a 30-mile radius was productive. You would be at the top of the list. Unlike half the women in your office you had zero decorum in your husband’s presence. The last thing you needed were your colleagues gossiping about you getting fucked in your office.

"My dear sweet husband aren’t you being a little unreasonable?” Posing the question in a song doesn’t have the desired effect. It merely gives him a reason to frown harder.

"Hell no. I’m not taking anything for granted anymore, especially when it pertains to you. Far as I’m concerned this was a message from God to protect my home.”

There’s plenty to laugh at. Even less to challenge. You were looking at your answered prayer, a literal message from God to prove men like Terry weren’t a fantasy. This one was real and more than you could’ve hoped for. In honor of that gift you smile and nod in agreement and prepare to be followed everywhere.

“I can’t say you’re wrong. I can tell you no one at work fits the description.” He ponders while you stroke his neck. He isn’t silent for long.

“He could be a new security guard or the person delivering the mail."

"Mhm, I could forgive the wrinkles in a UPS uniform. Something about those brown shorts makes me feral. I’m getting wet thinking em." The laugh you’ve been holding sputters from you, putting tears in your eyes.

Terry sucks his teeth and gestures to raise up completely. He doesn’t get far when you throw your arms around his neck. He grunts but lets you have your way. "It's not funny."

"You’re right baby. It's not.  Dream me is a dumb ass bitch. I’d never leave you, especially not for an obviously unattractive man with tiny feet and a crooked hair line. You’re so pretty daddy. No one with sense would ever look anywhere else." You lean forward to coax a smile from him with a kiss. You feel his jaw loosen and his fingers grip up your ass. "I love you."

All the humor in your voice is gone, replaced with an unmistakable sincerity that eases Terry back to the calm levelheaded man he's always been. "You’re taking the necessary steps to heal. It's not something you'll ever forget but you’re going to be okay. We both are. The fact we can laugh about any of this is progress. Now I’ll promise to keep my sidepiece out the house you pay bills in if you promise not to stalk me from the parking lot."

He chuckles. "Promise."

It's nearly 4am. In two more hours you'll have to be up for work. Hardly enough time for a decent rest but your body will hate you if you don’t try to get back to sleep. You kiss your husband one last time and gently lay a hand on his chest to pull away only to be met with resistance.

"Wait. I still need to prove it to myself."

"Prove what baby?"

“That you won’t give up on me. That I won’t lose you." He speaks against your lips, his voice moving through you like the low rumble before a storm. It stirs up the lust cast aside for his benefit. You feel it in your belly and everywhere his tongue has been.  The energy in the room changes with the dark look in his eyes. He drinks you in saying nothing and everything with his calculated gaze. Awareness pricks at your skin off the strength of his possession moves. Then his hands are on you, lowering your arms from around his neck to your sides. He seizes your waist and hums as if contemplating something. Before you can ask the question, you lose the words in the swift rearrangement on to your stomach. You gasp from the shock while the rest of you uses all your energy to push against the sturdy fingers holding your wrists down. Freedom isn’t your goal. You resist solely to reinforce his dominance and feed your desire to test his nature. You want him to stake his claim and issue a warning to anyone daring to look in your direction even if the rival in question is a phantom conjured up by his subconscious.

Handcuffs aren’t an option for obvious reasons. You wonder if binding your hands together with rope will achieve the same shuddering response to being cloaked with his weight. You’re completely helpless and content to stay right where you are, one with mattress, one with him.

"Say you'll never leave me." His warm breath passes over your ear before his teeth sink down on flesh.

"I'll never leave you." You whisper back, moaning appreciatively when he kisses down the column of your neck down between your shoulder blades. His hands aren’t pinning you down anymore, but you try your best not to move as his tongue traces a warm and agonizingly slow line down your spine to your ass.

"I’ve never taken a life. I will if it means keeping you safe…You belong to me " Terry had taken down an entire police force without sending anyone to hell where they belonged. It was comical to think a man she never met; a man who didn’t exist could provoke him to use lethal force. The unexpected sting of teeth clamping down on your backside jolts you out of your musing. He's fully awake now, unfettered by slumber and past traumas. He doesn’t need to be gentle or ask for permission. The pain from that discovery offers an indescribable contribution to the pleasure you’ve experienced thus far. You can’t distinguish the two anymore the harder he bites.

"Yes." It's an reiteration and an apology for earlier all wrapped up in jarring acceptance. This isn’t the man you fell asleep next to hours ago. You aren’t the same either. His influence has unlocked a part of your brain that craves the pain and the pleasure it brings. If branding you with his teeth will bring him peace you want that too.

You moan and arch toward your captor’s mouth. He answers the invitation with a growl, yanking you on to your knees, driving your face into the comforter to deepen the arch in your back. You’re already spread obscenely open. He spreads you further with his thumbs and stops moving. He’s probably smiling in that subtle way you catch when he thinks no one’s watching. This isn’t quite the same. He's taunting you with proximity, close enough to feel the heat from his breath, far enough away to create an ache only he could soothe.

"Please." He's reduced you to this, folded in half and shameless in your attempts to reach his mouth. When he does finally lick his way inside everything else in the world melts away.

He's merciful but also deliberate in the way flattens the wide breadth of his tongue along the length of you, slurping you up like ripe fruit he intends to savor. All you can do is shudder and mewl as he groans into your slick heat, rubbing his face in it, masking himself with your scent. The message isn’t for you. It's for him. You hope it soothes the disquiet in his heart the way it's cleared out the baggage in your mind. All thoughts lead back to him, the thorough way he draws tight circles over your clit and the depths he reaches as he simulates the way he would fuck you if he had the willpower to trade places with his tongue.

He makes himself comfortable, stretching out his legs alongside your writhing body. His ankles provide a stable anchor for trembling hands. Then they’re caging you in, limiting your range of movement.

The sheets absorb your screams as you cum without warning and no sign it’ll end any time soon. You push toward his face at the same rate you pull away. Escape isn’t the goal. It's the only proper response to sensory overload. Indescribably good and too much to handle all at once. Terry is right there with you, latched on and undeterred by your frenetic movements, grunting indecipherable praise despite the pressure your thighs have placed on his ears.  At this rate you’re going to claw the sheets to shreds or beat a hole in the mattress. Then he's putting his entire body into it, crossing his ankles behind your head to lock you in place.

Weeks ago, you expressed an interest in learning Jiu-Jistu. You expected detailed commentary while you observed from the sidelines or watched a video. This wasn’t how you envisioned your first lesson or any lesson. You weren’t even sure if this was a legit move or something he’d improvised. The absurdity of it doesn’t register correctly in your mind. Instead you’re grateful, grateful for his strength, for his persistence, for his ability to find healing through forced orgasms even it’s obvious he’s lost his mind in the process. Unlike the dream version you take your vows seriously. You accept Terry at his best and his worst, through nightmares and a demonic possession. 

Panic opens your mind to a ridiculous thought. He's going to kill you.  The irrational part of your brain is convinced you won’t survive another orgasm. You can’t bring yourself to resist the rapid strumming on your clit and the spike in pleasure it produces. You’d gladly give your life for it. Leave earth with a smile on your lips and a memory worth immortalizing in the afterlife. To call your bluff Terry brings his thumb from your fluttering hole to the soft flesh of your ass.  He prolongs the suspense with teasing swipes around the rim then very slowly pushes through your defenses when he feels you’re ready for it. Something in your brain malfunctions. You start to whine like a caught animal. They’re the kind of sounds you’d find embarrassing if you weren’t in the presence of a grown ass man.

The last thing you hear before you explode is Terry’s deep voice in your ear. "Good girl."

When you return to consciousness, you’re still face down with a damp spot under your cheek and under your pelvis. Terry is stretched across your back crooning in your ear about how proud he is of you, how beautiful you are, how in love with you he is. His touch is equally soothing as he trails down your forearms to interlock your fingers. You haven’t stopped trembling. It’s worse in your legs. Even the slightest movement revives the memory of where his tongue has been. You find comfort in the fetal position anyway. Terry is right there to reinforce the hold, cradling you with his entire body so he doesn’t lose you in the subspace you’ve drifted off to. When the consequence of his overindulgence subsides to a light shudder you feel his coiled lips at your temple.

“Are you proud of yourself?”  

“Maybe.” He drawls, the pride evident in his voice. “You’re still shaking baby. Are you good? Did I hurt you?

“Of course you didn’t. I’m a little floaty but I kinda want you to break me again--just to make sure I like it.” You offer a lazy smile and reach back to scratch his cheek. "What about you? Are you finally convinced I won’t run off with your ugly ass replacement?”

His laughter sounds like music.  You wonder how he can find the joy in anything with his stiff dick left unattended and drooling precum on your backside. It’s all you can think about now.

"I am."

"Good because it’s never going to happen. I’m also not going to work today. I can’t function like this." Despite your predicament you use the distraction to your advantage and raise your thigh to accommodate him. A little maneuvering slots the tip between your lips but doesn't quite make it inside. You whimper and try again.

“No. You’ve had enough sweetheart.” You’re more than a little disappointed when he pushes your legs shut. 

“I can keep going. Let me take care of you.”

“You have taken care of me baby.” A kiss is all it takes to end your pouting. Like a greedy brat, you twist around to claim another, then one more to sample your flavor on his lips. His dick stirs against you, it doesn’t persuade him to be anything less than noble. “I plan on keeping you in this bed all day.  Get some rest. I’ll have you later.”

Terry’s demeanor remains unchanged as he realigns your back to his chest and slips is muscled leg over your restless ones. He’s given you a preview, a reminder, and a warning. You aren’t sure how well you’ll sleep knowing what you know but you snuggle up to his arm tucked beneath the pillow.

“I love you.”

Those three words calm the restlessness in your heart and get you to shut your eyes. 

"I love you too handsome. Try not to dream about me."

[hauntedbyjoel]

Stay A While

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: eventual smut | oral (f & m) | unprotected sex | dirty talk | praise | mutual longing | pining | slow burn | causal intimacy | soft but charged tension | no outbreak word count - 7.3k summary - You rent a guesthouse by the beach, needing space to figure things out. He lives in the main house—quiet, distant, and kind in ways that surprise you. Slowly, something shifts.

part two part three

𓇼𓆉𓇼

You don’t even remember typing the last sentence.

Something about Q3 projections. Client engagement. Numbers and buzzwords that used to mean something, now just static in your head. You stare at them like they might rearrange themselves into a reason to keep going. They don’t.

Across the office, someone laughs a little too loudly. Over by the breakroom, the microwave beeps and nobody moves. Your inbox pings again.

URGENT: NEED FINAL REVIEW BY 3PM. Appreciate your hustle.

You close the email. Not out of defiance. Just... fatigue. Everything feels like noise.

The coffee in your cup is cold. You drink it anyway. No creamer left in the breakroom and no energy to care. You stare at the screen and pretend to read something important while you try not to cry from a place that doesn’t even feel emotional. Just... tired.

It’s not that the job is terrible. It’s fine. Everyone says you’re lucky to have it. Good benefits. Steady pay. A team that uses too many emojis in Slack but means well enough. It’s not bad.

But you hate it.

You hate the way it’s slowly eaten pieces of you in exchange for... what? PTO you never use? A title no one outside of work understands? Deadlines you never chose?

You open a browser tab.

“Quiet places to stay near the beach.” You’ve searched it before—every other week, like clockwork. Like maybe this time there’ll be something new. A way out.

There’s a little house on the coast. Too expensive. A cabin in the woods. Too isolated. A pastel Airbnb with ‘good vibes only’ in the header image. God, no.

You close the tab.

Your eyes flick to the sticky note on your monitor—“Your passion will lead you.” You don’t even remember who wrote it. Some old team meeting, probably. You peel it off and crumple it into your palm. You hold it there for a while.

Your phone buzzes.

A text from Jules:

Jules: Made the mistake of swimming after lunch again. I’m 90% seaweed now.

You smile, half-hearted but real. You text back a simple “RIP”, then pause for a second, staring at her name.

Without thinking too hard, you press Call.

She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?.”

“You’re not seaweed, you’re just dramatic,” you say, flopping back in your chair.

“I am seaweed. I’ve accepted it. I’m part of the ecosystem now.” Jules sounds like she’s walking—wind in the background, maybe seagulls too. “Are you alright?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Yeah. Just... needed to talk to someone who isn’t obsessed with productivity metrics.”

“Say no more,” she groans. “I got dive-bombed by a pelican this morning, so let’s talk about that instead.”

You laugh, and for the first time today it doesn’t feel forced.

The conversation wanders—lunch spots, bad music, someone named Eli who forgot to anchor the kayak rental dock again. It’s easy. Familiar. Until you’re quiet for just a little too long.

You hesitate, chewing your lip. The silence stretches just long enough before you say it. “I’ve been thinking about taking time off. Like, not a full break, just… remote. For a while.”

Jules doesn’t skip a beat. “So come here.”

You snort. “You’ve been saying that for two years.”

“And I’ve been right for two years. I’m overdue for being smug.”

You stretch your legs out under the desk, voice softer now. “I’m serious, though. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Then stop trying to figure it out,” she says. “Come stay for a bit. Reset. I know a guy. Well, I know of him. Joel. He rents out this little guesthouse sometimes. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet and like... weirdly peaceful. I can ask around.”

You blink up at the ceiling tiles. “Would he be okay with that?”

“He doesn’t even know me. It’s word-of-mouth type stuff. I’ll see what I can find out. You just say the word.”

You let your eyes close.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Okay.”

You hang up the phone and sit there for a minute, letting the silence settle. The overhead lights buzz. Your back aches. The office is nearly empty now, just the cleaning crew and the low hum of someone’s forgotten desktop fan.

You stand up slowly. Shut your laptop. Slide it into your bag.

No announcement. No grand exit. Just… leaving.

The sky outside is dusky pink by the time you get home. Your apartment still exactly as you left it: keys in the dish, shoes kicked off halfway to the door, a half-finished coffee cup on the counter you meant to rinse out this morning. It smells like lavender laundry detergent and burnt toast. Familiar. Still.

You drop your bag by the door and pull out your phone again.

Jules: Asked around. Guesthouse is open. Told ‘em you’re chill and don’t throw parties. It’s yours if you want it.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

Then:

You: I want it.

You toss your phone on the bed and open your closet. Not frantically—just... automatically. Like your body already knows what to do even if your brain is still buffering.

You grab the canvas duffel from under your bed. The one you always told yourself you’d use for a weekend getaway that never came. You don’t pack much. A few outfits. A swimsuit you haven’t worn in two summers. Your laptop. A couple books you keep rereading, even when they don’t hit the same.

Toiletries. Chargers. That old hoodie you wear when you’re pretending everything’s fine.

You stand there for a moment, staring down at the bag.

It doesn’t feel impulsive. It doesn’t feel like running away. It feels… necessary. Like your body hit its limit before your mind caught up.

You don’t know what’s waiting there. You don’t know how long you’ll stay.

You just know you need to go.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

You spot her before she sees you. She's leaning against the side of a weather-faded Honda with the windows down, one foot propped against the tire, hair tied up in a messy knot. She’s scrolling through her phone and squinting at the sun, sunglasses sliding halfway down her nose.

When she looks up, she smiles like this is just another Thursday. Like you didn’t just leave your whole life behind.

“Hey,” she says, casual and warm.

You manage something close to a smile. “Hey.”

She opens the trunk without comment, just nods toward your bag. “Throw it in. The AC barely works and I’m already sweaty.”

You toss your bag into the trunk and slide into the passenger seat. The inside of the car smells like sunscreen and sand, and there’s an empty iced coffee cup wedged between the seats. Jules pulls out of the airport lot without turning on the music. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the salt air.

Neither of you talks at first. You’re grateful for that.

Outside, the landscape shifts from traffic and chain stores to palm trees and beautiful beaches. The sky is wide and pale, hazy from heat. You pass weathered houses on stilts, homemade signs for bait shops and beach yoga, kids on bikes in swimsuits still dripping from the ocean.

It’s not quiet in the way you expected. It’s the kind of quiet that has texture—wind through seagrass, tires on gravel, gulls somewhere above you, calling out like they own the place.

“You hungry?” Jules asks eventually, glancing at you as she turns onto a smaller road. “We can stop before I take you to the house.”

You nod. “Yeah. I could definitely eat.”

She takes you to a place with a cracked vinyl sign and a handwritten chalkboard menu out front. It smells like vinegar and something fried, and you already feel your hair starting to frizz in the heat.

The two of you sit at a shaded picnic table with water-streaked plastic cups and paper baskets of food between you. Jules picks at a plate of fries and orders a lemonade so sour she winces with every sip. You get grilled shrimp, something light.

Neither of you is in a rush.

It takes a few minutes before the conversation settles into something real.

“I still can’t believe you actually did it,” Jules says, brushing crumbs off her lap. “I mean, I knew you were close, but…”

You shrug. “I didn’t quit, exactly. Just asked to go remote for a while. My boss said I looked like I was about to pass out on a Zoom call, so.” You gesture vaguely. “Here I am.”

Jules raises an eyebrow. “And they let you?”

“Yeah. Shockingly, they don’t care where I answer emails from, as long as I keep answering them.”

She leans back in her seat and watches you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You give a half-smile. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then you’re doing it right.”

You blink. “That easy?”

She nods. “You’ve been so stuck trying to figure it all out. What if you don’t? What if you just… exist for a while?”

You pick up a shrimp, tear the tail off slowly. “You’re starting to sound like someone who eats seaweed and meditates on a paddleboard.”

“I’m starting to live,” she says. “There’s a difference.”

She tells you about her work—marine conservation, public education. She gives talks to tourists about nesting sea turtles, organizes cleanups, curses at jet skis under her breath. It’s all stuff she used to talk about back in college like it was some distant dream.

Now she’s just doing it. Barefoot, usually.

“You really like it here,” you say.

“I really like me here,” she corrects.

And that hits harder than you expect.

The drive to Joel's is quieter. You lean your head against the window and let her navigate through narrow side roads lined with tall grass and crooked mailboxes. There’s a rhythm to this place already, like it doesn’t care what time it is.

When she turns into the driveway, you sit up.

The house is simple. Single-story, pale siding, a wide porch mostly in shade. A gravel path curves around to a second structure tucked behind it. The guesthouse is smaller, boxier, but clean and cared for. No frills. No clutter.

“That’s you,” Jules says, pulling up in front of the smaller house. “Joel lives in the main one.”

You glance out the window. “Is he home?”

She shrugs. “Probably. He’s around a lot, working. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t do the whole neighborly chit-chat thing, but I’ve never heard a single bad thing.”

“Sounds perfect.”

You step out of the car and stretch your legs. Jules grabs your bag from the trunk and sets it on the porch for you.

“You’re not gonna introduce me?”

She laughs. “I don’t know him. I just heard he had a place. Told a guy at the coffee shop my friend needed a quiet rental, and two days later he left a note saying the guesthouse was unlocked.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Small town.” She shrugs. “People hear things. People help. No one wants to make it weird.”

She glances toward the main house. The blinds are drawn. Somewhere behind it, you hear a faint, steady rhythm—maybe a hammer, maybe something heavier. Not loud, just… present.

“He’s harmless,” she says. “And honestly? Quiet might be exactly what you need.”

𓇼𓆉𓇼

The first morning you wake up in the guesthouse, it takes a second to remember where you are.

The light hits differently here, muted through gauzy curtains, soft and golden, like it filtered through the ocean first. The ceiling fan ticks gently above you, blades slicing through the air at a pace that feels patient.

You reach for your phone out of habit. No new messages. No calendar pings. No blinking notifications. For a split second, you panic, then remember: it’s Saturday. You got here on a weekend.

You told your team you’d be online Monday morning. Said it like it was no big deal. But now, standing here in someone else’s t-shirt with the sun warming your arms through the window… Monday feels like it might be a century away.

You make coffee in the small, slightly temperamental drip machine on the counter. The mugs are mismatched—one with faded sailboats, one that says “I’m crabby before caffeine” in peeling red letters. You pick the least offensive one and step outside barefoot.

The porch boards are warm under your feet. Everything smells like sun, salt and wood and something faintly green. You sit on the top step, cross your legs, and wrap your fingers around the mug like it’s the only thing anchoring you here.

The quiet isn’t exactly peaceful. Not yet. It’s unfamiliar. Expansive. It stretches out in front of you like something you’re supposed to do something with.

You don’t.

You just sit there and listen to the wind push through the dune grass. To the porch creak when you shift your weight. To the absence of anything that needs you.

Later, you half-unpack.

You open drawers just to see how they close. Leave your bag unzipped on the floor. Put a book on the nightstand you probably won’t finish. You don’t organize anything, you just scatter yourself around the room like you’re testing the space.

The guesthouse feels clean, but not in a rental kind of way. There’s intention to it. Like someone still cares about the way it looks when no one’s watching. You notice it in the way the towels are folded, the soap dish resting perfectly straight.

At some point in the late afternoon, you crack a window open. The air that slips in is heavier now. Still warm, but with a little weight to it. Like it’s tired, too.

And then you hear it.

A low, steady bzzzzzt drifting across the property. Not jarring, just present. There’s a rhythm to it. Like someone who’s done the same motion so many times it no longer takes thought. A pause. Then again. And again.

It’s not constant, it's consistent. The sound comes and goes, sometimes broken by the scrape of wood or a hollow thud. Somewhere behind it all, barely there, music plays. Not loud enough to make out lyrics. Just a muffled melody, anchored by a low voice and something with strings. Bluesy, maybe. Old.

You glance toward the main house without meaning to. Just for a second.

Through a break in the trees, past the far side of the porch, you catch movement. A man with his back turned, walking from what looks like a detached garage or shed. Barefoot in the grass. A loose-fitting T-shirt hangs low over work-worn jeans. He’s carrying something under one arm. A length of wood, maybe? You don’t squint. Don’t crane your neck.

It’s not interesting. Just part of the place. Just... what’s happening here.

Still, you find yourself pausing at the counter longer than necessary. Your fingers trace the rim of your coffee mug. The window stays open.

He knocks that evening. Just three times. Soft, spaced out like he almost changed his mind halfway through.

You open the door and he’s there—solid, quiet, uncomfortable in a way that doesn’t seem like insecurity. More like he just doesn’t do this very often.

Up close, Joel looks a little older than you’d guessed. Sun-worn, beard neatly trimmed, hair graying at the temples in a way that doesn’t look curated. His face is unreadable. Not guarded, exactly. Just... still.

He holds out a paper bag. His other hand rests awkwardly on the back of his neck, thumb grazing the edge of his shirt collar.

“Welcome,” he says, low and flat like he rehearsed it once and decided that was enough.

“Thanks,” you say, blinking a little too slowly. You didn’t expect company. You’re barefoot, wearing sleep shorts and a tank top you’ve had since college.

“I’m Joel.” He jerks his chin toward the front house. “I live out here.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

He shifts, like he might bolt.

“Should be everything you need in there,” he says, nodding toward the house. “But if not... I’m around. Just knock.”

You reach for the bag and he seems almost surprised you’re taking it. Inside, you find a small jar of amber-colored honey, a bunch of clipped herbs, basil, mint, rosemary, and a small, handmade cutting board. The wood is pale, sanded smooth, warm under your fingertips.

“I made that,” he mutters, almost too low to catch. “Just... had scraps.”

You run your fingers gently over the edge. “It’s beautiful,” you say, looking back at him. “Really. Thank you. That’s… thoughtful.”

He nods, once. Then again. His eyes drop slightly, and when they come back up, his ears are flushed just a little pink.

“Most people like the quiet out here,” he says. “Gets easier, after a while.”

You smile—soft, tired, but sincere. “It already feels better than where I was yesterday.”

He holds your gaze for a second too long. Not intense, just surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to say that.

“I’m glad,” he says, voice low. His hand flexes slightly at his side, like he’s not sure what to do with it.

You nod. “Thanks again. For all of this.”

He just nods once more, and then he’s gone. Turning back toward the main house without another word, feet quiet over the gravel, his shoulders tight in a way that doesn’t read like discomfort. Just restraint.

You set the bag on the counter and pull out the cutting board again. Turn it over in your hands. It’s simple, but carefully made. Clean edges. Sanded smooth. Someone spent time on it.

You brush a thumb across the surface once before setting it down beside the stove.

You’re not sure what you expected, maybe nothing at all, but this feels... kind. Quietly so.

You open the jar of honey, just to look at it. Then you put it away and rinse your mug.

The house settles again around you, soft and still.

And for once, you let it.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

You sleep later than you meant to.

The light is already full and soft when you open your eyes, the kind that suggests it’s closer to mid-morning than anything ambitious. The ceiling fan ticks overhead, blades slicing through the air in a rhythm that’s starting to feel familiar. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling for a long while, letting your thoughts drift somewhere quiet.

No alarms. No meetings. No expectations.

It’s Sunday.

You make breakfast in bare feet. You made eggs that were cooked a little too long, toast with too much butter, coffee in the mug with the sailboats on it. You eat standing at the counter, leaning against it like there’s nowhere else you need to be. The house is still. The air smells like citrus and toasted bread. You pull your hair up, throw on a tank top and shorts, and decide to give yourself the day. No pressure. No plan.

You do small things. Finish unpacking. Fold your clothes neatly into the drawers you didn’t touch yesterday. You pause over a notebook you’d almost forgotten about—half-filled, tucked into a bag pocket. You leave it out on the table with a pen on top.

You light a candle you found tucked in one of the kitchen drawers, lavender and something woodsy, and let it burn while you open windows to let the air in. Sweep the kitchen. Wipe down the bathroom sink. Rearrange the three books you brought twice before deciding not to read any of them.

Time starts to slide.

By noon, you realize you should probably get groceries. You haven’t had a vegetable in days and you’re down to one sad heel of bread. You grab your tote bag, slide your sunglasses on, and walk into town.

The road is mostly empty. A few bikes pass you. One kid on a skateboard. The heat clings but the breeze helps, and there’s something grounding in the sound of your own footsteps. It smells like salt and sunscreen and dry grass. You pass houses with porches draped in windchimes and laundry lines fluttering in the sun. There’s a hand-painted sign for a café you make a mental note to try later.

The store is small and old-school, with handwritten signs and wire racks that squeak when you turn them. You pick up the essentials: fruit, bread, a cold drink, something salty for later. A small journal with a linen cover catches your eye near the register. You don’t need it. You buy it anyway.

At the checkout, the woman behind the counter glances at you and smiles.

"New in town?"

You nod, setting your bag down. "Just for a little while."

She rings up your things, slow and easy. "Well, welcome. Hope you stick around."

You smile. "Thanks."

You walk back slower than you came. The sun's higher now, the heat sinking into your shoulders in a way that feels earned. You carry your bag in one hand and a bottle of cold tea in the other, condensation dripping down your wrist.

Back at the guesthouse, you put everything away without thinking too much about it. You make a sandwich with avocado, tomato, a little lemon and eat it on the back steps with your feet in the grass. The sounds are the same as yesterday: birds, breeze, the distant hum of something mechanical.

Joel must be working again. You hear the faint buzz of a tool starting and stopping. The occasional scrape of wood or clatter of metal. No music this time.

You don’t look.

Instead, you wander.

The edge of the property curls into a small patch of shade where two trees lean slightly toward one another. Between them, strung with thick rope and a little sag, is a hammock. You don’t know if it’s meant for guests, or if Joel uses it, or if it’s just been there long enough to belong to the landscape now.

But it’s empty.

You climb in slowly, testing the tension. It sways just enough to make your stomach shift, then settles. You close your eyes. Breathe.

It smells like pine needles and sun-warmed rope.

You don’t fall asleep, but you stop keeping track of time.

Eventually, the light begins to shift. You hear the soft rustle of branches overhead and the distant creak of the guesthouse porch when the wind changes. Nothing pressing. Nothing loud.

You stay right where you are.

Eventually, hunger pulls you out of the hammock. You stretch your legs, brush off your shorts, and wander back toward the house, pausing once to tip your face into the breeze.

As the sky starts to turn the color of pale grapefruit, you head out again, this time toward the beach.

You walk slowly, toes sinking into the sand, the air cooler now, salty and soft against your skin. The tide is low, and the waves lap gently against the shore, folding and unfolding themselves in a quiet rhythm. You don’t swim, don’t sit. Just walk. Let your feet carry you past bits of driftwood and tangled seaweed, past shells you don’t stop to collect.

You don’t think about much.

Just the sound of the water. The way it feels to be small in the best kind of way.

Dinner is simple. Something easy. You can’t remember the last time it tasted this good.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

Your first Monday in the guesthouse starts with light and birdsong instead of traffic.

You wake before your alarm, blinking at the ceiling like your body hasn’t gotten the memo that the rules have changed. For a moment, you expect the old rush, shower, clothes, keys, commute. But it never comes.

You make coffee and sit at the kitchen table with your laptop, the windows cracked open just enough to let the morning air in. A soft breeze rustles through the trees. Your inbox is full, but not urgent. You reply to a few things, flag some others, and fall into a rhythm that doesn’t feel punishing.

It’s not the work that ever drained you. It was everything around it—the noise, the pressure, the way the office swallowed whole days and spit them back out in meetings and recycled air. The elevator rides, the fluorescent lights, the sound of someone reheating fish in the breakroom microwave.

Now, you keep your camera off for most of the morning. Nobody seems to mind.

In the afternoon, you join a Zoom meeting with your camera on and your feet tucked under you. Someone from your team, Rachel, maybe, or Erin, squints at the screen and says, “You look really relaxed. The change of pace must be helping.”

You smile. “Definitely. It’s been nice to breathe a little.”

Someone else nods. “Glad you're settling in.”

The meeting moves on.

You eat lunch on the porch with your laptop balanced on one knee. You start a list of things to do later, but you forget about it almost as quickly.

The day goes fast.

At one point, you hear the sound of Joel’s saw in the distance. Not constant. Just there. A soft reminder of something happening outside of you.

You don’t look.

By the time you shut your laptop, the sun has already shifted to that late-afternoon gold. You stretch your arms above your head, roll your neck, and wander inside to change.

Jules picks you up just after six.

“First day on the beach payroll,” she says when you slide into the passenger seat. “How does it feel to not be rotting in a cubicle?”

“Less fluorescent,” you say. “Less... everything.”

She takes you to a little place near the water with plastic chairs and string lights overhead. You order wine and grilled fish with citrus slaw. She talks about the tourists, about the guy who keeps trying to name starfish after himself in her marine tours, about how she still hasn’t figured out if her neighbor owns a rooster or is just playing one through a speaker.

At some point, you ask, casually, "Do you know anything about Joel? The guy who owns the place."

Jules leans back in her chair. "Not really. He’s kind of a local fixture, but he keeps to himself. Builds furniture, mostly. Some people say he sells it out of state."

You nod. "He dropped off a cutting board the day I got in. Didn’t really stick around."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," she says. "He’s not unfriendly. Just... private. Been here a while. Doesn’t talk much."

You let that sit. Not because it means anything. Just because it's something to file away.

You let her talk. You let yourself laugh. You let the breeze lift your hair and the wine loosen your shoulders.

It doesn’t feel like a milestone. It doesn’t feel like a reward.

It just feels good.

You head home with the last of the light still clinging to the sky, salt on your skin, and no plans for tomorrow except doing it all again.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

He shows up again on Tuesday.

Late morning. You're mid-email, one hand wrapped around your coffee mug, rereading the same sentence twice when there’s a knock on the door. It’s light, tentative. Like last time, like he’s still not sure if he should be doing this at all.

You hesitate, push your chair back, and cross the room. When you open it, Joel stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. No paper bag this time. No offerings. Just him.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “Sorry to bother. Just wanted to check in. Make sure everything’s alright in the place."

You blink, then nod, holding your mug against your chest. “Yeah. Everything’s good. No issues.”

Joel gives a short nod. His eyes shift toward the trees, like he might leave immediately. But he doesn’t.

“I don’t usually rent it out this time of year,” he says after a beat. “Heard someone was looking for somewhere to stay. Figured the timing worked out.”

You lean a little into the doorway. “It did. It’s been... a really good reset.”

Joel glances down, thumb skimming the edge of his jeans pocket. “I’m not much of a host,” he says. “Wasn’t sure if I should stop by. But figured I should check in, at least."

You smile, soft. Not too much. “I appreciate it. Everything’s been really comfortable. Quiet.”

He nods again. "Good."

For a second, neither of you says anything. The wind rustles through the trees, and a bird chirps somewhere off to the left. Joel shifts his weight. The porch creaks faintly under his heel.

“Place is nice,” you add. “Feels lived in. In a good way.”

That makes him glance back toward the house. “Built most of it myself. Added the guesthouse a few years back. Didn’t think I’d use it much, but...” He shrugs. “People end up needing space."

You take a sip from your mug and nod. “Seems like a good place for it.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “If anything needs fixing—drawer sticks, windows squeak, anything like that, I’m around. Workshop’s just behind the shed."

You follow his gesture. You hadn’t really looked beyond the trees yet, hadn’t thought about what was back there. But now you notice it, a wide structure tucked in the shade, low roof, stacked planks leaning against the outer wall.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

You glance at him again, not expecting to find anything new, but this time, your eyes catch on the way his hands shift slightly, like he’s not sure what to do with them. They’re rough. Not just callused, but visibly worn. Small scars along his knuckles. A tiny cut near the base of his thumb, half-healed.

He notices your glance but doesn’t comment. Just clears his throat softly and lifts his eyes to yours for a second.

“I didn’t know I could feel this... still,” you say, before you really think about it.

Joel nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

You didn’t mean to say it. You don’t follow it up. And he doesn’t ask.

He nods once more, then hesitates like he might say something else. He doesn’t. Just lifts a hand in a half-wave and steps down off the porch.

You watch him walk back across the grass, slow and steady, barefoot like always. He disappears behind the line of trees, swallowed by the quiet.

You shut the door gently.

You try to get back to work, but it takes a minute.

Your coffee's gone lukewarm. The email you were writing doesn’t seem important anymore. You sit at the kitchen table and stare at your screen while the cursor blinks. It takes three tries to remember what you were even supposed to say.

Not because of him. Because the interruption broke whatever shallow concentration you had going. You close the laptop for a while and step outside instead.

The hammock is warm in the sun. You sit sideways in it, feet on the grass, journal balanced on your knees. You don’t write much. A line or two. Something about the trees. Something about the quiet.

Eventually, you wander inside, rinse out your mug, and grab a peach from the fridge. The rest of the day stretches ahead of you, soft and slow.

You don’t see him again that day. But you think about the way he stood on the porch. Like he didn’t quite belong there, but showed up anyway.

It wasn’t much, not personal.

But something about it lingers.

You go back to work with the window open. The saw starts up again around two.

You don’t look. But you hear him.

By late afternoon, the light shifts. The workday winds down, email closed, another empty mug sitting by your keyboard. You stretch, fingertips pressing into the tight knots in your neck.

Out on the porch, the breeze has picked up. You step outside with a glass of water, blinking against the sun.

Down near the workshop, the truck is pulled up closer. Joel’s there, dragging the hose across the gravel. A bucket waits nearby, sponge in hand.

You catch yourself watching almost instantly.

He moves the way he always seems to, unhurried, steady. Shirt sleeves shoved high, forearms slick with water. The damp fabric of his t-shirt pulls faintly across his back when he leans forward into the cab. Broad shoulders, trim waist, the slow flex of muscle beneath sun-warmed skin.

It’s... more than you expected.

Not that you’d expected anything. He was just the landlord. Someone you barely knew.

But now your gaze lingers, and it’s hard to blame the sun for the warmth climbing up your neck.

He straightens, lifts a hand to the back of his neck. The small shift draws your eyes again before you can stop them.

You glance away fast, glass poised halfway to your lips. Take a too-long sip, hoping it’ll cool whatever heat is rising under your skin.

It doesn’t.

You didn’t think of him that way. Until just now, maybe you hadn’t thought of him much at all.

But now the image sticks. And when you head back inside, it follows you a little too easily.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

The rest of the week settles into a kind of rhythm.

Not rushed. Not structured, really. Just… easy.

Mornings start with coffee on the porch, the air still cool enough to warrant a sweatshirt most days. You read there sometimes, legs curled beneath you, the hum of cicadas rising with the sun. The sound of the saw picks up mid-morning more often than not, low and steady from across the yard. After a few days, it blends into the background, like the soft rustle of the seagrass or the gulls overhead. You can’t say it bothers you.

Work stays quiet. Manageable. It’s easier here, something about the space between things. The absence of constant pinging and half-conversations and calendars stacked to the minute. You knock out your to-do list early most days, freeing the afternoons for… whatever feels right.

Sometimes that means walking down to the beach with a book tucked under your arm. Other days it means errands in town—a new bag of coffee, a browse through the little shop that sells lavender soaps and sea glass trinkets. You’ve started to recognize faces. A few hellos here and there. It’s nice.

You see Joel more, too. Not deliberately. It just happens.

There’s a run-in at the mailbox midweek—he’s heading out as you’re heading back. A nod, a quick “hey,” an easy smile. A few words exchanged about the weather, about the stretch of warm days ahead.

Later, you catch him outside the workshop, arms full of lumber. He shifts the load with a quiet grunt, glances up as you pass on your way to the hammock. Another nod. Another smile. You can’t help but return it.

There are other moments, too. Small ones.

You’re trimming back the hedge one afternoon when you hear his voice nearby, low and even. On the phone, maybe. You don’t listen in, but the cadence of it draws your ear. You glance over without meaning to, catch the edge of him framed in the workshop doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other at his hip.

You look away fast. No reason to stare.

Still, your gaze drifts that way more often than it used to.

Another morning, you catch a whiff of sawdust and soap on the air as you cross the drive. Not close, just enough to register. Enough to linger.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You’re just paying attention more, that’s all.

But later, curled in the hammock with your book resting open against your chest, you realize you haven’t turned a page in several minutes. Your eyes keep flicking toward the workshop, half-expecting movement.

You sigh, shake your head, force yourself back to the words on the page.

When the truck door thuds shut later that day, you’re already looking toward the sound before you can stop yourself.

A glimpse through the porch rail, the steady motion you’ve started to recognize. The faint rise and fall of his voice. Familiar now, in a way it wasn’t before.

Funny how that happens.

Nothing more to it than that.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But you don’t go back inside right away. The sun is soft now, the porch warm beneath your legs. You let the minutes stretch, listening to the faint rhythm of his voice, the shuffle of movement from across the yard.

A soft scrape. The low creak of a hinge.

You glance over again. The workshop door’s fully open now, sunlight spilling across the worn boards inside. Joel moves through the space, a rag in one hand, sleeves pushed high.

Your gaze lingers longer than it should. You shift in your seat, fingers curling against the armrest.

The bag from town still sits just inside the door, lightbulbs you’d grabbed on a whim. You hadn’t meant to let them sit this long, and the porch fixture had been dim since your first night here.

A small thing. A small excuse. But enough.

You stand, brushing your hands lightly over your thighs. The path feels shorter than usual as you cross the yard.

The door stands open ahead of you, the hum of the radio low beneath the quiet.

You pause at the threshold, one hand on the frame.

“Hey,” you call, voice light. “Do you have a second?”

Joel looks up, straightens from the bench. His brow lifts faintly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Everything alright?”

You shake your head quickly, offering a small smile.

“All good. Just—” you lift the bag slightly, “—thought I’d check about the porch light. I grabbed some bulbs, wasn’t sure if there’s a trick to it.”

Something shifts in his expression then. Shoulders easing, mouth tugging faint at one corner, something warmer than before.

“Good timing,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to get around to that. Come on in.”

The words catch something low in your chest, loose and warm.

You step inside.

The scent greets you first. Cedar and oil, the sharper bite of fresh sawdust. Thicker here, grounding.

Light cuts through the room in long strips, painting the floor in soft gold. Tools hang in careful rows above the benches, handles worn smooth from use. The faint hum of the old radio plays beneath it all. Low and steady, like a heartbeat threaded through the air.

Joel sets the rag in his hand aside, straightening as you approach.

“What’d you grab?”

You pull the box of bulbs from the bag, fingers brushing the cardboard edges.

“Just the basics. Didn’t know if they’d fit.”

“Let’s see.”

He reaches for the box, and for a beat, your hands meet, his fingers brushing over yours as he takes it. Warm. Calloused. A flicker of heat trails up your arm before you can think.

Neither of you acknowledges it. But the air feels different now.

Joel lifts the box, tipping it in his hand.

“Yeah, these’ll work.”

You nod, glancing past him toward the bench. Your gaze lingers longer than it should, on the broad planks laid out across the surface, the sharp gleam of steel, the soft curl of wood shavings beneath his arm.

“You working on something?”

He shifts, setting the box aside. “Chair.” He gestures to the half-built frame clamped at the center of the bench. “Trying to get the joints right.”

You step closer, drawn without thinking.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, tracing the clean lines with your eyes.

Joel watches you a moment, something flickering beneath the steady look.

“Appreciate that.” His voice is quieter now, a rougher edge beneath it. “Lot of time goes into these.”

You glance up. He’s closer than before, only a foot or two away now, warmth radiating between the space that isn’t quite space anymore.

“I can tell.” You rest your hand light on the edge of the bench, grounding yourself. “I didn’t know you built everything here.”

Joel’s mouth lifts again, softer this time. “Yeah. Most of it. Took a while to get set up.”

There’s a pause then—a full one. Not awkward. Just… aware.

Your breath slows, skin prickling beneath the light cotton of your shirt.

Joel shifts again, reaching for a small chisel. Your gaze follows without meaning to. The way his hands move, strong and precise, veins cutting sharp beneath his skin.

He glances at you, catches your eyes lingering.

You look away fast. But not fast enough to miss the faint rise of color beneath his scruff.

He clears his throat. “You wanna see how it fits?”

You nod. “Yeah.” The word comes easier than your breath.

He picks up the seat slat, turns toward you, closer now. As he angles it into place, his shoulder brushes yours. It's light and brief, but enough to send your pulse climbing.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The moment holds there, stretched thin across the soft weight of the room.

Then, carefully, Joel steps back.

“Still needs some shaping,” he says, voice rougher than before.

You nod, fingers brushing the edge of the wood. “It’s really nice.”

Another pause.

Joel’s gaze lingers on you, steadier than before. For a breath, neither of you moves. The air feels weighted now, thicker between the strips of light.

You glance down, smoothing your fingers along the grain of the seat.

“How long does something like this take?” you ask softly.

He shifts, arms folding loosely across his chest. The movement pulls his shirt taut across his shoulders, draws your eye before you can catch it.

“Depends,” he says. “Piece like this… week or two. If the wood cooperates.”

You glance up again, meeting his gaze. The edges of your breath catch faintly, but you hold it steady.

“I don’t think I realized how much goes into it.”

Joel huffs a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Most people don’t.”

There’s a shift in him now, shoulders looser, voice warmer. You can feel it in the way the air hums between you.

Your gaze flicks back to the shelves along the wall. Jars of nails and screws. Planes and clamps worn by use. The space feels different now, not just a workshop, but his. A reflection of the hands that shaped it.

“You’ve been doing this a long time?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. Picked it up young. Stuck with it.” His mouth lifts faintly. “Guess I like making things that last.”

The words settle low in your chest. You don’t know why, but they do.

You glance back toward him. He’s watching you again—not guarded, not unreadable, just… there. Present in a way that makes your pulse hitch.

And maybe it’s the way the afternoon light catches the curve of his jaw. Or the quiet between your words. Or the way your shoulders brush again as he shifts to reach for another tool, close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

Whatever it is, you’re suddenly aware that you’re standing closer than you’d meant to. That you haven’t moved.

Neither has he.

Another beat, full and slow.

Then—reluctant but even—you draw in a breath.

“I should probably let you get back to it,” you say, though your voice is quieter now.

Joel watches you for a second longer.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something softer beneath it. Something that feels like it might have asked you to stay if the words were easier to reach.

You step back slowly, fingers brushing once more along the edge of the chair.

“Thanks. For showing me.”

His mouth lifts again, the faintest tug of warmth. “Anytime.”

And when you turn for the door, you can feel his gaze follow you, trailing after you as you cross the sunlit yard. 

You don’t let your steps quicken. No sense in it. And maybe next time, you won’t leave so soon.

[bu3ck3r]

pretending

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 11.2k

warning: drinking

a/n: so this one shot is inspired by a song called pretending by fletcher (ty anon for this idea) and there is a lot of angst but there’s a lil bit of fluff too so enjoy🤓

The gym is nearly empty, save for the rhythmic sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood and the steady echo of a bouncing basketball. The rest of the team has already cleared out, heading for post-practice ice baths or late-night study sessions. But Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd are still here. They always are.

Paige dribbles slowly at the top of the key, rolling her shoulders, eyes locked onto Azzi, who stands in a low defensive stance a few feet away. The air between them hums with something electric, something neither of them ever acknowledges.

“You ready?” Paige smirks, shifting the ball between her hands.

Azzi’s lips twitch, but her expression remains locked in concentration. “I was born ready.”

Paige chuckles, shaking her head. God, she loves this—this back and forth, this unspoken challenge between them. She and Azzi have always had chemistry on the court, an almost telepathic connection that makes them unstoppable when they’re on the same team. But right now? Right now, Azzi is the only thing standing between Paige and the basket. She takes a slow step forward, letting the ball roll off her fingertips, testing Azzi’s reactions. Azzi doesn’t bite. She stays planted, knees bent, arms wide, her focus razor-sharp. Paige exhales, tightening her grip.

Then she moves. A quick crossover. Left to right. A hesitation. Azzi doesn’t flinch.

Paige drives to her left, shoulder dipping low as she powers toward the paint, but Azzi is there—fast, reading her like a book, stepping into her space before Paige can fully make her move.

They collide. It’s subtle, just a brush of bodies, a brief press of Azzi’s arm against Paige’s side. But it’s enough to throw her balance off, just slightly.

Paige recovers, spinning on her pivot foot, shifting back to the right.

Azzi mirrors her perfectly.

Paige grits her teeth. Damn it.

She fakes a shot—Azzi doesn’t bite—then pivots again, twisting toward the baseline. There’s a half-second opening, and she takes it, launching a fadeaway jumper just as Azzi reaches for the block.

The ball arcs high, smooth, effortless—

Swish.

Paige exhales, letting her arms drop.

But the game doesn’t end there. Because when she lands, she realizes just how close Azzi still is.

Too close.

Paige can feel the warmth of Azzi’s breath against her cheek, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the lingering weight of her hand grazing Paige’s wrist before she finally pulls back.

Azzi doesn’t move for a moment.

Neither does Paige.

For a split second, the gym falls silent, the sounds of their heavy breathing the only thing filling the space between them.

Azzi’s eyes flicker to Paige’s lips. It’s quick—so quick that Paige almost convinces herself she imagined it.

Almost.

She swallows, forcing a smirk. “That all you got?”

Azzi’s jaw tightens, but she steps back, shaking her head like she’s trying to reset. “Not even close.”

Paige laughs, but it comes out a little breathless. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. About how her skin still burns where Azzi touched her. About how the weight of Azzi’s gaze lingers even as she turns away.

It’s just basketball, she tells herself. Just competition.

But as they reset for another round, Paige knows she’s lying.

To herself.

To Azzi.

To everyone.

And the worst part?

She thinks Azzi might be lying, too.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Paige leans back on the bed, stretching her sore legs out in front of her as the low hum of music plays from her phone. The dorm room is dimly lit, just the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Azzi sits cross-legged on the other end of the bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, her knee just inches from Paige’s. It’s late—too late for either of them to be awake, especially with practice in the morning. But they always end up like this, talking until exhaustion finally forces them apart.

Paige exhales, rolling her head to the side to look at Azzi. “You ever think about what comes next?”

Azzi doesn’t glance up from her screen. “Like… next season?”

“No.” Paige shifts, adjusting the pillow behind her. “Like… after all this.”

Azzi’s fingers still against the glass of her phone. Slowly, she looks up, her expression unreadable. “Basketball doesn’t last forever.”

Paige nods. “Exactly.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Azzi sets her phone down. “Why are you thinking about that now?”

Paige shrugs, even though the question has been gnawing at the back of her mind for weeks. Maybe longer. “I don’t know. I guess… it just feels like everything is moving so fast. Like, one day we’re here, playing ball, and the next…”

Azzi tilts her head slightly, watching Paige with an intensity that makes her throat dry. “And the next what?”

Paige hesitates.

And the next… we aren’t in the same place anymore? And the next… you move on, and I have to pretend it doesn’t matter?

She shakes the thought away, forcing a small smirk. “And the next, we’re in the WNBA…on different teams and everything.”

Azzi huffs a quiet laugh, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “You’re really scared about that?”

Paige grins. “You’re literally delusional if you think I’m not.”

Paige isn’t sure why she even brought it up in the first place. Maybe because lately, she’s been noticing things she shouldn’t.

Like the way Azzi’s laugh sounds softer when it’s just the two of them, the way her fingers tap against her thigh when she’s nervous, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s trying to avoid a question, the way she’s looking at Paige right now, head tilted, brows drawn together, like she’s about to ask something Paige isn’t sure she’s ready to answer.

“You okay?” Azzi finally says, voice quieter than before.

Paige blinks, pulling herself back to the present. “Yeah.”

Azzi doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

Paige nods, forcing herself to stretch out lazily like she’s completely unbothered. “Just thinking.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Says you.”

Azzi just hums in response, leaning back against the couch, eyes flickering toward the ceiling. “You know, I try not to think about the future too much.”

Paige glances at her. “Why not?”

Azzi shrugs, but there’s something tight in her jaw, something restrained. “Because it makes it harder to enjoy right now.”

Paige swallows. Sitting in this dimly lit dorm room, the air thick with something neither of them want to name. Right now, with Azzi’s knee just barely brushing against hers, with her hoodie slightly slipping off her shoulder, exposing the smooth skin beneath. Right now, with this ache settling deep in Paige’s chest, an ache that she’s been trying to ignore for too long.

She shifts slightly, their knees pressing together. Azzi doesn’t move away. Doesn’t look at her.

Paige inhales. “Yeah.” Her voice is quieter now, softer. “I get that.” The silence stretches between them. Paige’s heartbeat pounds in her ears, loud, insistent. She wonders if she reached out right now, if she traced her fingers along the exposed skin of Azzi’s shoulder, would Azzi let her? Or would she pull away? Paige doesn’t risk it. Instead, she lets the moment pass, exhaling slowly as she sinks deeper into the couch.

After a beat, Azzi yawns, stretching her arms above her head. “We should sleep.”

Paige forces a smirk. “You’re getting soft, Fudd.”

Azzi rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Paige watches as she stands, grabbing her phone, already halfway to the door. But before she leaves, she pauses, glancing back. For a moment, Paige swears she sees something in Azzi’s eyes. Something hesitant.

But then Azzi just gives her a small, tired smile. “Night, P.”

Paige swallows. “Night, Az.”

The door clicks shut behind her. And Paige is left alone, staring at the space where Azzi just stood, trying to pretend that the weight in her chest isn’t real.

Paige doesn’t sleep much that night. She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will away the thoughts running circles in her head. The dorm room is quiet, except for the occasional hum of cars outside and the low ticking of the clock on the wall. But inside her mind, it’s loud.

Azzi’s voice. Azzi’s eyes. Azzi’s hesitation at the door. It’s all there, playing on repeat like some cruel highlight reel she can’t turn off. She rolls onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut. Stop thinking about it. She shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t want something she knows she can’t have. Azzi is her best friend. Her teammate. The one person she can always count on, the one who understands her in a way no one else does. She won’t mess that up. She can’t. So when she wakes up the next morning, groggy and running on barely three hours of sleep, she makes a decision. She’ll bury it. She’ll ignore the way her stomach flips when Azzi smiles at her. She’ll ignore the way she catches herself watching Azzi during practice, how she notices the way sweat drips down her neck, how her fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, just once. She’ll push it all down, deep, until it’s nothing but a distant, fading ache.

She’s been pretending for months.

She can pretend a little longer.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

It’s easier during practice.

The moment she steps onto the court, everything else fades. The game demands too much focus, too much intensity for her to get caught up in her own head. She plays hard, going at full speed during drills, knocking down shots with mechanical precision.

But of course, Azzi is right there.

They’re paired together for scrimmages, passing back and forth, moving like they share the same brain. It’s effortless, the way they read each other. Azzi doesn’t even have to call for the ball—Paige just knows where she’ll be. They win every matchup, of course. And when practice finally ends, sweat dripping from her forehead, Paige almost convinces herself that things are normal. That everything is fine.

Until Azzi pulls her aside.

“Hey.”

Paige stops mid-step, glancing at her. “What’s up?”

Azzi hesitates, shifting from foot to foot. “You okay?”

Paige blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

Azzi studies her for a second too long, like she’s trying to see through whatever mask Paige is wearing today.

“You just feel… different,” Azzi says slowly. “Like, I don’t know. You’ve been quiet.”

Paige forces a laugh, shaking her head. “You know me. Just locked in.”

Azzi nods, but her eyes stay on Paige, searching.

Paige hates it. Hates how easily Azzi sees through her, how she can pick up on every little shift in her mood. So she does what she always does when things get too real.

She smirks, bumping Azzi’s shoulder. “You worried about me, Fudd?”

Azzi rolls her eyes but doesn’t smile. “I mean it, Paige.”

Her voice is too soft, too sincere. Paige’s chest tightens. She could tell her the truth. She could say, Yeah, I’m different. I’m different because every time you look at me like that, I feel like I’m falling apart. I’m different because I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she keeps the smirk on her face, pats Azzi’s shoulder like it’s all a joke. “I’m good, I promise.”

Azzi doesn’t look convinced. But after a moment, she sighs and lets it go. “Alright.”

Paige turns away before she can say anything else.

Because if Azzi keeps looking at her like that—like she actually cares—Paige isn’t sure she’ll be able to keep lying.

Later that night, Paige finds herself at a party she doesn’t want to be at.

It’s one of those packed, too-loud dorm parties, music blasting, people pressed together in a too-small space. Normally, she’d thrive in this kind of setting—joking around, playing drinking games, letting loose.

But tonight, all she can think about is how Azzi isn’t here. She told Paige she was staying in, something about finishing an assignment. Paige isn’t sure why that bothers her so much. Maybe because she wishes she was staying in too. Maybe because she’s tired of pretending she’s okay when she isn’t. Maybe because no matter how many people fill this room, it still feels empty without Azzi.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair, debating if she should just leave.

Then someone slides up next to her.

“Hey, Bueckers.”

She turns, finding herself face-to-face with some guy she barely recognizes, probably from another team. He’s smiling, leaning in a little too close.

“You look like you need a drink,” he says, handing her a cup.

Paige takes it automatically, barely processing his words. She glances down at the liquid inside—some mix of cheap beer and whatever else they could find.

She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be here. But she doesn’t want to think either. So she lifts the cup to her lips, downs a sip, forces a smile. “Yeah, sure.” If she can’t have what she really wants, at least she can pretend none of it matters.

At least for tonight.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Paige wakes up with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in her mouth. She groans, rolling onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut as the morning light slants through the half-open blinds. Her head throbs, a dull reminder of last night’s mistake. She barely remembers getting back to her dorm.

The party had blurred together—loud music, sweaty bodies, too many drinks she hadn’t even wanted. She remembers laughing at something dumb, pretending to be okay, letting some guy drape an arm around her like she gave a damn. She remembers letting it happen, because if she was focused on that—on something meaningless—then she didn’t have to think about Azzi.

Didn’t have to think about the way her heart clenched every time Azzi got too close. Didn’t have to think about the fact that she wanted something she wasn’t allowed to want. She groans again, shoving her face into her pillow. You’re so fucking stupid.

The knock on her door comes too soon. Too sharp, too sudden.

She winces. “Go away.”

The door opens anyway. She doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Seriously?” Paige grumbles, voice hoarse.

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. There’s just the soft creak of the door, the quiet sound of her footsteps as she steps inside. Paige forces herself to sit up, blinking blearily. Azzi stands near the door, arms crossed, brows drawn together in something between concern and disappointment.

Paige sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. “How’d you even get in?”

Azzi lifts a key, twirling it between her fingers. “You gave me a spare, remember?”

Oh. Right. Azzi always has a way in.

Always.

Paige groans again, collapsing back against the pillows. “You didn’t have to check on me.”

Azzi ignores that, stepping closer, eyes scanning Paige like she’s assessing the damage. “You look like shit.”

Paige snorts. “Feel like it too.”

Azzi sets something down on the desk—a bottle of water and advil. “Drink that.”

Paige eyes her. “Are you my mom now?”

Azzi just stares. It’s the same look she gives when Paige is forcing up a bad shot, when she’s trying to do too much on the court and Azzi is waiting for her to get her head on straight. And it’s annoying. Because it’s too much, Azzi cares too much and she sees too much.

Paige shifts uncomfortably, reaching for the water just to have something to do. “I’m fine.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then—quietly—

“Why do you do this?”

Paige stiffens. “Do what?”

Azzi exhales, crossing her arms tighter. “Act like you don’t care about anything.”

Paige looks away, taking a long sip of water. “It’s not that deep, Azzi.”

Azzi tilts her head, studying her. “You didn’t even want to be at that party.”

Paige swallows. “How would you know?”

Azzi takes a step closer. “Because I know you.”

And there it is. The truth, sitting between them, thick and suffocating.

Paige clenches her jaw. “It was just a party.”

Azzi doesn’t look convinced. “Right.”

Paige exhales sharply, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “What do you want me to say?”

Azzi looks at her for a long moment, like she’s deciding something. Then, finally—

“The truth.”

Paige’s chest tightens. She wants to laugh. Wants to tell Azzi that the truth isn’t an option. That the truth is too dangerous and would ruin everything.

So instead, she does what she always does.

She lies.

“I’m fine, Azzi.”

Azzi’s eyes flicker, like she hears the lie, like she knows. Like she’s waiting for Paige to take it back. But Paige doesn’t. Can’t.

So after a long, tense silence, Azzi just nods.

“Okay.”

And Paige hates it. Hates how small that word feels. Hates how it sounds like giving up.

Azzi grabs her bag, heading for the door.

Paige should say something. Should call her back. But she doesn’t. She just watches as Azzi walks away, leaving her alone with the truth she can’t say out loud.

And for the first time in a long time, pretending doesn’t feel like enough.

Paige tries to shake it off.

She tries to act like that conversation with Azzi never happened, like the way Azzi looked at her—like she knew Paige was lying—didn’t sit heavy in her chest for the rest of the day.

But she feels it.

Every time they step onto the court, every time they pass in the locker room, every time Azzi’s hand brushes against hers and she pretends not to notice.

She feels it.

And it’s killing her.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Practice is brutal.

Coach isn’t in the mood for half-efforts, barking orders as they run through drill after drill, pushing their bodies past exhaustion.

Paige throws herself into it, trying to drown everything else out. But Azzi is off. Paige notices it immediately. She’s a half-second too slow on rotations, missing shots she usually makes in her sleep. She’s there—but she’s not.

Paige hates it.

Hates seeing Azzi like this. Hates knowing it has something to do with her.

So when practice finally ends, when the team starts filtering out toward the locker room, Paige doesn’t let Azzi slip away this time.

She grabs her wrist, holding firm. “Azzi.”

Azzi stops but doesn’t turn around. Paige swallows, heart hammering.

“What’s wrong?”

Azzi laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re really gonna ask me that?”

Paige’s grip tightens. “Yeah. I am.”

Azzi finally turns, eyes sharp, guarded. “You tell me, Paige. What’s wrong?”

Paige clenches her jaw. “I don’t know what you—”

Azzi pulls her wrist free. “You do.”

Paige exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Azzi—”

“You push everyone away,” Azzi says, voice low but steady. “You act like nothing matters, like none of this—like we—don’t matter.”

Paige’s breath catches.

Azzi shakes her head. “And I’m tired of pretending with you.”

Paige freezes.

The words cut deep, deeper than she’s ready for.

Because Azzi knows. She knows what they’re doing—this dance around something they won’t name, this thing that lingers in every glance, every almost-touch. And for the first time, she’s calling Paige on it. Paige opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

Azzi sighs, stepping back. “If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. But don’t stand here and ask me what’s wrong when you already know the answer.”

Then she turns and walks away.

And Paige—stupid, stubborn Paige—lets her go.

They don’t talk for two days. It’s the longest they’ve ever gone without texting, without some inside joke or random Snapchat or stupid TikTok sent at 2 AM.

And Paige feels it. It’s ridiculous, how much she feels it. She tells herself it’s fine. That this is what she wanted. That distance is better than wanting something she can’t have. But then game day comes, and everything falls apart.

They’re playing a ranked team, and from the start, it’s clear UConn is out of sync. Paige still plays well—she always does—but something is missing. Azzi is cold. She’s hitting shots, but she’s not there.

And Paige hates it.

Hates the way they aren’t moving together the way they usually do, hates the way the chemistry that’s always been so effortless suddenly feels strained.

The game is tight, coming down to the last possession. They’re down by one, Paige has the ball and Azzi is open in the corner. She hesitates.

Just for a second. But it’s enough.

The defense recovers. The pass is tipped. The buzzer sounds.

Game over. They lose.

And it’s Paige’s fault.

She doesn’t hear anything as she walks off the court, heart pounding in her ears. Doesn’t listen to the postgame talk, doesn’t look at anyone as she rips off her jersey and storms toward the locker room.

But then—

“Paige.”

Azzi’s voice. Paige stops.

Azzi steps closer, voice softer this time. “What happened out there?”

Paige swallows, staring at the floor. “I don’t know.”

Azzi exhales. “Yes, you do.”

Paige’s fists clench. “I hesitated.”

Azzi is quiet for a moment. Then, gently—

“Why?”

Paige closes her eyes.

Because i couldn’t stop thinking about you and i don’t know how to be around you anymore and you make me feel things I’m not ready to feel.

She exhales.

“I don’t know.”

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

Paige doesn’t sleep that night.

She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the game over and over again in her head. That last possession. That hesitation. That moment where she saw Azzi wide open, and instead of making the pass, she froze.

She let them lose.

Because of her. Because of this thing between them. She could pretend all she wanted, but the truth was suffocating.

Azzi mattered too much.

And Paige didn’t know how to handle that.

She avoids Azzi the next day. It’s childish, she knows that. But she can’t face her yet. Not when everything feels too raw, too close. She buries herself in the gym instead, staying late after practice, putting up shot after shot. She tries to drown out everything else.

But then—

“You gonna keep ignoring me forever?”

Paige freezes mid dribble.

Azzi is standing at the baseline, arms crossed, watching her.

Paige exhales sharply, gripping the ball tighter. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Right.”

Paige turns back to the hoop, aiming another shot. It clanks off the rim.

Azzi steps closer. “Are we gonna talk about this?”

Paige scoffs, catching the rebound. “Talk about what?”

Azzi’s voice is steady. “You know what.”

Paige grips the ball so tightly her fingers ache. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Azzi exhales, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. “Then why are you still here?”

Azzi flinches, just slightly. But it’s enough.

Paige instantly hates herself for saying it.

Azzi swallows, blinking hard. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

She turns to leave. Paige should let her go. She’s spent months pretending, months pushing Azzi away. But something inside her cracks.

“Azzi, wait.”

Azzi stops.

Doesn’t turn.

Paige swallows hard. “I—”

But she can’t say it. Can’t find the words.

Azzi waits for a second. Then, finally, she exhales, shoulders dropping. “Let me know when you’re ready, Paige.”

And then she’s gone. And Paige is left standing alone, heart hammering, gripping the ball like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She stares at the empty gym, at the door Azzi just walked out of, and realizes something terrifying.

She’s losing her.

And she doesn’t know how to stop it yet.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

The silence between them stretches.

It’s not like before, where Paige could pretend things were normal. Now, there’s something heavy between them, something neither of them are saying but both of them feel. And it’s breaking Paige apart. She’s always been good at control. At locking things down, keeping her emotions in check. But Azzi is the one person who makes her feel out of control.

And it’s driving her insane.

So she finds herself at another party.

She doesn’t want to be here, but the alternative—being alone in her dorm, thinking about Azzi—is worse.

So she drinks. More than she should. Laughs at jokes she doesn’t really hear. Lets some random girl flirt with her, just to feel something other than this gnawing ache in her chest. But when the girl leans in, when she presses too close, all Paige can think is—

She’s not Azzi.

She jerks away. “I gotta go.”

The girl calls after her, confused, but Paige doesn’t stop. She stumbles outside, the cold night air hitting her like a slap.

And then—

“Paige?”

She turns too fast, head spinning.

Azzi is standing a few feet away, hands shoved into her hoodie pockets, staring at her.

Paige swallows, heart hammering. “What are you doing here?”

Azzi steps closer. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Paige exhales, running a hand through her hair. “Just needed to get out.”

Azzi studies her. “Are you drunk?”

Paige forces a smirk. “Maybe.”

Azzi doesn’t laugh. “Paige.”

Her voice is soft. Too soft.

Paige looks away. “Why do you care?”

Azzi exhales sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Paige clenches her jaw. “Get what?”

Azzi steps closer, eyes searching hers. “You can keep pretending all you want, but I’m done playing this game.”

Paige’s chest tightens.

Azzi shakes her head. “You push me away, and then you pull me back in. And I let you, because it’s you.”

Paige swallows hard. “Azzi—”

“No.” Azzi’s voice is firm. “I’m not gonna stand here and watch you destroy yourself because you’re too scared to admit how you feel.”

Paige flinches. “I don’t—”

Azzi sighs, shaking her head. “You do.”

And then, before Paige can stop her—

Azzi turns and walks away. And this time, Paige can’t let her go.

Not again.

So she does something she’s never done before. She runs after her. Grabs her wrist, spinning her back around.

Azzi stares at her, startled. “Paige—”

Paige doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate. She just kisses her. Hard. Desperate. Like she’s been drowning for months and Azzi is the only thing keeping her afloat.

And for a second—just a second—Azzi kisses her back.

Then—

She pulls away.

Paige’s stomach drops.

Azzi’s eyes are wide, searching hers.

Then, quietly—heartbreakingly—

“You can’t just do that, Paige.”

Paige’s throat tightens. “Azzi—”

But Azzi shakes her head.

“You don’t get to kiss me when you’re drunk,” she whispers. “Not when you’re gonna pretend it didn’t mean anything tomorrow.”

Paige feels like the ground has been ripped out from under her.

Azzi swallows hard, stepping back. “Let me know when you’re ready to stop running.”

And then she’s gone. And this time, Paige doesn’t chase her.

Because for the first time, she’s terrified she might have already lost her.

The next few days feel like a nightmare in slow motion.

Paige can’t stop thinking about the way Azzi looked at her after the kiss.

The way she pulled away, like the very thought of Paige touching her was too much.

The worst part? Paige knows she deserves it. She’s been playing games, keeping Azzi at arm’s length when all she really wanted was to pull her closer. She’s been pretending for so long, pretending like she didn’t care, like she could keep it all under control.

But now, everything is falling apart, and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

It’s game day again, but Paige’s head isn’t in it.

She can’t focus. She’s going through the motions—waking up early, putting on her uniform, showing up for pregame warm-ups—but her mind is miles away. Every time she looks up, she half-expects to see Azzi standing across the court, staring at her the way she did the night of the kiss.

But Azzi isn’t here. She hasn’t been speaking to Paige. And Paige is miserable because of it.

During the team huddle before tip-off, Paige forces a smile, nodding along as Coach gives her usual pregame pep talk. But it’s all a blur.

The game is intense. UConn is up against a tough team, and they need this win. But Paige can’t think about that. She can’t think about anything but Azzi. Every time she makes a play, every time she passes the ball or makes a shot, she’s just hoping—hoping—she’ll catch a glimpse of Azzi on the sideline, or in the locker room after.

But Azzi stays distant. And every time Paige looks in her direction, Azzi looks away. It’s like an invisible wall has gone up between them, and Paige feels like she’s suffocating behind it.

At halftime, Coach pulls her aside. “Bueckers, what’s going on?”

Paige blinks, taken off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’re off your game today. You’re not playing with the same focus as usual. What’s going on?”

Paige opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

She’s not sure what to say. The truth would destroy everything.

Coach stares at her for a moment, then sighs. “Get it together, Paige. This team needs you.”

Paige nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.

But inside, her heart is pounding.

Because the team might need her, but all she can think about is the fact that she’s losing Azzi.

The game ends in a narrow victory, but Paige hardly notices. The court is filled with loud cheers, teammates high-fiving and celebrating their win, but all Paige feels is the weight of the silence between her and Azzi.

Azzi hasn’t spoken to her since the kiss. Not a word.

Not even a glance.

And it’s killing Paige.

After the game, as the team heads to the locker room, Paige hesitates. She lingers in the hallway, torn between the desire to face Azzi and the fear of what might happen if she does.

Finally, she decides.

She can’t keep pretending. She won’t lose Azzi without at least trying.

Paige walks into the locker room, eyes scanning the room for Azzi. When she spots her, sitting at her locker, head down, pulling her shoes off, her chest tightens.

Azzi doesn’t even look up.

Paige swallows hard, stepping closer. “Azzi, we need to talk.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. Paige feels like she’s suffocating. “Azzi…”

Azzi’s voice is quiet, almost cold. “What do you want me to say, Paige?”

Paige feels the heat rise in her chest. “I want you to talk to me. I want you to stop pretending like I don’t exist.”

Azzi looks up, and for the first time in days, their eyes meet. There’s no warmth there. Just a guarded emptiness. “I’m not pretending,” Azzi says, her voice calm but firm. “I’m just done with this. With you.”

Paige’s heart stops. “What do you mean?” she whispers.

Azzi stands up slowly, facing Paige. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep giving you everything I have and watching you push me away.”

Paige opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Azzi shakes her head. “You’re afraid of me, Paige. You’re afraid of what this—” she gestures between them, “—could be. So you keep running. And I’m done chasing.”

Paige feels like the room is spinning. “I’m not running.”

Azzi steps closer, her voice breaking just a little. “Yes, you are. Every time I try to get close, every time I try to reach you, you pull away.”

Paige swallows, her throat tight. “I don’t know how to—”

Azzi’s eyes soften, just a little, but the pain is still there. “You have to figure it out, Paige. You have to decide if this—” she gestures to the space between them again, “—is worth it. Because I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter.”

The silence stretches between them, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. Azzi’s eyes are filled with something soft, something vulnerable, but Paige can’t tell if it’s regret or just the last remnants of something they never gave a chance. Finally, Azzi turns away, walking toward the door.

Paige’s heart races as she watches her go.

She doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on before everything slips through her fingers.

“Azzi…”

Azzi stops, her back still to Paige.

“I’m sorry.”

Azzi doesn’t move. And for a second, Paige thinks maybe—just maybe—it’s not too late. But Azzi doesn’t turn around. She walks out the door, leaving Paige standing there, holding onto nothing but the hope that someday, somehow, she’ll get it right.

The next few days blur into a haze.

Paige barely sleeps, spending every moment thinking about Azzi. About the way she walked out of that locker room, leaving Paige standing there like she didn’t matter. She can still feel the echo of Azzi’s words, the soft but firm declaration that she couldn’t keep running, that this—whatever this was—meant more than Paige had allowed herself to believe. And it’s been eating Paige alive. Azzi’s face lingers in her mind. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the way Azzi looked at her when she said those words. There was so much hurt there. But also… something else. Something softer, something she’s not ready to admit.

Paige has always prided herself on being strong, on being in control, but with Azzi? She’s never felt more out of control in her life.

And the worst part?

She doesn’t know how to fix it.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

It’s late, past midnight, when Paige finally gives in. She grabs her phone from the desk, the screen lighting up her room in the dark. Her fingers hover over the screen, trembling for just a second. She could send a text. It’s the easy way out. But she knows it won’t work. Not anymore. So she opens up Snapchat instead.

One quick glance at Azzi’s story shows her sitting in her dorm, headphones on, playing some music. She’s all alone, just like Paige. But for some reason, that makes it worse.

Paige types.

“Can we talk?”

She stares at the message for what feels like an eternity. And then—send.

The message is gone. Out there, floating in the void between them. But still, nothing happens. Azzi doesn’t reply. Paige lies back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Did I ruin everything? Is this too late?

She shuts her eyes, not willing to admit how much it hurts to feel her world slip away.

She waits.

And then, finally, her phone buzzes. She opens the message with shaky hands.

Azzi: “I don’t know, Paige. I don’t know if we can fix this.”

Paige’s heart sinks. She types, slowly.

“We have to try.”

She holds her breath as she waits for Azzi’s reply.

And then—

Azzi: “I’m scared too, you know. I’m scared of what happens if we do this. But I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.”

Paige’s chest tightens.

“I don’t want to pretend either.”

She stares at the screen for a moment, heart racing in her chest. She’s never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. But the only thing that matters now is fixing this. Fixing what she’s broken.

“Meet me at the court?” And this time, she doesn’t hesitate.

Azzi’s reply is almost immediate.

“Okay.”

It’s after 1 AM when Paige walks into the empty gym. The lights are dim, casting long shadows over the court, and everything feels quiet, too quiet. But she’s here. She’s finally here.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the distance, and Paige turns to see Azzi stepping onto the court, her hoodie pulled up, face unreadable. She stops a few feet away, just far enough that Paige can’t touch her, but close enough that the distance between them feels suffocating.

For a long moment, neither of them says anything. Paige wants to say something. Wants to explain, to apologize, to beg for a chance. But she doesn’t know where to start.

Azzi beats her to it. “You wanted to talk.”

Paige nods, her voice thick. “Yeah. I—I don’t know what happened, Azzi. I don’t know why I kept pushing you away, why I was so scared.”

Azzi’s eyes search hers, but there’s no anger there. Just… understanding.

“Why were you scared?” she asks, her voice softer now.

Paige swallows. “Because you… you mean more to me than I’ve ever let myself believe. And I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Azzi’s expression softens, but she still keeps her distance. “You don’t think I know that?”

Paige shakes her head, feeling like she’s losing the battle. “I don’t know what to do, Azzi. I don’t know how to fix this, but I know I don’t want to lose you. I—I can’t lose you.”

Azzi takes a step closer, and for the first time, she reaches out, lightly brushing her fingers against Paige’s. The contact is gentle, but it feels like a shock.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than to be close to you, Paige,” Azzi says softly, “But I don’t know if I can just jump back in. You’ve hurt me, and I need to know you’re really ready to change.”

Paige feels a tightness in her chest as the words sink in. She knows Azzi is right. She’s hurt her, and no amount of apologies will make that go away. But it’s the only thing she can offer now.

“I’m ready,” Paige whispers. “I want to prove it to you. I want to be with you, Azzi. No more games. No more pretending.”

Azzi looks down, biting her lip as she thinks it over. The silence hangs between them, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, she meets Paige’s eyes again. “I need time.”

Paige nods, her heart aching. “Take all the time you need. But please… don’t give up on us. Not yet.”

Azzi takes a deep breath. “I won’t. I just… I need to know that you’re in this for real. That I’m not the only one who’s putting my heart on the line.”

Paige’s eyes flicker with hope. “You’re not. I swear.”

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Then, with a sigh, Azzi steps closer, her hand now resting lightly on Paige’s arm.

“I’m scared too,” Azzi admits softly. “But I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.”

Paige’s breath catches, and then—slowly—she steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“Me neither.”

And finally, without hesitation, they close the distance.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though they’re both testing the waters. But when Paige feels Azzi’s lips against hers, the floodgates open. She feels everything—years of longing, confusion, and frustration—crash over her like a wave.

They pull back only for a second, their breaths mingling in the air. And then, as if this time is different, Azzi deepens the kiss. This time, there are no barriers.

Just them.

And for the first time in months, Paige feels like she’s finally found her way back.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

The days that follow are a mix of overwhelming emotion and tentative hope. Paige and Azzi have stepped into uncharted territory, and every moment feels like both a victory and a vulnerability. But they both know this is just the beginning. They are both tentative, unsure of how to navigate the newness of what’s between them.

The first few conversations they have are clumsy—awkward pauses between words, too much silence, too many things unsaid. But there’s a deep, unspoken understanding between them. No one else on the team knows what happened after the late-night conversation at the court. For now, it’s just them—sitting on the sidelines of their friendship, waiting to see where it will take them.

It’s a late afternoon practice when things begin to shift. They’ve finished running drills and the team has scattered, but Paige lingers. Azzi, too, is still here, halfway through the gym, shooting free throws. Paige watches her for a moment, trying to read the way Azzi’s face remains unreadable.

Then Azzi turns, her eyes meeting Paige’s across the gym. There’s no hesitation this time, no pulling away. Azzi’s lips curl into a faint, tentative smile, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Paige feels that wall begin to crumble. She doesn’t know what’s happening between them yet, but she knows one thing for sure—this is real.

Paige walks over slowly, as if afraid to break the fragile thread that binds them together. “Can we… talk? Again?”

Azzi nods, her smile softening, and it’s as if the weight they’ve both been carrying lifts a little.

They sit on the bleachers, side by side. The gym is nearly empty now, just the two of them, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above their heads.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Azzi begins, her voice calm but steady. “I don’t want to rush anything. I don’t want to dive back into something we’re both not ready for. But I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with how we were before. I can’t pretend like I didn’t feel anything, like I wasn’t affected by the way you pulled away.”

Paige feels her heart constrict. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she says softly. “I just didn’t know what to do with everything I was feeling. I didn’t know if it was too much. I didn’t know if you… if you even felt the same way. And I guess I was scared.”

Azzi turns her body toward Paige slightly, her eyes meeting hers. “You don’t have to be scared anymore, Paige. Not with me. I just need to know that we’re doing this because we both want to, not because we’re afraid of being alone, or afraid of the unknown.”

Paige nods, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “I don’t want to rush. I just want to take it slow. But I also don’t want to keep running away from what we both know is real.”

Azzi’s gaze softens, and for a moment, Paige sees that raw vulnerability—the same fear, the same uncertainty. And it’s almost comforting.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Azzi says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m willing to figure it out with you.”

The air between them feels charged, like something unspoken has passed between them, a pact forged in quiet understanding.

“I’m with you,” Paige whispers back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The weeks that follow bring a new rhythm to their lives, one that feels uncertain but filled with possibility. Paige and Azzi are no longer just teammates, but they’ve also begun to carve out space for each other beyond the court. The change is subtle at first, but it’s there—shared glances, inside jokes, moments when their hands accidentally brush during practice and neither of them pulls away. They’ve begun to talk more, slowly opening up about the things that have always been too hard to say aloud. It’s not just about basketball anymore, not just about their shared goals as players, but also about their fears, their dreams, and the things that keep them up at night. It’s those small conversations—those quiet moments when they’re vulnerable with each other—that make Paige believe that maybe they really can make this work.

But there are still moments of doubt. Paige feels the weight of those doubts especially when they’re surrounded by their teammates. The unspoken tension, the way people stare or whisper when they’re too close or too comfortable around each other. She’s not sure if the world is ready for them, but right now, it feels like they’re building something that’s worth fighting for, even if no one else understands it.

One day after practice, the team is gathered in the locker room, and the buzz of excitement is palpable. There’s a big game coming up, and the stakes are high. The chatter is loud, everyone’s discussing strategy, pumping each other up for the competition.

Paige and Azzi are standing by their lockers, talking quietly amongst themselves, when one of their teammates approaches. “Hey, you two,” Caroline says with a teasing smile. “You’re practically joined at the hip lately. What’s going on?”

There’s a slight edge to the question, and for a moment, Paige feels her heart race. Azzi glances at her, a silent understanding passing between them. This is the moment—the one where they’ll have to face the world and the weight of their relationship.

Azzi takes a breath, glancing back at Paige. “Yeah,” she says, her voice light but firm. “We’ve been talking. We’ve been figuring things out.”

Caroline raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further. The unspoken tension hangs in the air for a moment, but Azzi’s calmness settles the situation. “It’s nothing to worry about,” Azzi adds with a shrug, turning back to her locker. “We’re still focused on the game.”

Caroline nods, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes as she walks away.

Paige exhales, relief washing over her, and she looks at Azzi. “That went better than I thought it would.”

Azzi smiles. “They’ll get used to it.”

Paige chuckles softly. “I hope so.”

But in the quiet of the locker room, as their teammates continue to talk strategy, Paige knows that nothing will be the same again. They’ve crossed a line now, and there’s no going back. Whatever happens, she’s in this with Azzi.

─────────────౨ৎ ────────────

There’s a storm coming, and it’s not the weather. It’s the pressure that’s been building between Paige and Azzi. There’s something undone between them, something they still haven’t talked about, and it’s hanging in the air, thick and heavy.

It’s the night before their biggest game of the season. The team is resting, but Paige can’t sleep. She’s lying in bed, the sheets tangled around her, staring at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the world outside feels distant, far away, as if everything is happening somewhere else.

Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it.

Azzi’s name.

Paige’s heart skips a beat.

“Can I come over?” the message reads.

Paige doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, Azzi is at her door, standing in the hallway, her hoodie pulled tightly around her.

She steps in without saying a word, and Paige’s chest tightens. There’s a heaviness in Azzi’s eyes, something that wasn’t there before.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asks, her voice low.

Azzi shakes her head, her fingers running through her hair. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I feel like I’m pulling away, but I don’t know how to fix it.”

Paige stands up, moving closer to her. “What do you mean?”

Azzi looks at her, a mixture of confusion and frustration in her expression. “I want this. I want us. But I’m scared that if I let myself get too close to you, I’ll lose control. And I don’t know how to balance that. I don’t know if I can keep being who I am and still have you.”

Paige’s heart aches. “Azzi, you’re not going to lose me,” she says gently. “But you can’t shut me out, either.”

Azzi’s eyes search hers, and for a moment, Paige feels like they’re on the edge of something huge—something they both need to confront.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Azzi admits quietly.

“I think the first step is being honest,” Paige replies softly, her hand reaching out to touch Azzi’s arm. “We’re in this together, remember? We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

Azzi nods, and the air between them feels different now—charged, but with a sense of understanding. A sense that, maybe, they can truly make it work.

And that’s when Paige realizes that whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens in the game, this is the moment that matters. They’ll face it together.

The morning of the big game is tense. The gym is filled with excitement, players stretching, fans lining the bleachers. But inside Paige, there’s a quiet storm brewing.

Azzi is beside her, but their connection is different now. It’s deeper, more fragile, and yet more real than it’s ever been. They haven’t solved everything, but they’re not pretending anymore.

It’s not just about basketball anymore, not just about the competition. This is their test. Paige can feel it in the air, the tension building between her and Azzi. They’ve been walking a fine line, trying to balance everything they’ve been through, but now they have to prove something, both to themselves and to each other.

The crowd is loud, the excitement palpable. The team is buzzing, their adrenaline building. But Paige can’t focus. She’s watching Azzi out of the corner of her eye, noticing the way her body is tense, like she’s holding herself back from something. They haven’t talked much about what happened the night before—about the way Azzi had admitted to feeling like she might lose control. But Paige knows it’s weighing heavily on her.

As they stand in the locker room before the game, the coach is giving one last pep talk. The team is hyped, their adrenaline building. But Paige can’t focus. She’s watching Azzi, her gaze flickering back to her every few seconds, trying to read her without being obvious. Azzi doesn’t meet her eyes, her mind clearly somewhere else, and Paige wonders if Azzi is just as nervous as she is. Not about the game, but about them. About what happens if things don’t work out. If the emotions they’re both carrying end up being too much.

“Alright, everyone!” Geno calls, clapping his hands to bring them back into focus. “We’ve trained for this. We know our game plan. We know what to do. Just go out there and play your hearts out!”

The team cheers, but the noise is a blur to Paige. Her focus is entirely on Azzi. The air between them feels heavy, like something unsaid, something important is hanging in the balance.

The game starts with a roar of the crowd, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, and the sharp, crisp calls of the referees cutting through the atmosphere. Paige and Azzi are both locked in, playing with everything they have. They’re a perfect pair—working in sync, passing with precision, their chemistry undeniable. But under the surface, there’s a quiet storm.

Midway through the second quarter, Paige and Azzi find themselves on the court together, an opportunity to show off their partnership. A fast break—Azzi with the ball, her eyes scanning the court. Paige sprints ahead, calling for the pass. Azzi’s gaze flicks to her, but just for a moment. She hesitates before making the throw.

Paige catches it, but the hesitation hangs between them, and as she tries to make her move to the basket, she feels the pressure. The energy from the crowd is deafening, but for a split second, it feels like everything is silent except for the rapid thumping of her heart. She can hear Azzi’s breath behind her, but it’s not just the usual trust that pushes her forward. It’s the weight of everything they’ve been avoiding.

She takes the shot and misses.

The ball clanks off the rim, and the rebound is grabbed by the opposing team. Paige curses under her breath. Azzi is right there, helping to get the ball back, but she avoids making eye contact. It’s not just the play that’s off—it’s them.

The rest of the game blurs by in a series of moments that Paige struggles to remember. Her shots are missed, her passes too quick. And every time she looks at Azzi, there’s something cold in her expression. Something unresolved. Something she can’t quite place. By the final quarter, they’re trailing. Their team is losing. The tension on the court is palpable, but it’s the tension between Paige and Azzi that’s the most obvious. There’s no more pretending, no more side glances or lingering touches. They’re too far apart now—physically and emotionally.

Geno calls a timeout. The players gather around, but Paige finds herself standing alone at the edge of the huddle. She watches Azzi, who is talking with one of the other players, her back to Paige. The distance between them is undeniable. They were so close—just yesterday, they were standing in the locker room, saying things that felt like breakthroughs. But now, with the game slipping away, the cracks in their connection seem to widen.

Azzi catches her eye briefly, and Paige feels that familiar pang in her chest. There’s so much she wants to say, but the words are lost.

The game ends with a loss. It’s not just the scoreboard that’s heavy—it’s the way the team scatters after the buzzer sounds. The air in the locker room feels thick, suffocating. Paige sits on the bench, trying to catch her breath, but she can’t shake the feeling that something inside her has been broken. She looks around, but the other players are talking, laughing—disappointed, yes, but moving on. The disappointment is still there, but it’s not the only thing in the air. What hangs over Paige now is much darker.

Azzi hasn’t said a word to her.

When she looks over, she sees Azzi by the door, pulling on her hoodie and grabbing her bag. She’s already halfway out the door when Paige stands up, suddenly feeling the urgency to speak.

“Azzi, wait!” Paige calls out, her voice shaky, but louder than she intended.

Azzi stops, her back to Paige, her shoulders stiff. There’s a long pause, the weight of everything between them settling like a stone in the pit of Paige’s stomach. Finally, Azzi turns around, her expression guarded.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Azzi says, her voice raw, almost too quiet. “I thought we were past all of this. But it feels like we’re both still pretending. We’re pretending to be fine, pretending like things are normal, but it’s not. I can’t do that anymore, Paige.” Paige’s heart clenches. She wants to say something, wants to explain everything, but the words don’t come. She’s been so focused on trying to prove something—on trying to make everything work—that she’s forgotten that sometimes the only thing that matters is honesty.

Azzi’s eyes are filled with something Paige can’t place. Frustration, maybe. Or sadness. But there’s something else there, too—fear. Fear that Paige isn’t ready to admit.

“I’m not pretending anymore either,” Paige says, her voice steady but filled with an edge of desperation. “I thought I could figure this out, I thought I could make it work, but I know now that I don’t have all the answers. But I want to try, Azzi. I want to make this real.”

Azzi’s gaze softens, but only slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust that anymore.”

Paige steps forward, the urgency in her movements almost frantic now. “Please, don’t walk away. Not now. We’ve come this far.”

Azzi takes a deep breath, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just shakes her head, her eyes closing for a moment as if trying to gather herself. Finally, she looks back at Paige, her expression still guarded.

“I need space,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. And with that, she turns and walks away.

The days after the game are a blur. The team recovers from their loss, but Paige’s loss is much more personal. Azzi hasn’t spoken to her. There’s a cold distance that has settled between them, one that Paige doesn’t know how to bridge. She tries to give Azzi the space she’s asked for, but it feels like the space between them grows wider with every passing day. Practice is awkward. Paige and Azzi barely make eye contact. The team keeps their distance, too, sensing the tension in the air. Paige feels like she’s walking on eggshells, unsure of what to say or do. She can feel the weight of her mistakes. She’s been too caught up in the idea of making things work that she’s forgotten the one thing she needs to do—be real. She knows it’s not too late. There’s always time to make things right. But how? Azzi’s voice echoes in her mind: “I need space.”

And Paige is left alone, wondering if she’s let the one thing she truly wanted slip through her fingers.

Days pass in the aftermath of the game, and the tension between Paige and Azzi lingers, unspoken and unresolved. Despite their shared history, despite everything they’ve been through, it feels as though they’ve both become strangers. They’ve built something so real, so fragile, and now it seems like it’s unraveling before their eyes. The team is pushing forward, getting ready for the next big challenge, but Paige’s mind isn’t on the game—it’s on Azzi, and the overwhelming fear that maybe it’s all slipping away.

The next few days are filled with a quiet desperation. Paige tries to focus during practice, but every move she makes on the court feels like a reminder of the distance between them. The passes are too quick, the shots miss their mark. She’s distracted, unfocused, and every time she looks to Azzi, the coldness in her eyes makes her chest ache. One afternoon, after a particularly tough practice, Paige can’t take it anymore. She’s frustrated—frustrated with herself, with the situation, with everything that’s been left unsaid. She doesn’t know how to fix it, but she knows she has to try. She has to do something.

As the gym empties out and the last of the teammates head to the locker room, Paige lingers, waiting for the one person she needs to talk to. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Azzi steps into the gym, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t see Paige at first, her eyes on the floor as she walks toward the exit. But Paige can’t let her slip away—not this time.

“Azzi,” Paige calls, her voice tentative but steady.

Azzi pauses, her shoulders stiffening at the sound of her name. Slowly, she turns around. Their eyes meet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s something in Azzi’s gaze that makes Paige believe there’s still a chance. They stand there in silence for a few moments, the weight of everything that’s happened hanging between them. Paige wants to say everything, but she knows the words won’t come easily. This isn’t just about fixing things—it’s about finding a way forward.

Azzi breaks the silence first, her voice quiet but full of emotion. “I’ve been thinking a lot,” she admits, her eyes softening. “About everything. About what you said—about us. And I realized something: I can’t keep running away from this. From you. From what we have.” Paige feels a surge of hope, a flicker of something deep inside her. She takes a step forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to run away either. I’ve been scared—scared that I’d mess everything up, scared that I wasn’t enough. But I know now, I know that I want this. I want us, Azzi. I don’t really know how to make it work yet, but I want to try. I want to fight for it.” Azzi’s gaze softens, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world falls away. The noise of the gym, the pressure of the game—they all disappear, leaving just the two of them. Azzi steps forward, closing the distance between them, her eyes never leaving Paige’s.

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” Azzi says softly, her hand reaching out to gently touch Paige’s arm. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” In that moment, Paige feels a sense of peace she hasn’t felt in days. Maybe they don’t have all the answers. Maybe they don’t even know what the future holds. But what matters is that they’re here, in this moment, and they’re choosing each other. Azzi’s hand lingers on her arm for just a second before she takes a deep breath. “We still have a lot to figure out,” she says, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “But I’m willing to try.” Paige smiles back, her heart racing. “Me too.”

For the first time in what feels like ages, the weight that’s been hanging over them lifts, if only for a moment. There’s still a long road ahead, full of unknowns, but this is the first step. They’ve both come to terms with what they feel—and with the fact that they can’t pretend anymore. They can’t pretend that things are perfect, but they can work through the mess. Together.

The next few weeks pass in a blur of practice, games, and quiet moments shared between Paige and Azzi. They aren’t perfect—not by any means—but they’re real. They’ve stopped pretending that everything is okay when it’s not, and they’ve stopped hiding behind their fears. Every conversation they have now is raw, honest, and, for the first time in a long time, there’s a sense of peace between them. The tension on the court begins to ease. They start to trust each other again, not just as teammates, but as something more.

There are moments when their eyes meet during a play, and they know exactly what the other is thinking. There’s an unspoken connection between them that’s stronger than any game plan. The next big game arrives, and it’s one of the most important of the season. Paige and Azzi are ready—not just for the game, but for whatever comes next. They’ve put everything on the line, and the only thing they know for sure is that they’re in this together.

As the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game, Paige and Azzi are victorious. But the win isn’t just about the scoreboard—it’s about the journey they’ve been on together, the way they’ve faced their fears and their doubts. And in that moment, they both realize something: they’ve come out stronger. Together.

As the season winds down, Paige and Azzi find themselves in a new place. They’re still figuring things out, but they’ve found a new kind of rhythm—one built on trust, vulnerability, and the willingness to face their fears together.

There’s still a long road ahead, filled with challenges, but for the first time in a long time, Paige doesn’t feel like she’s walking alone. She knows that whatever happens, they’ll face it together. They don’t have all the answers yet, but they’re ready to keep moving forward, side by side.

And maybe that’s the most important part of all.

[hello-gloomy]

'Every doctor should have one.'

Ratchet x Fem!Reader

SMUT MDNI 18+

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Description: Ratchet offers to pick you up after an "event" at a friend's house. Arriving and seeing you walk out after he initially said bye to you that night, he sees just what kind of party it was and what you wore to it.

Warnings: Maybe OOC, horny, lots of describing of the reader's outfit. No penetration, and not really descriptive of smut, but it is there, I promise.

A/N: It came to me in a dream, and I just had to write it; I hope I did our lovely doc justice. Also, don't be mad that I cut off the good stuff; maybe I'll do more like this if you guys actually like it.

Words: 874

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He didn't know what made his helm hurt more: the thumping music from the giant house he was currently parked in front of or the strobing lights bleeding through the windows and open doors. He's getting more irritated by the minute of the thought of his cover being blown; it's a bit odd for an ambulance to be sitting outside of a human habisuite, especially if it is not there to take care of the injured or for an emergency. He almost texts you again until he sees you strut out with multiple locals surrounding you; he has to do a double take and just about reset his optics. His engine revs up at the sight of it, a high-collared white latex nurse uniform that stops above your thigh, paired with the medical cross in orange, his orange. Your nurse's hat has the same cross in orange; your white tights lead down to a pair of black heels. Primus, seeing you just made him want to grab you in front of everyone here. Your head turns in his direction at the sound of the engine, and you wave at him. The people surrounding you looked over at him as well. He flashed his lights a few times, and you smiled back. You waltz up to him with a few others still trailing behind you, amazed that you had an ambulance for a ride.

"How the hell did you get an ambulance?" One of the boys by you asked while you started touching the hood of Ratchet.

"My lover owns it, and let me borrow him for the night." You tell him while pushing your body more into Ratchet before hopping up and sitting on his hood. You continue to rub him while you chat with the last few curious people about your ride. All the while, Ratchet was trying not to overheat from having your ass directly on him and not being able to do anything about it. You say your final goodbyes and slap Ratchet before jumping off and entering the driver's seat. You drive in relative silence, waiting for him to complain or even fuss.

"Is your underwear my orange as well?" He starts evenly, and you have to steel yourself not to drop your jaw at his boldness.

"Did you take a hit of synth-en before you came and got me?" You tease while gripping the steering wheel; you can feel his gaze on you even though you don't know where he's looking from in his alt-mode. His engine hums a bit louder before he speaks again.

"Are you even wearing a bra?" he asks lowly. That dress looks so tight." You are grinning so hard at his crassness tonight; you love it when he drops the 'I don't care about anyone' attitude.

"Wanna see the answer to your first question?" You ask as he stops in front of your garage, and never have you been more grateful to live a bit farther from town than now. He turns off his headlights, and you take that as your cue to spread your legs; he moves your seat back a bit, which makes you let out a little squeak. He lets out a little sigh while looking at you. You run your hands down your chest to give him a little show before you show him the answer to his second question. You drag your hand back up your chest and then to your neck; you grab the zipper and slowly pull it down your body. You stop halfway down your naval, slightly pushing the fabric away from your chest. You heard him let out a soft gasp.

"So, doctor, what is your diagnosis?" You ask him sweetly while leaning further back into his seating, spreading your legs a bit further while playing with the edge of your dress.

"Well, I'll have to take a closer look," he tells you. You unbuckle the seat belt, fixing your dress just a little bit, and he transforms back to his bipedal mode. He leans down to your level and then scoops you up in his hands, holding you close to his face, smelling you, and rubbing you against his intake, giving little nips to the bare area of your chest where you opened it originally.

"Mhm, such a pretty nurse you are." He whispers close to your face while giving you little kisses.

"Every doctor should have one." You giggle back before moaning when he nudges his faceplate between your legs; he moves the fabric to the side so he can taste you better. Arching your back into his large glossa, you grind into him while he uses one of his digits to rub your chest. He keeps rubbing and licking and sucking until you gasp and let out a shout of his name. He slows down his ministrations on you; while you catch your breath, he moves to lay against the side of your house. You watch him while you calm down before patting his servo, holding you, and sliding down to his modesty panel. You give him a few grinds, and he groans in response before you stop and smile up at him.

"Care for me to give you a little check-up?"