#Open Book UnEdited

[awrkive]

summary: where you and jungkook love to play the push and pull game

w/c: 4.7k

warnings/misc: idol!jk x (fem)producer!reader. the usual. mean words being exchanged to each other in the name of banter 😕 they dk how to be nice to e/o and i enjoy writing that way too much methinks. explicit sexual content (penetrative s*x, unprotected s*x, c*wgirl position, d*ggy, shower s*x, cre*mpie, dirty talk) idk what happened but there is angst here

note: due to popular demand here is pt 2 🤩🤩 i actually kinda have more ideas for this universe tbh and would love to go thru with it but it def depends so dont expect anything!! anywho. hope u enjoy!!!!! its unedited tho will fix later

index: part 1 | pt. 2

jeon jk. (bighit) [10:25pm]: im stressed i need to eat you out  jeon jk. (bighit) [10:50pm]: whats taking u so long to answer?  jeon jk. (bighit) [10:58pm]: will it kill you to reply

you [11:31pm]: shut up i just got off class 

jeon jk. (bighit) [11:32pm]: who gets off class at 12 fucking midnight  jeon jk. (bighit) [11:33pm]: are you fucking ur professor again jeon jk. (bighit) [11:36pm]: who was that. kim namjin. the lame ass linguistics prpfessor

you [11:40pm]: kim namjoon* and if im fucking him again whats it to you?  you [11:40pm]: hes not lame and hes got a bigger dick than you 

jeon jk. (bighit) [11:41pm]: yeah by like 0.05 inch. 

you [11:43pm]: if thats what makes you sleep at night ig 

jeon jk. (bighit) [11:44pm]: funny bcs who did you come back to after all that? def not namjan

you [11:46pm]: only bcs u send me stupid shit like “im stressed need to eat u out” when u dont get to fuck me 

jeon jk. (bighit) [11:46pm]: youre infuriating as hell

you [11:46pm]: I literally do not care. 

Your doorbell rings for the second time. Rolling your eyes, you let out a loud sigh and drop your highlighter on your book, dragging your feet to the doorway and opening it against your will. 

“What the fuck took so long?” Is what Jungkook welcomes you with, taking off his black mask aggressively and stepping inside the threshold without you even inviting him inside.

You lock the door again, watching as Jungkook expertly navigates the space of your apartment, used to the way he heads to the kitchen with ease where he places the – you noticed it just now – bags of take-out on the counter. 

“I told you, I can’t get into anything right now. I have to study for a test.” You cross your arms under your chest, following him. You stop by the counter across Jungkook, looking at him as he opens your fridge to get a bottle of water. 

He’s worn all black from head to toe for obvious reasons because you live downtown and near Gangnam, and there’s no way nobody would recognize him if he didn’t get into any disguise. 

Jungkook turns to you once he’s chugged the rest of the drink, leaning onto the counter, brow raised as he says, “Who said we have to get into anything right now?” 

You shoot him a mirrored look.

“We only see each other for sex. And we can’t have sex tonight. I need to spell it out for you?” 

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gestures to the food on the counter and begins shrugging off his leather jacket and cap. 

“Eat. You look pale.” 

“Jungkook—”

He furrows his brows. “Is it that time of the month? Why are you so mouthy more than usual?” 

“Fuck off.” You flip him off which makes him chuckle. It takes you aback a little. 

“See. You’re irritable because you haven’t eaten yet. So what if you have to study? Eat first. I’ll help you with your flashcards later, then we’ll have sex. Easy.” 

“Who are you and why are you telling me what to do?” You bite back.

“Because you’ll probably die at 27 if I wasn’t constantly reminding you of eating your meals,” Jungkook shrugs and starts tearing off the tapes on the take-out food. “And you like having sex with me. So.” You purse your lips, making a small scoffing sound, prompting Jungkook to glance at you. “Yeah?” He quirks a brow with a hint of a smile on his lips.

You frown. “You’re cocky.” 

“You get me hard when we argue. Save it for later.” He says, as if chastising you and redirecting your attention again to the food. 

You roll your eyes again, annoyed that there’s a weird feeling in your stomach about the whole exchange and your mouth muscles are itching to curl up a little at his… stupidity. It irritates you, the way Jungkook goes through life in an easy-going way because he knows exactly who he is. 

You almost let out a moan as you start digging in the chicken he bought, feeling relieved to finally have something. Jungkook was only half-exaggerating when he said he had to tell you to eat, because most of the time you really forget all about it.

Today was one of those days… you didn’t have to clock in at the company on Fridays but your classes go from 5 to 9pm which drains the hell out of you. Waking up midday means not bothering to eat… and aside from the bagel and coffee you grabbed at the cafe earlier, you haven’t consumed real food. 

“I don’t like this.” you suddenly say. 

“What?”

You look up at him. He still looks weird. 

“That.” you point at his general direction. He raises a brow, growing confused. “You look happy. I’m not sure if I like that.”

“Ouch.” 

You can’t help yourself. You laugh at his completely blank face. Cutting yourself off completely, you clear your throat.

“It’s weird. Why?” 

“I smile and it just… what? Ruins your day?” 

“Yeah.” 

Jungkook laughs out loud. “You’re infuriating.” 

You hum, weirdly satisfied with that.

Jungkook has been over your apartment many times because as much as his place is way nicer, you don’t like going there. Too risky, too many eyes. Too… scary. You know Jungkook improves his security every three months, as sad as it sounds, but still. You don’t feel comfortable going there, probably why you refused to use the keycard he’s given you. You do fuck a lot in your studio, though, or in the empty rooms over at the company, but when you’re not, Jungkook and you drive here. It’s almost safe to assume that Jungkook knows this place already like the back of his hand.

Probably because whatever the hell this is between you has been going on for eight months now.

After Jungkook and you inhaled every last bit of the food (because he was apparently starving as well), true to his words, he actually did help you study a bit. But that didn’t really last when Jungkook suddenly had his fingers in you thirty minutes later. 

One moment you were talking about phonological change and sound laws, the next thing you know, you’re cumming on his fingers, while Jungkook sits on the edge of your bed frantically helping you straddle him. Meanwhile, half of your clothes are forming a heap on the floor as you heavily make out with each other. 

“F-fuck,”

Jungkook sighs when the tip of his cock finally enters your pussy as you slowly push down on him, thighs clenching at the way he’s stretching you out. 

You gasp when you fully sit on him, open mouths breathing against each other. 

“Oh, fuck, you’re so b-big–”

And you might never really get used to it, no matter how many times you do it.

You let out a shaky moan when you feel Jungkook’s dick twitching inside you, opening your eyes only to see him already staring right at you. 

“You okay to move?” He rasps, the veins in his arms telling you he’s trying to hold back. 

You nod eagerly, placing your palms on his shoulders and preparing yourself to go up. Your slick from the foreplay doesn’t make the stretch of his cock fully burn, making it a little easier for you to slide out and bounce back down on him until you’re repeating the movement faster, with Jungkook taking a hold of of your breasts, squeezing the flesh tightly in his huge palms. He groans, leaning down to capture your nipples, biting the pearls a little too rough you whimper a little too loud. 

“O-oh—! Not too rough, Jeon.” You whine, grabbing the back of his head. Jungkook looks at you with brows raised, rightfully confused ‘cause you usually like it when he’s rough with you. You bite your lip, continuing to ride him. “Just a little sensitive. My period’s next week.” 

Jungkook nods understandingly, squeezing your chest again, quite apologetically might you say so. He licks over a nipple, this time considerably more gentle with it. 

“How’s this for a studying session?” 

“N-not bad,” You bite your lip when you feel your thighs quivering, already starting to run out of breath, digging your nails in Jungkook’s shoulders. His hands travel down to your hips, where he grips it tight and starts guiding your ministration, literally bouncing you up and down on him. “Ahh– fuck.” you moan, shutting your eyes close at the delicious sensation of his engorged cock touching every part of your pussy. 

You’re dripping on him, both of your bated breaths filling your room as he picks up your own pace. 

“You – fuck – enjoy riding my cock like this?” He suddenly cups your jaw, making you look at him. The sides of your eyes sting with unshed tears, whimpering when his dick slips out of you when you try to go down again. Both of you look at it, with Jungkook quickly helping you put it back in, moaning in unison when it enters you again. You tighten your grip on him, soft sighs falling out of your mouth. But Jungkook suddenly lets out a quiet tsk, looking at you with furrowed brows as he says, “Answer me.” 

“Y-you know.” you say, mirroring his look. You start rocking back and forth instead, heightening the pleasure. 

With the way Jungkook’s face contorts, you know the new movement feels just as good for him. 

But he suddenly thrusts from under you, grabbing the back of your hair – the stretch on your scalp didn’t hurt, but it’s enough to make you gasp.

“Why do you gotta be such a fuckin’ brat, huh?” Jungkook groans, guiding your face closer to his. “You act like this around— who’s that guy again? Professor Kim?” 

You bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling at that. You knew he was gonna bring that up one way or another. You and Professor Kim fucked that one time — okay maybe two times when Jungkook and you had this weird cool-off thing going on four months ago, and he made sure to remind you of it every singe chance he got. 

“No,” you firmly say, leveling him with a look, still keeping your pace on his cock. “He likes it when I’m a good girl.” 

Jungkook’s expression darkens, and you moan when his grip on your hair tightens. 

“You’re far from a good girl, sweetheart. But he wouldn’t know that ‘cause he only got to fuck you twice.”

“Y-yeah? You sure it’s not more tha—” 

Jungkook cuts you off with a hot, angry kiss. Your teeth cling together, and with the aggressive way he inserts his tongue into you unprompted, you know he’s getting a little heated. 

It’s juvenile, but you take a little pride in how much it's so easy for you to piss him off. 

But one second you’re sharing a searing kiss, the next moment you feel a sting on your bottom lip. 

“Oh—! What the fuck!” You push Jungkook away so hard he unceremoniously plops down on the mattress, bringing you down with him. You manage to support yourself with his hard chest, looking at him with bewildered eyes, touching your bottom lip. The fucker just bit it. 

Jungkook lets himself rest against the mattress, gripping your thighs instead. 

“He’s fucking weird for fucking his student, by the way.” he says, apparently still not done talking about Kim Namjoon. His hands have made their way from your legs to your breasts, but you whisk them away, shooting him a glare.

“You’re a dick,” you jab at his chest, making him let out a slightly pained “Oh!”, soon exchanged with a grunt of pleasure when you reach for his cock behind you to sit on it again, grinding against it. You lean on his chest, keeping your daggers on him. “You can say whatever you want but you can’t blame Prof Kim for fucking his student.” 

Jungkook immediately scoffs. Because you refuse to have anything to do with his hands, he crosses them under his head, eyes casting a glance down where you meet, darkening when you roll your hips against him deliciously.

“He’s a person in power. That gotta be unethical.” 

You roll your eyes almost automatically. 

“So you wouldn’t fuck me if I was your student, then?” you raise your brow, taking note of the obvious surprise coloring Jungkook’s face. 

But he quickly shuts it down with a smug response.

“I would just have to look at other professors to fuck. Especially at SNU? Have you seen the women professors there?” There’s a bite to it, and the smirk on his lips heighten that. Like he’s telling you he has way more options than you – and those options can come easy for him. If he wants to. 

“See how you’re not fucking any one of them? Exactly.” you retort. 

Jungkook snorts. “I don’t have to,” He removes his hands from his head. “Besides, I fucked Hana before in a professor outfit. Does that count?” 

You grit your teeth together at the mention of Hana. She’s a friend of yours, also an idol like Jungkook. You actually do have a lot of friends in the industry, and coincidentally, Jungkook has fucked most of them. 

“What’s the matter? Don't like the reminder that much?” Jungkook grins. “I remember Jiyeon being in the same position as you now. She really loves riding my dick. Kind of like you. You two really are friends, huh?” 

Kim Jiyeon, a member of a famous group in the country. Another one of your friends and one of Jungkook’s on and off hook-ups too. You don’t know if they still do it from time to time – as far as you know, they ended just as you two began. But you don’t ask either, don’t really care at all. 

But it’s funny since you remember him saying awhile ago he hasn’t fucked anybody other than you in a long time. Was that a lie? 

“Sure. Don’t feel special though, I rode Jaehyun exactly this way. Went at it for hours because my pussy just gets so wet for him.” 

You relish the fact that Jungkook’s smile immediately falls off his face when you say that. But that victory only lasted for a brief moment when he spoke his next words. 

“You have a dirty mouth on you, I’ll give you that. Shin’s was dirtier, though. Gives crazy head too.” 

You don’t really know why he’s mentioning all your idol friends, but fine. If he wants to play that game, you’ll give it to him. 

“Don’t you just love a crazy head? Mingyu gave me one when we finally went out on a date, and I still think about it,” You made sure to grind against his cock painfully slowly, making a show of moaning out loud. “Oh god,”

Thankfully, that shuts Jungkook up. 

“So he did ask you out.” Jungkook says, and it sounds so… firm. You can’t even recognize the look on his face. 

“Yes.” 

He goes quiet after that, but his hands on your waist are tight. 

Like nothing happened, you continue riding him – and maybe because you talked too much that the momentum got killed, but suddenly, you stop your ministration.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, about to say something. Just as when he opens his mouth to speak, you get off him, leaving him astounded on your bed with his dick still stiff and hard against his abdomen.

“What the hell?” 

“I’m going to take a shower.” you say nonchalantly, already heading to your bathroom. 

“Seriously?” Jungkook says, the disbelief in his tone palpable. “I’m still hard and I haven’t even cum yet.” 

You look back at him. “You can take care of that.” 

Jungkook gestures with his hand. “Are you fucking kidding– you’re serious?”

You turn away and go straight to the bathroom, locking the door and immediately turning the shower on – aggressively so.

You’re not mad, is what you tell yourself. You know you started it when you goaded Jungkook about Namjoon. But you also shouldn’t have taken the bait, because Jungkook is competitive in all areas that affects his huge, dumb ego. 

Well, fuck him. Figuratively this time. You can’t believe you let him in your place tonight. You can’t even fucking remember what you were reading earlier, because his stupid horny brain decided it was okay to finger you when you were memorizing the mor—

“What the—!” 

You look at Jungkook in shock when he suddenly barges in the shower, all naked just like you and goes under the stream too, looking just as pissed as you left him.

“I know where you keep your keys and you can’t just walk out on me like that,” He turns off the shower and you’re about to complain when he suddenly looks at you again, brows furrowing and tone a little dark when he says, “So what? You play this little I’m-fucking-other-people-and-not-just-you games on me every fucking time and expect me to just take it? When I decide to ride along you get a little pissy and act like a child?” 

Your jaw slacks, not expecting the call-out. Jungkook steps closer to you, heavy footsteps sounding like a ticking clock above your head. You’ve always known he’s muscly, and much much taller and bigger than you, but his presence especially looms over you when he’s obviously heated like this.

Your backward steps are futile when he only takes steps forward, until you feel the glass wall on your back. 

Jungkook follows, and even though his hands are wet from the water, warmth spread through your body when he takes you roughly by the waist.

“Now you have nothing to say because you know I’m right,” he rasps. You whimper when he presses his body to you, his dick flatly rigid against your stomach, the tip aching red when you glance down to look at it. Jungkook clicks his tongue against his cheek, cupping your cheek to redirect your face to him. “Turn around.” 

He doesn’t even bother hearing you out, just manhandles you around himself. You suppress a moan when he rests his dick against the cleft of your ass, his body heat spreading within you when he leans down to whisper in your ear, “You know what’s funny? Your mouth looks adorably small when it’s stuffed with my cock, but it sure is big enough when you run it just to piss me off.” 

Your thighs clench at his words. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look back at him. “S-so what are you gonna do about it?” 

Jungkook raises a brow. “The best option is to put my dick in it but you’d be way too happy with that.” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re so full of yourself—” 

“God, can you shut up for even just a minute?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes again.

“Can you just fuck me and get this whole thing over with?” 

You don’t expect the slap in your ass that comes after that. Looking back at Jungkook with a gasp, you’re about to voice out a complaint when he suddenly inserts a finger in you, cutting your train of thought. 

He slowly eases out of your pussy, but shoves his digit back in, settling with a steady pace in and out. 

“Look at you, you’re a cockslut. You like when I’m mean to you, that’s why you piss me off, right?” He says, nibbling on your ear. 

You whimper when he adds another finger, moaning at the sensation. Jungkook picks up his pace, and your lewd sounds bounce off the shower stall as you start feeling the hot coil in your stomach. 

“J-jungkook,” 

“Hm?” 

“I want– more.” You say, looking at him with your mouth agape, tears forming in the sides of your eyes. Your thighs feel like giving out, and you feel so empty even though he’s two fingers in it’s almost criminal. 

“Say it. What do you want?” 

You fight the urge to flip him off, but your tone is still snarky when you simply say, “Dick.”

He chuckles, sending shivers down your spine. “Whose dick? And what’s the magic word?” 

You shut your eyes close, grinding your teeth in quiet anger.

“Your dick and please.” You say in the most monotonous voice you could ever muster. 

You fully expectd Jungkook to prolong the moment a little longer, but fucking finally, you see him stroking his dick a few moments later, shaking his head and chuckling lowly when he adjusts your position against his crotch. 

“You whine and I give you what you want. Aren’t you too spoiled, princess?” He says, aligning the head to your oussy until you feel the tip slowly entering you. 

You inhale, relief of having his cock back inside you washing over you. 

“Y-you love giving me what I want.” You retort back, pushing yourself on him, careful to keep a tight balance on the glass before you even though Jungkook’s got a tight hold on your waist with his other hand. 

He only hums, and soon he thrusts inside with no warning – but it’s a pleasant stretch when it happens, a loud moan escaping your mouth from the sudden movement. 

“O-oh god!” you yelp when he begins sliding in out of you at a fast pace, gushing as he kept on giving it to you.

You try to keep your voice low but Jungkook’s stretching you out so well, his thrusts so precise and forceful, dick growing impossibly bigger every passing second. 

Soon, the cramped shower stall is fogged, with nothing but your heavy breaths and moans and groans filling the air, Jungkook beating your pussy with speedy trusts your breasts are starting to hurt from the jiggling – thank god that Jungkook decided to fondle them with his palms, squeezing and holding, flicking your nipples every now and then. 

“It’s–shit–it’s only me who gets to see you like this, begging for my cock because you fucking love it so much,” Jungkook says against your neck. “So fucking wet, such greedy pussy – and it’s mine, right?” You only whimper, but that obviously does not make Jungkook happy. With a forceful tug on your hair, he makes you look at him. “Answer me when I talk to you, baby, or you’re not gonna cum.” 

“Y-yes!” 

He hums, slowing down to give you a slow, purposeful trust. 

“I don’t care who else you fuck, __. Because at the end of the day, it’s me you come back to.” 

You could almost cry by the way he’s going so slow that you feel almost every ridge of his cock, but it feels so good. He’s so big and hits all the right spots, even when he talks shit.  

“Shit.” he hisses before speeding up again, and you can feel fhe tell tale sign of his orgasm when his rhythym becomes uncoordinated for a bit of a moment, groaning a little loider than usual, until one of his hands on your waist let go to squeeze his dick in your pussy.

“I’m gonna cum,” Jungkook says with heavy breaths, staggering a little. “Where can I cum?”

“Inside.” you say, “Please cum inside. I need it, Kook. Cum inside me.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-yeah. Please. Need it. Need it so bad.” you bite your lip, feeling a little delirious. 

When Jungkook moans a little louder, that’s when you feel the hot liquid running down your legs. It makes your pussy flutter, whimpering when Jungkook inserts his cock in you to push his cum back again, stuffing you with his cum. 

“So damn pretty… fuck,” Jungkook whispers, rubbig the base of his cock against your lips. 

“Kook–”

He doesn’t let you say any more, just creeps his finger in your pussy, thumb rubbing your clit in eights. And because you’ve been basically edged as well, it doesn’t take too long for you to follow him, cumming down hard. 

Jungkook helps you get up, lets you rest your back against him as you try to regain your mobility, chest heaving up and down.

It’s weirdly calming when he runs his hands over your body, caressing your stomach and squeezing your tits as you both come down from your high. 

“You okay?” Jungkook whispers against your head. You nod. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.” 

You’re about to ask if he plans on showering as well, but you stop yourself before you can even say it out loud, looking at his disappearing figure when he walks out of the shower box and the bathroom altogether. 

It takes you a moment to start the shower again. 

But it was only a quick one, and you didn’t exactly think about where Jungkook would’ve gone by the time you're finished, but once you’ve emerged in your bedroom again, you see him pulling up his pants, buckling his belt. 

“You’re leaving?” You say, pausing. Then you realize it came out kind of weird, so you try to scratch that. Glancing at your alarm clock by the bedside table, you clear your throat. “I mean, it’s 3 am.” 

Jungkook looks up at you. “Yeah. I have practice at 6.” 

“Ah.” you nod, blinking at him. You head to your closet, picking out your clothes for the night. “You have three hours left. Tough.” 

Jungkook snorts. You can hear him shuffling behind you while you wore another clean camisole and shorts. When you turn around, Jungkook’s dressed now in his black shirt and jeans. His cap and jacket are in the living room, so he'll probably just grab them when he heads out. 

When you plop down on the bed, you watch as Jungkook picks up his wallet and his phone, stuffing them in his pockets. You thought he’d leave by then, but he suddenly speaks. 

“Hey.” He calls. You raise your brow at him to continue. Jungkook pauses for a moment, looking a bit unsure. Before you can ask, he finally says something. “You can fuck Kim Namjoon or whoever you like,” he starts, staring intently at you. “Just tell me beforehand so we can sort it out.” 

A few beats. 

Jungkook doesn’t follow it up with anything, and nor do you say anything quickly to that. 

The silence sounds way too loud. 

“Okay.” Is what you settle with. Jungkook stares at you a little longer than necessary, so you arch your brow. “What? Anything else before you leave?” 

It takes Jungkook awhile to say, “Nothing.” 

“Okay… and uh, thanks for bringing food.” 

He arches a brow, lips curling up a little. You squint your eyes, rolling it when he gives you a knowing smile. 

“Good night, I guess?” Jungkook lamely offers. 

You nod. “It’s 3 am but okay.”

“You can’t tell me good night, too?” Jungkook says. 

“Uh, have a good sleep and sweet dreams?” you say with the flattest tone and face. 

He scoffs, but he looks amused. “You can be a little more sincere than that.” 

You wave him off. Jungkook shakes his head, turning on his heels to head out the door. 

“Jungkook.” 

His hands around the door handle pauses mid-air to look at you. 

You look away. 

“Mingyu did ask me out,” you start. 

Jungkook’s face is unreadable when he says, “I didn’t ask.”

You shake your head. “No, I know you didn't, I just–” you sigh. “That was a week ago. I just want to say that… nothing happened.” 

It takes awhile for Jungkook to understand. 

“So…”

You lied. About the head or whatever the hell you said about Mingyu and you together. Mingyu was a nice guy, and the date was also really nice. But it just… didn’t work out. 

“Yeah.” is what you settled with. 

You don’t really know what you expected from him, but he just nods. 

“Alright.” 

That was the last thing he said when he walked out of your door. 

You look away, grabbing your phone to check some notification. There’s something on instagram, and there’s a message from Yoongi. Some mp3 file. Music stuff, you guess. And there’s one from Yena too, a member of a rookie female group over at the company who’s getting into songwriting. 

When you lie down to sleep, you feel empty.

[scribbles-here]

ɪ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

summary: ever since you've woken up in Twisted Wonderland, you've been in awe. i mean how could you not? magic was everywhere!

your friends just shrug it off, thinking that there was nothing special about this world, but you, oh you can't help but giggle like a child whenever something explodes, whether on purpose or accidently, in potions class. of course, someone has noticed the joy at the smallest things in your eyes, and he can't help but admire that.

characters: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus,

type: fluffy / gn reader / romantic / bullet points + lowercase intended / reader is yuu

a/n: had this in my head for a while but whenever im given the chance to write i forget everything, some characters might be ooc and like most of the stuff i just searched up lol

unedited

✁-----

[ⅰ] riddle rosehearts

riddle likes your enthusiasm about wanting to learn things. so when you came up to him with a bunch of questions regarding his world, you bet he pulled out a stack of books and plopped them on a nearby table.

"i hope your free for the next hour, [name], because we aren't leaving until your curiosity is satisfied."

he thinks you're going to whine and make an excuse to leave, but he's left silent when you nod and plop down on the chair, back straight and ready to learn at whatever knowledge was going to be thrown your way.

it ended being longer than an hour. you couldn't help yourself asking questions about certain things like wars, how magic came to be, how it was possible to for dorms to have their own dimensional pocket for its location, and blah blah blah.

and riddle couldn't help himself to answering your questions, which led to more questions and again blah blah blah.

finally, you guys get a break for snacks and refreshments, riddle decides to ask you about your world. is there truly no magic in your world? ...magicians? they give the allusion of magic without being able to use it? interesting.

and break ends without both you realize it, but this time, riddle's the student and you're the teacher.

[ⅱ] leona kingscholar

usually, leona doesn't care if you're around him whenever he's sleeping, he likes napping on you. as long as it's quiet and there's no ruggie bugging him about any assignments, he's a happy lion.

but he can't help flicking his tail in irritation at your constant staring at his tail and furry ears when he's trying to sleep. he knows you probably want to touch them.

yeah, leona knows he's good looking, but could've you done your sight-seeing when he's more awake and ready to tease you?

"hey, herbivore, is there something on my face?" leona opens an eye and stares at yours with his green one. he notices you eying his ears and with a loud sigh, he repositions himself to rest his chin on your belly. "only for 3 minutes"

giggling, you immediately reach over and stroked at his fuzzy ears. then comes the questions. "do you use different shampoo for your tail?" "how do you wear headphones?" "your tail is very pretty!"

while you chatted away and messed with his ears and hair, leona fell deeper and deeper into slumber. he'll answer your questions when he wakes up.

[ⅲ] azul ashengrotto

why did he agree to this? why couldn't he just tell jade and floyd to take and show you the beauty of the deep sea? but knowing them, they might pull something and that something was this!

stuck in a sunken ship, with you, in his octopus form! but he can't help but flush at your gentle petting towards one of his many arms, the appendage wrapping itself around your fingers. he curses at the twins under his breath.

azul tries to focus your attention on other things he has found in the ruined ship, "look at this jewel, isn't it shiny?" "no? well, uh, then what about these shells? don't they look prettier to look at?" but the more he brough items using his limbs, the more amazed you are.

"wow, your arms are useful, not to mention very beautiful." azul pauses, soaking up your words, heart fluttering. "this shade flatters you so much, i bet you look good in any color"

azul and you didn't realize how close you had gotten to each other, chests touching and eyes locked like nothing else mattered. "azul, you're very beautiful."

his heart clenches at your words, swallowing a bit and murmuring a small 'thank you.' azul's limbs tightening their grip around you. "thank you, [name]..."

[ⅳ] kalim al asim

he's a yapper like you, poor jamil is seconds away from slamming his head into a wall from your ramblings.

you're amazed at some crystal lamps he has? guess what's sitting on your desk in your dorm. what do you mean there's no such thing as enchanted jewelry in your world? don't worry [name] he'll cover you head to toe in enchanted jewelry.

but then kalim has an idea. what if he took you on a magic carpet ride? you liked it last time surely, you would want to do it again. you beam at the idea and before jamil could get a say in, kalim scoops your hand in his and drags you to the treasury where he keeps his magic carpet.

squealing in delight, the air smacked your face to which you buried yourself in kalim's clothing as you clung to him. kalim laughs with you as he guides his carpet up into the clouds. '[name] check out this view!'

you gasp at the sight; the moon was full and bright in the dark sky, stars twinkled in the dark dome, the air was crisp and cold. kalim feels his face warm up at the sight.

he'll take you anywhere you want as long as you stay by his side

[ⅴ] vil schoenheit

you remind him of rook in a way, always admiring the simplest things and always impressed by the tiniest things. he's seen the way you look at him with stars in your eyes whenever he makes sparkles fly in alchemy and potions class.

vil knows your curious and he absolutely thrives at your constant attention on whatever he's doing. be it doing his make-up, skin care routine, or doing schoolwork. as long as it's you, he doesn't mind your attention behind cameras.

currently, he's doing your daily skin care date night while you yapped away about potions and his skin care.

"you make your own skin care products right? that's amazing, i couldn't trust making my own and expect my face to come out as clear as yours." you laugh

vil huffs as his pinky scoops up some lip balm, then holds your chin gently with his pointer finger and thumb and applies the product to your lips. which he totally didn't need to do all of that when there was a small stick.

"that's why i'm here, [name], i could show you some tricks i've learned through trial and error."

[ⅵ] idia shroud

after over blotting and apologizing to everyone, idia expects his life to remain the same, occasionally having interactions with his peers, you have shown up to his dorm, thanks to ortho, and expressed your curiosity in his hair.

idia stutters out an incoherent explanation, tips of his hair burning a pink from the concentrated look in your eyes, and once he finishes, idia goes to close his door but jumps at your hand gripping onto the door. you weren't satisfied.

eventually you invite yourself inside and after countless questions about him, you mention technology from your world and that catches his attention.

he listens to your explanation, occasionally snickering at the outdated technology your world had. when you ask about the technology from this world, idia comes out a bit more from his shell and goes on a 3-hour rant about technology from Twisted Wonderland, with you occasionally asking questions.

idia hopes you don't notice the tips of his hair turning pink, but of course, you ask him, admiring the color.

[ⅶ] malleus draconia

he admires that about you. for someone who'll live for a short time, you always cherish what little time you have. malleus has lived for a long time; he's seen things come and go, and over the years, he seems to have lost the passion to seek and explore what life offered.

but being with you with your daily late-night walks, with your rambling of how you found potions being able to heal injuries and sicknesses absolutely mindboggling.

malleus listens attentively to your speech on mythical creatures back in your world, how dragons were your personal favorite, and how in your world, in fae mythology, it's rare for a fae to choose to become mortal. that certainly catches malleus' attention. (i literally just googled this so idk if this is accurate)

he's certainly never heard of this statement, but it does intrigue him. now your speech leads to questioning him or questioning about his title as one of the top five powerful mages. how do you get that title? are you born with it or do you have to prove yourself to professionals? can anyone receive this title?

malleus just smiles and answers your onslaught of questions, heart fluttering at your attentive gaze

Tip jar (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[cacoetheswriting]

I have a request. Bare with me new at this request bit.

Eddie wakes up hands cuffed to his bed with reader blowing him. Then has sex with him.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.2k

content warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI: explicit and mature themes, smut, established relationship, cnc, somno, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, use of toys, adult language / dirty talk, use of pet names, a little pervy, more plot than porn tbh ‘cause i don’t know how else to write smutty content, slightly possessive!reader, jealousy, slightly dom!eddie but also slightly dom!reader - unedited - pls let me know if i missed any!

a/n: pls have your age / age range stated in your bio when requesting 18+ content. cleared here in the dm’s, but it saves a lot of back and forth when it’s in the bio - for any future requests.

He’s flustered. Stumbling over his words, cheeks a deep red. He’s avoiding your gaze. Staring instead at his beat up sneakers as he rolls a twig around with the sole of his shoe.

You can’t help the smirk that circles your lips as he stammers through the pros and cons of his proposition as if it’s a thesis and he’s aiming for top marks; or a close equivalent. If only he put this much care in his homework, you think to say but bite your tongue since he’s clearly nervous enough.

“What do you think?” He asks, finally meeting your eyes. 

The look behind the brown is hopeful, eager. Like a little boy waiting in line for a shiny new comic. Only, he’s not wanting a superhero book. No.

Eddie Munson has a request of a far different variety and you’d be lying if it didn’t excite you as well.

“You want me to suck you off while you’re sleeping?”

Eddie nods.

“If you think it’s too much, you can obviously say no and we can forget I-I even suggested it.” He’s stammering again. “I-I just thought it’d be a cool thing to try—”

“I’m not opposed to it,” you say, interrupting, and shrug your shoulders to showcase indifference although you’re feeling anything other than that.

You’ve been not-so-casually hooking up with Eddie for a little over a year. 

One would say — Robin — this situationship you have with the curly-haired metal-head is the reason you haven’t been able to find a real boyfriend, but what does she know about relationships anyway? Okay, harsh. She actually knows a lot considering she’s in one. Point being, it’s Eddie. And you’d forgo any connection just to hear him moan your name every single night: even if it means absolutely nothing the next morning.

“Are you putting a timeline on this, or do you want it to be a surprise?” You ask.

“Definitely a surprise.”

A week goes by.

You think about his proposition often. Sheer excitement mixed with a fuck ton of nerves. You’ve blown him before, numerous times. He says he loves when you do. Thinks about it afterwards. Jacks off to the memory of your lips around his dick.

This is different, however. He won’t talk to you. Won’t tell you how pretty you look on your knees for him. And you get off on his words.

You sleep over at the trailer twice during the week. 

The first night, you don’t want to seem too eager and make point to show Eddie how tired you are after he’s fucked you raw. He knows not to expect it then. Instead, he opens his arms and lets you cuddle him until dreams take over.

The second night, you sort of psych yourself out. His light snores ripple through the bedroom. It’s all you can hear, aside from the thumping of your heart. You think about this situation you have found yourself in with Eddie, and wonder if perhaps Robin is right about this whole thing between you and the metal-head. Maybe you should reserve the more kinky stuff for an actual boyfriend. Especially because there’s a lot of trust required to act on deviance when the other person is asleep and trust is often reserved for more traditional relationships, you think. What you and Eddie have is lust.

Then, one afternoon the following week, Eddie surprises you.

Unfortunately, not in a nice way. He’s talking to a girl. Flirting, actually. You can see them at the bar. He says something, which must be funny because the girl places a hand on his leather-clad shoulder and pushes him gently while throwing her head back in giggles. Eddie’s not funny. Okay, he’s hilarious but he’s not a make-a-girl-flirty-laugh funny. And your blood boils.

“A vicious thing, jealousy.” Steve mumbles next to you.

“Can you even be jealous if you’re not actually with the other person?” Robin asks.

You tell them both to shut up then force yourself to look away from the bar. From the guy that’s not your boyfriend, but rather the best hookup of your life, and the pretty girl he’s flirting with, who may one day very well become his real girlfriend. One could call this thing you’re doing now spiraling. Your friends do, they say it simultaneously because they see the look in your eyes. 

Wanting to save yourself from further embarrassment, you grab your handbag and your jacket, and tell your friends goodbye. They plead with you not to go, but only for a moment because Nancy is back with the next round of drinks and they forget all about your problems of the heart (and vagina).  

You push past the sweaty bodies of Hideout goers and slip out the front door, into the cool breeze. The sound of your heels against the pavement grows louder the further you get away from the dingy bar. Eddie was your ride home. He drew the short straw on being everyone’s designated driver for the night. He’ll have one stop less to make, you think, can spend that extra time with this girl he met.

Twenty minutes on foot and you’re home. You shed the night off your back. A quick shower, a fresh set of pyjama shorts. You down a cold glass of water, then another for good measure. And just like that, you’re feeling sober and ready for bed. Ready to forget the sight of Eddie and that girl.

The night however, has other plans.

There’s a knock on your door. Metal on wood. With a sigh, you cross the living room towards it and press down on the handle. Eddie’s standing in the corridor. His head snaps up as you open to reveal the inside of your apartment.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I came to see if you were okay,” he answers. “You left so abruptly. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

You shrug. “You seemed busy. I assumed you wouldn’t notice I left.”

Eddie’s brows string together.

“Why wouldn’t I notice?” He sounds genuinely confused, then recognition feigns on his features. “Is this because of the girl?”

You shrug again, because what else is there for you to do without completely spilling your guts.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You know there’s only you for me, right?” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dollface, I’m not interested in anyone else. That was just harmless flirting.”

You drop your arms and step aside, letting him pass. You shut the door behind him before turning to face him once more.

“Eddie, I’m not an idiot, okay?” You begin, “I know what we’re doing is casual and that one day it might end.”

“Who says anything about wanting anything to end?” He counters with a smirk and walks away, down the hallway, towards your bedroom.

By the time you join him, the metal-head has stripped down to a T-shirt and boxers. Wordlessly, he gets into your bed and lifts the covers up, waiting for you to join him. You drop your arms with an exaggerated sigh and he laughs. Smooth, music to your ears. 

Once you do, Eddie’s asleep in minutes. But not before he murmurs, “You’re the only girl I’d let anywhere near my dick and heart.”.

You giggle. “Aren’t they one and the same?”

He snorts. “Exactly, dollface.” And proceeds to place a kiss to the top of your head before sleep takes over.

Satisfied with how the night ended up — Eddie in your bed; the usual — you get comfortable in his embrace. Feeling safe and content, it doesn’t take long for you to also fall asleep. 

When you wake, it’s still dark, aside from the bedside lamp you left switched on. Eddie’s snoring next to you, but that’s not what your sleepy self is paying attention to. Your focus is on something hard pressing into your thigh and call it possessiveness or whatever, but suddenly you think to act on his offer from a few weeks ago. Make it that much more difficult for him to leave you for ‘the real deal’.

There’s a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs locked to your iron-rod headboard (from the last time Eddie stayed over). Tentatively, you reach for it and click the loose ring around Eddie’s wrist — the hand that’s so perfectly placed above his head, since he fell asleep resting on it.

Satisfied, a smirk circling your still sleepy expression, you run your hand down his chest, stomach, until you reach the band of his boxers. You glance at the metal-head, still sleeping, his erection now in your gentle grasp. So you sit up fully, pushing the covers aside.

Without further hesitation, you first circle your tongue around the tip of his cock, lick down his shaft, and then slowly drag it up along the underside. Lightly, you flick your tongue across the vein, just under the head. Eddie shivers underneath you, but makes no further indication that he’s awake, so you let your lips envelop around his head, taking him into your mouth.

Cheeks hollow, you suck, then swirl your tongue around and lick his shaft again. He moans in his sleep, shifts under you and the handcuff rattles. You glance at him from under your lashes and wet your lips before continuing. 

You slide his cock across your mouth, once, twice, then wrap your mouth around it once more. A moment passes as you hold him, erect. His cock fills your cheeks, nudges at the back of your throat, throbbing with need. Sucking, you slide your lips upwards, licking around the tip.

A groan escapes his lips. The sound is magical and it fuels your own desires further. You feel a little bit pervy, a pool of wetness pouring between your own thighs as your lips work on his release. You pick up speed, hands cradling his balls as you take him as deep into your mouth as you can.

“Mhmmm…” Eddie moans awake, “Baby, baby, baby…”

“Let me take care of you,” you say in a sweet tone, batting your lashes for good measure, although you know he can’t see, face buried into your pillows.

You take him back into your mouth, one hand now holding him in place. You slide up and down every inch of him, again taking him as far as you can into your throat while letting your hand do the rest. At the top of the stroke, you swirl your tongue around his head.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re making my wildest dreams come true, dollface.”

Flicking your eyes up to Eddie’s face, you find him watching, his own mouth open, his eyes glassy. He tries to reach for you, but the handcuff is keeping him in place and he groans — a mix of frustration and pleasure. As you work your magic, he braces his body on the bed, so he can jerk his hips up towards your face and you smile into his crotch, his eagerness fuelling your own.

“Mhm fuck, you’re going to make me cum,” he grits.

“Please do, baby. I need your cum in my mouth.”

And you increase your speed as he drops his lock of hair back onto the pillow below. You bop your head up and down his rock-hard length, encouraging him to give in and let go. Face a sticky mess of saliva and precum, you can feel him pulsing and throbbing in your mouth. Suddenly, his hips still and his cock swells between your lips.

He gasps. Chanting your name like a prayer, the metal-head shoots his load into your mouth, feeling more awake than ever. Rhythmically, you squeeze him and press your tongue against the back of his cockhead, drawing every drop out of him. Hot, thick, liquid splatters against the inside of your cheeks and runs down your throat as you straighten, satisfied.

Eddie sits up too, or tries to at least with the fluffy cuff around his wrist. On the elbow he can rest on, he does, looking at you as if you’re an angel sent from above, just for him.

“God,” he grounds out, “You’re unbelievable, dollface.”

A smile circles your lips while you lick them clean. You shuffle closer, hovering over his chest until your mouth finds him, capturing it in a deep kiss.

“I hope this is what you had in mind when you asked me?” You ask in a soft whisper.

He huffs out a laugh. “You exceeded any expectations. You always do.”

“Good.”

And you kiss him again, but not before freeing his wrist. He shakes it, cracks it, and reaches for your face. When his lips find yours for a third time, his dominant side takes over. The moment blooms. His hands work your body, over then under your skimpy pyjama set. Breathless, sweaty. Perfect. 

Unable to contain himself much longer, Eddie pulls you on top of him, one set of fingers digging into your hip bone as the other pulls your shorts aside. He’s smooth with his motions and settles you on his, once again, fully erect dick with ease.

“It’s only you for me, baby.” He says with conviction. “Never doubt that.”

His hand on your throat, squeezing gently as you roll your hips and moan his name until you see stars.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

[hockey-for-hotties]

book club ⎜ q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!midsized reader ⎜ genre: fluff ⎜hurt/comfort ⎜mental illness rep ⎜ warnings: depictions of a panic attack ⎜ nothing much tbh ⎜ synopsis: you never expected to see the captain of the Vancouver Canucks in your small bookshop - and you definitely didn't expect him to keep coming back. word count: 5.8k authors note:  this is a re-edit of an old work! I hope everyone enjoys it. (UNEDITED)

“Is there anything I can help you with today or are you just browsing?” You question, your head barely raising from the paperback book sitting in your lap - your fingers already gripping the corner of the page preparing to turn it - as the soft chime of the store, front door opening and closing distracts you. 

The man standing in the doorway looks entirely out of place, his wet hair pushed back and underneath the pulled-up hood of his jumper, the oversized hoodie swallowing up his frame, not at all helped by his baggy jeans and thick-soled sneakers. He blinks for a moment, your book forgotten as you stare up at him from your stool with a raised brow, his hands making quick work of pushing the hood off his head and clearing his throat - the slight curl to the ends of his dark brown hair, bouncing as he takes a few steps forwards, his blue-green eyes taking in your store. 

“Uh, just browsing.” He says with a sheepish grin, his voice is quiet but deep, a scratchy baritone as you nod in response. 

“Okay, well let me know if you’re looking for anything in particular.” You mumble but he’s already moved off down one of the aisles, the scent of the rain on his clothes mixing with the cinnamon apple pie candle you have burning on the window sill. Your book sits still in your lap as you watch the man wander around the store, his fingers grazing the spines of books, glancing over the back and front before sliding it back onto the shelf. You shake yourself out of your daze, returning to your book but you can’t help the way your eyes wander, searching him out as he stares particularly long at one of the classics. 

“Do you happen to have any recommendations? Something that I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to read?” He shifts his gaze to meet yours, sliding the heavy classic back onto the shelf with a soft thump, a soft tinge of pink to his cheeks as you place your paperback on the counter, sliding off the stool making your way over to him, your shirt sashaying at your feet. 

“I’ve got a few ideas, are looking for something fictional or non-fiction?” You respond, waiting for his soft response of ‘fiction’ before tiptoeing down the aisles, the man slowly follows behind you watching as you stop a few times as you pass a particular book that catches your eye, before shaking your head and continuing further down. “Do you want something more contemporary or fantasy-esque?” You ask again, your feet stopping suddenly, the man almost having to jump out of the way to avoid running into your back. 

“Contemporary?” He questions quietly, “I’m still pretty new to reading, I’m not really sure what that means.” 

“Contemporary is more like fiction but set in modern society - you know like fiction but still in normal life.” You explain softly, tilting your head as your explanation confuses even yourself. “You know what, never mind, would you like me to pick something random or do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?” 

“Random - I need a nice break from reality.” He says with a soft chuckle at the end, his hand raising to rub awkwardly at the base of his neck, his wet curls bouncing before he pulls his hand away, tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. “Just whatever you think is good.” He corrects himself. 

“Look I get it,” You say shooting him a smile before hurrying off in another direction, the man taking long steps to keep up with you, “We all need a break sometimes.” You add as you stop suddenly again, browsing the shelf quickly before grinning and pulling the tall paperback off the shelf, turning to hand it to him. 

“This is usually a good one to start with, Freida McFadden is easy to read, you’ll be flying through it.” You say quickly, passing the book over as he looks over the cover, his eyebrows raising at the synopsis on the back, “I hope you don’t get spooked easily.” You grimaced a little, maybe a thriller wasn’t a good place to start. 

“Sounds…” He pauses for a moment, “Interesting.” He brings the books closer, almost tucking it against his chest as he nods with gratitude, following you over to the front counter, only allowing you to take the book to scan it before he quickly tucks it back against his chest. 

He slides his card out of his wallet as you boot up your machine, the name on the edge of the plastic catching your attention, your heart dropping into your stomach as you read it three times over. 

Quinn Hughes. 

Like Quinn Hughes, captain of the Vancouver Canucks, Quinn Hughes. 

It clicks, the images strewn across the sides of the Rodgers arena flashing through your head as you take in the quiet, unassuming guy standing in front of you, waiting to purchase your book recommendation, from your little bookstore. 

The god of the city is literally standing two meters away from you. 

“Would you like a bag for that, or are you just going to carry it?” You manage to get out through the lump stuck in the back of your throat - you’re speaking to Vancouver royalty right now and you can’t even make eye contact with him. 

“Uh, I’ll just carry it.” He says, glancing down at the book safely tucked against his chest before shooting you a timid smile, “What are your opening hours?” He asks quickly, his eyes finally leaving your face as he glances around the shop, a soft smile on his face. 

“Oh, uh usually between ten am and ten pm, give or take.” You say quietly, trying to avoid making direct eye contact with him as you try to keep your body language neutral, “It’s just me here, so the hours can vary sometimes.” You explain further, Quinn nodding quickly in understanding, before mumbling a quiet goodbye, tucking his new book under his hoodie before braving the slowly worsening thunderstorm outside. 

You watch as he hurries away, the thought slapping you across the face as you let out a low groan, “Fuck, I should’ve gotten his autograph.” 

+

+

The next few days pass agonisingly slow, every time the small chime of the door opening rings through the shop, your head shoots up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the disheveled but handsome hockey captain again - much to your disappointment, but you don’t see him, only catching glimpses of him on the small screen of your laptop as you watch the latest hockey match and making small talk with some passing fans who purchase books. 

“I wish I got his autograph.” You grumble to yourself as you watch your twelfth customer for the day leave, her boyfriend trudging behind her with a bag full of the newest romance novels - You take a long sip of the overly hot, hot chocolate you had bought on your lunch break, the chocolaty goodness soothing any third degree burns the drink inflicts as you re-open your newest book on the counter, preparing your sticky tabs and highlighter before skimming the pages, your mind already drifting off to your missed opportunity. 

You never assumed - when opening your bookstore - that it would do as well as it had recently, your shelves always demanding to be restocked, books flying from your shelves on release days, your laptop burning up from constantly having to play the latest book reviews so you can keep up to date with recommendations. You most recent read, a recommendation from a friend - the romance featuring a stranded girl on a new planet and an oversized blue man who finds her. 

The words finally seem to capture your interest as the bell above the door chimes as it swings open, a soft shuffle of shoes alerting you to a new customer, your focus barely fleeting to them as you ask your normal catchphrase. “Is there anything I can help you with today or are you just browsing?” The words come out from instinct as you flick to the next page in your book. 

“I was kind of hoping for another recommendation?” The soft, baritone voice seeps into your bones as your head shoots up, your book already long forgotten as you wobble on the stool, Quinn taking a step forward his hands out as if reaching to steady you as you grip the counter for dear life shooting him a composed smile, or at least you hope it’s composed. 

“All good.” You reassure him as you swipe at the skirt over your legs, hoping the burning of your cheeks isn’t as obvious as you think it is. “Welcome back, did you hate it or love it?” You ask, slowly closing your book before catching sight of the cover and wishing you could throw it across the room and into the trash - you keep your eyes on him as you slowly slide it under the counter, clearing your throat once more as your cheeks burn hotter. 

“It was unexpectedly good - I’ve never read a thriller before.” He says quickly, his eyes catching on the highlighter and sticky tabs on your counter, before moving back up to your face - though you can tell his attention is still on your annotating supplies on the counter. 

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from, so are looking for something similar today or something different?” You say, slowly sliding off your stool to prepare yourself to hunt for a new book, your eyebrows raising when he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixated on your rainbow sticky notes. 

“Oh, um, maybe something different, sorry I just— what are those?” He stumbles to get out, a soft laugh leaving you as you point to the sticky tabs his head nodding in confirmation. 

“They’re just for when I annotate or make notes in a book - you place the different colour tab next to whatever you’re noting, I colour code mine for different things.” You say, his head nodding along but he still looks lost as you slide them across the counter so he can get a closer look. “They’re like post-it notes, but I use them to mark a line or paragraph in a book that stands out to me, whether it be sad or funny or just well written.” 

“Like for things you want to remember?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Exactly like that, everyone uses them differently though, you should give it a try next time.” He places the sticky tabs back on the counter before refocusing his gaze on you, seemingly content with your explanation of the object. “So you want something different this time? What kind of different?”  You ask, easily steering the conversation back in the direction you want, hoping to god he doesn’t ask what book you’re currently using almost all of your different blue tabs for. 

“I don’t really know, I liked the thriller but want something less - realistic?” 

“Okay, like the hungers games fantasy or more like lord of the rings fantasy?” You question - not having the energy to explain the difference between dystopian, and sci-fi, and fantasy right now, but judging by Quinn’s current confusion your probably made the right call. 

“I’m going to be completely honest, I haven’t read either.” He says, your mouth falling open a little as you ask, 

“You’ve watched the movies though right?” He shakes his head quickly, the same nervous smile you saw a few days ago spreading across his face - his blue-green eyes glinting as your mouth falls further open, you barely wait for him to follow behind you as you race through the stacks of books, seeking out the small paperback in the young adult section, the black cover easy to spot as you pull it off the shelf, standing and spinning quickly, the flash of royal blue hoodie catching you by surprise. 

“Oh, sorry.” You apologise quickly, as Quinn grabs hold of your arm to steady you as you stumble backward a little. “So I assume you’ve heard the premise of the Hunger Games?” You ask quickly offering the book out to him to take. He nods slowly, an amused smile on his face. 

“Kids killing each other for entertainment?” He says, more of a question than an answer. 

“Pretty much the main selling point, but I like to think it’s more about how the everyday person can change the world.” Quinn’s eyes widen at your explanation, taking a second glance down at the book in his hands, skimming over the synopsis on the back. 

“Well, consider me sold.” He says, following you back to the counter, the deja vu hitting hard as you turn to face him, his protectiveness over his newest acquisition brings back fond memories of how he had protected his last purchase from the torrential downpour last time he was in - he slide the book over to you so you can scan it before pulling it back towards him. 

“Is there any way I can put a hold on the next one? Just in case I love it and need to come by on short notice?” Quinn asks as you ring him up, tapping his card absentmindedly as he watches you move behind the counter, gathering up his receipt as you type quickly on your computer. 

“We do have the whole series in stock and I don’t normally do holds…” You start, watching as his face falls slightly,  “But for my newest Hunger Games book club member I just might be able to keep a copy behind the counter?” You say quickly, “Besides you will definitely need to drop by on short notice.” You send him a quick wink, immediately wishing you’d done no such thing as he lets out a gruff chuckle, nodding with anticipation. 

“I hope I do.” He says quickly, bidding you a quick goodbye before shuffling back out of the store, already flicking through the pages of the book as he walks past the shop windows, and down the street. 

You realised then that you still didn’t get his autograph. 

+

+

Four days passed by quickly, the store constantly busting with customers most leaving with a book or two or sharing one of their own recommendations, or a quick chat about their latest read and how they were so glad the shop had been thriving in the neighbourhood. As the city settled into winter, the cold air burning against people's cheeks as they walked past the store, your small shop felt cosier than ever, often welcoming people who wanted to escape the chill of winter. But even as you chatted with regulars and recommended your favourite books to curious new visitors, you found yourself glancing toward the door more often than you’d like to admit - he still hadn’t come back for the second book, the one you had kept tucked under your till on the off chance he would return for it - to be honest you had shoved the whole series under there just in case. 

It wasn’t until a week later that the bell rang, and your head shot up to find him standing in the doorway again. Quinn was wearing another hoodie, this one deep navy, with a beanie pulled over his dark hair. His cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, and he held a steaming coffee cup in one hand.

“Oh fancy seeing you back here.” You coo as he wipes his feet off on your new entrance matt by the door, the snow starting to fall leading to muddy boots all over your clean hardwood floors. “Finally come back to compliment me on my impeccable taste?” You continue to tease, your heart stuttering a Quinn shoots you a lazy smile, his eyes rolling as he steps towards the counter sliding the coffee cup across to you. 

“I was just passing through and thought I should bring you a gift, extra hot, hot chocolate - the guy down at the coffee shop said this was your favourite.” Quinn says, watching as your eyes widen a little, before looking down at the writing along the side of the cup, it was, in fact, an extra hot, hot chocolate just like you liked it. “I wanted to say thanks, for the last two recommendations, I’ve never been this excited to read before.” Your cheeks warmed at the gratitude, and you busied yourself tidying the counter to hide your reaction.

“Well as promised, book two is ready to go.” You say as you clear your throat, sliding catching fire out from its hiding spot and sliding it across the counter from you, but Quinn’s gaze is already focused on your latest read, tucked away next to the till. 

“That looks interesting.” He says as he reaches for it, pulling it off the counter before you get a chance to be embarrassed, “Is it a romance?” He questions flicking over the synopsis before turning to glance at the cover, the illustrated image of a hockey player raising Quinn’s brows - you can almost see the panic flicker through his eyes, the same panic that rushes into your stomach as you reach to pull the book from his grasp. 

“So the guy is a hockey player?” Quinn questions as he places his coffee on the counter, flicking through the pages. “Do you um… do you watch hockey?”

“Kind of?” You respond, your shoulders sagging as you watch his face fall slightly, “I mean we’re in Vancouver so it’s kind of hard to avoid sometimes, the games literally play on almost every TV in the city most nights.” You let out a soft laugh before placing your next book for him on the counter. 

“So you know who I am?” Quinn’s question sends a pang to your chest, his earlier friendliness seeming to fall away. 

“It’s kind of hard not to when the Rodgers arena is across the water and your face is literally plastered to the side of it.” You cringe, the words coming out before you can stop them, “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner, I just thought you weren’t making it clear who you were so you clearly didn’t want to be bothered about it.” You try to explain your way but can’t help the way your face scrunches as the words settle between the two of you - maybe you should’ve been honest from the get-go, but maybe that would mean he never would’ve come back. 

“Is there any chance we can start this over?” You ask quietly, Quinn's eyes meeting yours as he nods. “Okay, wait give me a second.” You say quickly, turning to face the back wall, and taking a deep breath before turning around to face him again. 

“Oh my god!” You squeal a little, clasping your hands together in feigned excitement, “Are you the Quinn Hughes, captain of the Vancouver Canucks and winner of the Norris trophy?” You exclaim, fanning at your face as a smile blooms on his face. “I never thought that there would be a celebrity in my little corner of the world.” You continue, laughing a little as Quinn shakes his head at your antics. 

“Okay, Okay I get what you’re trying to do.” He says through a soft laugh, his hands reaching out to pull your hands back down to the counter, his skin warm against yours, his hands lingering for just a moment longer then necessary before he pulls away. 

“You looked like you needed some peace, and this store always gives me a little sense of calm so I thought it might be for you too.” You say softly, nudging the book closer towards him as you send him an apologetic smile, “Consider this one on the house, as an apology for not being honest.” You say quickly, watching as Quinn’s jaw tightens a little a bit of his disappointment seeming to fade as he picks up the book and tucks it into his coat, tapping it to make sure it’s safely hidden away before he locks his gaze with yours. 

“I wasn’t just passing through today...” Quinn says, his voice barely above a whisper as he shoves his hands into his pocket, hesitating for a moment before saying, “I was planning on coming to see you.” 

“Oh, well I’m glad you did - even if things got a bit awkward.” You say, your sentence trailing off a little towards the end, the back of your neck heating up. 

“Yeah, I’m glad I came too…” He starts, glancing around the store before adding, “Even if things got a bit awkward.” He follows it with a soft chuckle, the gentle sound lifting the weight from your chest. He glances up at the clock behind you, frowning a little before saying, “I should probably head off, we have a game tonight.” The obvious mention of Hockey flutters the butterflies in your stomach, he was making it clear it didn’t bother him that you knew. 

“I’ll see you around?” He asks softly as he makes his way to the door, the book tucked safely in his coat, the offering of hot chocolate still steaming in front of you. 

“Of course—” You breathe out, “You know where to find me.” You mention, and Quinn just nods, letting out another laugh with a soft shake of his head before he leaves the store, shuffling his way down the street as you let out a long sigh — the shop is instantly quieter than before, the soft hum of your heater the only thing keeping your company, as you glance over at the book besides the till with a glare — but your hand still tingles from where he touched you, the way he had looked at you like you were more than just someone he passes by in his day to day life. 

+

+

The following week unfolds in much the same way—quiet mornings, steady afternoons, and the comforting routine of recommending books to customers. But every time the bell above the door rings, a small part of you hopes it’s him again. On a slow Thursday evening, as the rain drums steadily against the windows, the bell chimes, and there he is — Quinn — looking like a drowned rat and undeniably shaken. 

“You’re becoming a regular,” you tease but the smile fades from your face as you take in his expression. His eyes are wide and darting, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. Quinn looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Quinn?” you ask softly, concern replacing the lighthearted tone in your voice. You step out from behind the counter, keeping your movements slow and unthreatening, giving him time to retreat if that’s what he decides. 

“Hey, Quinn, are you okay?” He doesn’t answer you straight away, his body frozen as he glances around the store one more time, his hand running through his dripping hair before settling on you, your steps paused as you wait for him to respond, “I— I just…” He trails off, pressing a hand to his chest as if trying to physically hold himself together. “I needed to be somewhere…safe.” The weight of his words hits you, and your heart clenches. 

You scan the store, your last customer had been hours ago, and the later in the night it had gotten you had given up on pretending to be open - the lights were dimmed to a soft orange glow, the warm air seeping from the heater, your candle burning on the counter top. If he thinks of this place as safe, then you’ll do everything you can to keep it that way.

“Okay, that okay.” You say gently, trying not to sound condescending but not wanting to spook him, “you’re safe here Quinn.” You reiterate, glancing over at the large arm chair in the corner by the counter, drawing Quinn’s attention to it before asking, “Do you want to sit down, you’re looking a little pale?” He nods, but his movements are stiff and jerky, like his body isn’t quite obeying him.

 “I don’t know if I can.” He says softly. 

You nod, taking a few more steps forward, gently reaching your hands out to take hold of his - your palms slipping together as you start to walk backward, “I’ve got you, Quinn.” You guide him to the little seating nook by the fiction section, the one with the oversized armchair and the weighted knit throw you brought in a few days ago, after ending up stuck in the store with a lack of heater and freezing temperatures outside. “Here,” you say, draping the blanket over him once he sinks into the chair. His hands clutch the edges of the armrests, knuckles white. “Just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his breaths still coming too fast and shallow. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he manages a shaky inhale, following it with a slow, uneven exhale, his shoulders slumping forward as his eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of gratitude in them. “I’m sorry.” His voice is raw when he speaks, unable to push the words past his throat with the effort needed, his body slumping further into the chair, “I didn’t mean to barge in like this.” 

“Please don’t apologise, Quinn,” you say firmly, pulling up a stool so you’re sitting at his level, your hands gently placed on his knees in reassurance. “Everyone needs a place to land sometimes.” Quinn nods slightly, and his breathing starts to even out, though his hands are still trembling. 

“You want some tea?” you offer, keeping your tone light and warm. “Or maybe something stronger, if you’re in the mood for the questionable bottle of wine I keep in the back for emergencies.” That earns you a faint, fleeting smile. 

“Tea sounds good,” he says, his voice steadier now. You stand slowly, tugging the blanket further up his lap before shuffling to the back of the store and through the closed door that leads to your small break room, making quick work of the tea as you let out a long sigh, whatever had Quinn in such a panic, you were glad it lead him here. 

Because for now, he’s here, and he’s safe. And that’s enough. 

You return with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, the kind you save for late nights when the world feels too heavy. He takes it with a murmured “thanks,” his fingers still a little unsteady as they curl around the mug. You sit back down, scooting your stool a little further away from the armchair, close enough to offer reassurance but far enough to give him space.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The rain fills the silence, a soft, rhythmic backdrop. Quinn takes small sips of the tea, the warmth of the drink seeming to help him settle. His shoulders relax a fraction more, though the haunted look in his eyes hasn’t entirely faded. Quinn moves quickly, quicker than you thought he could as he grabs hold of the leg of your stool, dragging it until it hits the side of the armchair, your arm pressed against his as he settles back into drinking his tea, seemingly pleased with the small amount of contact he now has. 

Finally, after draining his mug, he breaks the silence. “I… I don’t usually get like this,” he says, his voice low and hesitant. He stares into the tea like it might hold the answers he’s searching for. “It’s just been… a lot lately.” You nod, not pushing him to say more. 

“Sometimes it builds up,” you say softly. “And then it feels like there’s no room left to hold it all.” He looks at you, his gaze piercing despite the exhaustion in it. 

“Exactly,” he says, almost surprised that you get it.

You shrug, offering a small, understanding smile. “I think everyone’s been there in one way or another. It doesn’t make it any less hard, though.”

Quinn exhales shakily and leans back in the chair, the mug cradled in his hands. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admits. “I was just… walking, and then I thought of this place.” The vulnerability in his words tugs at something deep inside you. 

“I’m glad you came, Quinn,” you say honestly. “You don’t have to explain and whatever’s going on, you’re welcome here...anytime.” For the first time since he walked in, the tension in his jaw eases. He nods, his lips pressing into a faint, almost smile. Quinn sits for a while, a long while, watching as you leave him momentarily to help a late-night customer before you close up the store, flipping the small open sign and locking the front door before returning to his side, pleased to see a little more colour in his face. 

The rain eventually softens to a light sprinkle, and the evening deepens into night, he looks at you again to find you already staring at him from your spot in front of the bookshelves, “I should probably head out,” he says, though he doesn’t seem entirely ready to leave.

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” you reply. “There’s no rush.”

He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll be okay. Thanks for… everything. For not making it weird.”

“Nothing about it is weird, Quinn — it’s a normal human reaction to being overwhelmed.”  Quinn’s smile this time is real, small but genuine. He sets the mug down and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. Before he steps out into the damp night, he pauses.

“Seriously, though, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say “you know where to find me if you need some company,” you add, and with that, he slips out into the night, the bell above the door chiming softly behind him. You watch him go, watching him walk down the street until he slips into a black car at the end, nothing moving for a while, the world seeming locked in place until the headlight of his car turn on and he pulls out and down the street. 

+

+

Your head shoots up at the familiar chime of the bell, your catch phrase ready on your tongue but it all disappears at the sight of Quinn standing in the entryway with an oversized bouquet of flowers, his cheeks a bright pink as he glances towards you nervously. 

“Well, Well, Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” You coo at him as he stalks towards the counter, you close your book dropping it on the wood surface before shooting him a bright smile, “if it isn’t my new favourite regular.” 

“New favourite?” He asks questioningly, a frown on his face for a moment as he asks, “Was your old favourite the barista from down the road? He did seem to have a bit of a crush on you.” You roll your eyes at his comment, hoping he was only joking as you motion towards the bouquet. 

“What are those?” 

“Oh, they’re for you.” He says softly, handing over the sunflowers wrapped in craft paper with twine holding it all together, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck as you take the flowers from him. “They reminded me of you, and felt like a good way to thank you for everything.” He explains, clearing his throat as you reach out a finger to gently stroke the soft yellow petals. 

“They’re beautiful, Quinn.” You say, whisking the flowers over to the counter and dropping into a squat to look for the white vase you keep here in case your shipments of new releases come with decorations. “Thank you for this but you didn’t have to.” You say softly, placing the vase on the counter and reaching for your scissors to release the bundle. 

“There was also one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” He begins, his hands trembling a little as he moves to tuck them into his coat pockets, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips as you rearrange the flowers in the vase patiently waiting for him to continue, “My team is having this skating event in a few weeks and I was wondering whether you might want to come?” His cheeks burn red as he watches your mouth fall open in surprise. 

“Like just as friends or—” 

“Like as a date?” Quinn interrupts, cursing himself in his head for being so rude, his eyes meeting yours as they light up with the smile blooming on your face. “Maybe we’re not at that stage yet, but I think you’re really cool and kind and like really pret— anyway I just thought there is no harm in asking.” He cuts off his rambling with a soft shrug, but his eyes dart over your face, measuring every small flicker of emotion he can. 

“I’d love to, Quinn.” You say quickly, stopping his shame spiral, “But I do have to warn you that I’m a pretty good skater, so don’t think you can impress me without any effort.” You chuckle, a smile finally lifting Quinn’s lips as he nods. 

“I’m sure I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to woo you.” He murmurs. 

“Good,” you tease, leaning slightly closer, your voice soft. “I can’t wait to see them.” Quinn swallows hard, his cheeks still pink as he nods again, his confidence growing with your encouragement.

“You might regret saying that,” he says with a small smirk. “I’ve been skating since I could walk, you know. People say I’m one of the best in the NHL”

“Oh, is that bragging I hear?” You snark back, setting the flowers on the window sill as you turn towards him with your arms crossed over your chest, “Is that a challenge, Quinn?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he replies, his smirk turning into a full grin now. “Guess you’ll have to show up to find out.”

“Oh, trust me I’ll be there,” you assure him, the excitement bubbling in your chest evident in your tone. “And don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re supposed to be a ‘professional.’”

Quinn chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as his nerves fade into pure anticipation. “Deal. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re struggling to keep up.”

“Those are fighting words, Hughes,” you fire back playfully. “I’ll see you on the ice.”

As you part ways, you can’t help but feel a rush of giddy energy. The thought of skating with him, of sharing a slice of his world, fills you with both nerves and excitement.

[eunoiaflow3r]

better than the books - ron weasley

requests open! please send some!

warning(s): language(?), smut, unedited, rushed ending

word count: 1.8k

request(ed): yes. “one day ron & harry are visiting hermione & reader in their dorm, where the girls are on hermione‘s bed, reading. reader‘s wearing the school uniform with a short skirt and when ron & harry come into the room they have a direct view of readers clothed pussy, because the skirt is so short. harry & ron are very flustered & ron can already feel the boner coming. harry takes this chance & says that him & hermione have to go get something & that ron & reader just stay here until they come back. idk how but somehow smut ensues where he’s fucking her soooo good & hard”

changed the request a bit but more or less the same lol.

————————————————————————

Ron almost couldn’t, no wouldn’t, well, didn’t want to, look away. You just looked so pretty. He and Harry had just come from the common room where they were playing games with Neville. After a few hours of it, they grew weary and thought of no better idea than to come bother the two of you. That was no small feat, of course, they had to do some sneaking and snooping as boys weren’t allowed in the girls’ dorms - but, sneaking was their specialty.

Now he was regretting it. You were sat on your bed, in a tight cami that hugged your torso - more specifically your breasts, where you wore no bra, and had short shorts on that left little to nothing to the imagination. Your smooth legs were pulled up so that your knees were in front of your chest, and you were reading a book that was laid lazily on the top of your knees. Your feet were tucked under the covers, but after no serious inspection there was no doubt that you weren’t wearing any panties.

Ron wanted to groan where he stood. There was no reason you had to look so good. He looked over to Harry. He wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. He was too busy arguing with Hermione about who knows what. That didn’t matter right now. He walked over and sat on the edge of your bed careful not to shift the blanket away from your feet. He knows how you get about your feet being cold - even though you didn't bother with socks at the moment. From this angle, he could see the way your knees pushed against your breasts making them perkier and bigger. He wished he could just reach out and touch them - feel the softness under his fingers. When he sat, you shifted to make room leaving him with a quick view of your hardened nipples. No doubt from the slight breeze in the room.

Ron felt like he was going to faint if he didn’t get this out of his system…and soon.

”How’s your book y/n?” He asks.

Unlike Hermione, the books you read were anything but educational and filled with knowledge. Most of the time they were pure sin on paper. Other times it was teeth rotting sweetness that would make any girl swoon to her knees. Right now, you were reading something that had a little bit of both with just a little more of that sin. You would never admit that to Ron though. I mean, how could you? It’s sort of embarrassing. What would he think if you knew you were reading such things? And what would he think if he knew that when you read the words on those pages…you were really thinking about him?

So you pivot. You close the book quickly and shove it under the pillow next to you.

”Nothing! I mean…nothing interesting…just science.”

“What's scientific about “Passions Promise?”

Fuck. He saw the title. You look over to Harry and Hermione and could see them talking. Much different than the bickering they were doing moments before. You couldn’t really hear what they were saying - they were being unusually quiet, but before you could attempt to eavesdrop or question them, they were getting themselves up and readying to leave.

“Hey!” You nearly leap out of bed - eager to put some distance between you and Ron. “Where are you guys going?”

When you got up, your shorts shifted so that he caught a quick glimpse of what was underneath. And not sure how possible, he was even harder than he was before. Unbeknownst to you, Harry shot Ron a wink before escaping through the door - luckily escaping your interrogation. You didn’t know it yet, but he was doing you a favor. He and Hermione were both sick of the two of you. The awkwardness, the tension. All because you couldn’t admit your feelings.

“Oh you know, we’re just taking a stroll. I’m hungry. Harry’s hungry. We’re going to go find something to eat.”

”But you hate sneaking around at night.”

”Well, yes, yeah, I know. If anything I won’t go much further than the common room. We’ll see, and we’ll be back.”

”But -“ Before you could finish she shut the door in your face and left you alone.

Well, not quite alone.

Ron watches as you turn around and loves the look on your face when you notice what he has in his hands. “Passions Promise.” He watches you take a step forward towards him and can’t help admire your body on the way over. Even though he could tell you were probably embarrassed and that just made him even more giddy. And horny. The things he would do to have you under him right now.

You were horrified. And he was smug. You could tell.

”Her body was on fire, his fingertips lit a blaze amongst her skin she had never felt with any man before. He pressed kisses down her stomach she swore could make her cum had he continued -“

”Ron!” You exclaimed cutting him off. You tried to snatch the book from him and found yourself between his legs while he held it over his head and away from you. Even though you had the height advantage, he was stronger. So so strong. That’s one of the things that turns you on about him. You know if he wanted to, he could have you off of him and away from the book in a second. But he wasn’t…he was playing a game.

You stopped trying to fight against him. It was no use. You were out of breath and so was he. His cheeks were a rosy color and his lips were puffed and bitten from trying to hold you back. He does that a lot. Bites his lip. It drives you crazy.

He looks at you and it’s as if his eyes are saying a million things his mouth aren’t. And boy did you wanna hear what his mouth had to say. You wanted to feel it too.

As soon as he walked into the room pajama pants low, sweater a bit baggy on his arms, and his hair disheveled in the way you loved - you wanted to jump his bones. He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - and he didn’t even know how handsome he was.

You felt as his hand - warm and comforting, made its way to the back of your thigh and pulled you forward. You took that as a hint to place both of your knees on either side of his waist and straddle him. He helped you get comfortable and you felt his hands wander.

Ron was in heaven. The girl of his dreams was in his lap and he honestly didn’t have any thought to be nervous. He just wanted you. His hands made his way up and down your thighs until finally he felt comfortable enough to grab your ass and squeeze. He smiled when he heard you softly moan. He could feel your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“So is that what you want Y/n?”

”What?”

He brings one of his hands to your stomach lightly massaging the area.

”Kisses down your stomach you swear could make you cum?”

”Ron…”

He started kissing your neck and he could feel as you started to grind against him.

Why have you guys never done this before? Why did he wait so long?

He made his way down your neck and then down your chest. He started sucking a spot onto the top of your breast he knew would leave a mark but he didn’t care

“Tell me Y/N…”

“Yes Ron, please.”

And honestly, that’s all he needed before he stood up with you in his arms and laid you on your back. He kissed you - it was hot and sweet and feverish. He went back to trying to kiss his way down but you had other plans.

You can admit that you were a little impatient. You had waited so long for this the foreplay was the anticipation of you two finally being able to do this. Your hands went down to find the waistband of his pants and he bucked forwards once he felt your hand accidentally, or not so accidentally brushing his dick.

He helped you take them off and went to kiss you before grinding himself against you. Your shorts were long gone. You both moaned at the contact. You needed more.

“Please Ron, please just fuck me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

As he pulls down his underwear you grab a condom from your bedside drawer. He raises his eyebrows at you cheekily but takes it. You watch as he rolls it on and your mouth waters. He was big, curved and just…perfect.

You pull him down to your for a kiss by his neck and he kisses you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He prods as if asking for permission and you nod. You both moan when he’s fully inside and before you know it he has a rhythm going and he’s hitting that spot inside of you. This was better than any words on paper or scenario you could imagine.

This was real, this was tangible. What you’ve wanted for so long was finally happening. It felt so good that you never wanted it to stop. His moans were like music to your ears and you started to think of things you could do just so you could hear them again.

There wasn’t a prettier picture to Ron then what was under him. Well, who was under him. He swore he would love to see your beautiful face twisted up in pleasure for the rest of his life, as long as he was the one who could always pleasure you.

His hand trailed down to your clit which caused you to squeeze around him tighter. He nearly came on the spot but he wanted to wait until you came first.

You were shaking. The penetration plus the stimulations was just too much for you to handle and quickly you were cumming around his dick.

“Fuck, Ron, please fuck I’m cumming.”

“It’s okay baby let it go. Cum for me.”

You came and felt as Ron gently pulled out to cum as well. If you weren’t so tired you’d make a move to cover up but, you were properly fucked out.

Once Ron caught his breath he found your shorts and helped slide them back onto you.

“You’re so beautiful Y/N.”

“Shut up.”

He smiles to himself and gets himself situated as well. Before he could talk to you and and try and discuss where you guys stood now, the door was creaking open and Fred, Harry, and Hermione were coming through.

“God it reeks of sex in here what on Earth -“ Fred starts before eyeing you and Ron. “Oh finally I was starting to think you didn’t have the balls Ronny boy I -“

Ron leaps up and starts to push Fred out of the room.

“Alright that’s enough of that everyone! Show’s over. Y/N, I will see you tomorrow love and I’m expecting a recap of that wonderful novel of yours. We can talk about what it all means -“

“Or maybe reenact what it all means.” Fred interrupts cheekily.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VI

series masterlist - part five

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: Your relationship with the Emperors develops further and you are forced to trust them.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, dub-con, mentions of past domestic violence, toxic/unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, possessive behavior, unedited

Word Count: 3.1k

It was not until the doors closed behind you that you fully understood the gravity of the situation. Caracalla stood in the centre of the main room, chest heaving, fists clenched. Streaks of blood still decorated his hands and lower arms.

It was like that first night in some ways. Only Caracalla had been mostly afraid that night; now, he was angry.

"Emperor," you tried, "shall I go fetch Dondus-"

"No!" he cried, throwing his arms out. They collided with a vase and it shattered onto the marble floor. You stifled a whimper and straightened your spine. Another glass followed in quick succession and you could only watch as he became a whirlwind of flying ornaments and red hair.

"Even Dondus cannot help me," he bemoaned, finally sinking to the floor amongst the porcelain. "No against the liars and traitors that have infiltrated this hellish place. They would see me killed."

He was speaking so rapidly that spittle was flying from his red lips. He raked a hand through his curls and dragged it down his face, smearing a mixture of blood and tears.

You did not feel fully confident in your own words. Not when he was so worked up. Thinking quickly, you opened the door again and requested a warm bowl of water, some ointment and a cloth.

You flinched at the ferocity in Caracalla's eyes when you turned back around, bowl in hand. The room was dark, lit only by flickering candlelight in the section you were currently in. He looked tortured, furious, but you swallowed down your apprehension and cautiously approached him.

"Were you going to leave just then?" he said, unblinking.

You set the bowl on a table. "Of course not. I wanted to get some things so I could attend to you, Caracalla."

It had been a gamble using his name, despite the fact that he was the one who had told you to. Fortunately it had the desired effect and his shoulders slumped a little, his eyes flickering.

"You're standing on porcelain," you held out your hands, "come, I do not wish to see your injured."

He grasped your hands with a surprisingly strong grip and allowed himself to be pulled from the mess. You went to turn around and ask the guards to send someone to clean it but he held you tight and shook his head, lip curling.

"Alright," you agreed, "but we must be careful. Where are the matches?"

Caracalla held still as you ventured deeper into his chambers. Like Geta's, they were larger than anything you could have even imagined. It took several moments to get the place fully lit.

Caracalla's rooms were a sad reflection of his own mind. Books spilled across the floor, bedding that had clearly been made and then torn up. His desk was cluttered with papers and ink spills. There were many, many candles. Most of them had been entirely burned down. You wondered how many nights he had spent here, alone, working himself into a frenzy.

Once you were ready, you went back to him and collected your supplies. He followed you without you having to say anything. You lead him to the bed and gestured for him to sit down, pulling over a small chair and balancing the steaming bowl on top of it.

"Do you mind if I check your feet?" you asked.

Caracalla shook his head. You unlaced his sandals and peered at the bottom of his feet. Apart from a few scratches on the side, he was uninjured.

You dipped your cloth into the water and pressed it onto the scratches to make sure they weren't more serious than they appeared. Afterwards you dabbed them with ointment to speed up the healing process.

What kind of treatment would the concubine Caracalla had set upon receive? If you did not continuously remind yourself of the people who were hurt as a result of the emperors you feared you would feel too much sympathy for them. Already you felt more than expected.

"Can I see your hands?"

Obediently he held them out. Dabbing the cloth into the water, you began the slow process of cleaning up his hands. The blood was mostly not his own but there was a rather deep cut on his pointer finger.

The water became murky as you cleaned him, knees pressed into the floor at his feet. The blood turned dark in the water and you could smell iron. You did not pause in your work.

When you were done, Caracalla leaned forward, breath dusting across your cheeks. When he was so close you could see the scars on his cheeks, white makeup hastily applied over them. There were streaks in the makeup from his tears. It was difficult not to see him for the human he was when he was up close.

"And you? Are you hurt?" he questioned.

"I am fine," you tried to smile, sensing a change in the air.

When you got to your feet, Caracalla's hands shot out to grasp your waist. They were hot through the fabric of your stola and you stilled.

"I think," he breathed heavily, "that I should check."

His eyes turned dark with desire and you swayed under the intensity of it. The mood had changed so fast that your head was spinning atop your shoulders.

Your skin prickled with gooseflesh as Caracalla's thumbs swiped across the fabric at your waist. He was unashamed; eyes roaming your face and jumping lower and lower with every second. Your own hands were resting on his forearms as though you might dare to stop him.

"Is that a command?" you asked.

Caracalla smiled, gold tooth winking in the light. "I do not think I have to command you."

Shame coursed through you. You should have felt disgust or reluctance. Instead you were overwhelmed by the ball of want that was tightening your stomach.

You were a woman with needs, desires. The attractiveness of the emperors had never been up for debate. Any interest had been previously squashed by horror but that was not the primary emotion you felt when you looked at Caracalla.

You had been around them so often that you guard had lowered without your permission. Perhaps you were a traitor - not to Caracalla, but to yourself.

"I thought I dreamed you," Caracalla continued, hands rising, "and I thought I was dreaming still when I saw the way you looked at me."

"With kindness? With care?" you tried.

"Those things too," he admitted, "but more. What was it you said before? I think I do not have to take. I think you want to give."

It was not true. You tried to take a step back but Caracalla followed you, backing you against the wall. His eyes were greedily drinking in every expression you made, fixated on your face.

"It's okay," he soothed, nosing at your jawline. "I'll take care of you, too."

His hand secured itself at the back of your neck and you sucked in a breath. Caracalla looked at you one last time before closing the distance and kissing you.

His lips were rough from where he'd bitten them. The pressure varied from intense to lighter, searching for your reciprocation. You could not help it. Your instinct and had always been to calm him and you felt yourself lean in, opening your mouth so he could explore.

His hands were working steadily at your stola, yanking the shoulders down until they tore and exposed your breasts. At that he leant back, taking in the sight of you.

"I have thought of this a thousand times," he muttered, shaky hands coming up to cup your chest and urge a gasp from your lips.

Caracalla leaned down and you watched as his mouth closed around the tip of your breast. You tried to turn your head and bring your palm up to cover your mouth but he yanked your hand away and directed it to his head.

His curls were soft beneath your fingers and you could not help but squeeze. The sensation drove a moan from Caracalla and his teeth grazed your nipple, creating the pain you had always expected to experience with him. His hands travelled from your back to your ass, urging you to hike your leg higher around his hips.

In that position his desire was unavoidable. You could feel the hard line of him pressing against you through your clothes and your knees almost buckled. Caracalla used his body to pin you against the wall. You felt like a pinned butterfly, almost entirely on display.

Whatever spell you were under broke when you registered the sound of the door opening and closing. You writhed away from Caracalla, snatching your stola from where it had pooled at your waist and pulling it up to your neck.

Caracalla was torn between hurt and sexual frustration. He palmed at his erection through his clothes and frowned, holding out his hand as though you were going to run right back to him.

Geta appeared and you wanted to melt from shame. Your hands twisted in your clothes at the speechless expression on his face. You could only imagine what he thought he was going to walk in to after he had seen all the broken glass and factored in Caracalla's rage at the gathering. It would not have been the first time a slave or servant had died at the hands of the emperors.

"You always ruin things," Caracalla sneered, shoving half heartedly at his brother.

Geta still said nothing, his eyes darting from his brother to you. Last night he had been so sure that you had tried to escape, only to find you in the arms of his brother. It was likely you appeared as confused as you felt.

Caracalla called your name and tried again, "Come back to me."

"I-I-," you attempted to speak but your throat was crushed under the weight of your embarrassment.

Without thinking, you slipped past them both and ran for the doors. You must have caught them by surprise because you managed to escape, the soles of your feet stinging from the glass you'd ran through. The sandals had not protected you the way they had Caracalla but you did not stop.

If the Praetorians were surprised at your state of undress and obvious distress, they did not say. You heard raised voices behind you but continued to run. Hot tears of humiliation lapped at your cheeks and you could not wipe them away. Your hands were the only thing holding up your clothing.

There was little point to running. You had nowhere to go. The only place that even felt remotely safe was your little room. You slowed down as you approached, finally lifting your torn stola to swipe at the tears as you began to calm down. You just needed a moment to yourself, a moment to think. The only person you could rely upon was yourself but you were becoming unpredictable.

Your steps faltered. The door to your room was hanging open, swaying lightly in some phantom wind. A big section of the wood had been broken away as though someone had been trying to get inside.

Had successfully gotten inside, you corrected yourself. You stood in the doorway to your room, jaw hanging open. Considering you had almost nothing to your name, whoever had broken in had done a great job of turning the place upside down.

A blanket of silence had enveloped the place. You felt as though the gods were holding their breath, anticipating your reaction.

The bedside table was smashed. Sections of the wooden bed frame had also been torn at and your clothing had been ripped to shreds so thin that it took you a second to recognize them. Straw had been pulled from the mattress and decorated almost every inch of the floor.

There was an unfamiliar scent in the air; the scent of the intruder. Your nose wrinkled and your stomach roiled. You felt violated.

It took you a moment to spot your carving amongst the straw. You gasped, bending down to pick it up.

"No, no, no," you cries became increasingly louder. "No!"

The piece you had picked up was only a part of the carving. The wolf's head was cracked in your hand and as you scanned the floor you realized you were probably lucky to have even found this piece.

What was happening? You could not comprehend what would provoke someone to do this. A memory arose of a similar scene; you, your mother. Your father yelling as he destroyed your small home in a similar fashion. The wolf had survived then. Not this time.

It took you a moment to register the voices behind you.

"What is this?" Geta's eyes scanned the room. "Did you do this?"

"No," you said, numb. You twisted the broken head in your fingers, splinters embedding themselves in your skin.

Geta strode over to you and peered over your shoulder. When he saw what you were holding he swore. You heard him fumbling about behind you and jolted when he reappeared holding a scrap of your clothing.

"Give that to me," he ordered. He used the clothing to safely wrap the remainder of your childhood and then pressed it back into your hand. "Praetorians!"

Caracalla had followed closely behind his brother and seemed equally as stunned at the state of your room. He stepped carefully around chunks of wood until he was able to slide his hands into your armpits and hoist you to your feet.

"Stay close," he warned, eerily lucid.

"What?" you stammered. "I - I do not understand. Why would someone - "

"The why is irrelevant!" Geta yelled. He was talking to a group of Praetorians just outside your room. "The how is crucial. How did someone manage to come this close to the quarters of the emperors, destroy a room, and slip out unnoticed?"

You thought of your own brief exploration of the gardens the night before. It had been hardly ten minutes before Geta had appeared. You had thought it was perhaps easier to sneak out than in - now you thought differently.

"Brother, take her to your rooms." Geta commanded. "Follow them closely!"

You were too shaken to argue and Caracalla's grip on you was iron tight. Your hands trembled at your neck where they were still holding up your stola, broken wolf pressed between your palms. Six Praetorians accompanied you the short distance back to Caracalla's rooms and you could hear Geta screaming the entire time.

"I do not care if you have to interrogate every single person in this palace, I want the culprit found by morning!"

You shivered. You would not want to be on the receiving end of that. You waited for the pity to rise at the thought of someone being tortured for what they had done to your room. Then you felt the broken shards of wood pressing into your palm and they helped you swallow any empathy you might have felt.

The walk to Caracalla's room felt like a mere blink. Lights flickered on all around the palace as everyone was awoken by Geta's yelling. You wondered what your friends down in the kitchen would think of it all.

Caracalla helped you into his bed and you went without protest. He had stripped you down to nothing and for a moment you thought he might try to start up what you were doing earlier. Instead he wrapped you in white linen, tucking it tightly around you. He did not try to take your wolf.

Once he was dressed in a similar fashion, he slid right in beside you. The bed was jarringly comfortable. You used the pillows to prop yourself up and did not move away when Caracalla pressed himself tightly to your side.

The pair of you sat in silence for several minutes as you attempted to process what had happened in the last few hours.

"I don’t understand," you finally said. "Why would someone do that?"

"To hurt you," he answered, tracing patterns on your bare arms. "Perhaps they would have done worse if they had come across you."

You did not miss the pointed tone in his voice. It had been foolish to flee his rooms the way you had. And what if he had not dragged you from the entertainment hall earlier? What if you had been in your room when the culprit had gone there?

For once you felt as though you understood Caracalla's paranoia. How could you get over someone wanting to cause you harm? And, even worse, you would have to walk around without knowing who it was. They could attack you at any moment.

As if reading your thoughts, Caracalla said, "Do not worry. We shall catch the vermin and have them hung."

The words had no effect on you. Partially because you did not see how they would be able to catch the person who did this. Partially because the idea of having them hung appealed to you in ways that should have made you sick but did not.

Kill or be killed, you thought.

Geta entered Caracalla's rooms almost an hour later. Both of you were still awake.

"What happened?" you asked, desperate for information.

Geta paused at the foot of Caracalla's bed, eyeing the pair of you with a funny look on his face. He smoothed it out before replying, "The Praetorians are combing over the place as we speak. I have ten stationed outside the door right now."

You slumped. Whoever had done it had yet to be uncovered.

"They will be found," Geta spat. "That was not the first incident we have had to deal with here and it shall serve as a lesson to others."

Something about the way he spoke made you look at him closely. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were watery. The fact that you had been in danger tonight meant that they also had been in danger. Geta was furious but you could see the underlying stress.

"Are you staying here as well?" the question slipped out before you could think about it.

Geta's lips trembled. "It would be safest. For you."

Wordless, you peeled back the covers on your left side. The most dangerous people in your world were somehow the ones currently making you feel safest. It evoked emotions that you did not care to think about; you were too exhausted and angry to see beyond the present moment.

Caracalla wrapped himself around you as though he thought you might try to escape. Geta joined the pair of you in bed after he had put out all the candles, leaving only the moon to illuminate the bed and surrounding furniture.

You pushed the remains of your wolf under the pillow, let your eyes close and tried not to think too hard about the possessive hand Geta placed on your stomach.

Author’s Note - Reader's world is growing smaller. Please, please let me know what you think! Asks, comments, likes and reblogs are hugely motivating and rewarding for me🥹

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[pazziescapism]

Break Our Ice - Chapter 1

pairing: paige x azzi

wc: 7.8k (what?? holy shit)

au fic what??, figureskater!Azzi x icehockeyplayer!Paige

fake dating, just like playful banter teasing relationship to lovers, basically paige and azzi dancing around each other

a/n: okay so!! first post/fic kinda nervy..AHAH all these great writers on here have really inspired me so yeahhh, I haven't written fanfic or really written anything in a REALLLYY long time so um yea im a little rusty ngl. anyway, the motivation needs to keep pumping so i would love to here some live reacts or just any comments and feedback, lwk unedited so like if u see anything just lmk so here goes nothing!! love y'all (wait also im from australia, yep, all the way down under, i tried writing this with like american spelling n what not cuz we use british english) - but if i made any mistakes again let me know <3

Over a decade of figure skating, and Azzi hasn't ever hit anyone with an ice skate.

She was currently considering it, but she figured that the fact she hadn’t was mostly a sign that she was a good person, on the account that she thought of it and was actively refraining. Surely, that made her a better person than someone who never had to resist the temptation.

“Thank you for that fascinating look inside your brain,” Caroline says when Azzi voices this thought. “I hope you see a therapist about these disturbing violent urges.”

“Nobody likes a backseat psychologist,” Azzi tells her, and twists away before Caroline can tell her she’s misusing the phrase or something unwaveringly supportive.

It’s easy to lose herself in the motions of this routine, which is a beginner practice she chose for a cooldown. And the quieter her mind gets, the less homicidal she feels, which is probably better for everyone all around.

“Oi,” someone calls from the spectator stands, and Azzi’s mind splashes red very briefly. “I just said we booked this rink.”

Paige, the potential victim of ice-skate homicide, is looking over the stands, her jawline clenched in a way that looks very lickable (but she very quickly buried that thought).

“Didn’t you hear?” Azzi says brightly, spinning away, one foot crossing gracefully over the other. “You aren’t allowed to book the rink on the first Saturday of the month! It’s free use!” She calls over her shoulder.

She spins back around in time to see Jana, the giant Egyptian on their team, straighten up to a full height of probably 6’2. “Oh, okay! Sorry to bother you!”

She turns to leave and is stopped by Paige’s hand gripping her shoulder.

“Jana,” Paige says, her eyes shutting briefly as if praying for patience. “Wisen up, huh?”

Azzi snickers, sliding nearer to see that angry jawline up close, but her fun is quickly spoiled by the sight of the hockey team coach approaching the rink, evidently coming to see what the hold-up was.

“Ah, well,” she says hastily, crossing to the other edge to exit the rink. “I tried!” She yells across the ice to where the team is, and she swears on her life she can see Paige try to hide a smile.

She meets up with Caroline in the locker room, because of course Caroline had left at the specified time instead of sticking with Azzi to piss off the hockey team.

It wasn’t that Azzi enjoyed it, really. She was just generally opposed to getting walked over. If the end result was that the delicious-looking vein in Paige’s neck began to show, that was only a side benefit.

(And if Azzi and Kaitlyn occasionally go to their games, Azzi will maintain to her dying day that it is actually to throw them off their game and not an attempt at manifestation.)

“A poked bear may stumble in its sleep but eventually its eyes will open,” Caroline tells her.

“Caroline, you really are a weird girl,” Azzi says. “Repeat that with real-life words, please.”

Caroline thinks this over. “One of those guys is going to snap and hit you one of these days,” she offers instead.

Azzi scrunches her nose in disdain. “You should be more worried about me snapping.”

“I am,” Caroline says. “I’m worried that them snapping will make you snap and then we’ll get banned from this rink.”

“Out of curiosity,” Azzi asks, swinging her bag of practice clothes over her shoulder. “Why are you getting banned in this scenario?”

“I wouldn’t cooperate with law enforcement when they came to arrest you,” Caroline says solemnly.

Azzi stares at her, strangely touched. “Thank you. I’ll try not to get arrested.”

This resolution is tested immediately after leaving the rink, which had admittedly not been in Azzi’s plans.

“Azzi!” Jayden yells at her, jogging over from where he had been standing by his car parked outside the rink. “Hey, Azzi, listen-”

“I’ll piss on your grave and listen to your corpse roll,” Azzi says, but only quietly and only to herself.

“I got two tickets to a hockey game a week from now,” Jayden says, catching up to her, smiling that horrible smile that makes Azzi want to knock his teeth out. “I got a lot of girls asking me to come, but I thought I’d take you out.”

“Oh, did you?” Azzi asks, as flatly as possible. She’s already walked to the bus stop, and now she’s stuck waiting there while Jayden talks at her.

“C’mon, we can make a whole thing out of it,” Jayden says, oblivious to the murderous vibes Azzi is projecting.

“Not interested,” Azzi says. “Take one of the girls.”

“Aw, but I want to take you,” Jayden says, almost whining. “Besides,” oh god here it comes, “you do kind of owe me, for the whole free rink access.”

There it is. There is how Azzi has been roped into accepting nearly every invitation this stupid bastard has thrown her way over the last few months out of some desperate attempt to try and buy his way into her pants.

“I owe your dad,” Azzi reminds him, though she knows it won’t work. “Who owns the rink. Not you.”

“You know my dad wouldn’t want you to turn this down,” Jayden responds, like he always does. “He wants us to get closer.”

Azzi, in no small way, owed Geno her career, a debt that mattered more to her than any other chain she was attached to. And, no, Geno would not want Azzi strong-armed into going on pseudo-dates with his son, but it would make him upset if Azzi started fighting with the bastard, which was bound to happen soon because Jayden did not like to be told no.

“I can’t,” Azzi says, more out of spite than anything else.

“Why not?”

“I-” Azzi licks her lips and stares at the pimple sprouting on Jayden’s chin as maliciously as possible. She hopes it explodes. “I have a girlfriend who wouldn’t like that.”

Even as she says it, she regrets it. She isn’t even sure why she said it.

“A girlfriend,” Jayden echoes, his tone incredulous.

“A girlfriend,” Azzi maintains, desperately committed to her sinking ship. “She’s kind of overprotective, really.”

God, she’s fucked the second Jayden asks to see a picture. Or by next week, when Jayden inevitably asks why her so-called girlfriend has yet to drop by when Azzi practices. And then she’ll have to explain that she lied, and then Geno will look at her all confused and disappointed like the time Azzi had basically melted the entire rink by accidentally turning off a master switch that killed all the power in the building, and then her career and all her professional relationships will be burned down and it’ll all be Azzi’s own fault because she can’t keep her mouth shut and deal with a couple hours with Jayden. And apparently she likes to self-sabotage.

Azzi feels like she’s going to vomit. She feels like the sidewalk she’s standing on is starting to cave in beneath her, like the sky is suddenly bearing down on her shoulders, too heavy to carry, so close to pushing her to her knees.

“Hey!” A familiar voice calls from behind her. “You forgot your skates!” Azzi manages to turn on shaky legs to see Paige jogging towards her in sweatpants and her hockey jersey. She’s carrying a pink bag that had been a present from Kaitlyn, which Azzi uses to store her skates when she’s taking the bus.

“Ah, Paige” she manages to say through the depths of her spiralling thoughts.

She’s got a light sheen of sweat on her forehead- she’s probably been practicing, Azzi thinks dizzily- and her shoulders seem especially broad with that jersey on.

“Here,” Paige says, holding the bag out. When Azzi doesn’t make a move to take it, she clicks her tongue and, in a shockingly gentle movement, pulls Azzi’s hand up herself, so that she can place the bag on her palm. Then Azzi takes it, clumsily adjusting her grip so she’s holding it properly by the handles. Her breath is still coming too fast, her lungs burning in his chest.

A heavy hand settles on her shoulder, fingers settling near the nape of her neck shaking her lightly so that Paige can peer up into her eyes. “Hey,” she says, in a voice so soft it could have given Azzi an instant warmth in her con other, much different, circumstances. “What’s wrong with you?”

Paige’s hair is in its usual braided style, always neat, yet effortless like someone hadn't even wasted a second of their time putting it up like that. She’s got nice eyes, Azzi's noticed them before. A sort of blue that pierces into your soul and stays there. Her eyebrows are currently pulled down low, making the skin of her forehead wrinkle. 

Jayden, who had been blissfully silent, up until now, decides to chime in. “Is this the girl?”

Paige steps forward, frowning. “Who’s this?” She asks, and she’s talking to Azzi but she’s looking at Jayden, and Azzi’s never been quite this grateful for Paige’s slight resting bitch face before. 

“Just a friend,” she says smoothly. “Azzi, properly introduce us sometime, okay?”

“Sure thing!” Azzi says, as nicely as possible, which makes Paige head turn towards him again. It doesn’t matter because Jayden is already slithering back into his car that cost way too much money, not to mention insurance premiums, making excuses about why he has to leave.

It’s only once Azzi can’t even see the fumes created by that hideous fucking car that she lets her shoulders drop, her forehead drooping to rest on Paige’s shoulders. A little voice in her brain pops up to tell her that, in normal circumstances, she would rather die than be this vulnerable in front of this girl. But right now, in these circumstances, Azzi has just barely avoided having a panic attack in public and Paige’s jersey smells sweaty but not dirty, and her shoulders are such a steady place to rest her tired head.

“Um.” Paige says, and then a hesitant hand is rubbing her back, up and down in comforting strokes.

“Thank god you’re so scary, p,” Azzi mumbles, fisting his hands into jersey material on both sides of Paige’s chest, unwilling to pull away just yet. Fortunately, Paige doesn’t try to move, just keeps running her hand down Azzi back. It’s oddly comforting, Azzi’s breath starting to level out again.

“Don’t tell me you were letting that guy bully you,” Paige says, disbelieving. “You? I once saw you make Nika cry. Actual tears!”

Azzi laughs, despite herself, and finally stands up straight. She reluctantly releases the jersey she had clenched in her fists, and watches the material stay gathered where she had grabbed it.

“It’s hard to explain,” she says. “And I think your teammates are looking for you.”

KK has, in fact, wandered out, her hockey stick held out in front of her chest like a protective barrier.

“They were probably worried we’d killed each other,” Paige says, and makes a gesture Azzi can’t see at KK, who beams and gives her a thumbs up before running back inside.

“She did look glad to be out of the crossfire,” Azzi says, amused.

“Ah, you scare her,” Paige says dismissively, and then looks at her carefully. “Hey, uh-”

Azzi’s not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t for Paige to step forward and chuck her under the chin. “Cheer up, alright?“

“You’re ridiculous,” Azzi says exasperatedly. She doesn’t say thank you, but she hopes Paige can see it in her eyes. Maybe not. Either way, Azzi thinks, watching the girl lope away, she had been a temporary solution to a much bigger problem.

“It’s not a problem,” Kaitlyn tells her that evening. Azzi thinks she might be rolling her eyes, but she can’t tell because her face is smashed into her couch cushion, so all she can see is the thin cracks beginning to line the fabric. Kaitlyn is prone to rolling her eyes when Azzi complains to her, so it’s a strong possibility.

“It is a problem,” Azzi says into the couch, not budging from her comatose position. “I’m never leaving my apartment again. My body will atrophy, and my flesh will rot, and you’ll find it here, on this couch, being eaten by flies.”

“You sure have a talent for dramatics,” Kaitlyn says, blatantly unsympathetic. “If figure skating doesn’t work out, I’m sure you have a career waiting for you in monologuing.”

“I think you would make a great Hamlet,” Caroline adds helpfully, perched on Azzi’s armchair like an overgrown crow, brown hair cascading how her shoulders. 

“Or the evil witches in Macbeth,” Kaitlyn says.

“I wish you guys were dead,” Azzi says, and rolls over onto her back so she’s looking at the ceiling instead. God, her ceiling is so fucking ugly, and she can’t even get it fixed because she’s never going to the Olympics, and she’s going to be poor and useless and tragically beautiful for the rest of her life-

“What is wrong with you?” Caroline says, and Azzi realizes belatedly that she’d been saying all of that out loud.

“I’m so fucked,” Azzi says, and her voice shakes more than she had meant it to. “What do I do?”

“You could confess you lied,” Kaitlyn suggests. “And say it was a spur of the moment thing, whoopsie.”

“And then what?” Azzi says glumly. “I’m stuck following Jayden anywhere he wants to go for the rest of his life, and being polite to him even when he starts acting like I’m some kind of Oliver Twist orphan his father took in and nurtured and I owe him my first born child”

“Christ,” Caroline says. “Just get your little hockey player to pretend she’s your girlfriend.”

Azzi sits up at that, tousled strands of hair falling out of her braids. “Are you completely insane?”

“I think it’s a good plan,” Kaitlyn says, unerringly loyal to the end. “You’re so smart, carol.”

“It’s an awful plan,” Azzi hisses. “What am I supposed to say? Sorry I’ve been actively antagonizing you and your team for a bit, please pretend to be my girlfriend to keep my career alive, and also if you notice I can’t stop blushing when you’re near me, don’t pay it any mind, I just think you’re really pretty?”

“Not exactly like that,” Caroline says. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

Azzi stares at her for a minute, trying to will Kaitlyn to show some sort of outward contradiction. When it doesn’t work, she collapses with a huff back onto the couch. “I’m fucked,” she repeats.

KK the first one to notice her the next day, hovering awkwardly around the entrance as the team wraps up. Azzi remembers what Paige had said about KK being scared of her, so she tries her nicest smile, giving a small wave with her right hand.

“Hey!” KK says easily, coming up to her. She’s still in her hockey gear, but her ice skates are off. “Are you looking for Paige?”

“I am, yeah,” Azzi says slowly. “How did you know that?”

KK blinks at her, her head tilting slightly to the side in silent question. “You’re always looking for Paige.”

“Am not,” Azzi says, too defensively but she’s saved from hearing whatever KK has to say about that when Nika comes up to them, slinging an arm over KK’s shoulders, and making a mean face at Azzi.

“Don’t bully KK, her nerves can’t handle it,” Nika says and then takes a closer look at her face, and stops, eyes narrowing. “Woah, what’s wrong with you today?”

Azzi can’t imagine what she looks like right now. She has trouble sleeping at the best of times, and last night had been one of the worst. She had spent most of it lying on her back and picturing herself penniless and destitute, until the swirling darkness had seemed to take on a physical shape and that shape had started to laugh at her. By the time she’d gotten up, she hadn’t even had time to fix her hair, or cover up the dark circles that had formed under her eyes.

She pictures herself, her hair tangled and her skin greasy, and a new zit starting to pop-up over her cheekbone and just about turns herself around and walks out of the building all together.

“Azzi,” Nika says, “Azzi, Azzi, Azzi.” She’s waving a hand in front of Azzi’s face, concerned eyebrows visible through the gaps in her fingers.

Azzi flinches and smacks her hand away. “Listen,” she says. “I’m not in the mood to argue today. Is Paige here?”

Nika and KK have matching flabbergasted expressions, which is less than flattering. “You’re not in the mood?” Nika asks, like Azzi has just told her the Earth is going to get flattened by an asteroid in thirty seconds.

“I’m just-” It’s occurring to Azzi that this is possibly a really terrible plan and she should go home and think it over some more, without Kaitlyn’s cackling laugh in her ear, or at least come back with her hair brushed properly. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood, I’m gonna go, honestly-”

“No, don’t go!” KK says quickly, her hand lashing out to wrap around Azzi’s arm. Azzi stares at her dead-eyed, and she winces and repeats, quieter. “Don’t go, Paige’s just changing out. She took a hard hit today, so we let her off without helping clean up. She should be here any second.”

“Azzi?”

“Speak of the devil!” KK says, sounding relieved and steps fully away from Azzi so she can see Paige approaching them, a long bag slung over her back. Her jacket is nice, Azzi notices, an expensive brand Azzi sees at competitions sometimes. It’s zipped up fully, the black fabric clinging tight to every defined muscle in her arms and chest.

“You don’t practice here today,” Paige says. She looks concerned too. Azzi is getting a little tired of these hockey players looking concernedly at her.

Azzi can think of fifty million different things to say here. Maybe a ‘how did you know that?’ or a ‘what do you care?’ or ‘hey can I talk to you?’

What comes out of her mouth is, “are you okay?”

Because Paige’s got a red, swelling mark on her jaw, sure to darken into a bruise over the next hour. She seems a little surprised by the question, her eyebrows lifting. “Yeah, just took a hit this practice. It happens.”

“Right,” Azzi says, because she knows that, because she’s seen a hockey game before. She shifts from foot to foot carefully. She’s become horribly aware of how her tongue is sitting in her own mouth. “Happens.”

“Yeah,” Paige says slowly. She looks like she wants to check Aziz’s temperature. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No,” Azzi snaps immediately, her shoulders rising to her chin. “Do I look tired to you?”

The answer is yes, probably, and it would be right. Azzi is exhausted, and she does want very badly to sit down. Still, something in her eyes must show that Azzi is running low on straws to grab at, because Paige doesn’t say yes immediately, just pauses and shakes her head slowly.

KK and Nika are both still there, Nika draped over KK’s back, watching the two of them like she’s seeing a particularly rough tennis match.

“What are you guys still doing here?” Azzi says, irritated.

Nika only smiles insufferably, lips curling up. “There she is. All back to normal. C’mon KK, let’s leave them alone.”

Azzi watches them traipse off, her irritation rising inexplicably when she sees they’re holding hands.

“I actually fell when I got hit,” Paige says apologetically, distracting her. “So if you’re here to see me, I’m going to need to sit down. For my leg. Which hurts.”

Azzi fixes her in place with a hard glare, her feet firmly planted where they are.

Paige’s eyebrow twitches, just a little. She grabs her leg, completely unconvincing. “Ouch.”

The glare is getting a little hard to keep up.

“Fuck,” Azzi says, after a moment, feeling the burning frustration in her throat subside. It hits her suddenly, as her mind clears, what she must look like to Paige, and her lips twitch. Paige’s eyes widen in alarm and Azzi breaks into laughter, a genuine laugh, rising up from her chest, her shoulders dropping back down, her body relaxing like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Sorry,” she says to Paige, who is staring at her. “That wasn’t hysteria. Sorry. I just realized I was being stupid. Also, you suck at lying. Let’s go sit down.”

Azzi kicks absent-mindedly at the legs of Paige’s chair, too nervous to look up and meet her eyes. “So, that’s the situation,” she says. It sounds more insane when she says it out loud than it had when she’d practiced it.

“Sure,” Paige says. They’ve sat down in a dingy little fast food place next to the ice rink, empty at this time of day, which is good for professional athletes who need to discuss crazy people schemes in relative privacy. A packet of limp fries sits between them, grease saturating the packet, spreading in blobs across the thin paper.

“Sure,” Azzi mimics. Her kicking grows faster, the chair legs squeaking as she hits them harder and harder.

A hand wraps around her ankle the next time it flies to kick the seat and Azzi finally looks up to meet Paige’s eyes.

“If you break it, I’m not paying for it,” Paige says warningly, and then releases Azzi’s leg.

Azzi kicks the chair one more time for good measure and then sweeps her legs under her own chair. “Can you just say something?” She asks, trying to cover the flush rising to her face. “And if the answer is no, that’s okay, but just so you know I’m trusting you to not tell anyone else that I asked you-”

Paige runs her hands over her face, groaning, and for the first time Azzi notices that her ears are bright red.

Knowing they’re in the same boat makes her inclined to be kinder, and Azzi settles down in her seat, determined to wait her out.

“Alright,” Paige says. “We need to talk about this somewhere else. People could walk in here any time and the last thing I need right now is to become tabloid fodder.”

“Ah,” Azzi says knowingly, both of them standing up. “Olympics selection is coming up.”

“Yeah,” Paige says, scrubbing a hand through her hair, making it even more frizzy. “Also, I generally don’t like seeing my face on newsstands.”

Azzi considers that, as someone who also does not love to see their face on newsstands and even more so on tabloids yet somehow always ends up on them. Azzi used to really struggle with all the added media requirements but it seems that it just seems so come with the whole ice skating package. “seems reasonable..”

“Oh, that’s right,” Paige says, leading them out into the parking lot. “You’re always doing all those modelling campaigns. I guess you see yourself a lot, huh?”

Azzi smiles. “I took two medals at last year’s Grand Prix,” she says. “I’m in high demand, p”

Paige looks skeptical. “Oh really? Ask one of your model friends to date you for real.”

“Why do that, when I could hang out with you?” Azzi asks, cheerful once again. They’ve reached Paige’s car, which is apparently the more private place Paige had been talking about.

“The windows are tinted,” Paige explains, as they both climb into the vehicle. It’s a nice car, Azzi thinks jealously, trying not to stare too obviously at the smooth, expensive-looking interior.

“Do you think any of the players from your team are going to get selected?” Azzi asks, leaning against the passenger side window to look at Paige.

“Well,” Paige says, slanting a crooked grin in Azzi’s direction. “Me, obviously.”

As the smirk turns into a soft laugh Azzi feels her heart constrict and tries to remember how to breathe properly. “Obviously,” she says, and if it doesn’t sound half as sarcastic as she meant it to, Paige doesn’t mention it.

“Nika, too,” Paige continues, thoughtfully. 

“I guess I’ll see you there,” Azzi says, and watches the crinkle around her eyes make a reappearance.

“Why can’t you just use another rink?” Paige asks. “If you won two medals already, you can probably afford it.”

Azzi tips her head back and tries to think of the best way to explain this. “Figure skating isn’t like hockey, or football, or basketball. We don’t get contracts for the season. We get paid if we win, and the costs of equipment and training add up. A lot of professional figure skaters rely on their families, or work side jobs. Plus, we retire early, so I need to save up while I’m ahead.”

Paige is watching her steadily, blue eyes giving Azzi her full attention. Somehow, Azzi hadn’t expected her to be this good of a listener.

“And this rink is private, so no fans show up to watch you practice, and it’s near my house.”

“It’s near mine too,” Paige shares and Azzi stores that information away in a small folder of her brain with a picture of Paige’s face taped over it.

“That’s not even it, though,” Azzi continues. “Figure skating’s hard to get into, if you don’t have any connections. When me and my family moved here- our last city didn’t even have an ice rink. I learned to skate on a frozen over pond. When we moved, I used to practice before school, after school, weekends, whenever we could afford it. Geno set everything up for me, he got me a good coach, he made all the right introductions. I do owe him, whatever he might think about it. I don’t want to make him upset.”

Paige is silent for a moment and then slumps forward over the steering wheel, making a noise like a dog throwing up, her forehead hitting the top of the wheel.

“Paige?” Azzi says, immediately concerned. “What the fuck?”

Paige doesn’t lift her head up, just mumbles to the floor. “Have you just been secretly cool this whole time and I didn’t know it?”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Azzi, the second time today.

“I feel like there’s definitely a less insane solution,” Paige says, straightening up. “But I can’t think of it, so I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it?!”

“Just said I would.”

“Oh my god,” Azzi says, beaming so hard her cheeks are starting to ache. “Paige, you are a lifesaver. I will never say anything about your hockey team again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Do you want a ride home?”

Azzi nods, so incandescently happy, she thinks she might be glowing, practically bouncing in her seat as she turns to buckle her seatbelt.

When she looks back at Paige again, Paige is already looking at her.

Azzi blinks. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige grinds out through gritted teeth as she starts the car. “Nothing.”

“By the way,” Paige says, as the two of them inch through the weekday traffic. “Why do you take the bus anyway? Aren’t you worried you’ll be recognized?”

“No one is looking for a figure skater on public transport, Paige,” Azzi says. “Besides, I never learned how to drive, I much prefer being a passenger princess.”

Paige looks over at her, incredulous. “You never learned how?”

“I was busy,” Azzi says defensively. “I’m only twenty-two, you know. And there’s lots going on in my life.”

“I wasn’t judging,” Paige says, “just surprised. I failed mine like three times.”

Azzi sits up straight in her seat. “Three times? How do I get out of this car?”

Paige tsks disapprovingly. “Relax, it’s fine. I passed in the end, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, on the fourth try,” Azzi mutters. “I’d probably pass the bar exam if I took it on the fourth try.”

“You are not funny” Paige says, but she’s smiling as she says it. “Better to try and fail than never try, right?”

“Personally,” Azzi says, as haughty as she can manage. “I’d rather try and succeed.”

When they pull up in front of Azzi’s apartment complex, Azzi is nervous again, fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves as Paige parks.

“Should we like,” she winces even as the words leave her mouth, “come up with rules, or a plan or something.”

“We could,” Paige says dubiously. “But if you say some corny shit like ‘rule one is don’t fall in love with me’ I’m gonna break up with you.”

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Azzi snaps. Then because she can’t help herself, she adds, “Anyway, that would be the last rule. For dramatic effect.”

“I can’t believe people think you’re scary,” Paige says. 

“Shut up,” Azzi says, ineffectively, as she pulls out her phone. She opens up her Notes app, and types in ‘Rules’ into the header.

“Nerd.”

“Hush.” Azzi types in ‘Rule 1’ and then stares at it.

“Well?” Paige prompts.

Azzi scowls at her. “Rule number one is don’t be mean to me.”

“Rejected,” Paige says, and unbuckles her seatbelt to settle a little more comfortably into her seat.

“Fine,” Azzi says. “Rule one is, we have to keep going for about two months. That’ll be enough time to convince Jayden the relationship is real, and for him to get off my case.”

Paige agrees, so Azzi moves on. “Rule two is you have to go with me to weekly dinners at Geno’s house.”

Paige sits up at that, alarmingly straight. “Every week?”

“Well, not if you’re super busy,” Azzi says, a little taken aback. “I can try to get you out of the first few, but we’ll definitely have to go to a few.”

“It’s just,” Paige pauses, and then looks at Azzi, seeming incredibly pained. “I’m like, a really bad liar.”

The earnest worry on her face is too much to bear, and Azzi turns her head to stifle her laughter into her shoulder.

“I can still see you laughing,” Paige says heatedly. “I’m serious!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Azzi says, still giggling a little. She holds up her hands. “Not laughing at you, I swear. I’ll do most of the talking, you can just sit back and nod along. I’ll tell them you’re shy.”

“Of course you will,” Paige says, shaking her head. “Fine, yeah, that’s alright then.”

“Rule number three is,” Azzi hesitates, trying to think of something that’ll annoy Paige to just the appropriate level. “Rule number three is you have to drive me home from practice everyday.”

She looks at Paige expectantly, hoping to see that thrilling neck vein start to stick out, but the other man just looks thoughtful. “I probably can’t everyday,” She says.

“Paige” Azzi says, staring at her, wide-eyed. “I was just kidding, I obviously don’t expect you to just drive me around.”

“I guess it depends on how our practice schedules line up,” Paige continues, like Azzi hadn’t spoken at all. “Send me yours, and I’ll see, alright?”

“Paige-” Azzi says, bewildered by how quickly this conversation has gotten away from her, but Paige keeps speaking.

“Rule four,” she says. “Since we’re already doing this, I have a family function to go to about two months from now too. If I do this, you have to come pretend to be my date for that.”

“Ooh,” Azzi says. “The Paige Bueckers can’t get a hot date on her own?”

“You’re one to talk,” Azzi says, impassive.

Azzi sticks out her tongue, but adds it down into her notes. She isn’t sure what to do with rule number three, so she leaves it on there, and then shows the list to Paige.

“Sure,” Paige says affably. “There we go.”

Azzi hesitates. “Just like that?”

“Do you want us to spit and shake?” Paige says, amused.

“Definitely not.” Azzi looks at the list of rules in her phone again, chewing on her lower lip. “Just like, should we sign something?”

Paige sighs heavily, and then holds out her fist, pinky finger extended. When Azzi doesn’t move, just looks at her, she wiggles the finger impatiently. “C’mon.”

“Just checking- Are you seven years old, by any chance?” Azzi asks, but holds out her pinky anyway.

Paige doesn’t respond, but her eyebrows furrow slightly in focus as she loops their pinkies and then touches their thumbs together. “There. Now we’ve pinky promised.”

Azzi wants to pull on this girl’s cheeks. She wants to chew on her cheekbones. She wants to take Paige’s face between her two hands, and pepper little kisses over her nose. “Yeah,” she says helplessly. “Pinky promise.”

Azzi shows up at the rink again the next day, late in the evening after practice, and Paige waves her over from a bench where she’s wrapping up her gear and stuffing it into a bag. She’s wearing the same expensive jacket Azzi had seen yesterday, and for the first time, Azzi wonders just how much Paige earns in a year. Their team is good, she knows that, so she imagines it’s a lot. Definitely more than she earns, Azzi thinks bitterly. Nobody so much as questions her approach as she makes her way over, making Azzi wonder what Paige told her team. They had never really discussed it, so she guesses it’s fine if they know that Azzi needed a fake girlfriend.

“What’s that face for?” Paige asks as she gets closer, so Azzi makes an even worse face, scrunching up all her features and sticking out her tongue.

“Gross,” Paige says, and she looks like she’s going to say more but Jana and Ice are both coming over, the two of them together creating an almost overwhelming whirlwind of energy. They don’t question Azzi’s presence at all, looking vaguely eager as they approach.

“Hi Azzi, Paige,” Ice says. “Are you coming out with us for drinks next week, Azzi?”

Azzi turns to Paige, who shrugs as if to say up to you. 

“I might,” Azzi says, uncertainly, and in an effort to be nice, she adds, “sounds like a real party.”

“The last time I was at a party was when my sister got kidnapped,” Jana says thoughtfully and Azzi isn’t sure which part of that statement should be addressed first.

“What?” She settles on.

“It was a search party, obviously,” Jana amends. “Not like a ‘ha-ha’ party. We were all very worried.”

“Sorry,” Paige says, looking as dazed as Azzi feels. “Did you say your sister got kidnapped?” 

“It was a misunderstanding!” Jana says brightly. “You know, KGB agents and stuff. She was alright in the end.”

“Good for her!” Ice says, evidently not bothered by this story at all. 

As the pair leave, Azzi turns to Paige and mouths kidnapped? Paige shrugs helplessly.

“What did you tell them anyway?” Azzi asks once the two of them are out of earshot. “About like- this whole thing?”

“About you propositioning me?” Paige asks, and Azzi winces at the word choice. “Nothing. I was going to lie and say we were dating if someone asked, but no one’s asked.”

Azzi pauses. “You were going to lie to your teammates for me?” She asks, feeling strangely warm at the thought.

“I would’ve tried,” Paige says, grinning. “I think I overestimated how much attention they pay to their surroundings.”

She pats the spot on the bench next to her. “Are you getting back from practice?”

“Yeah,” Azzi says, sliding onto the bench, so that she’s straddling it, facing Paige, one leg on either side. “Mats today.”

Paige hums a questioning noise, her eyes still focused on the tape she’s wrapping around her stick.

“When you do like jumps and stuff,” Azzi shares, feeling strangely shy. “You have to practice somewhere you won’t get hurt as bad before you try on the ice.”

“Can you get the same effect?” Paige asks, seeming genuinely interested. “Like, isn’t it different on the mats versus the ice?”

Azzi is struck, just then, by how strange it is to be sitting here, talking to Paige like a normal person, explaining the details of figure skating to her like they’re friends.

“Um,” she says out loud. “Yeah, it’s different. But it helps to get the footwork down.”

Azzi keeps talking, feeling like she’s separating a little from his body as Paige keeps working on her equipment, nodding along at all the right places, asking questions when Azzi stops speaking.

When Jayden slams a hand down on her shoulder, it feels like a sharp and unwelcome return to reality.

“I thought I’d drop by, but you weren’t at the bus stop,” Jayden says, in a stupid long coat that makes him look like three children stacked on top of one another. Azzi frowns.

“Paige is driving me home today,” she says, and Jayden turns to look at Paige who’s briefly paused her work to observe their interaction.

“So this is the girlfriend, huh?” Jayden says brightly.

Azzi nods, and stands up, moving to stand behind Paige, nudging her back gently. She feels a little jittery already, and she mostly just wants Jayden to leave, to let Azzi return to the conversation she had been having before he arrived.

“We actually have to leave,” she announces, and she can see Paige start to place her equipment into her bag again, starting to pack up. “Sorry to ditch as soon as we see you.”

“I was just wondering,” Jayden says, ignoring this, “because you guys don’t seem very coupley at all. Not to judge, or anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Azzi says sharply. “What does ‘coupley’ even mean?”

Couple things, she thinks desperately, what are couple things?

Her smile beginning to twitch at the corners, she reaches down and very hesitantly places a hand on Paige’s shoulder. Her face immediately begins to burn, blood rushing upwards so fast she’s starting to feel dizzy. That was so fucking stupid.

Straight-faced, Paige reaches up and pats Azzi’s hand. Pats it. Once, twice, and stops, returning to her task.

Azzi isn’t sure whether she wants to laugh or cry. This is where their attempt at public displays of affection ends, apparently. Azzi slowly lowering her hand onto Paige’s shoulder like she’s touching a hot stove, and Paige patting that hand twice.

She looks down to see Paige’s face and Paige looks back up at her, and when their eyes meet, Azzi can see that for once, they’re in complete agreement. We are terrible at this.

Jayden doesn’t seem to miss the terrible awkward exchange (it would be like missing an especially bloody train wreck, in Azzi’s opinion), judging by the narrowed suspicious eyes he’s aiming at the two of them.

“Strange,” Jayden comments, casually, so casually. “Azzo normally goes for brunettes”

That is both underhanded and untrue. She does not go for brunettes. Azzi doesn’t “go for” many people at all at all. People go for her. They might as well just show up at her house and form an orderly queue.

Azzi is currently less worried about the slander of her reputation and more worried about whether Paige would get worked up and hit Jayden over this.

“Really?” Paige asks, tipping her head back to look at Azzi for confirmation.

“I don’t chase,” Azzi says lightly. “I attract.”

Paige rolls her eyes, not meanly- something Azzi could mistake as fond if she didn’t know any better. “Well, there you have it,” she tells Jayden.

“She doesn’t like hockey players much, either,” Jayden says, clearly still on this. This part, at least, is true.

“Are you trying to ask a question?” Azzi asks, her tone biting.

Jayden is not phased by Azzi’s biting tone. “Just seeing if she’s really up to your usual standards,” she says, and Azzi wouldn’t even blame Paige if she hit him for that one. Still, she tightens the hand on Paige’s shoulder in warning.

Azzi shouldn’t have worried because Paige doesn’t even blink, just lifts her eyebrows, slightly sardonic. “Are we having a dick measuring contest? I would've brought my ruler.”

“Not a contest,” Jayden says, that fake smile slipping off his face. “I was just asking some questions.”

Paige snorts, continuing to pack up her gear. “Ask away.”

“Ask away later,” Azzi says hastily. “Because we have to go right now. No time for an interrogation.”

“Not an interrogation, either,” Jayden says, sticking his chin in the air. “Alright, I’ll go. Give you two some privacy.”

He looks at the two of them as though she’s expecting them to tell him to stay. When nothing is forthcoming, he turns on his heel and strides away, hands tucked into the deep pockets of that flaring coat.

“Looks like fucking Vader in that thing,” Paige comments, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Cartoon supervillain.”

They start walking towards the exit, the small musty hallway that leads into the parking lot.

“You handled that surprisingly well,” Azzi says. “I kind of expected you to hit him.”

Paige glances at her out of the corner of her eye, that familiar scowl on her face again. “I’m not that easy to piss off. It takes a little more than that to rile me up. Give me some credit.”

Azzi stares at her, mouth agape. “Are we talking about the same Paige? You’re so easy to rile up. Incredibly easy. It’s thrilling every time.”

Paige comes to a stop, and turns to point a thick finger at her chest. The two of them are standing alone in the dark hallway leading to the exit door, one dusty light bulb flickering on and off above them. The bruise on her face is turning a nasty colour, unlikely to fade for another week.

“You,” Paige says, squinting at her accusingly, “are just a special breed of irritating.”

With that, she turns and walks away, leaving Azzi standing still behind her, watching her retreating back.

“Was that a compliment?” Azzi yells after her, not moving from her spot. The sound of Paige’s answering laugh echoes off the walls, bouncing back towards her, Azzi’s lips pulling up in response, as she runs to catch back up.

“Wait,” Paige says, once they’re in the parking lot. Night has already fallen, early in the wintertime, the pavement around them lit up by tall streetlamps, casting yellow light over their faces. “Here, I’ll get in the passenger seat, and you drive.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Azzi asks, not moving.

Paige shrugs, already moving around to the passenger seat. “Come on, the lot is empty, I’ll teach you how.”

“Do you even know how?” Azzi asks, reluctantly accepting the keys Paige is proffering towards her, “I kind of figured that you just annoyed the test takers with your persistence until they let you pass.”

“Bruh,” Paige says mildly. “Go on, get in.”

Once Azzi’s sitting in the driver’s seat, she just stares at the wheel. There seem to be an awful lot of controls.

She turns to Paige. “What now?”

“Well, first you have to buckle your seatbelt,” Paige says, and Azzi scowls.

“I know that.” She doesn’t move.

Paige sighs. She seems to do that a lot around Azzi. Then Azzi is frozen for a different reason, as Paige leans over her, one hand gripping Azzi’s shoulder as she reaches for Azzi’s seatbelt, smooth muscle shifting under her skin as she brings it over Azzi’s body and buckles it.

“Dear god,” Azzi whispers. Paige smells good.

“Relax,” Paige says, taking her mumblings for nervousness. “You can’t possibly mess up that bad.”

Azzi frowns. “How do you know that? I could be the worst driver you’ve ever met.”

“I doubt it,” Paige tells her. “I crashed the car the first time I took the test.”

Azzi stares at her. Then she starts the car.

“Right pedal is gas, left is brake,” Paige says. “You have to put the car in reverse to get out of the spot, and then press lightly on the gas.”

“Right,” Azzi says, and moves the gear stick accordingly before pressing on the gas. The car lurches forward, coming to a jerky stop right before hitting the curb in front of them, Azzi’s blood draining entirely from her face.

“So, that was actually drive,” Paige says calmly, one hand braced on the window. “Reverse is lower.”

Once Azzi gets used to the controls, they manage to go in large bumpy circles around the parking lot.

“How did you fail the second time?” Azzi asks, carefully executing another terrible turn.

“Try to stay on the right side,” Paige says, unbothered by the possible damage Azzi is inflicting on her car. “I almost hit a stop sign. They got really mad about that one.”

“I would be making so much fun of you over this if I wasn’t so tense right now,” Azzi informs her. "Remind me to do it later."

“Looking forward to it- make sure you’re slowing down before you turn.”

“What about the third time?” Azzi says. She presses too hard on the brake, and the car nearly comes to a full stop in the middle of her next turn.

Paige seems to be pouting, by the sound of her voice. Azzi debates taking her eyes off the road long enough to check. “I waited almost a full year before taking it the third time. I practiced basically everyday. It went so well, the instructor was telling me I was one of the best drivers he’d tested that year.”

Azzi snickers. “And?“

“And on the way into the test center parking lot,” Paige says, “I hit the curb. Automatic fail. They wouldn’t even let me test at that center anymore, I had to go out of the city. Never trusted a driving instructor since.”

Azzi gives up on trying to hold back and bursts out laughing. To her surprise, the car doesn’t immediately crash.

“You’re laughing,” Paige says, and her face is stony, but Azzi can hear the smile in her voice. “I share my deep, personal, insecurities with you, and you’re laughing at me.”

Azzi shakes her head, small giggles still escaping her. “Those poor test administrators, you must have made them miserable.”

She can imagine it very easily, a smaller, angrier Paige, marching into a testing center with the energy of a Marine off to combat. The thought makes her snort with laughter.

“You look pretty when you laugh,” Paige says, and it’s that soft, honest voice, so rare to hear from her. Azzi’s laughter breaks off as she turns to look at her, captivated by that gentle sincerity, so unexpected from this girl, so sweet to hear.

“Az- the brakes!”

The car rolls over a curb and comes to a slamming halt right before a small tree, the branches brushing the windshield, leaves already fallen off in the winter cold.

She called me Az, she thinks, and presses her forehead into the steering wheel and smiles- a small giddy smile, just for herself

[samkerrworshipper]

lights are on, but nobody’s home

barca femeni x reader

it’s unedited. i’m not sorry about it, if it puts u off then soz icbf. this fic has been in my drafts since october so it was about time i finished it! combined to fics lol to get it done and its a fast paced very vague mess but have fun :) loved the idea not the execution!

warnings: kinda angsty?

Red cards exist in the game for a reason. You don’t deny that. Red cards are needed to keep people safe, to set a boundary between safe and unsafe play. But there had been something so undeniably unfair about yours.

You���d hurt somebody, you weren’t going to lie about that. It had been unintentional, but a risk you’d taken had ended up with the world’s best player being stretchered off the pitch, and for just that, you deserved a yellow. But a red, for a tackle that was mostly legal, seemed ridiculous. Tackles happened. As a defensive midfielder, it was your job to get the ball off attackers, it was your responsibility to make sure that you stopped the ball from being kicked in the direction of your keeper or down the field to another player. It was what cemented your spot in the English midfield; you weren’t just a good attacker; you were ferocious in defence. You averaged at least 5 tackles per game; it was the most crucial part of your game; it was fundamentally what made you a good footballer.

Arguing with the ref and using some particularly vulgar language definitely didn’t help your case but in your defence it hadn’t been a red cardable offence. It was all pointless though, the card had already been raised and pointed in your direction, you’d been booked, in a friendly of all games.

It was bad, you’d know that from the moment your cleats had stepped over the line, the incessant booing being directed towards you as you walked past Sarina the grim frown etched into the details of her face was enough of a sign. You were in a bad situation, but you’d just put your team in an even worse situation with a one less player on the field to continue the fight in the world cup final rematch. It wasn’t good, it was your job to make sure that your team was in the best situation to achieve success on the pitch and you’d jeopardised that. What you hadn’t realised was that action wasn’t only jeopardising your team, it was jeopardising you as a whole.

It had begun from the moment you’d gotten back to your hotel room later that night. Your teammates had focused all of their energy on trying to lift your spirits, with the game ending in a 1-1 draw, everyone was happy. The England team was your second family, and considering you didn’t play in the WSL like the vast majority of them, national team time was valuable to you. You sat next to Beth on the ride back to the hotel, happy to listen to her non-stop talking as a distraction for the disappointment that had settled inside of you. At team dinner, you sat sandwiched in between Grace and Ella; most dinners spent on your normal table, you struggled to get a word in, but it was the constant surrounding buzz that kept you out of your head and specifically off of your phone, and you were more grateful than usual that you had that. By the time you’d even made it to your room and gone through your nighttime routine, you still hadn’t checked your phone. It was only as you began to prepare yourself to get into bed that you headed towards your bag to fish it out. You climbed into bed, finally opening your phone for the first time, and instead of it having a handful of messages from your family and a sprinkle of Instagram notifications, there were thousands. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, newsforums, both English and Spanish; as you scrolled down the list, it only got bigger. All of it was the same, about how you’d ‘intentionally’ injured your own club teammate to benefit your national team, how you were malicious, how you had played beyond the line of safe play, how you deserved to be penalised, how you had ruined sportsmanship. It was never-ending, and the more that you read, the worse it got. You felt like a shell of yourself as your eyes scanned the different words; you completely dissociated it all. It felt like you were reading about somebody else, like there was absolutely no possibility that the sentences you were absorbing could possibly be about you. There was so much falsity behind all of it that it was hard to understand it. You’d played the same you always did, you hadn’t played dangerously, you’d played within the rules as you always did. Beyond that, you’d visited Aitana in the change rooms after the game, desperate to apologise and make sure that you hadn’t done any damage or hurt her in any way. Your play hadn’t been malicious, there hadn’t been any ill intention or hatred fueled behind it, even though every single article or post was making it seem that way. Aitana had come off after the clash purely as a caution, when you’d gone to see her, all she was dealing with was a little bit of inflammation. By the time you were both back in Barcelona, she’d be as good as new. Even after watching the replays, it was clear to anybody with eyes that all you were doing was fighting for the ball, the same as every other 1-on-1 battle throughout the game. Yet as soon as a spotlighted player got injured, it was suddenly a different story being told.

Normally you would shake it off, in general, you were the kind of person who didn’t get bothered by much, You were a bubbly and happy person, you were the kind of teammate who was always smiling and trying to make other people laugh. Usually, if you had a teammate who was in the same situation as you were now, you would be the one picking them up and trying to help them shake off all of this. It wasn’t normally a struggle for you to overcome a little bit of hate, but there was something so shattering about this. Whilst you still believed deep down that you’d done nothing wrong, it was hard to convince yourself of that when there were so many people who were telling you otherwise.

You weren’t the kind of person who regularly fell into the mind numbing action of doom scrolling, you weren’t big on social media in general, it was something you had to do because of your job but not much else beyond that. Yet right now it felt impossible to deviate away from it, every time you saw your name pop up again somewhere you were drawn to another dark place of the internet where you kept reading until you were mentioned or tagged in another post and your phone lit up with a new piece of media.

It was never ending, it just kept coming, and the longer you indulged in it, the sicker you started to feel. Had you done something wrong? Were you truly as malicious as everyone wrote? Were you the bad person they were painting you to be?

It was impossible to not consider that potentially everyone else was right, maybe you were the problem.

It was a good day to be roomed with Lucy, she’d been in bed before you’d even made it up to the room and asleep whilst you’d been showering. If the sounds of snoring were anything to go off of then she was long gone, which made you feel more secure as you muffled a sob into your pillow. It was going to be fine, by the time morning rolled around it would be forgotten. Or at least that was what you thought.

The convenience of playing your games in Spain was that unlike majority of your teammates, you were able to sleep in the following morning instead of flying back to their club teams. Lucy was gone long before you woke up, something you were specifically grateful for because whilst Lucy was mostly oblivious, you weren’t sure if you would have been able to hide your red eyes and puffy face. You hadn’t had much sleep, but even in the few hours that you had managed to get, the notifiations on your phone had only multiplied significantly. Every second your phone lit up again, and for the sake of your own brain you chose to switch it off completely. If you stayed in the shower a little longer because you got so lost thinking about it all that your feet started to go numb from the water pressure there was nobody around to say anything about it. If you happened to space out halfway through your skincare and accidentally spill half of your serum down the sink it was nothing a bit of water from the sink couldn’t fix. Every time you thought you’d forgotten about it all, like you’d drifted away from everything you’d read and then suddenly it all came back to you like some sick fever dream. It was the same words that kept circulating, and every time it came back to you it was impossible to just let it go.

You were half way dressed when your door was knocked on. It was what woke you up to the fact that you had absolutely no idea what time it was or how long you’d spent spaced out and in your brain.

You weren’t shocked to find Keira waiting outside your door, looking significantly more put together then you were.

“Mate, I’ve texted you about 30 times. The taxis here to take us to the airport.”

Fuck. You’d forgotten that you were taking a group taxi instead of leaving the hotel individually.

“Give me five minutes, I slept in and forgot to pack up last night.”

Keira cut you off before you continued your ramble of excuses.

“I’ll help you pack up, you focus on getting dressed and sorting yourself out, okay?”

Keira wasn’t your closest friend, she was one of the few people on the Barcelona team that spoke fluent english which grouped the two of you together. She was also one of your idols coming through as the youngest midfielder in the English and Barcelona squad. But personality wise the two of you didn’t jell, you were too energetic and a little bit too immature to buddy up with her. It didn’t change the fact that she was basically an older sister to you. She wasn’t exactly the person you’d go to for relationship advice or confess your troubling thoughts to. But she was the person you could rely on to help you in any situation without asking questions, and this really was an extension of that.

Keira made quick work of packing up your things from around your room whilst you finished getting dressed and putting your hair in a messy bun.

By the time you’d made yourself look just enough presentable for the public eye Keira was done, all of your bags piled together at your hotel room door.

“I found your phone at the bottom of your bag, looks like you might want to charge it before the drive.”

Right now, your phone felt like a block of dynamite, balancing in Keira’s hand, ready to explode at any second.

“No, I just turned it off.”

You didn’t really think about how odd your words could sound until they’d left your mouth, and Keira’s eyebrows were raising quickly.

“You just turned it off?”

It’s an unusual behaviour for you, one that Keira has clearly picked up on by the tone in her voice. Your phone is practically an extension of you, the team didn’t joke about you having square eyes for nothing. Always getting people to film tiktoks or do stupid challenges.

“Yes?”

You actively observe all of the cogs in Keira’s brain turning, she looks like she has a lot to say, but then she glances down at her watch and it’s clear that the fact that you are running well behind time takes priority.

“Let’s go, the taxi is waiting.”

Keira practically pushed you out of the hotel room, all of your bags in her hands and ushering you straight towards the elevator.

As she’d said, the taxi is waiting in front of the lobby, the driver looks particularly ticked off as he waits outside the drivers side door, his foot tapping and a cigarette hanging halfway out of his mouth. Keira loads your suitcase into the boot of the car whilst you take your backpack off of her and hop into the back of the car, Keira follows and sits down across from you.

The first five minutes of the ride are silent, Keira flicks through her phone whilst you stare out the tinted window and pretend that you can see the things passing by.

“You can talk to me you know? I know we’re not exactly the closest, but I’m here for you.”

You don’t bother to look in Keira’s direction, you keep your eyes and facial expression schooled and focused on the window.

“Anything the media writes is bullshit, you ought to just ignore it.”

You wished you could have ignored it last night, when theoretically you were at your most vulnerable. Maybe if you hadn’t of read so much when you were already in a bad mindset it wouldn’t have imprinted so much, regardless it has and you can’t just ignore it.

“Kei, I’m fine. When have I ever cared what the papers write about me?”

Now, right now is when you care. It’s a fair statement though, you’ve never been affected when tabloids have written far worse things about you, when you came out and for months there was homophobic slander everywhere you looked. In the past it hadn’t been based off of facts, it had all been fictitious. But now that there is just a inkling of truth behind what’s being written it feels far more real and you aren’t sure how to get past that.

“I’m just saying that there isn’t anything wrong with being affected by it. Especially after last night, there’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”

This is the trouble between you and Keira, she’s a lot more frank. In your opinion it’s a thing that comes with age, whilst she’s very happy to admit when she’s going through a hard time you’d rather cover it up with jokes and pretend that it doesn’t actually bother you. The trouble with your approach is that it only works for so long before people start to see you fraying at the edges or you completely break down from the pressure.

“Just mad I hurt your bestfriend, huh?”

The only response you get from Keira is a loud exhale, the same a mother would when her child makes a immature joke at a immature time. Immaturity is your coping mechanism, because by default people tend to be put off by it, they naturally gravitate away from it. Furthermore they gravitate away from whatever conversation or confrontation they were going to have.

“I’m not mad, I’m concerned for you and how something like this can affect a persons career.”

It’s too many feelings, to much concern, too much. You don’t deserve it and you definitely do not want it.

“I’m fine, we play football, it’s part of it all.”

You still haven’t looked at Keira but you could make an educated guess and assume that she looks deflated. It’s another reason that out of Keira and Lucy you’d always gotten along better with Lucy, you didn’t care to admit it but she knew how to get to the bottom of all of your weird cues and knew what was right and wrong to say. Keira’s too smart for her own good, and it doesn’t work on you, it never has. She’s all you have at Barca now though, besides Roebs, whose been too focused on her rehab and getting back on the pitch to be much of a friend.

“Hate shouldn’t be part of it. If you need to talk about the fact that some part of it is clearly bothering you then I’m here, anybody else on the team is here. Okay?”

You nod purely for the sake of ending the conversation, you can’ even figure out how you feel about it all, let alone trying to rationalise it with Keira. You’re upset, yet you can’t quite get to the bottom of it. You’ve never been upset before when your actions have ended in somebody else getting injured, it’s a rare occurence and when it happens you feel a little bit of guilt but usually it fades. Injury is part of the game, it happens all the time right in front of your eyes. You suppose Aitana isn’t actually injured though, she’s sore and has a low grade ankle sprain but it’s nowhere near the same as her tearing her acl or breaking a bone because of you. You just feel drained, it’s odd, you put it down to the fact that you hardly got any sleep last night but you have this underlying feeling that it’s somehow more than that, yet you have no explanation for it.

After a long break of silence Keira and yourself fall into a fairly bland conversation about the upcoming fixtures and winter break plans. It’s so evident that there is tension in every word each of you speak, like you’re both a few syllables away from saying something that neither of you want to.

Luckily Keira is a lot more cautious than most people, unlike most of you friends or teammates in general she can control herself to a respectable level and can stop herself from word vomiting emotion fueled spieles.

By the time the driver pulls up in front of your apartment building not much has been said at all, but the overarching feeling is tense, it doesn’t feel good and the mixture of it with the everything else is making you feel sick. Keira gives you a hug after helping you unload your luggage and then leaves you. You know that outwardly you’re presenting that you want to be left alone yet everything in you is being used to stop yourself from clinging onto Keira and asking her to stay with you.

Your week is a lot of the same feelings. You have two days to yourself before training starts again and the two days are spent in bed. If you aren’t scrolling on your phone andreading every single thing that has your name mentioned then you are sleeping, or crying, or lying in bed thinking about it all. Every text from one of your teammates is left unopened, none of it matters when every single waking moment of your life is being spent thinking about the moment over and over again. It’s not just your career, not just the fact that you’re going to have to sit out in the next fixture and potentially tarnish your relationship with Sarina. You hurt Aitana, you hurt your ownt teammate. Your own actions had caused harm to somebody that you cared about. Every article, tiktok, post they were all painting you in some kind of negative light, like you were a demon hiding behind smiles. It was hard not to consider the truth behind it all, had you done what you did with malicious intent?

By the time training finally rolled around you were feeling even worse than you had a couple of days ago. Even though you’d been sleeping for hours a day there wer ebig eye bags under your eyes, you were pale and looked like you were sick. It was noticed by your teammates almost immediately, you weren’t even fully dressed in the change rooms before Pina was punching on you, talking rapidly in Catalan that you didn’t remotely understand.

“Chica, you missed our games night last night. To busy sleeping off the four goals you scored over the break, no? You need to leave some goals for other people.”

You shook Pina off as quickly as you could, you had a focus for the day and that was getting all of this over with. You had a game in three days, a game that you couldn’t ruin for your team again.

“Estas bien?”

You finish pulling your training top on and sit down on the bench in front of your locker.

“Estoy Bien.”

You focus on getting a sock on each of your feet and then your boots.

“Chica?”

There is concern laced in Pina’s voice, she’s still standing in front of you. Almost everybody else has made their way out onto the pitch, leaving the two of you and a couple of stragglers behind.

“You don’t look so good chica, are you feeling okay?”

Your boots are easy enough to lace up, once you’re done you reach behind you for your jacket, not quite sure if it’s warm enough to train in just your shirt.

“Estoy Bien. Vale?”

Before Pina can ask much more, you begin to walk towards the doors of the locker room. It’s breezy enough outside that you choose to put your jumper on, as do most of your teammates.

Aitana is doing individual training, because of her ankle. Pere says that it’s precautionary.

If you weren’t already feeling like you were on the brink of vomiting then now it’s the only thing you can feel. You feel ill, you feel completely absorbed by the sickness pooled at the bottom of your stomach. When Pere asks if you’re feeling alright you can’t say no, because you have no reason to feel as badly as you do. But it’s all the words, they’re spinning around in your head, every article, every single word.

It shows on the pitch, every decision, every pass, every shot, every tackle is helf back. You’re fearufl and it shows.

When training finally does finish, and Aitana is still working by herself with one of the coaches on another pitch you feel like it’s almost your breaking point. Until Pere pulls you over again and lets you know that you’ll be starting for the match on the weekend as a replacement for Aitana.

That’s your breaking point. You have nothing to say, nothing to think. You feel like a zombie as you walk towards the locker room. You sabotaged your teammate for your own good.

As soon as the team list is out that’s the only thing people will be saying, You don’t even want to think about what people will think when they see the photos of Aitana training by herself with her ankle all taped up. Whilst you were out on the pitch with all of your teammates. What was just starting to get better for you was only bound to relapse with the new information.

All of the girls notice your shift in behaviour. It’s Pina though who approaches Alexia on your third day of training back. Aitana is still training individually, purely for precaution and preservation. There are more important games then the one coming on the weekend and it’s not worth aggravating the small injury. It doesn’t feel like that to you though, and it’s been abundantly clear to everybody that something is up with you.

“Alexia, can I talk to you for a second?”

Alexia’s been talking to Irene about ….. for at least ten minutes and whilst Pina has no interest in interrupting it’s getting boring waiting around for a conversation to end that’s clearly dragging.

Alexia looks so care free, and Pina asking to talk to her shouldn’t change that, but the look that’s on her face changes Alexia’s demeanour almost immediately.

“What’s up?”

Pina looks at Irene awkwardly, like she’s not sure if the information she’s about to share with Alexia is for Irene’s ears. Irene seems to get the message, farewelling the two of them before heading off.

“I’m worried about y/n.”

Alexia’s silently been wondering whether to approach the subject. She’d thouyght about asking Keira is something had happened on England camp, considering that your particularly filthy mood had seemed to start afterwards. It was out of character for you, and originally Alexia had thought it was all part of some sort of prank plot. But as the last couple of days had passed it had become drastically clear that there was something else wrong. She’d thought it would be smarter to give you the benefit of the doubt, everyone had bad weeks. Alexia wasn’t aware of any relationships you were in but she wouldn’t have been shocked if your mood had been due to a breakup or something of similar origin.

“Ale, she’s been acting strange. She comes in everyday and hardly talks to anybody, she doesn’t joke around with use like she normally does, she hasn’t been answering our groupchat, she’s been avoiding all of our plans to hang out. Out on the pitch she’s been cautious but so unphased and she won’t talk to me or Ona or Patri or Kika or Esmee and I don’t know what to do anymore. Somethings really wrong, normally she’s so happy, I mean everyones noticed that the locker room has been more quiet. I thought it was going to pass, but she’s seemed really upset, like somethings really wrong and what’s happening on the internet can’t be helping it.”

The problem is that Alexia doesn’t disagree with anything that Pina is saying, she can’t dismiss any of it as overreaction because whether it’s been conscious or not she has noticed all of the things that she’s being told. She hadn’t yet pieced it all together as one thing but now that all the puzzle pieces are being laid out in front of her it seems impossible to ignore that it’s all coming together.

“On the internet? De qúe estás hablando?”

Alexia is the first to admit that she’s not exactly the best with technology, sure she’s got all the social media apps and Olga is constantly trying to teach her the ways of all of them but it doesn’t particularly interest her. She finds it easier to look at them as another means of work, it’s how she makes money, posting about football and endorsements. Otherwise she finds enjoyment in places besides her phone. Does it keep her slightly out of the loop? Yes. Does she have younger teammates to keep her up to date? Also yes.

“All the stuff about Aitana. I haven’t read into it much, but I know it’s not good. The media have been slaughtering her for that red card. She punishes herself enough after a bad tackle or pass, I can’t imagine what a red card would do.”

Alexia makes a mental note to look into it later but for now she knows that she needs to deescalate. Because if Pina is telling Alexia now then it’s not long before it blows up within the team.

“Okay. I’ll talk to her tomorrow after the game, if she’s still off I’ll talk to her. I’ll have a chat with Keira and ask if anything asked on camp, bueno? Whatever it is Pina, it can be fixed, all problems can be fixed. I’m sure it’s just been a rough week with all the travel and games, not everybody can adjust well, mixed with the recent fixtures it would be expected that everyone is feeling a bit more exhausted.”

It’s the rationalisation that seems to calm Pina down more, which was ultimately Alexia’s end goal. She can deal with you tomorrow but for now it’s crucial that she stops this from escalating within the team. When things spread it all becomes more drama and it’s not good, distractions are not what everybody needs leading into the next fixtures.

Alexia honestly forgets about the conversation completely. Between organising dinner the night before, stretching, spending quality time with her girlfriend and generally just getting herself game ready and in a good head space. She woke up feeling rested and prepared for the game ahead.

You however, were quite simply a mess. You’d hardly slept in over a week now, if you did sleep you woke up in a sweat after a particularly brutal nightmare, you were hardly eating because you always felt so nauseous from the anxiety and your performance on the football pitch had been dismaying.

Alexia, and your teammates, weren’t noticing the smaller things. You lived in your own apartment, in your own building. Nobody was aware of everything that was contributing to all the things that were beginning to show.

Alexia, hyper vigilant after Pina’s admission decided that she’d try and find you before everyone hopped on the bus to head to the opposing stadium, yet you were nowhere to be found. As everyone loaded onto the bus she almost missed you. Usually, you sat at the back, with the younger girls. Normally, Alexia gravitated somewhere in the middle of the bus, she was too old to be singing or messing around at the back but she liked to still be kept in the mix.

It was why she almost missed you, hunched into a seat almost at the very front of the bus.

“Chica?”

The way your whole body darted upwards as soon as you heard Alexia was another concerning thing that she was adding to a mental list.

“Capi.”

You pull your headphones off as a courtesy, but the reintroduction to the sounds of earth and the environment around you brings you right back to everything you’ve been feeling.

“Are you waiting for Kika or Vicky?”

Alexia feels like she already knows your answer, but she’s hanging on to a thread of hope that whatever Pina is feeling isn’t as bad as it seems.

“No, I need some sleep and it’s impossible to get any back there without somebody sticking something in my mouth or posting videos of me with my mouth half open.”

Alexia laughs, it’s the exact reason she can’t sit up the back anymore, it’s too much stupidity in a concentrated space.

“Ah, normally you’re more than happy to terrorize the rest of us, normalmente eres la reina de los estupidas.”

When your face doesn’t even respond slightly to Alexia and you have no witty comeback about her being boring or something else it’s another clear sign that something is up, she just can’t quite pin point what.

You’ve tuned out from her though, and as much as she is worried and thrown off, the bus is not a place to make a scene, specifically before a match. You will not take well to Alexia interrogating you and potentially causing any kind of emotional distress.

So, even though it pains her to do so, she walks on, she leaves you in the sinking ship you’re currently n in, taking on more and more water as every minute passes.

You’re at a point where you can admit to yourself that you are in no way fit to play.

You don’t want to be on the pitch, the fans don’t want you on the pitch, your teammates musn’t want you on the pitch, Pere wouldn’t have you on the pitch if Aitana was available and when you think about it the whole footballing world doesn’t want you on the pitch.

You flinch when you walk out to warm up and are met with boos, the Spanish fans are unlike all other fans, their passion is palpable and when one person starts booing everybody follows suit. It’s not even Barcelona fans, which is undecidedly worse and better. The overall impression is that you’ve aggravated the Spanish people.

It takes your teammates a couple of seconds to catch on to who it is the anger is being directed at but once they do it’s a domino affect of everybody turning to you, and then turning to each other and back to you. You try your best to not let it affect you, you’ve been booed before and have dealt with many angry fans, but when it starts to echo from the away side of the stands you honestly question if you’ve pushed yourself a little bit too hard.

Alexia regrets her decision not to say something to you when she sees the complete fear in your eyes as you look around at the crowd, who are vehemently booing you. It’s not a good feeling on any day to clearly have a crowd so against you but when you’re clearly off kilter as it is it’s clear that it all throws you off even more.

Before Alexia can think about it, she’s beelining straight to Keira.

“What happened on camp?”

Keira is just as thrown off by what is occurring as everyone else.

“England camp?”

It’s clear in the bewilderment in Keira’s face that she’s not understood what Alexia’s asking.

“With y/n, did something happen that nobody knows about?”

The booing finally comes to an end, but it doesn’t change the overall energy in which a whole crowd is sending your way.

“She was fine all camp, being an idiot with grace and beth and being her usual self. All the other games she was fine, and then after the Spain game, after the red card, she’s just been acting different. It’s like G at Man City all over again.”

Alexia understands everything that Keira’s saying, until the last sentence. Her English is pretty good, hger understanding is almost perfect, speaking less so but the last few words completely surpass her level of interpretation.

“G? Man City?”

Alexia notices you in the corner of her eye doing shooting practice, every time you miss and echo of cheers erupts.

“Georgia? Stanway? A couple of years ago, when she was young she got a stupid red card, it wasn’t pretty not dissimilar to the challenge on Aitana. Big mess with the media, got some really nasty messages.”

She doesn’t remember the moment itself, but she does remember reading something about it a couple of years ago.

“Gracias.”

You’re red hot with rage already, the crowd has you amped up. When Pere questions you in the locker room about your state of mind, you are quite literally in a blinding fury. It the kind of sadness fueled anger, youa re literally ripping apart at the seams and instead of actually feeling all of the innate anguish you are experiencing you turn it into anger.

“Why the fuck did you go to Pere and tell him I wasn’t ready to play.”

The tunnel is the only time you’ve been able to talk to Alexia, she’d been so held up with the pep talk, then talking to Pere, then giving inspiration to everybody else. But now that you have the opportunity you can’t ignore it.

Alexia’s eyes are ahead, you’re stuck standing behind her but she can hear you perfectly clear.

“After the game.”

It had taken enough effort for you to convince Pere that you were fine. You were begging for a starting spot that you didn’t even want, a spot that is actually making you feel sick to your stomach. It’s the doubt though, you doubted yourself in that stupid tackle that got you the card, so if you doubted yourself what was to stop everybody else from doubting you?

“No, what makes you think that you can talk to our coach about my game fitness without even talking to me? Do you have any respect for me at all?”

Alexia turns around, and it makes you feel slightly validated and slightly less like you’re about to punch her in the head.

“It’s not about your fitness.”

The punching in the head feeling returns pretty quickly.

“Not about my fitness? What the fuck else is it then? Just because I don’t act like a dickhead on the bus and decide to take a nap?”

Alexia gives you on final look before turning around, the look on her face only adds to your sickeningly consuming anger.

You go onto the pitch angry, which isn’t good for anything. Every time the ball lands at your feet, boos echo out. Every time you get tackled, which is fairly frequently because the opposition has chosen you as the punching bag for the game, cheers erupt. The game is easy enough, 90 percent of possession is with Barcelona, with you spot in the midfield the ball comes to you every few seconds. It’s mostly fine, for the first ten or so minutes. Until the tackles start to get rougher, and you’re mad, and the crowd is loud and everything feels so incredibly wrong.

It’s working you up at a fast rate, then the ball lands at your feet for the 50th time in the match already, and without even looking up at your defender, who three seconds before was standing right in front of you, her studs are placing themselves directly into your calf. It’s not a comfortable feeling, to put it lightly. You manage to clear the ball before you’re on your back, clutching at your leg and trying your best to breathe as the crowd cries out, your opponent mutters something aggressively in spanish and your teammates argue with the referee.

It’s all too much. Your just angry, and upset. Not even at your defender or at the tackle, just at all of it. You think in a roundabout way that this is all karma, that this is your punishment for whatever you did to anger everyone and yourself. You’re tired and fed up and want it all to go away.

You want to sink into the grass of the pitch and just disappear, it would make your life so much easier if in this moment you could just disappear and not face any of the stuff that is happening.

Then there are hands on you and you’re reminded that it’s nowhere near that easy.

“Estas bien? Necesitas la medica?”

You force yourself to stand up, push through, get it over with. You need to prove everybody wrong.

Whether you can see it or not, you are spinning out. Everybody else can see it, you’re frantic, timid and shaken. Patri is the one to put her hands on your shoulders and steady you before you try to return to play.

“You need to go off.”

Twenty minutes have passed, you aren’t going to force a sub when it is unnecessary.

“I’m fine.”

Patri shakes her head, in the same way Irene or Marta would when they are being tough.

“You are not okay, and you need to go off before something worse than that happens.”

You shake Patri off, and when she tries to come back you give her a shove.

“I’m fucking fine. I know when I can and cannot play.”

Like every other attempt that’s been made to try and stop you, she just frowns and walks away. The ref gives you a once over before allowing the game to return to play.

It’s not fine, nothing is fine. Your defender continuously gets away with dangerous tackles that should be continous yellow cards, the crowd is getting to you with every passing second. By gods grace three goals are scored in a few minutes, not only does it silence the opposition it puts you at ease a little bit. For the most part, you’re doing okay, or as okay as possible.

Until it gets to a corner.

There is two minutes of stoppage time, which have well and truly been used up. The corner is going to be the last play and it’s impact is not super important but the pressure is still there. You end up sandwiched between the two centre backs, and for whatever reason when the boot releases off of Patri’s foot from the corner instead of running to make room like you’re supposed to, you are yanked directly to the ground, with two boots stepping directly onto your legs.

It’s not agony, it’s definitely not good but you’re spending more time trying to not cry and collect air then focusing on everything else.

You can’t breathe, and you physically can’t stop the sob that leaves your mouth, it’s pathetic but it’s been building and you can’t stop it.

You don’t bother with listening to the call, or letting your teammates help you up or worrying about the play. The whistle has blown and you have one mission, to go anywhere away from people. You force yourself to stand up even though your back hurts from falling flat on it and your thighs hurt from being stomped on, and walk off.

Pere and the bench are still waiting in the dug out, normally you’d hug or talk or anything but right now the only thing on your mind is getting away, because if you don’t then what is now only tears is going to turn into a full panic attack. You’re working simply off of pure instinct, you have the shutters on and the only thing you are focusing on is your end goal and getting there. When you get to the changing rooms it’s empty, you bee line straight through to the bathroom and lock yourself in a stall before you actually let yourself think beyond the orders that have been set out in your mind.

Like everyone had said, you aren’t ready. You are living with the knowledge that because of your actions, your stupid actions you are being given a spot and opportunity that you didn’t deserve, you got it purely based off of the fact that you injured one of your teammates. Now you can’t even live up to the expectation of being a replacement.

The feeling that was initially what you had thought to be anxiety sickness builds up and all of a sudden you’re grateful your in the bathroom because within a couple of seconds you are kneeled on the floor letting your whole stomach contents out. It’s not a good feeling, you’ve been slowly descending towards rock bottom for days now but you’ve come to the realisation that this is it, this is your lowest point. Every time you think about the pitch you subsequently think about the crowd which leads you to think about everything happening inside your phone and then the sick feeling is back full force. The you think about Aitana, her ankle, her spot, her training, everything. All of that combined and all you can do is cry, it’s the only emotional outlet that you have enough energy for. You’d love to be able to punch something or throw something but you don’t have the energy, you’re running off of no sleep, hardly any food and now the fatigue of playing a half of football.

“Chica, can you open the door?”

Truthfully there are not many people you want to see in this moment or really ever again but Alexia might be at the top of the list. You’d been a little bit star struck when you’d gotten to Barcelona, you were an up and coming and to be on a roster with the best midfielders in the world was something you were in awe of. You were still slightly in awe of the fact that you were sharing a bench with two ballon d’or winners.

“I’m fine.”

You force yourself to stay as silent as possible even though it’s hard with the constant sobs building up inside of your chest.

“Please open the door.”

You’re at rock bottom and even if you try to swim out you’re going to need some help at some stage you suppose.

As soon as you open the door there is a resounding gasp, you close your eyes to keep a little bit of your inner peace whilst Alexia steps into the stall and locks the door behind her. There is just enough room for her to squeeze down on the floor next to you so she does without any hesitation.

“I don’t need you telling me that you were right to question me playing and that it was a bad idea, I’m already aware.”

You’re not sore from the match and yet everything hurts, you actually feel like your limbs are slowly being ripped off of your body and everything is being split open.

“I wasn’t going to say that, I was going to ask if you’re okay.”

It’s a complicated question.

“Physically yes.”

Your eyes are still closed, if you look at Alexia then suddenly this all becomes a whole lot more real.

“Mentally, emotionally?”

Just the question is enough to essentially demuzzle you, everything you were doing to stop yourself from crying out fails, and you start sobbing, in the loudest and ugliest way possible.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Alexia bunches up jext to you, slings an arm around your shoulders and brings you in closer.

“Don’t apologise when you didn’t do anything wrong, even if everyone else is making it seem like you did.”

Deep down you do believe you did something wrong, you don’t exactly know what but you must have, you must have done something because why else would all of this have happened.

“I hurt Aitana, I took her spot, I sabotaged her.”

The crying is cathartic, you’ve been crying for days but in an unemotionally detached way to expel some of the depression instead of actually feeling it.

“No you didn’t. You mis-timed a tackle that ended in a very minor injury. Football is a game of injuries, it happens. I don’t care what you’ve read online or what you’ve heard, the facts are simple. Anyone on our team or the england team can tell you that. Nobody blames you for what happened, not even Aitana. So you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

It’s easier to blame yourself you think.

“Everybody hates me, all I’m getting are messages about how I deserve to die and how people wish I’m never able to have kids or that I get injured as payback.”

Alexia’s deep breath makes you feel queasy all over again.

“What we’re going to do is delete all of your social media apps for the next few weeks, nothing is going to make people stop being putas, si? So for your own sake you’re going to delete all of them, turn all of your comments off, turn your messages off. There is nothing more important then your peace of mind, once that’s gone then this happens. You deserve better than this, you deserve to feel better than this. You also deserve to have fun and enjoy being a part of this team, nobody thinks you sabotaged Aitana, nobody blames you. You are just as welcome here as you were before the break, you are just as valued here as you were before the break. This stupid situation is not worth your health, si?”

You wipe away some of your tears, even though they’re still coming and nod.

“You deserve better, and until people realise that we need to focus on making sure that you know that.”

You feel specifically worthless, and it’s completely your own doing.

“Now, we need to get up before my legs go to sleep and my old body is stuck on the floor in here. Not everybody has young bones like you kids.”

You flush whatever parts of your stomach decided they wanted to resurface and force yourself to stand up, but as you do so the realisation that you are midway through a match comes back and all off a sudden you feel the need to sit down again.

“I told Pere to take you off for the rest of the game, I was coming off anyway, managing minutes. You can get dressed or shower, or do whatever you need to do and then we’lltalk a bit more about how we can turn this around. I’m serious when I say that the main focus is you right now and supporting you.”

You ignore the fact that nothing was ever mentioned about Alexia managing minutes and just accept that it’s a pointless argument and you don’t exactly mind her company right now. It’s nice to know that there is somebody shining a light for you at the end of the tunnel.

[sailorsoons]

Giving Season (c.sc & l.c)

PAIRING: Chan x Reader x Seungcheol

SUMMARY: You always enjoy the office holiday party each year, especially when you get to do secret santa. This year, you enlist Seungcheol’s help to give Chan the perfect gift. 

WC: 5,632

AU: PWP, Polyamorous, Established Relationship (Cheol x reader)

GENRE:  Smut

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Just pure filth honestly. Fucking in an office when they totally should not be, mention of power dynamics in the sense that Seungcheol is both Chan and reader’s boss but they kind of skip around that even though Cheol explicitly makes sure to let Chan know it’s okay to reject, semi-public sex if you count the fact they’re in an office, implied but not explicit dom/sub dynamics with Seungcheol as the dominant and reader/Chan as the more submissives, oral (f. receiving) and vaginal fingering, pussy drunk Chan, spitting, multiple orgasms, a little bit of overstimulation, some hair pulling, biting, a lot of heavy kissing and making out, it is a light threesome - this is mostly reader and Chan with Seuncheol very involved in instruction/kissing/touching them. 

A/N: This was originally posted as a request fill for @daechwitatamic and as a belated birthday gift back in December. I love you Mojo Jojo Dojo Siwa Casa House

A/N 2: THIS IS UNEDITED BECAUSE I’M THE GRINCH AND I DON’T WANNA BETA READ MY OWN STUFF. SPELL CHECK WILL HAVE TO DO FOR RIGHT NOW. 

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NERVOUSNESS CREEPS UP AS YOU WATCH CHAN OPEN UP HIS GIFT, EYES ZEROED IN ON THE WAY HIS DEFT FINGERS PEEL BACK THE WRAPPING PAPER CAREFULLY. Chan is always so careful, his touch delicate and precise, sliding his fingers under the seam of the paper to pry it open without ripping anything. 

Holiday music plays loudly over the speakers on someone’s desk. Everyone talks and sips on drinks, gathered around the conference room table as Chan finishes opening his git, shedding the wrapping paper. He’s already grinning, lower lip tucked between his teeth as he shakes his head, red creeping up the side of his neck. 

You try not to react, pleased to see that he likes the stack of limited edition books you’ve gifted him. He runs his fingers over the decorated edges, just as careful not to damage them as he was with the wrapping paper. You squirm in your seat, sipping more champagne to quell the dryness in your throat and give you more liquid courage. 

Someone places a hand on your shoulder and you spare a glance upward, though by the scent of the heady cologne you already know it’s Seungcheol. He’s watching Chan with a smirk, his dark hair pushed out of his face and his glasses sliding a little down his nose as he watches Chan look around the table, flushed and pleased. 

“This is way over the purchase limit,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head. Mingyu lets out an impressed noise, leaning over to see the books and ask what they are. “They’re a limited edition and signed copy of my favorite fantasy series.” 

“Damn, someone likes you,” Mingyu mutters, sipping his beer. “Time to guess.” 

Chan’s eyes flicker to you. You hold your breath, your pulse thumping in your throat as you try not to avert your eyes. Chan’s eyes drift upward to Seungcheol, who you can feel is equally amused. There’s indecision on Chan’s face, his fingers drumming atop the stack of books. 

“Come on,” Mingyu urges. “Guess.”

Chan’s eyes return to you. Back to Seungcheol. Then to you again. You grin, watching as he tries to work out which one of you bought them. You’re the only person in the office who would know how much he valued that specific book series, but Seungcheol is the only one in the office who makes overspending and spoiling his employees a habit. 

Especially Chan. 

“Fuck, it’s hard,” he admits, gaze settling on Seungcheol, finally. “You, boss?” 

Seungcheol chuckles, the motion of it shaking the back of your chair. You can feel his thumb brushing back and forth on your shoulder, soothing and warm. It feels nice, the champagne turning his touch molten. 

“Nope,” Seungcheol answers, popping the ‘p’ sharply at the end. “Sorry, Channie.” 

Chan’s blush intensifies as he drops his gaze, shaking his head. He cradles the books close to him, possessive. He spares you a glance when he says, “Whoever bought these is far too nice of a santa. I don’t deserve this.” 

He does deserve it. Chan is the youngest member of your company and by far the hardest working and the sweetest. Over the last two years, you’ve watched him grow from the shy, nervous junior employee to a full time member of the staff who is… still shy, but a little more confident in his work with an incredible mindset. 

Sure, your opinion of him is a little bit biased. Chan is your work husband, the person you’re closest to and who you can always go to when you need to vent about Mingyu fucking up your spreadsheets or for help when you have a last minute firedrill to solve. 

Despite, of course, your actual boyfriend being a few yards away in his executive office. 

Seungcheol doesn’t mind that Chan is your work husband. In fact, he adores it, teasing you when you get shy after vehemently praising Chan during a meeting or nominating him to take more responsibility to prove himself. He likes that Chan has you to take care of him, to lead him through the corporate world when Seungcheol is too buried underneath meetings and paperwork to do so. 

Someone else starts opening a gift, but your eyes are reserved for Chan. You lean into Seungcheol’s touch, eyes fluttering when his hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His grip is firm, kneading the muscles along the back of your neck until you’re melting. Your grip tightens on the flute of champagne a little, the plastic nearly cracking under your grip. 

When secret santa has finished, you stand up to help gather the leftover wrapping paper. Coworkers filter out into the main office, turning up the music and dancing around the cubicles as another bottle is popped. You help shove wrapping paper into a trash bag with Joshua, feeling a little dizzy and warm from the bubbles. 

A hand on your lower back makes you straighten. Seungcheol leans down, mouth brushing against your ear when he murmurs, “Go wait in my office. I’ll bring Chan in for his real gift.” 

Your stomach flips at that. You glance at Joshua to see if he notices, but there is nothing to notice. Everyone knows that you and Seungcheol are together - you’ve been dating for five years. He limits his affection in the office, but it's not uncommon for him to press a quick kiss to your head or leave his hand lingering on you for too long. 

Clearing your throat, you nod and let Seungcheol take over balling up the wrapping paper. You’re not drunk but you feel the buzz of champagne and excitement as you hurry toward Seungcheol’s office at the far end, away from where everyone has gathered around Soonyoung’s cubicle to take shots. 

Inside of Seungcheol’s office is dark. The blinds are shuttered so no one can see from the main bullpen inward. Lights glitter beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the city awash in color underneath the light sky, giving the illusion that the world is blanketed in Christmas lights. 

A heavy desk sits in the far side of the room with towering bookshelves behind it. Seungcheol’s monitor is off and his leather chair is pushed into the desk. In front of the desk is a sitting area, equipped with a full leather sofa, glass coffee table, and two arm chairs. 

You go for the sofa, hands shaking as you sit down, pressing the hem of your skirt down your thighs. Swallowing thickly, your eyes dart toward the door when you hear the volume of singing suddenly increase out in the main office. You grin, shaking your head when you realize it’s because Seungkwan has figured out how to use his portable karaoke machine gifted to him by Jeonghan. 

Shadows pass by the window. You stiffen, leaning forward and placing your hands in your lap when Seungcheol opens the door, letting Chan enter first before he slips in after, flipping the lock. Chan immediately stops in his tracks, looking at you before his eyes dart back to Seungcheol. 

Your heart races, watching carefully as Seungcheol starts to undo his tie, slipping a finger underneath the knot to pull it, walking toward you. The action hypnotizes you, your attention solely on him as he finishes undoing it, tossing it onto an armchair before his fingers work the topmost button of his shirt loose.

He sees the nervous look on your face and he wings, his grin lopsided as he rounds the couch to stand behind you. 

“Take a seat,” Seungcheol tells Chan, his hand landing on your shoulder. You react instantly, leaning into the warmth of his hand, nuzzling his forearm a bit. Chan follows Seungcheol’s instructions, his steps slow and full of trepidation. “We don’t bite, Channie.” 

You huff and Seungcheol chuckles darkly in response, amending, “Usually.” 

Chan is the picture of anxiety, wringing his hands in his lap and looking up at Seungcheol through his glasses with wide eyes. His gaze darts to you only for a second before he licks his lips and looks back up at Seungcheol, shifting back and forth in the armchair as he watches the elder. 

“Relax,” Seungcheol laughs. “You’re not in trouble. I told you she had a second part to her gift.”

“The first one is too much,” Chan drops his gaze to you. He picks at his cuticles, showing he’s as nervous as you feel. “You shouldn’t have. The rules were no more than fifty dollars.”

“It was too good not to.” He softens. “I wanted you to have it.”

“You deserve it,” Seungcheol agrees. His hand massages your shoulder, fingers brushing across your skin. You shiver under his touch, watching Chan as his eyes zero in on where Seungcheol’s hand is on your neck. He licks his lips, shifting. “That’s not the only thing she wanted to give you, though.” 

Chan chews his bottom lip. You feel skittish, twisting your fingers in the hem of your dress. You and Seungcheol had broached this subject several times before, though this is the first time you’re committing to voicing your thoughts to Chan. 

Suddenly faced with having to give him your proposition, you’re terrified. What if he says no? Worse, what if you upset him or make him uncomfortable? It’s a huge risk, what you’re asking, especially with the position that Seungcheol is in as your boss. 

The weight of how bad of an idea this is hits you fully. You open and close your mouth, unable to voice your offer to him, the question dying on your tongue.

Seungcheol’s fingers are still on your shoulder. He leans down, tilting forward to catch your gaze with his. His eyes are dark and calm, a cool lake undisturbed by anything, a constant you can always look to when you’re afraid to do something. You root yourself in his gaze, letting his proximity wash over you, comforting. 

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself this question isn’t coming out of nowhere. Neither you nor Seungcheol would bring Chan here to the office in the dark, away from everyone else if you weren’t borderline positive what his answer would be. 

“I wanted to um…” Your voice is hoarse, cracking with nervousness. You swallow, dropping your eyes into your lap, feeling both of their gazes. “Jeonghan said you kind of had a crush on us.” 

You peek up at Chan to find him white in the face. His mouth parts in horror and you realize this isn’t going the way you planned, your nervousness driving you to the wrong path. 

Seungcheol sees it too, giving you a gentle squeeze and telling Chan, “What she means, but is very bad at saying because she’s nervous, is that she wanted to give you a taste.” 

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Outside of Seungcheol’s office, you hear Mingyu singing All I Want for Christmas Is You. It feels apt, both you and Seungcheol staring at Chan as he looks back at both of you, mouth parted in surprise, chest rising and falling with how heavy he’s breathing now.

“I don’t… understand,” he says finally, addressing Seungcheol. 

“I think you do.” Chan starts to shake his head and Seungcheol tsks, sending a lick of heat down to your core. You know that voice better than anything, and the sound of it turns the air heady. “You can say no. This is the worst place possible for us to be offering this to you and I understand the implications of it coming from… well me. You’re under no obligation and we can go on pretending it didn’t happen.” 

“Jeonghan didn’t mean to tell me.” you tell Chan. “But when he did… I wasn’t mad. I told Cheol and he was pleased to.” You look up at Seungcheol, who smiles at you affectionately. His hand drifts to the back of your head, cradling it carefully. “He likes you too. And me - I like you.” 

“You like me?” 

You nod eagerly as Seungcheol grips your head and faces you back toward Chan. “So I was thinking… you could have an extra gift. If you wanted it. To see if you liked it.” 

“And what does… a taste involve?” Chan asks the question softly, his eyes flickering between you and Seungcheol. “Help me understand better.” 

“Her,” Seungcheol answers. “Whatever you want.” He pauses and smirks, adding, “You’re not ready for me. So just her… for now, if you want.”

Multiple emotions flit past Chan’s face. Confusion. Fear. Indecision. Anxiety. Desire. 

You see the desire there, the way he settles his eyes on you, dark and swimming with want. He doesn’t move, the silence filling the room as Seungcheol let’s Chan choose. You feel your own desire welling up inside of you, a shy and skittish thing that is perhaps too breakable to be offering this way. 

Chan is your mirror. You can see yourself in him, the want that lurks beneath a shallow surface, a fragile thing that he wants to handle but is too afraid that it’ll shatter. You lift a hand from your lap, reaching forward, palm up. Reaching for Chan, reaching for the thread that connected you since the first day he started. 

Your hand wavers there for a second, an invitation, a moment of vulnerability. Just when you think he’s going to reject you, Chan surges forward slowly, extending his hand toward yours. A smile lights up your face, growing even wider when his fingers tentatively skate over yours, rough and unsure. 

Tugging on him gently, you urge Chan from the armchair toward the couch. He’s like a frightened animal, eyes darting toward Seungcheol like he might intervene when he sits next to you, close enough to smell his juniper cologne but farther than you want him to be. 

Seungcheol lets go of your shoulder, walking around the opposite side of the couch. Chan looks at Seungcheol, alarm on his face. The elder chuckles roughly, sitting on your other side a little ways away and murmuring, “Relax, Channie. I’m just sitting down.” 

To further ease his anxiety, you pull Chan’s hand into your lap, lacing your fingers and squeezing. He looks at your linked fingers, marveling at them. It takes him a moment, but he squeezes your hand in return. 

“Can you look at me?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

He does. Chan finally looks at you, gaze raw and burning. Your toes curl when you see the amount of want there, the way his need is right on the surface, simmering. His eyes trace your features, scanning your face to the curve of your neck, dipping lower, lips parted as he drinks you in full. 

“What… What now?” He asks, dragging his eyes back up to yours. 

“Try kissing her.” Seungcheol leans back behind you, supervising. His voice is gentle and coaxing. “She likes kissing.” 

Chan looks at you, asking for permission. You smile, nodding eagerly as you tug on his hand. He obeys, sliding closer to you, thigh pressed against yours. Even through the fabric of his pants, you can feel the heat of his leg wash through you, intoxicating. 

He leans in slowly, his eyes darting toward your mouth as he does. You meet him halfway, breath shaking as you softly press your lips against his. His lips are soft and tentative, nose brushing yours gently. You sigh, leaning into the kiss, making it a little firmer. 

It’s innocent, but you feel the way his fingers tighten in yours, a gentle sound stuck in the back of his throat. You pull away slightly, lashes fluttering open to peer at him. You see your half-lidded eyes in the reflection of his glasses until he opens his eyes.

The urge to have him grows tenfold. Chan’s pupils are blown, the hungry look in his eye raw and real. It makes you surge forward, kissing him for real, letting the hunger for him channel through your mouth. He makes a sound low in the back of his throat, desperate and whiny as you school closer, leg looping over his to keep him in place. 

Letting go of his hand, you bring it up to his face, threading your fingers through his hair. His mouth is warm and wet as he kisses you slowly, tasting of champagne and the frosting of the cupcake he had earlier - sweet, just like him. 

Kissing Chan is unlike kissing Seungcheol. Chan is sweet and slow, running his tongue against the seam of your mouth tentatively while his hands go to your thighs, barely giving you a squeeze. Seungcheol’s kisses are demanding and all consuming, bruising your lips as he swallows you whole. 

Parting, Chan kisses the corner of your mouth, hesitating and glancing over your shoulder where he can no doubt see Seungcheol. Seungcheol must reassure him, because Chan smirks and leans forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Your head falls back, lips parted. His tongue is rough against your skin as he tastes you, a mix of tongue and teeth working toward your neck. Your fingers twist in his hair, blunt nails scraping at his scalp and making him groan quietly. 

“She likes when you bite her a little,” Seungcheol supplies from behind you. You feel the couch shift as he moves closer, his warmth radiating toward you as he settles directly behind you. His voice makes you shiver when he says, “Right under her ear - yeah like that.” 

Chan’s teeth nip at the soft flesh under your ear and you keen, melting at his touch. He grows more confident at the sound, his hands drifting to your waist, squeezing and holding you tight. You lean backward into the heat of Seungcheol, trapped between the two of them. 

It makes you dizzy. Seungcheol is firm behind you, keeping you pressed toward Chan, who is kissing his way to your shoulder, eager for more of you. One of his hands runs up your side, sliding up your arm until it settles on the side of your neck, his fingers gently pulling you to give more access. 

You keen and Seungcheol laughs behind you, muttering, “Hear the little sounds she makes? She loves when you touch her neck.” 

“Mmmm.” Chan presses kisses to the tops of your shoulders, looking up at you through his glasses. “What else does she like?” 

“If you want to see her come apart, eat her out.” Chan moans, burying his face in your neck. You shiver, feeling his hot breath against your spit-slick skin. “Yeah?” Seungcheol laughs. “Dying to taste her, huh?” 

“Fuck,” Chan whispers. He lifts his head from your neck, breathing ragged as he looks at you, cradling your face in his hands. 

You look up at him through your lashes, dazed. He looks so good in the dim light of Seungcheol’s office, his hair a little disheveled, glasses a little eskew. 

“Do you want that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushes back and forth across your jaw, pausing to brush along the corner of your lip. You nod eagerly, unable to find the words and tell him that is exactly what you want. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.” 

Chan sinks to the ground. Seungcheol plants his foot against the coffee table, pushing it back slowly to give Chan room. The younger looks up at you reverently and you feel your breath catch, watching as Chan settles on his knees, hands reaching to brush gently up your calves.

His touch is like fire. It feels too hot in Seungcheol’s office, sweat collecting on the back of your neck and along your hairline. You squeeze your thighs together at Chan’s gentle touch and he grins up at you, keeping his fingers feather light and teasing as he skims them up your thighs toward your dress. 

Seungcheol leans you against him, pressing his lips to the side of your temple. Chan leans forward, placing an open mouth kiss on your knee. You twitch, knee nearly knocking him in the face. Seungcheol admonishes you softly, reaching down to pry your right leg open and drape it over his, resting his arm over your knee to keep you pried open.

Chan’s hands continue to caress your skin, the drag of his fingers driving you wild. You stare down at him, panting slightly as he looks up at you. He maintains eye contact as he drags his mouth to kiss your inner thigh, watching as you react with a sigh. 

He moves his mouth upward slowly, each kiss firm but gentle, his lips blazing a trail upward. You feel your core ache for him, a hot, throbbing need that makes you whine a little bit, shifting in Seungcheol’s grip. 

Chan pauses but Seungcheol promises, “She’s fine. She’s very needy.” 

A grin splits Chan’s face as he presses another kiss to the softness of your thigh, followed by biting gently. That gets a reaction out of you, your hips twitching upward and your hands shooting to grip the couch with one hand and Seungcheol’s forearm with the other. 

“She loves when you start slow,” Seungcheol murmurs. Chan nods, taking his elder’s guidance in step. His hands creep toward the hem of your dress, hesitating. “Go ahead.” 

Your breath gets stuck in your throat when Chan pushes the hem of your dress upward. The newly exposed skin feels cold in Seungcheol’s darkened office. Chan bunches the fabric at your hips and Seungcheol reaches around the back of your waist to hold it in place. 

With one hand on your spread knee and the other locked around your waist, Seungcheol has you pinned. The thought makes your eyes flutter, head tilting back as you watch Chan drink you in, his eyes dropping to the lacy underwear.

His mouth resumes its curious travel, kissing the tops of your thighs as his fingers brush the edges of your underwear. You let out a breathy whine and he smiles but doesn’t stop this time, teasing the crease of your thighs with his devilish finger while he gives a harsh suck to your skin. 

Chan rests his chin atop your thigh, eyes focusing on the wet patch of your under. He dips a hand between your legs, pressing the flat of his thumb against the dark spot on the fabric. You give a high pitched whine, fidgeting in Seungcheol’s grip. Chan grins, wiggling his thumb back and forth a little to apply pressure to your clit.

It is heaven. It is hell. Chan’s eyes drift back and forth from where he teases you to your face, unable to decide which he likes watching more. Seungcheol watches him with a smirk, his hold on you like iron, hot breath fanning your ear as he whispers for you to behave for Chan. 

You want to. You want to more than anything else right now, completely forgetting about the party going on outside the office, forgetting the way you’d been afraid to ask Chan if he wants this, forgetting anything else but the look in Chan’s eyes as he hooks his fingers in your underwear and pulls them down.

Lacy fabric scrapes down your skin slow-soft. It is delicious torture. Chan handles you like you’re something precious, something to be loved and treated with care. Your thoughts turn to static, totally hypnotized by the way he peels your underwear from your legs and tosses them somewhere else. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares at your glistening cunt, groaning low in the back of his throat at what he sees. 

Chan slides his hands under your thighs, dragging you toward him a little. Seungcheol helps, peppering your face with butterfly-soft kisses as he slides you down the couch. You’re nearly folded in half as Seungcheol adjusts himself so that he’s sitting behind you with you between his legs. He grabs your thighs, hooking them on the outer edges of his knees to keep you open for Chan, who slides closer, licking his lips. 

“Look how wet she is for you,” Seungcheol purrs. You glance up at him. His dark eyes are focused on Chan, mouth twitching in a smirk. “Start slow. She likes you to build up to it.” 

Chan glances at Seungcheol and nods before his eyes fall to you. Dark. Hungry. Wanting. To see your deepest desire reflected in Chan’s eyes makes you insane. You’d only guessed at his affection for you and Seungcheol, but the fierceness of it drives you wild. 

So does his mouth. Chan drags his mouth up your thighs, kissing delicately. You hold your breath, fixated on him as he audibly plants another kiss before he moves to your center, hesitating. You try not to squirm and move closer, try not to force yourself on his mouth.

He can tell. He gives you a cock grin, letting out a huff before dipping forward, running his tongue up your center and oh oh oh. Your head falls back against Seungcheol’s shoulder, breath locked in your chest. Chan’s tongue is warm and wet, sliding up and down your pussy at a leisurely pace.

Then he moans. Your fingers dig into Seungcheol’s thighs, making him hiss. He hooks his chin on your shoulder, watching as Chan’s tongue circles your aching clit slowly before dipping back down. 

You’re burning, melting, disintegrating. Pleasure ripples through you when Chan dips his tongue tentatively into your clenching hole. That earns a loud moan from you. Seungcheol quickly hushes you, reminding you that you can’t be loud with a harsh whisper. 

A whimper falls from your lips. Chan grunts, closing his eyes as he fastens his mouth to your cunt, suckling gently. You throb under his mouth. He looks up at you, eyes misty as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit. 

“Like that,” Seungcheol encourages when you thrash. “She likes it kind of messy too - spit on it.” 

Chan is obedient. He dips his tongue into your cunt, gathering arousal before he lifts his mouth, smeared in your slick, and spits directly on your pussy. You let out a loud sound that is cut off by Seungcheol’s mouth on yours, stealing you in a devouring kiss. 

One hand shoots to Seungcheol’s forearm to cling to him, the other to Chan’s hair when he reattaches his mouth. He moans audibly against you, the sound buzzing right through you to the pit of your stomach. He redoubles his effort, licking and sucking at you vigorously now to match the pace of Seungcheol’s tongue. 

They both swallow you whole. It’s overwhelming the best way, Seungcheol pressing you into his chest as he steals the breath from your lungs, Chan pressing your legs further apart as he buries his face between your legs, little sounds of pleasure dripping from his mouth as he loses himself in you. 

Seungcheol parts with you for a moment, lips swollen and pink as he looks down at Chan and grins. He reaches down, running his fingers through Chan’s hair gently, making the younger groan. 

“Look at him,” Seungcheol coos. “He’s been dying to taste you, huh Chan?” 

“Mhmm.” Chan licks a hard stripe from top to bottom. “So fucking good.”

“Tell him how good he’s doing baby,” Seungcheol whispers, pressing his mouth to your ear. “He’s working so hard for you.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp as Chan sucks your clit hard. You thrash in Seungcheol’s lap but he holds you still. Chan pins you down too, fingers gripping your thighs as he gets greedier, flattening his tongue and whipping his head back and forth. “Fuck fuck fuck - Chan.” 

“Just like that, Chan.” Seungcheol keeps running his fingers through Chan’s hair affectionately. “She’s gonna come for you, right baby?” 

All you can manage is a nod. You’re beyond the capacity for words, feeling your orgasm twist low in your stomach as Chan works your toward its peak. It feels like he drags you there screaming, the pressure building as he keeps going and going and going-

You break. Seungcheol’s hand clamps over your mouth and you cry through his palm, hips twitching and legs straining against both of their hands as you cum hard. Chan doesn’t care, pressing even further, drinking you in as your clit pulses in his mouth. 

When you quiet down, Seungcheol lets go of your mouth, hushing you with soft kisses as you whimper. Chan’s tongue busies itself as he leisurely licks your thighs, catching stray drops of arousal. You sag against your boyfriend, panting. He rubs his hands up and down your aching thighs. 

“More,” Chan murmurs, words a little slurred as he presses a sloppy kiss to your thigh. He inches closer to your messy folds, hesitating. “Can you take more? Please tell me you can.”

You nod and Seungcheol hums, pleased. “She can.” 

Looking between your legs, you watch as Chan grabs his glasses and rips them off his face, tossing them somewhere behind him. Your stomach flips at the site, lips parted and gasping when he dives back in, fucking you with his tongue. 

“Shit,” you squeak, hands flying to his hair, wrapping your fingers in his locks and twisting. He doesn’t mind the sting, too focused on you. “Oh my god.”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly. “Fuck, he’s hot. Use your fingers, Channie.” 

Nodding eagerly, Chan complies. He’s eager to comply, bringing a hand up between your legs. You hiss when he slides a finger in, the glide easy from your first orgasm. He removes his mouth from you, panting and lips swollen as his eyes focus on where he gently fucks you with his finger. 

“Another,” Seungcheol recommends. 

Chan does. He slides another finger in, tilting his wrist so that they brush just right. You moan his name, throaty and worn. Chan hums happily, kissing his way back up to your clit where he wraps his lips, sucking gently as he sets a slow pace with his fingers. 

It only lasts for a few moments before his pace increases, feeling the way you squeeze tight around him, hearing the way your breath turns shaky and uneven, watching the way you continue to grow slick with sweat. 

He fixates on your face, sucking at you hungrily in time with his fingers, driving you toward another release. Seungcheol’s mouth finds your jaw, teeth nipping and tongue soothing. Again you’re pulled between the two of them, feeling stretched thin and overwhelmed by their mouths.

“I’m gonna,” You gasp, shaking in their grip. They both can tell. Seungcheol bites your neck a little harder, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. Chan turns ravenous, nearly folding you in half as he pushes into you, the wet sounds from his mouth bracketed by your heavy breathing. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

Every muscle in your body squeezes with the force of your orgasm. You can’t breathe, stars exploding behind squeezed-shut lids, breath stuck in squeezed-tight lungs. You’re barely able to hear Seungcheol murmuring in your ear, only able to hear the high-pitched ringing as you hit the top of your high, suspended for a moment before you start to come down.

You go boneless against Seungcheol. You feel spent, sucking in breaths of air while Seungcheol rubs his hands up and down your arms and Chan presses butterfly-soft kisses to your inner thighs, his hands rubbing your calves. 

The three of you stay there like that for a bit, quiet in the dark of Seungcheol’s office with the distant singing of your coworkers. You feel a bit floaty and dreamy, stuck somewhere between nearly asleep and happily present. 

Chan shifts and you drop your eyes to him, seeing him looking around, a little unsure what to do. You and Seungcheol notice at the same time, both of you extending a hand to him. Chan’s smile is shy and tentative, taking both of your hands and letting you pull him to his feet to collapse on the couch next to you.

Immediately you squirm toward him, half falling out of Seungcheol’s lap to fall against Chan’s shoulder. He laughs, lifting his arms and hesitating for a second before he wraps them around you. His lips are pink and swollen, still covered in your arousal. 

“That,” you sigh. “Was better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it, though?” he asks, glancing at Seungcheol. “Both of you?”

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Chan’s mouth, pink tongue darting out playfully. “Mmm. She tastes good.” 

Pink creeps up Chan’s neck and flushes his face. Seungcheol grins and you can tell he’s just as smitten as you, leaning his head against the back of the couch to watch Chan settle down. He drags his fingers in patterns on your arm, eyes losing focus. 

“Was this just for tonight?” Chan asks. There’s a note in his voice that makes you look up at him. You can tell he’s unsure, a little nervous. “Just for giving season or whatever?” 

Your voice is raspy with disuse. “Not if you don’t want it to be. Cheolie and I like you.” 

“Really?”

You lift a hand, brushing strands of hair back into his damp hairline. “Mhm. We want to keep you, if you’ll have us.” 

Chan chews on his bottom lip, contemplating. Seungcheol watches in silence, but you can tell by the way his fingers drum on your thigh that he’s nervous. He might exude calm and confident most of the time, but you know he hopes Chan will say yes - that he’s desperate for it. 

“I think I like that,” Chan says slowly, looking at you both. “I would like that, yeah.” 

Seungcheol grins, closing his eyes as he reaches over and runs a hand through Chan’s hair. “Good. Also - it’s always giving season at our house. So buckle up, Channie.” 

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[sukirichi]

VIRGIN KILLER TRIO !! & their habits

→ oliver aiku + karasu tabito + otoya eita

→ nsfw. smut. wrote this impulsively on my notes because karasu has me feeling things. aged up characters. toxic men. fingering. oral (f receiving) otoya is a cheater (canon but i love him) unedited. size kink kind offf. aiku hits it and quits it.

+ I NEED AIKU SO BAD. i also hc that karasu is a manwhore but he would teeat you so well <3

it’s hard not to catch sight of the virgin killer trio in every afterparty. there’s oliver — the smooth talker who can never remember a girl’s name, karasu — who reads your every move and can tell from across the room how badly you want him, and otoya — the quietest of them all. but don’t let his demeanor fool you. rumors have it that he’s as great in bed as he is at breaking hearts.

pick your poison, they said. don’t let the night go to waste, they said.

but all is easier said than done when oliver has forgotten his cold beer on the counter as he presses you against it during a party. he calls you names that are outright dirty and should not have made you this wet. he smells like smoke and liquor — like danger, like everything you should avoid. you know he won’t remember you the next morning and you’ll most likely wake up in an empty bed. no notes, no small gift left behind. it would be hard to tell he was ever there if it were not for the ache between your thighs and the bite marks he’d left all over your skin.

oliver fucks like the way he wins — luring his opponent and trapping them against him until you give in and submit. what’s the point of fighting anyway? you know it’s futile. you should just let him do as he pleases — to hammer into you from behind, his large hands squeezing your hips in a vice-tight grip. oh no, he’s not letting you go. he’ll keep you there until your thighs quiver and your head drops down to the pillow, the sheets drenched with sex and sweat. he’ll keep you there until his legs are tangled with yours, your tongue lolled out as he fucks out the most delicious moans from you.

oliver aiku is dirty, intoxicating, and when he leaves his mark on you, he only has one goal in purpose — to ruin you for any other man who comes next.

karasu is different. he’s sweeter, more tender with his words and gestures. he doesn’t seduce you right away. no, he likes to watch his prey first from across the room, letting his gaze wander to your pretty face and picturing if you’d look better when you’re finally coming around his cock. when he makes himself known, it’s too late. he’ll know everything about you already, just like how he knows he’ll have you putty in his hands by the end of the night. the only thing left is to prove his theories right — don’t even try to think you can hide your weaknesses from him. he can read you like an open book. he can tell from the hungry way your eyes roam over him that you’d take it like a good girl, and your eyes would roll back when he slides himself in deep.

unlike aiku, karasu doesn’t cage you under his arms and suffocates you. this isn’t a battle for him, because battles mean there’s equal chances of winning, and there’s none of that in the bedroom. karasu knows he’s stronger and has the upper hand. he knows you’re entirely at his mercy when he pins your hands above your head, his long fingers locked around your wrist. and oh, he’s sweeter, so much sweeter. he calls you beautiful and gorgeous. he worships you and leaves kisses on your body, murmuring sweet nothings like a mantra against your skin. he isn’t rough, but he fucks you hard and deep. hard enough you’re seeing stars and your toes are curling, pussy fluttering around his girth. and when he’s pushed you to the edge, he’ll make sure everyone at the party knows who made you feel that good.

karasu doesn’t leave a note. he stays the night and kisses you again, his eyes droopy in a post sex-haze. he gives you his number, because why not? he sure wouldn’t mind sleeping with you again the next time you run into each other.

the next time you attend these events, it isn’t the dominant oliver or endearing karasu who charms you. instead, otoya comes unexpectedly — slithering his way into your heart (and pants) before you could realize it. he’s subtle, and doesn’t stand out much from the crowd. it comes like a shock to you when you find yourself pressed up against a wall in a random hallway with his lips against your neck. he doesn’t say sweet things like karasu, or teases you on how you’re such a dirty whore like oliver would. no, otoya speaks with his words, and you get the message clear enough when he’s pumping his fingers in you. he’s quiet still, giving you only breathy moans and low groans when you squeeze around him — but by the heavens, he sounds the prettiest.

there is nothing quick and swift when it comes to otoya, unlike how he is when he’s speeding through the field. he takes his time with such confidence and patience that karasu would lack, since he’s too eager. and he touches you in the gentlest manners briefly reminding you of karasu, but when otoya looks at you, it’s different. with his handsome face above you, his reddened lips parted with a shuddering breath, and his eyes narrowed as he watches your cunt swallow him to the hilt. he isn’t the sweetest, but he is the most romantic. lacing his fingertips with yours, otoya swallows all your moans in a devouring kiss. his hips plunging into you in a way that you’re sure you’ll feel him for days. and he kisses like he means it — kisses your sweet pussy with his eyes closed and rough hands kneading your ass like a starved man.

and when he leaves, it’s with a hole in your heart. otoya is a silent killer, who comes and disappears into your life, but not without ensuring he’s more than just a silly fuck. because otoya didn’t have to make out lazily with you, or ask about your passions. he didn’t have to be genuinely interested in getting to know you and smile like he’s fallen in love. he didn’t have to hide that it was all a mistake — that he was already with someone else, and simply couldn’t ignore his needs when you set foot into the room and your scent got him hard.

and when the regret sinks in, otoya will barely look you in the eye. he doesn’t stay the night because there’s someone waiting for him at home.

he doesn’t ask for your name or number because it’s easier to pretend nothing happened between you. just as silently as he made his way to your heart, otoya leaves with a final resounding click of the door being shut.

because just like his friends, otoya never stays.

and they’ll be on their way to find their next conquest.

[luvergirl-535]

something like love

part - 7

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 10.7k

c/w - language, drinking/smoking, smut

a/n - took me five days but here’s your long chapter!! i really hope this lives up to your expectations! as always lmk how u feel and live react plsss!!! (also, this is completely unedited and i wrote parts while high. as usual. i will come back to edit later 🙂‍↕️)

There are a lot of things you can learn about somebody in ten years. There are the basics, of course: Their favorite color, and whether it changes every few weeks. Their middle name, and whether they like it. Their childhood stuffed animal, and whether they keep it hidden in a closet.

Then, as you go from knowing each other for one month to one year, and one year to five, you learn other things. You learn about their relationship with intimacy. You learn about why they occasionally stare into space for minutes on end, mind somewhere far away even though they make such an effort to stay close to you. You learn how to ask the right questions in order to crack their shell just enough that they open up to you without breaking.

Azzi knows Paige like she’s a fact—solid, unchallengeable, honest.

But this morning, she doesn’t understand a single thing about her. And that’s not for lack of trying.

After their perfect day turned weird yesterday, Azzi had woken up on high alert. She’s so used to Paige being an open book that it makes her endlessly uneasy when she does strange, mysterious things like creating an ocean between them while they’re sleeping in the same bed.

Naturally, being hopelessly in love with Paige has gotten Azzi used to watching her. Analyzing her. Prodding her and testing her reactions.

So when they first woke up, she watched: Paige, naturally, was still sleeping. She had subconsciously moved toward Azzi in her sleep, but not by much. Her lips were pink and slightly parted, cheeks flushed with sleep, back rising and falling softly. The bedroom window was open in an attempt to fight off the summer heat, and birds were singing outside, waking with the sun—which rose in gentle orange and pink hues, shining through the sheer curtains, painting Paige’s skin and hair pastel. In that moment, Azzi really couldn’t blame herself for falling in love with her.

After Paige woke up, while they methodically went about their morning routines, she analyzed: the first thing she noticed was the silence; unusual, unsettling, and oh-so loud. Paige was never a morning person but she was a chatterbox through and through—she’d always wake up talking Azzi’s ear off about nonsense, and she’d do it drowsily, but she’d do it nonetheless.

The second thing she noticed was the way Paige refused to look her in the eye. Not even once, not even for a second. There was no sleepy smile when she woke up to find Azzi next to her, no silly faces while the two of them got dressed, no lidded, sleepy eye contact through the mirror while they brushed their teeth side-by-side.

And the third thing: Paige wouldn’t touch her. Not to brush against the small of her back while she moved past her into the bathroom. Not to pull her hair back for her as she did her makeup. Not even to fix her blouse when she mistakenly buttoned it wrong.

Now, the two of them are in the kitchen, alone—Paige’s siblings are still sleeping and her parents are both back at work, which is a blessing, honestly.

It’s time for Azzi to prod.

“Paige,” she says casually, the first thing they’ve said to each other all morning, “can you make me some coffee?”

Paige looks up from where she’d been on her phone, expression almost surprised at having been addressed. She looks as if she’s about to point to herself and say, “Who, me?”

Instead, she glances suspiciously between the coffee machine and where Azzi leans against the counter not four feet away from it. Azzi almost dares her to challenge her, to say something snarky like ‘Why don’t you get your own damn coffee?’

Paige may be acting weird, but Paige is Paige. And things may be changing in ways neither of them wants it to change but she would still do anything for Azzi. So, without a word, she gets up from her barstool and heads to the Keurig, sauntering all cool and level-headed like she’s not acting odd as hell right now.

It’s a little disappointing that Paige still hasn’t spoke, but not surprising. Sometimes she needs some extra help.

“So…” Azzi trails, waiting for Paige’s eyebrow raise and ‘So, what?’ back. It doesn’t come. Paige stares intensely at the coffee machine.

“How’d you sleep?” Azzi finally asks.

Paige starts rifling through the cabinets for a mug while the coffee starts up. Azzi can barely hear it when she says, “Alright,” but it still counts because it’s something. Two whole syllables.

“Any dreams?”

Is she imagining it? Or does Paige stiffen up at that?

No, she’s definitely not imagining it. Because when Paige turns to finally look at her—for the first time this morning, mind you—her eyes are wide and—is that a flush creeping over her cheeks? “Why you askin’ about my dreams? Did I sleep talk or sum’?”

Puzzled, Azzi blinks at her best friend, wondering why idle small talk would get such a reaction out of her. “Um, no? Just asking.”

Paige narrows her eyes at her, but when Azzi just stares back, perplexed, she relaxes and turns away. “Oh. Aight.”

“Well, I had a dream,” Azzi says. “We were characters in South Park.”

On any normal day, this would’ve had Paige interested and on the edge of her seat like that. But today, Paige just hums, kneeling down to pull sugar and vanilla syrup from a drawer.

“And you sounded like Eric and I sounded like Stan.”

Paige straightens up, heading to the fridge. “They sound the same to me.”

Azzi glares holes into the back of her best friend’s head. “And we were playing basketball. But we were all short and stuff, so the ball was, like, as big as we were. I still got a ton of shots on you, obviously.”

Paige turns around with cream in her hand, Azzi flashes a dazzling smile, dimple and all. Paige barely even glances her way.

She’s not even going to argue with that? She’s not going to laugh at the sheer stupidity of that silly dream? She’s not going to fondly roll her eyes at Azzi’s grin?

Azzi’s starting to think something more sinister is going on here. Maybe alien abduction.

“P?” she asks, almost meekly, a last-ditch effort.

Paige merely hums, beginning to make Azzi’s coffee exactly the way she likes it, and that warms her a little bit.

“Hey,” she says, stepping closer, leaning against the counter beside Paige. “You good?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies. But her voice is…shaky. Not quite like herself.

Beginning to get a little concerned now—not just for the entire trajectory of their relationship but for her—Azzi lays a hand on her shoulder, gently so as not to spook her, almost like she’s a timid dog. “You sure?”

Azzi studies Paige’s face carefully. She’s gone pale, except for the blush on her cheeks, which is now brilliantly (and adorably) pink.

Paige nods, but Azzi doesn’t buy that one bit, and now she’s wondering whether this is really about yesterday like she’d originally thought. Maybe this whole time she’s been so self-centered to think it was about her. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with her at all.

The thought is so relieving it nearly makes her knees buckle.

Almost gleefully, Azzi reaches up to touch Paige’s forehead, and then her cheeks. “Are you feeling okay? Are you sick?”

“Azzi, I’m fine,” Paige insists, and she sounds so defensive that it has the opposite effect.

Sure of herself now, Azzi wraps her hands around the back of Paige’s neck, pulling her down so her best friend’s forehead is to her cheek—something Katie always did to her and her brothers when they were little. “I dunno, P. You feel kinda warm to me.”

“Shit,” Paige hisses, suddenly yanking herself from Azzi’s grasp, staring down at her hands. Azzi follows her gaze to find Paige has spilled a good amount of cream over the counter.

“Hey, it’s okay—“ Azzi begins, reaching for the roll of paper towels, but Paige holds up a hand to stop her.

“Azzi. For real. Just…listen, I need a sec, okay?” she’s still all wobbly, and her hands are shaking as she brings them up to rub at her jaw, eyes closed.

Surprised, Azzi rears back a few steps, putting distance between them. “P, what…?

“I’m fine,” Paige says, but it sounds like she’s on the verge of tears as she cups her own face with her palms and it goes against every instinct Azzi has but she begins to back away. Slowly, like she’s waiting for Paige to change her mind, for her to reach for Azzi and fall into her arms and tell her what the fuck is going on right now.

She doesn’t. And Azzi can only mutter, “I’ll be in the room,” before she’s out the kitchen, heading up the stairs and clutching at her stomach like she can somehow stop the anxiety boiling deep inside.

————————————————

An hour later, Paige is walking through the bedroom door with a jovial smile on her face.

Azzi startles when her best friend walks into the room, preparing to deal with this mood that seems to have overtaken her, and her jaw very nearly drops when she sees the expression on Paige’s face.

“Hey,” Paige says when she spots Azzi (who has been curled on the bed for the past hour, trying to stave off these new existential crises). “Watcha up to?”

Azzi doesn’t reply. She doesn’t even sit up. She just stares at this scarily bipolar form which has somehow taken the shape of her best friend.

“It’s too hot to be out today,” Paige goes on without waiting for an answer. She kneels down to rifle around in her suitcase. “So I was thinking the movies? Just me and you?”

And then she starts humming. Like, actually humming to herself.

Azzi has absolutely no idea how to approach this situation. She’s almost afraid to even move, as if Paige were a motion-activated bomb—because that’s kind of what it feels like right now.

“Yo,” Paige says at Azzi’s continued silence, standing up with a pair of shoes in hand. “You wanna go or not?”

Azzi wishes she could bask in it—the sudden normalcy, the way Paige is talking to her and looking her in the eye and no longer seeming on the brink of passing out. But it’s such a stark difference from this morning that all Azzi can do is wonder what happened in the past hour to cause such a severe change.

“Azzi,” Paige urges, and for some reason that’s what gets Azzi moving.

She sits up straight, staring Paige dead in the eye when she asks, “What is up with you?”

Paige doesn’t get defensive, and that tells her everything she needs to know. “Nothin’. Just wanna go watch a movie.”

Azzi doesn’t return her friend’s charming smile. “Don’t play, Paige.”

Paige has the audacity to look confused. “Huh?”

If she’s going to play dumb, that leaves Azzi no choice but to be direct. “I’m just wondering why you were acting bitchy to me all morning and now you’re walking in here, acting like nothing happened?”

“Oh, that,” Paige replies, but there’s nothing convincing about her clueless act. It’s obvious in the way she averts her eyes, crosses her arms. “I just didn’t feel good, like you said. But I took some medicine, so we’re up.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi replies.

“Yeah.”

“So, you didn’t feel good. That’s it.”

“Yep,” Paige replies cheerfully, kneeling down to start putting her shoes on.

“And that’s why you couldn’t touch me, or talk to me. Or even, like, look at me.”

Paige stares down at her feet, fiddling with the laces, tying them slowly to put off the inevitable moment she’ll have to stand back up again. “I dunno. Didn’t notice I was doing that.”

“Paige,” Azzi says, and Paige must sense that she’s really serious now because she looks up, watching her swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Please, just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Paige replies simply, standing with one shoe untied to sit by Azzi on the bed.

Her detachment, her false answers and carelessness, are so frustrating it almost makes Azzi want to cry. “If you’re mad at me about—what I said yesterday, at the lake, then just tell me. I don’t want things to be weird between us just because we’re not talking—“

“Whoa, hey, slow down,” Paige says, and the hand she places on Azzi’s knee is so comforting she really could cry at this point. “I’m not mad at you. Did you think that this whole time?”

“Obviously.” Azzi widens her eyes at her emphatically. “What else was I supposed to think, when you were acting all weird towards me?”

Paige frowns at that, looking genuinely troubled at the notion of Azzi’s internal conflict. “I’m not mad at you, ma, for real. I just—“ she sighs, taking her hand off Azzi’s knee to run over her face. “I couldn’t really sleep last night, my mind was going like a hundred miles per minute for some reason.”

“About what?” Azzi asks.

There’s that same reaction from earlier—the stiffness and the blush. Like she’s embarrassed, or maybe even guilty?

Seriously, what is that about?

“Oh, nothing,” Paige replies airily, waving her off despite her mildly visceral reaction to the question. “Just a buncha stuff. And then, well…” she trails off, glancing at Azzi to see if she’ll be able to get away with it. She’s met with a stern glare that clearly says don’t you dare close up on me again, and sighs before continuing. “I’ll be real, I did have some dreams last night, once I finally fell asleep. And they were—they kept waking me up, but every time I fell back asleep they’d just come back again.”

“Like, scary dreams?” Azzi asks, brows furrowed. Paige has occasionally had nightmares while they were together, but they always have her jerking around or talking in her sleep so much that it wakes Azzi, who will wake her best friend and speak softly to her of good, happy things in order to lull her back to sleep. It’s never affected Paige so badly that she was a completely different person when she woke up.

Azzi watches Paige’s throat bob as she swallows thickly before saying, “Something like that.”

Azzi doesn’t reply. She doesn’t really know how to—doesn’t know where she stands right now, in this weird, unfamiliar territory they’ve stepped into.

Paige speaks for her, never good with lingering silences. “Hey, uh, a few of my cousins up here—they’re around our age, and they’re gonna be throwing this big party tomorrow. They invited us to go.”

Azzi hesitates. “They invited both of us?”

“They wanna meet you. Since you’re my…”

“Girlfriend,” Azzi finishes.

Paige nods slowly. “Right.”

“And you really wanna go? With me?” Azzi asks.

Paige scoots a little closer, lays her hand palm-up on Azzi’s leg. When Azzi takes it, instinctually, it’s like finding her footing again. “Don’t wanna go anywhere without you.”

One of these days, Azzi will learn her lesson. One of these days, she’ll straighten her spine and figure out how to tell Paige no, how to say what she really wants to say.

Today, though, is just like any other. That is to say, Azzi falls for pretty blue eyes and prettier words, and says what she knows Paige wants to hear: “Okay. Why not?”

Paige grins at her, and Azzi almost forgets this whole strange morning, their little argument yesterday, the kiss that preceded it.

Key word: Almost.

Because there’s this sinking feeling in her stomach that won’t quite let her forget.

————————————————

Getting ready for this party is turning out to be absolute hell.

“Azzi, just get ready at the hotel.”

“No, Paige.”

Paige sighs dramatically. While Azzi has spent the past thirty minutes stressing, carefully picking an outfit that will be cute, reasonable for the weather, and won’t wrinkle during the two-hour car ride to the next town over, Paige has been sitting peacefully on the bed, making unhelpful comments and showing Azzi TikToks every two minutes.

“At least do your makeup there. It’ll sweat off during the car ride.”

“I have a good setting spray.”

“Azziii, for real, I wanna get on the road,” Paige says, practically whining at this point.

Sighing, Azzi shakes her head, knowing she’s going to lose this argument no matter what. “Okay, fine. But still—my outfit.”

Paige, apparently deciding to be helpful, rolls off the bed and sits beside Azzi by her suitcase. “You got so many outfits to choose from.”

“None of them are working.”

“Just wear basketball shorts like me.”

Unfortunately, Azzi isn’t sure she’s masc enough to get away with basketball shorts, a sports bra, and an oversized button-up quite like Paige can. But Paige wouldn’t understand that.

“What about these jeans?” Azzi asks instead of answering Paige’s suggestion.

“Nah,” Paige says, “it’s s’posed to be hot tonight. Wear shorts.”

“Okay…” digging around, Azzi finds a little pair of shorts she isn’t really sure why she brought—she could never wear them around Paige’s family. With all the rips in the front, and the way it hugs her ass, it’s not exactly family-friendly. But for a party…

Spotting the way Azzi’s hand is lingering over the shorts, Paige grabs them up and holds them in front of her. She appraises them for a moment before putting them in Azzi’s lap. “These.”

“You think?” Azzi hesitates.

“Yup,” Paige replies simply. “Think they’re cute. And you won’t overheat.”

With some more help from Paige, Azzi finally ends up in an outfit that the two of them have deemed suitable for the occasion.

(“Are you sure it’s not too…slutty?” Azzi had asked, looking at herself in the mirror—Paige came up behind her and brushed her hands over her waist and said, “Nah, looks perfect on you,” and Azzi’s decision was made.)

Now, an hour later, only halfway through their mini road trip, Azzi highly regrets the tiny shorts and tinier top.

From the driver’s seat, Paige side-eyes her and smirks when she sees her wriggling around for the millionth time, trying to get comfortable. “You all good?”

“These are up my butt,” Azzi complains, pulling at the hem of her shorts.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Paige!” Azzi’s top begins to slip and she yanks it up, frustrated. “This is uncomfortable.”

“I told you to get ready at the hotel.”

Azzi should’ve been prepared for the I told you so, but it still makes her mad and she crosses her arms, staring out the window with what she’s sure is a mean pout.

Paige reaches over to tug on one of Azzi’s braids. “You sulking over there?”

“No,” Azzi replies, even though she very much is.

There’s a moment of silence, and Azzi is beginning to think Paige is done with the conversation before she says, “Why don’t you just take ‘em off?”

Azzi can’t help but laugh a little at that. “You wish.”

“I’m serious,” Paige replies, and with a quick glance at her side-profile Azzi realizes she’s telling the truth.

“You really want me to strip in your car?” Azzi teases, and before, this is something Paige would’ve laughed at before playfully flirting back. But now, Paige’s eyes widen and dart over to her, and Azzi is maybe not completely teasing.

“Chill,” Paige replies simply, voice betraying nothing even though the blush on her cheeks says otherwise. “Just don’t wanna hear you complaining for the rest of the drive.”

Of course, Azzi is not going to take off her shorts. Things between her and Paige are already weird and, not to mention, she’s wearing a thong. It would be crazy. It would be inappropriate.

But these shorts are really tight. And they still have an hour to go. And maybe Paige would give her The Look, the one Azzi hates and doesn’t understand but is also coming to associate with those charged moments between them, the moments where things shift and change and it seems as if any minute one of them is going to surge forward and—

Slowly, Azzi reaches across herself, and unbuckles her seatbelt.

Paige’s breath hitches. “What’re you doing?”

Azzi hums, and her fingers move to her own stomach, letting them trail down playfully to the button of her jeans, watching Paige’s eyes go from her to the road and back. “Just taking your advice.”

“Oh,” Paige says.

Azzi pulls the zipper down.

The two of them have seen each other in various states of undress countless times before—last year, Paige got so drunk that Azzi even had to help her out of her clothes completely and into the shower. But Paige was laughing and rambling and tripping everywhere and Azzi’s sole focus was on making sure she didn’t slip and crack her head on the shower tiles.

Azzi’s never given herself the opportunity to look the way she really wants to. And she’s been operating under the fact that she would never be looked at the way she wants to be, either.

But now, as she lifts her hips off the seat and wriggles out of these tight little shorts, Paige is looking. She’s looking so hard they might crash.

The shorts slide down her leg, dangle around one of her ankles. Azzi lifts her foot and delicately plucks it off. Tosses it into the backseat.

Paige’s hand twitches on the center console. Fingers splaying wide open like they need something to do.

Azzi has spent practically her whole life giving Paige whatever she wants, because that’s what you do when you’re in love with somebody, isn’t it? And so there’s really no thought to it when she takes Paige’s hand. Nothing tentative in the way she lifts their joint hands, pulls them into her lap. No hesitation when she presses Paige’s palm into her bare thigh.

Paige is staring firmly ahead now. The hand still on the wheel is fisted tight, knuckles bloodless. And when she mutters Azzi’s name, it’s quiet but unmistakable.

For the first time, knowing that Paige can see her in her peripheral vision, Azzi lets herself look. Lets herself study the flutter of her lashes, the slope of her nose, the pink of her lips. Her sharp jawline, her furrowed brows, her neck and collarbones. And then her eyes travel back up to Paige’s, admiring the blue shamelessly as she whispers, “You can touch me, Paige.”

Paige’s throat bobs. Her fingers twitch. And then, slowly but surely, they dance over Azzi’s skin. Azzi gasps softly when they brush the inside of her thigh, and that seems to encourage Paige because her hand travels higher, up to wear her shorts would’ve been covering, tips of her fingers getting so fucking close to where Azzi has wanted her for so long.

And then she stops. Straightens her shoulders and focuses more sternly on the road, but her hand stays firmly put before it squeezes just a little bit.

Azzi’s eyes flutter shut.

They may or may not spend the rest of the car ride just like that.

————————————————

Even before they step inside, Azzi can already tell how bumping this party is. Loud music blasts from behind the front door, and flashing LED lights shine through the curtains on the windows. For the first time, Azzi gets a little nervous—with parties, Paige usually finds some random people to branch off with while Azzi hangs out with whatever team members came with them. Now, with just the two of them, Azzi worries about being left in a corner with a red solo cup and a headache. The thought makes her turn to Paige.

Paige, mid-reach for the doorknob, pauses when she clocks Azzi’s anxious expression. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I just—“ Azzi sighs, then clutches onto Paige’s arm, glancing nervously toward the front door and the party that lurks within. “Don’t leave me tonight, okay?”

Paige smiles softly, and Azzi thinks briefly that friends don’t look at each other this way. “I won’t, ma. Promise.”

And Azzi believes her.

When they finally get inside, Azzj counts on them being able to slip in unnoticed, considering how many people must be crammed into this house. But, to her surprise, they’ve barely even shut the door behind them before the foyer—and the open living room beyond—absolutely erupts. People were laughing and talking and singing before, but now there’s straight-up screaming as young adults crowd around the two of them, whooping and hollering and saying things like “Lil Paigey in da house!”

Paige laughs, waving people off as she reunites with old friends, and the crowd seems to be trying to separate them but Paige wraps her arms firmly around Azzi’s waist and doesn’t let go.

After a minute, the crowd calms down, letting Paige’s cousins come up and give her hugs, the three girls squealing (Azzi doesn’t think she’s ever heard Paige squeal before) as they gush about how much they missed each other and how good they look and Azzi almost misses it when one of them says, “Oh my god, hi! Cousin-in-law!” before she’s the one being attacked with hugs.

“I’m so happy we finally get to meet you!” One of them—Avery, Azzi thinks—says quite loudly in her ear.

The other one—Lauren—squeezes her so hard she almost lifts her off the ground. “You’re so pretty! Look at her, holy shit, you’re so pretty!”

After the initial shock, Azzi can’t help but laugh, the excitement from these two girls nothing if not contagious.

After a few seconds, Paige pulls them off her, gathering her right back into her side once she’s free. “Chill on her, we just got here!”

Standing beside Paige, and in front of these two girls, all three of which have matching smiles, blue eyes, and blonde hair, it’s sort of like seeing triple.

“Sorry, we’re just—we’ve been so excited to meet you,” Avery says, cheeks flushed as she grins warmly at her.

Lauren nods in agreement. “P has been gatekeeping you, for real!”

Azzi grins quizzically up at Paige, who shakes her head, thumb rubbing over Azzi’s waist. “Nah, y’all have her social media. I just didn’t wanna share my pictures of her.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, slapping Paige’s stomach with the back of her hand before turning to her cousins. “It’s really good to meet y’all, too.”

The two girls beam at her before reaching for her, each of them taking a hand and tugging.

Paige holds fast to her waist. “Hey, where y’all tryna take her?”

“Relax, we need to give her a grand tour!” Avery says. Azzi wouldn’t mind leaving Paige’s side just as long as she’s with these two girls, but Paige seems to have other opinions about it, if the way she’s relentlessly holding onto her says anything.

“I can come with you,” Paige protests.

“No, P, how are we gonna tell her your embarrassing stories if you’re around?” Lauren jokes, dramatically rolling her eyes.

Paige holds on even tighter at this, and Azzi sort of feels like the rope in a game of tug o’ war. “No way!”

“Paigeee,” Avery whines.

“Yo, for real, gimme my girlfriend back.”

Azzi nudges Paige with her elbow. “I’m good, P.”

Paige looks down at her incredulously. “What happened to, ‘Paige, don’t leave me, I’m sooo nervous’?” Paige asks, all whiny and flirty as she mocks her.

Azzi frowns. “That’s not how I sound!”

Finally, in her moment of distraction, Avery and Lauren manage to wrench Azzi out of Paige’s iron grip. “We’ll take good care of her, Paigey,” Avery assures, slinging her arm around Azzi’s shoulder. “Don’t even worry.”

Paige glares at the two of them, arm outstretched like she’s hoping Azzi will fall right into her, and she can’t lie, she’s more than tempted to.

But she also wants to hear those embarrassing stories her cousins were talking about.

“Go make her a drink or something,” Lauren calls over her shoulder as they whisk her away. “We’ll bring her back soon!”

Azzi sends a sheepish smile and wave her way, giggling when Paige flips her off. Maybe this night will be fun, after all.

————————————————

The tour only lasts around fifteen minutes, but by the time they’re finished, Azzi is missing Paige desperately. She thinks they may be getting a little too attached, but then, haven’t they always been?

When she finally spots Paige, man-spreading on a couch holding two cups, the relief only lasts for a second because then she notices that she is sitting next to a very pretty girl. A very pretty girl with dark skin and dark hair and a gold, glinting nose ring and a laugh that tinkles all the way across the room, even over the raucous noise.

“Oh, boy, look who found Paige,” Lauren grumbles beside Azzi.

Azzi looks over at her. “Who is that?”

“That’s Amariah,” Avery replies. “She grew up in Paige’s neighborhood.”

Amariah. The name rings a bell somewhere far back in Azzi’s memory.

“She’s had a huge crush on Paige for, like, ever,” Lauren goes on.

“And then, when Paige came up during Spring break in junior year, there was this party and they hooked up,” Avery says, and that’s when it clicks.

Amariah, of course. Azzi remembers the call she’d gotten that night, the way Paige’s cheeks were bright red as she told Azzi the whole story of how she’d slept with some random girl at a party. More than anything, Azzi remembers the jealousy, hot and heavy, that had burned in her stomach, and she remembers the way she’d ended the call early only to get no sleep that night—thinking of Paige with another girl.

“Is that so,” Azzi replies.

“Uh-huh,” Avery says. “I’d go get my girl if I were you.”

That’s exactly what she does.

Smiling gratefully at the two girls, Azzi begins making her way through the crowd, marching to the other end of the living room. Paige doesn’t even notice her walking their way, apparently too engrossed in whatever amazing thing Amariah has to talk about. It’s only when she’s a couple feet away that Paige looks up and sees her, and the way she absolutely beams almost makes up for everything. Almost.

“Hey, Az,” Paige says when she gets close enough to hear. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Azzi replies, unable to keep from smiling back at her best friend. “That my drink?”

“Uh-huh. Been waiting for you.” Paige hands Azzi’s drink to her, then pats her lap, and it takes Azzi a moment to realize that Paige wants her to sit there. Her body starts moving before her mind can catch up, sitting herself sideways on Paige’s lap, skin heating up when Paige’s arm finds its place around her waist. “My cousins bother you?”

Azzi shakes her head, wrapping an arm around Paige’s neck and looking down at her. Their faces are close, noses practically touching, and she can see every detail of Paige’s features, the makeup gracing her eyes and lips and cheeks. Azzi wants so badly to kiss her, and Paige looks like she might be leaning in…

A cough. Loud and intrusive, and it’s not even really a cough—it’s an “Ahem.”

Paige, apparently remembering herself, tears her eyes away from Azzi’s to look over at Amariah. “Oh, my bad, I forgot y’all have never met.”

“We haven’t,” Amariah says, not so much smiling as she is baring her teeth. “Who’s this, Paigey?”

“I’m Azzi,” she says before Paige can introduce her.

“You play at UConn, too, right?” Amariah asks, and Paige and Azzi both nod. “Didn’t know you were comin’ up with P this summer.”

It’s likely been at least a year since Paige saw this girl, and yet she’s calling her Paigey and P like they’re best friends. It makes her tug on Paige’s neck, pulling her head closer almost protectively.

“Couldn’t leave her,” Paige says, and this time, when Azzi looks down at her, Paige does kiss her. Just a peck on the lips, but it makes Azzi take two large swigs from what tastes like the straight vodka in her cup. “Right, baby?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums around the alcohol in her mouth.

“Cool,” Amariah says in a tone that implies she deems nothing about this cool. And even with Azzi so obviously laying her claim, and Paige so obviously all dopey for her, she still has the audacity to scoot a little closer, brushing her hand flirtatiously against Paige’s shoulder. “So, where were we? You were about to tell me that story, from school?”

“Oh, uh,” Paige gives Azzi one last long look before turning back to Amariah, “yeah. Yeah, sorry, lemme try to remember…”

She knows it’s silly, but Azzi is furious. At Amariah, for thinking she has even the slightest chance with Paige, and at Paige, for talking to this girl when she has Azzi literally in her lap.

Azzi finishes off the vodka in her cup, letting it burn her throat and warm her belly. And then, instead of asking Paige to set it on the side table for her, she shifts, swinging her leg over Paige’s and sitting up on her knees so that she’s straddling her, and she barely catches Paige’s shocked expression before she’s leaning over and setting her cup down.

“You finished with that, babe?” she asks Paige, and Paige nods wordlessly, handing Azzi her empty cup. When Azzi leans over again, she knows her tits are fully in Paige’s face.

With both their hands free, Azzi settles back down, sitting fully on Paige, arms around her shoulders. Paige smiles a little wide-eyed up at her, hands resting low on her hips. But then she turns right back to Amariah and continues her story.

What the hell?

Azzi watches Paige’s side profile as she speaks, looking at her just like she looked at her in the car earlier—and the thought of the car, the heat between Azzi’s legs and Paige’s fingers so close to her, possesses her to lean forward and press her lips to Paige’s cheek.

Paige doesn’t respond, doesn’t even falter in her story-telling, but her thumbs start rubbing circles on Azzi’s hips.

So, Azzi kisses her again. And then again higher on her cheekbone, then to the spot beside her ear, and now she’s sort of just trailing slow, sensual kisses across Paige’s jawline, completely unsure how she got here but not about to stop anytime soon.

Paige’s hands slide to the small of her back, clasping behind her like she’s holding her in place. Azzi moves Paige’s hair—which is down, and Azzi loves when Paige wears her hair down—out of the way before placing a tentative, soft kiss on her neck.

Finally, Paige falters. Just a little, probably not even noticeable to Amariah—who is glaring daggers into the side of Azzi’s head, where she’s buried in Paige’s neck.

Gaining confidence from the way Paige’s hands begin rubbing her back, Azzi trails a hot path down the column of her throat and back up, practically licking her way up to Paige’s earlobe before she sucks on it, letting out the quietest, breathiest moan into Paige’s ear.

Paige gasps, but she doesn’t stop telling her stupid fucking story.

Her hands, however, find their way to Azzi’s ass.

Pleased with herself, Azzi takes Paige’s button-up and pushes it off her left shoulder, giving her so much access. She’s on a roll now, and Paige’s hands on her ass feel so good, voice lulling so nicely in her ears even though it’s another girl she’s talking to.

It’s practically feverish, the way she latches onto Paige’s shoulder. Scrapes her teeth against it, bites it, and then sucks. Hard.

Paige stiffens, squeezes her ass.

Azzi doesn’t pull away for what must be an entire minute. And when she does, she opens her eyes, studies the bright-red mark like she’s an artist and this is the best piece of her life. She knows that’ll be purple by tomorrow, and she’s too tipsy to care.

She goes back in and soothes her tongue over the spot, tasting the salt and perfume on Paige’s skin—god, how long has she wanted to taste Paige, just like this? Since she was fourteen? And now she’s finally doing it, and maybe she should suck another hickey into her neck, just for good measure, just to show this bitch Amariah who Paige really belongs to—

“Az,” Paige says into her ear.

Azzi shoots up, and her voice is raspy when she says, “Yeah?”

It’s then that she takes note of how flushed Paige is, how her chest is heaving with each breath she takes. She looks so good like this. Azzi can’t help but lean forward, nuzzling their noses together.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, squeezing her ass which does horrible things to her mind, “why don’t you get us another drink, mama?”

Azzi pouts at her. She does not want to leave this lap.

“I know,” Paige says even though she didn’t even say anything. “I just…” she leans forward until her mouth is beside Azzi’s ear, “can’t hold it together like this. I need a sec, okay?”

And that knowledge—that she has an affect on Paige—turns her mood right around. “Okay, okay.” Reluctantly, she slides off Paige’s lap, straightening out her shorts. “I’ll be right back.” And, somewhat smugly, she looks at Amariah, who is practically fuming at this point. “You want anything?”

“Nah,” Amariah says through gritted teeth. “I’m all good.”

“‘Kay,” Azzi says happily.

She’s not sure, but she swears she hears Paige say, “Thanks, baby,” on her way out.

Fire spreads low in her belly.

————————————————

Later, they find themselves on the floor, all over each other while a couple other girls sit with them. They’re using the drinks they’ve had as an excuse to be practically in each other’s laps, flirting and giggling like nobody’s business—even if they’re kind of making it everybody else’s business with how many people have clocked them tonight.

“Can y’all stop mating for a couple seconds?” Avery asks good-naturedly, elbowing Azzi.

Reluctantly, the two of them pull away from each other, but Paige’s arm stays slung around Azzi’s hips.

“Okay, y’all know what I wanna do?” says one of the girls. There’s only a handful of them, all circled up and pressed together on the living room floor while people party around them. “I wanna play truth or drink.”

“Fun!” Lauren says. “We should do it.”

“Okay, Paige.” This is another girl—Paige introduced them earlier but Azzi doesn’t remember her name. “What’s your body count?”

Paige glances over at Azzi, then uses her free hand to take a drink from the bottle of Malibu they’ve been sharing.

“You keeping secrets from me?” Azzi teases, not nearly as bothered by this as she would be if she were sober.

Paige purses her lips, moving her head from side to side. “There mighta been a few girls I never told you about.”

Azzi gasps, even though she can’t really bring herself to care about other girls—not when Paige is all over her like this. “You gotta tell me later!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paige replies, cheeky little smile and all. Azzi wants so badly to kiss her.

“Love to see Paige isn’t in her hoe era anymore.” The last girl—Azzi actually remembers this one’s name, it’s Riley—laughs.

“It’s about time she wifed Azzi,” Lauren says. “With how damn much she talks about her.”

All the girls nod, and the one whose name Azzi can’t remember says, “Can we blame her, though? Look at her.”

And then they’re all turning to Azzi, cooing and giggling about how pretty she is and about how ‘if Paige didn’t lock you down I would’ve.’

Paige pulls Azzi into her side. “This one’s mine, y’all can get your own!”

Everybody laughs and the game continues. A couple rounds down, when everybody has gotten a chance to both spill secrets and drink a little bit, Azzi gets asked the most personal question thus far, from Avery: “Out of all the people you’ve slept with, who gave the best head?”

Everybody giggles and Azzi is tipsy and not in her right mind so, instead of making something up, she tells the truth, which is, “I’ve actually never gotten head before.”

Everybody stops laughing, looking at her like their jaws might hit the floor. And then Paige is staring at her wide-eyed and she remembers, they’re dating, and she knows enough to know that Paige is an eater, and if the two of them were actually together she’d probably be getting head, like, three times a day.

So she covers it up with a laugh, waving them all off. “I’m kidding. I think you all know the answer to that,” she says, wishing more than anything she were telling the truth.

Paige kisses her cheek. But as somebody else gets asked a question, she’s still got her brows furrowed in Azzi’s direction, and Azzi wonders what she’s thinking so hard about.

For some unknown reason, she can’t wait to get to the hotel tonight.

—————————————————

The two of them don’t actually leave the party until close to one in the morning. They get far too caught up in beer pong, in dancing—in each other.

When they finally get to the hotel, they’re drunk, but not wasted. Thanks to Avery for making them have a glass of water in between each drink.

Of course, Azzi would rather not be wasted. It’s no fun. She loves this light, swaying feeling that comes with being the right amount of drunk.

But with the way Paige has been looking at her all night, she needs to be more inebriated.

It’s only a couple minutes since they arrived at their hotel room and Paige seems to be thinking the same thing. After she takes off her shoes, she flops face-first onto the bed and says, “Wanna be more drunk right now.”

Azzi giggles, walking towards her best friend and sitting cross-legged next to her. “Me too.”

Paige lifts her head. “Think they have champagne in here or sum’?”

Azzi shakes her head.

Paige sits up and makes to get off the bed. “Nah, I’m sure they do—“

Azzi grabs Paige’s wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, pulling Paige to sit beside her. “I just mean…we don’t need to drink more.”

Paige sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right.”

“No, silly.” Azzi giggles again. She is so in love with her, cluelessness and all. “I mean…” she reaches into her pocket. And then she pulls out the joint Lauren gifted her earlier. Pre-rolled and everything.

Paige’s eyes light up. “Did you…” she laughs, “steal that?”

“No!” Azzi replies, whacking Paige on the arm. “Nah, your cousin gave it to me. She’s so sweet, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige says, rolling off the bed and rummaging through her overnight bag.

Azzi lays back against the sheets. “Paigey?”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you doing down there?”

“Nothin’, mama, just tryna find—yes!” Paige stands and Azzi leans up on her elbows to watch her get back into bed. She’s holding something square and bright purple in one hand as she crawls rather seductively toward Azzi. “Lighter,” she explains when she gets close.

Azzi smiles widely, excitement bubbling in her belly.

“Hold it up,” Paige instructs, and Azzi does, bringing the joint to her lips, making dangerous eye contact as Paige lights it.

Azzi feels herself relax even before the first puff hits her system. Paige stays close and the smoke blows right into her face, making both of them laugh. Paige stares at her for a moment before saying, “Lemme go open the windows.”

While she’s gone, Azzi takes another two drags, and Paige narrows her eyes as she hops back on the bed. “Aight, slow down. Puff, puff, pass.”

Azzi smiles slyly as she passes the joint, watching Paige smoke it. Paige leans back on her free hand and Azzi lets her eyes rove over her covered shoulders, her sports bra, her stomach.

“Eyes up here,” Paige says, handing it back.

Azzi makes a face, too inebriated to care that she’s been caught.

“You wanna see ‘em?” Paige asks.

Azzi coughs a little on the smoke, “See what?”

Paige raises her eyebrows, then begins undoing her button-up before pushing it off her shoulders. And there, on her left shoulder, are three red marks, already darkening after just a couple hours.

“Huh,” Azzi says, taking another drag, “coulda sworn I only left one.”

Paige snatches the joint back. “Quit hogging this shit!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Azzi would usually roll her eyes, but that would entail taking her gaze from the hickeys on Paige’s skin and she’s not willing to do that for even a second.

“They’re brutal, huh?” Paige asks after two puffs.

Azzi shrugs, leaning up a little more on her elbows when she realizes she’s sliding down. She takes the joint and it hovers near her lips as she says, “I’ve done worse.”

Something flares in Paige’s eyes at that. “To who?”

“Dunno.” When Paige raises her eyebrows, Azzi does it right back, handing the blunt over. “What? You’re not the only one who had a hoe era.”

“Didn’t hear too much about yours,” Paige mumbles, smoking and then giving it back, fumbling for her phone as Azzi takes a puff.

A moment later, R&B starts crooning through the room. “That’s because it’s private, P.”

“Mm-hmm.” The joint is short now as Paige takes it back. “Were you being for real? Earlier?”

Azzi closes her eyes, leaning her head back. “About what?”

“That you’ve never gotten head.”

“Yeah,” Azzi responds. “I was being for real.”

“Hm.” Paige nudges Azzi, and she opens her eyes for another smoke. “Why not?”

“Dunno.”

“There’s no way nobody’s wanted to before.”

“Yeah, it’s not that.” Azzi’s eyes are hooded now as she looks into Paige’s red ones, hands uncoordinated as she hands the blunt back. “I just…I say no, when they offer.”

“Because you don’t want it?”

“Because it’s scary.”

Paige frowns at the joint, which only has a drag left in it now. “What’s scary about it?”

“It’s so…personal.” Azzi shrugs. “I’ve never trusted a stranger enough for that.”

Paige nods, still staring at the blunt. Azzi doesn’t think she’s listening anymore. “That thing almost gone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Paige looks at her, then back at the joint. “Here, lay back.”

Azzi grins. “Why?”

“Bro, trust.”

Azzi does. So she lays back, watching as Paige lazily crawls on top of her, straddling her legs.

Azzi’s hands move on their own accord, pressing into Paige’s stomach just to feel the muscle there.

With her free hand, Paige moves her hand to Azzi’s chin. “Open your mouth, mama.”

There’s smoke in the air, pressure between her legs. Azzi squirms to try to relieve it.

“Az,” Paige says, and Azzi’s eyes snap to her at the stern tone. “Open.”

Azzi obeys without hesitating, and she’s too groggy to be surprised when Paige puts her thumb in her mouth, humming a little.

She doesn’t even need to be told before she closes her mouth around it and sucks.

Paige sighs, blunt damn near about to go out as she rocks her hips up against Azzi’s crotch just slightly. “So good for me, hm?”

Azzi nods, trying her best to keep her eyes open as she laves her tongue around Paige’s thumb. They hold eye contact for another moment before Paige remembers the joint and takes the last pull.

Azzi feels a little betrayed, thinking this was just a trick to get the last smoke, but then Paige is leaning down, pulling her thumb out and using it instead to hold her mouth open, before pressing their lips together, shotgunning the smoke directly into Azzi’s lungs.

It’s the easiest drag Azzi’s ever taken.

Azzi is only sort of aware that Paige doesn’t pull away once Azzi inhales. She’s only sort of aware that Paige’s tongue is taking advantage of her open mouth, licking into her for the first time, letting Azzi’s teeth graze over it while they kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy.

Azzi’s heart races when Paige’s hands begin to wander, feeling them go from her throat to her shoulders to her tits, where they hover.

“You good?” Paige mumbles against her. Azzi nods.

Paige squeezes her tits, fisting them up and then brushing her thumbs against her nipples, hard underneath her thin shirt and bra.

“Love your tits,” Paige mumbles, pulling away to kiss down her neck, reminiscent of their moment at the party earlier.

“Yeah?” Azzi breathes.

“Yeah, fuck.” Paige’s breath is hot over Azzi’s neck and she tilts her head to the side, moving her braids out of the way.

“Can’t believe what you pulled tonight,” Paige says, leaning down to nip at Azzi’s shoulders.

“On the couch?” Azzi asks. She can’t help but grin thinking about it.

“You got me all worked up in front of everyone,” Paige’s hands move down to Azzi’s stomach, playing with her belly piercing while she sucks hard at the place she just bit.

“Mm,” Azzi says, closing her eyes and letting the memory, paired with the feeling of Paige’s hands and lips, overtake her. “Couldn’t help it. You were talkin’ to that girl.”

“Yeah, fuck—so needy when you’re jealous, huh?” Paige asks, kissing at Azzi’s cleavage. “That’s so hot.”

“You’re so hot,” Azzi breathes. Under normal circumstances, she’d never boost her best friend’s already huge ego like this. But this is the farthest thing from normal circumstances.

Paige smirks against her skin, the cocky bastard. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Shut up,” Azzi responds, gasping when Paige sucks a mark into the top of her breast.

“This outfit—so fuckin’ slutty,” she says, biting at the sensitive mark she just made.

“You picked it,” Azzi reminds Paige, holding onto her shoulders in an attempt to ground herself.

“I changed my mind. Don’t want anybody to look at you, ever fuckin’ again.”

Azzi laughs breathily at this. “Want me all to yourself?”

Paige lifts her head up to meet her lips again, her arms wrapping around Azzi’s back and arching her off the bed, pulling her close. “You know I do,” she says, pulling back from the kiss to look at Azzi with something like reverence. “All mine.”

Azzi isn’t. All hers, that is. Not really. Not even now. Not knowing that all of this is pretend.

But, maybe Azzi has been all her’s since the day they met. Maybe, years ago, a piece of her heart escaped her own chest and made a home happily in Paige’s, and maybe it will be there forever.

So she nods. “All yours, P.”

Paige smiles so, so big at her, and when they kiss again they’re both giggling, not even really kissing at this point.

“Wait, Paige,” Azzi laughs as Paige’s hand moves to her ass, “what’re we doing?”

“Kissing,” Paige replies.

“Duh, I knew that, genius,” Azzi says, flicking Paige’s forehead, which makes both of them dissolve into giggles again.

“But, seriously,” Azzi continues once she’s gathered herself. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Paige says, nuzzling their noses together.

“Do you think it’s—like, okay? That we’re doing this?”

Paige licks her lips, pressing another kiss to Azzi’s. “We can say…we’re just practicing. We said we’d practice, remember?”

Azzi nods, remembering that conversation that feels so long ago now. “We did.”

“So, this is us practicing.” Paige kisses her again, “And it has nothing—“ another kiss, “to do with the fact that I love—“ yet another one, “kissing you.”

Azzi laughs, squirming away. “Paige!”

“Hmm,” Paige responds, eyes wandering down Azzi’s body.

“Hey,” Paige says after a moment, “do you trust me?”

Azzi brushes a strand of hair out of Paige’s face before cupping her cheek, smiling when Paige leans into her. “More than anyone.”

“So…” Paige smiles deviously, ducking down to press more kisses into the tops of Azzi’s breasts, “would you let me go down on you?”

Azzi laughs at the pure absurdity of the question. “P, don’t play like that.”

“I’m being so deadass,” Paige says, and when Azzi looks down, Paige is already looking at her. There’s no mirth in her tone, in her eyes.

Azzi’s stomach tumbles. “…Seriously?”

Paige nods.

“You…” Azzi furrows her brows, “want to?”

Paige leans up, kisses her tenderly on the lips. “You have no fucking idea.”

That is new information. New and insane and something she will work through tomorrow, when she’s sober.

Right now, all she can think of is the ache that’s been between her legs all night. And the way Paige could help her with it.

“Please,” Paige mutters against her lips, “wanna make you feel so good, baby.”

Azzi looks at her best friend. Her swollen lips, the hickies on her shoulder, her tousled hair.

And she says, “Okay.”

Paige’s eyes light up, and she wastes no time clarifying. Her hands go straight to Azzi’s top, making quick eye contact and pulling it off when Azzi smiles at her.

“Fuck,” Paige says, staring at Azzi’s tits through her lacy bra.

Azzi watches her with amusement, running her hands through Paige’s hair. “You’re no better than a man.”

“I’m not,” Paige agrees, leaning down to litter kisses over all the newly exposed skin. Feeling her lips over her warm skin is good, but it’s not…enough.

“Paige, can you…”

Paige’s eyes dart up to her, searching her face. “You want me to?”

“Uh-huh.”

Paige’s hands move up from her lower back to her bra clasp, and Azzi lifts slightly off the bed to make it easier. Paige makes quick work of it and then she’s sliding that down her shoulders, throwing it across the room like it’s offended her.

Azzi’s hazy as fuck, high and floaty and carefree, but when Paige looks down at Azzi and stares, everything suddenly feels too scary, too vulnerable. She moves to cover herself up, but Paige catches her wrists, pressing a kiss against each of them, eyes darting back to Azzi’s with a comforting smile. “You okay?”

Azzi nods, then shakes her head, then squeezes her eyes shut, embarrassed. “You’re just—looking at me.”

“I am,” Paige says, and Azzi hates the way she sounds slightly amused. “Az, look at me, for real.”

Reluctantly, Azzi does, and Paige’s eyes are all red and hooded and the smile on her face is dopey and she looks faded as hell, but this is still her best friend. The one who knows her, who sees her—who is seeing her like this, right now—and who still continues to be her best friend.

“I’ll stop looking, if you want,” Paige murmurs, leaning down to brush her lips against Azzi’s ear. “But I don’t think you want that, do you?”

The ache between her legs is nearly painful at this point. Truthfully, Azzi shakes her head.

“You look good, Az,” Paige responds, pulling away and leaning back down to her tits. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

She looks up through her lashes as she leans down and suckles a nipple into her mouth.

Azzi sighs at the first real contact of the night, hands fisting Paige’s hair to pull her impossibly closer, hips bucking up on their own accord.

Paige holds her down, mumbling at her to be patient while she trails kisses over to her other tit, licking around it and flicking her tongue over her nipple before she sucks a mark into the skin just beside it.

“Paige,” Azzi gasps, cradling her best friend’s head close. “Feels so good, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, grazing her teeth over Azzi’s sensitive nipple. Azzi keens, hips fighting against Paige to reach up, looking for any type of friction. It makes her chuckle against Azzi’s skin. “She wants me so bad, huh?”

“Don’t refer to it as she,” Azzi giggles, and Paige laughs, too.

“I’ll say whatever I wanna say,” Paige replies, laughing a bit as her kisses stray further down Azzi’s chest, head bobbing a little to the music in the background while she kisses her languidly.

Azzi smiles down at the top of her head. “This is so crazy.”

“What?” Paige licks around Azzi’s belly piercing, not stopping her when she bucks up this time. “That I’m bouta go down on you?”

Azzi nods, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. “Yeah. Isn’t it crazy?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, sucking a mark into Azzi’s abs. “Knew I’d do this someday, though.”

Azzi pushes her shoulder playfully. “You did not.”

“Did too.” She smiles devilishly, wiggling her eyebrows while she kisses around the mark she’s made. “You couldn’t resist me if you tried.”

“Shut up,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes.

“Nah,” Paige replies, fingers moving to the button of her jean shorts and fumbling with it. “And you better fix your attitude.”

“What, before you fix it for me?” Azzi asks, lifting her hips to help Paige pull the shorts down.

“Careful,” Paige responds, throwing the shorts somewhere across the room. “Might have to fuck it outta you.”

Azzi nearly whines at the mere thought, and then Paige spreads her legs wide and places open-mouthed kisses on the inside of her thigh, and she really does whine.

Paige bites the soft flesh there, soothing her hands up Azzi’s stomach as she does so.

Azzi’s head falls back once again, because she’s worried if she keeps looking at Paige she’ll come just from this.

“Mm,” Paige hums into her thigh, licking a long stripe up to where she needs her, tongue stopping just shy of her core. “Watchu want, baby? Want me to eat this pussy?”

Azzi’s hips cant up at the words, a breathy moan escaping her lips. “Yes, shit, want you so bad.”

“Know you do,” Paige coos, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s cunt, clothed only in her thong. “So fuckin’ sexy.”

Azzi swears she’s actually floating at this point, levitating off the bed from Paige’s words, her touch, which has gotta be magic.

“Take them—off,” Azzi insists, hands going to the waistband of her panties to do it herself, but Paige stops her.

“I gotchu,” she mutters, kissing down her legs while she pulls the thong down Azzi’s leg, and it soon joins the rest of her clothes on the hotel room floor.

She sits back on her knees, hands rubbing Azzi’s thighs as she admires her, all spread out just for Paige.

And then she bends down and presses the flat of her tongue against Azzi’s dripping cunt.

“Fuck!” Azzi cries out, the sensation against her pussy unfamiliar and sort of odd and so, so good.

Paige licks up her one more time, gathering her wetness before she separates her folds with her fingers and sucks her clit into her mouth, eliciting a surprised gasp from Azzi.

“Good?” she mumbles, pulling back just enough to look up at her.

Azzi nods, pushing her head down urgently. “Uh-huh, just keep going, baby.”

Paige smirks, looping her arms around Azzi’s thighs and pulling her closer, Azzi gasping as she’s jerked forward. She gets back to it, kitten-licking Azzi’s cunt, eyes closed as she tastes her, and then she opens them and groans. “Fuck, Az. Such a pretty fucking pussy.”

A flush settles over Azzi’s entire body at the words, goosebumps popping up over her bare skin even though she’s the farthest thing from cold.

Paige lays one of her hands flat against Azzi’s pelvis, reaching down and using her pointer finger and thumb to keep her spread open while she places filthy, open-mouthed kisses over her cunt, tongue dipping into her like it did her mouth while they were making out. Azzi props herself up on her elbows, chest heaving, wanting to watch. Paige opens her eyes and catches sight of her—hair tossed over one shoulder, tits rising and falling, abs clenching against the pleasure in her core—and groans, sending vibrations straight through Azzi’s pussy.

Paige’s eyes stay open, all hooded and sexy, as she moves her head down and finally dips her tongue inside Azzi’s entrance, pulling a high-pitched whine from her.

Something flashes in Paige’s eyes and Azzi isn’t really sure what happens, but the next thing she knows Paige is burying her entire face in her cunt, tongue fucking up inside of her so good, and Azzi’s head falls back as she lets out a moan that’s downright pornographic. “Oh, feels so good—gonna come, ‘m so close.”

Paige only nods, doubling her efforts and moving her head back and forth, pulling her tongue out to lick repeatedly from her hole to her clit, creating a rhythm that’s absolutely deadly, and then Azzi’s legs are shaking violently, thighs clamping around Paige’s head, and Paige sucks her clit into her mouth and shakes her head, and Azzi practically screams Paige’s name as she comes hard.

Paige eats her through it, slowing down but not stopping, Azzi falling back against the sheets, unable to hold herself up anymore.

“Fuck,” Paige mumbles into her pussy, and when Azzi tilts her head she finds Paige’s mouth and chin shiny with her own slick. “So pretty, mama. Look at you,” she kisses against Azzi’s hole, “comin’ all over my face like that.”

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, reaching down to push Paige’s head away from her overstimulated cunt. Paige doesn’t budge, kissing up to her twitching clit, causing Azzi to jerk. “Baby, it’s too much.”

Paige’s tongue comes back out, licking delicately at her entrance. “Please, Az. One more.”

Azzi shakes her head, holding onto Paige’s hair, trying to close her thighs. “I can’t.”

“Yeah you can,” Paige murmurs against her, nose nuzzling her clit while she tongues her entrance again. “Be such a good girl for me and take it, huh?”

Paige holds Azzi’s thighs firmly open, and Azzi is already dripping again, so that’s that.

Paige digs back in, slurping at Azzi’s impossibly wet cunt, eating her like she’s a woman starved. Azzi is still so sensitive from the last one and it almost hurts when Paige suckles her clit, but it also makes her whine, hips lifting off the bed to hump against Paige’s face.

Paige moans into her, teeth grazing ever-so-slightly against her engorged clit, and that does it—with a weak cry, blonde hair fisted in her hands, Azzi comes for the second time, hips immediately trying to get away as Paige works her through it.

Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Paige crawls back up Azzi’s body, smiling proudly. “Did so good, baby,” she coos, kissing Azzi’s cheek before collapsing next to her, pulling her into her side.

Azzi lets herself be held, tracing her fingers gently over the skin of Paige’s stomach. “You’re good at that.”

“I know, mama,” Paige chuckles.

“Hey…” Azzi presses her hand against Paige’s stomach and lifts herself up so they’re face-to-face, “Paigey, I wanna do you, too.”

Paige stares at her, then shakes her head. “Nah, I’m good, baby.”

“Please?” Azzi pouts. It’s totally unfair that she’s laying here, naked and spent, while Paige is still fully clothed and untouched.

“We gotta go to sleep, it’s getting late,” Paige replies, pulling Azzi back down.

“Why can’t I?” Azzi pries, laying her head on Paige’s chest. “I’d be good, I promise.”

“I know you would,” Paige replies, and she sounds like she means it. “I just…it’s okay. Really.”

Azzi doesn’t argue any more, because Paige is tracing soothing shapes over her back, and slowly but surely she’s being lulled to sleep.

But she does wonder, vaguely, if she will ever get the chance to do this again. And, more pressingly—what this means for them.

—————————————————

The next morning, the first thing Azzi does when she wakes is reach blindly across the bed for something warm and solid and snuggly named Paige.

Her hands fist cold sheets, and her eyes shoot open.

“P?” she calls, listening for sound in the bathroom. No answer.

Azzi looks down at herself, naked and bruised from the waist down.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Paige,” Azzi tries again, rolling out of bed and reaching for her phone. No messages. No note on the bedside table.

Pulling the sheet up to cover herself—even though nobody’s around—she navigates to Paige’s contact and constructs a message:

Hey, where’d you go?

She waits a few minutes for the answer, but when it comes, it’s wholly disappointing:

Went for a run. Be back by eleven.

The period at the end is all too telling.

Paige fucked her last night. And then left her to wake up cold and alone in the morning.

There’s nothing good about this.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa @router2260 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ijustreadignoreme @pazzilover101

also lmk if yall want the songs i listened to while writing *that* scene 😼

[wandascosmic]

Would you write something where Wanda and reader just have like a slow morning. They don’t have anywhere to be and reader just wakes up to see Wanda staring at her and it’s just so sweet. Feel free to add your own ideas too!

slow mornings (request)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which you have your first day off in a year, and you and your wife decide to spend it in the best way possible.

word count: 733

tags: unedited, fluff, meet-cute, business major history, domestic wanda and reader, soft wanda and reader, slow mornings with our favorite couple, wanda has a staring problem

Wanda must have looked crazy, staring at you, her wife, for the past 20 minutes. Just watching your chest rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic state as you slept peacefully. Devoid of all the stress that usually plagued your face at your high-stakes job working as a company’s CEO. 

Wanda never wanted to leave, she felt completely content, having been married to you for the past five years, she never wanted it to end. 

Watching your expression, she reflected on your relationship’s history. 

You had met Wanda fresh out of college, during the first week of the master’s program you two had both been accepted to, one of the most competitive in the country.

Wanda was focusing more on the management portion, while you were learning more analysis topics. 

Sprinting as fast as you could to your most important class which you were unfortunately already late for since the bus got delayed, you accidentally bumped into a redhead on your way, dropping both your books and hers in the process. 

Widening your eyes, you ran back towards the figure. “Oh, my god! I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to do that. I’m just stressed and–” 

The figure gave you a reassuring smile, causing every word that wanted to come out to die in your throat. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice silky smooth as she handed you your books back. “I’m Wanda.” 

Nodding, you wordlessly took your books back, confused as the figure gave you an expectant look. “Um, oh! I’m Y/N. Studying business analysis.” You held out your hand for her to shake. 

“Nice to meet you,” Wanda responded. “Business Administration.”

“Wow, that’s– wow.” You acknowledged, seeing as that was the best program your school had to offer. Should you even be talking to her?

Wanda laughed. “It’s nothing. My greatest accomplishment is my coffee job on the side, with my twin brother. Want one?” 

“Um– what?” you asked.

“A coffee,” Wanda smiled. “Have you heard of Sokovian Sweets? Down the street?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, I love them. They have the best hot chocolate,” you said in recognition. 

“Thanks,” Wanda nodded. “Pietro’s working the shop today, come on!” 

Wanda grabbed your hand and began to lead you in the direction of her and her brother’s store. 

“Um I really shouldn’t–” you protest. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be worth it!” Wanda reassured, never letting go of your hand. 

And it all was, because 4 years later, she became your wife. 

Wanda smiles as you begin to stir, slowly coming to your senses. 

With your eyes still closed, you reach towards your wife, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. 

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” you say, feeling a pair of green eyes watching you. 

“Can’t help it,” Wanda shrugs. “It’s called appreciating your wonderful wife.” 

Turning over to face your wife, you slowly open your eyes and greet her with a smile. “Hi,” you say softly. 

“Hey,” she responds gently, giving you a kiss on your forehead. 

“How long have you been awake?” you ask, moving to rest your head in the crook of Wanda’s neck, to which she immediately responds with her arm around your waist. 

“Not long, I spent most of it admiring you.” 

“You know, 5 years of marriage and I don’t think you’ve ever lost your ability to flirt with me in new ways every morning.” 

“It comes pretty easy when you’ve got a pretty wife in bed next to you,” Wanda responds.

You hum, closing your eyes as you feel yourself relax in Wanda’s arms. “What are we doing today?” you ask. 

“Well, Pietro wants me to drop off some cookies at the coffee shop later today, but we don’t have to, I can just get Sam to pick them up since I made them last night.” 

You laugh. “Oh, yeah, forgot Sam owes you for nearly burning down your kitchen last month.” 

Wanda groans. “How can someone mess up French onion soup that bad! He burned the broth somehow!”

 You kiss Wanda’s cheek. “Let Sam know, I have my first day off all year and I want to spend every minute of it with you.” You wrap your arms around Wanda’s waist and snuggle into her chest, dozing off once more. 

“You got it,” Wanda agrees, kissing the top of your head before texting Sam, and going back to sleep alongside her wife.

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere self-aware Aegons—the pissing contest of the ages.

cw(s): yandere themes & suggestiveness

Yandere Book Aegon is doing everything he can to keep your attention on him. He changes phrases in the book and even manipulates the plot, so he is seen as more favorable. He destroyed Rhaenyra with ease and now sits on the throne with a goblet of her blood. You swear, that wasn't how it happened. You look at the wiki, and it confirms it. Did you just get some weird, unedited copy? Did someone make a fake and switch it out? It leaves you puzzled. 

Yandere Book Aegon puts random sex scenes within the pages just to see how you react. He doesn't understand that half of your reaction is just surprise and confusion.  Why is the whore in the pleasure house described just as you are? How did that get in there? Did he just moan your name!?

Yandere Book Aegon just has to entice you. It's like a never ending adventure. Every time you open it, something new is happening. It doesn't help that this fictional book character knows how to tease you. It's as if he has been watching you from afar. Impossible. Just your silly little imagination.

Yandere Show Aegon always turns on your television, so you watch him instead. He'll interject whenever you try to change the channel. If you do, he'll push himself into the next channel and try to 'blend in' to watch you.

Yandere Show Aegon who makes sure all of your content is curated around House of the Dragon. He can't have you losing your interest yet! He recommends fanfics, edits, and profile pictures of him and only him. He doesn't need you to get more attached to another character. You consume content of Aemond instead? No. Suddenly, Aemond's name is switched to Aegon in every fic you try to read.

Yandere Show Aegon who goes off-screen to plot and see if there is a way to come into your world. He needs to get there before Book Aegon!

Yandere Show Aegon who is madly jealous that he is only a product of an actor. You like the actor more than him! That isn't fair. He is better. He has a dragon! What does that guy have? 'Acting talent'? He won't be super talented if Aegon has anything to do with it. He is so conflicted because that dude is him; he plays him. Yet he is here with you right now. At least Tom is handsome, which makes him handsome. Could he escape and manipulate you into thinking he is Tom's secret twin brother?

Yandere Book Aegon who swears at the other Aegon when your attention shifts to your television mysteriously turning on.

Yandere Show Aegon who wants to kill the other Aegon when you take the book to a separate room with no electronics.

Both eventually give up on the subtle tactic and tell you who they are. Oh, you're afraid? No need. They'll either come into your world or drag you into theirs. They can always just—change the script.

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Pt. 21

Word Count- 8.4k

Warnings- UNEDITED SUE ME- It's 4 AM and I’ve been working on this for the past 5 hours. Swearing, blood, stabbing, reader threatening to off herself with a spoon (idk man), death of a background character, Klaus, Stefan.

“AHHHH,” A loud scream escapes my mouth and I grab the closest thing to me and throw it.

“I’m happy to see you as well, Y/n.”

Elijah?

 I blink rapidly as I try to calm my racing heart. I stare wide-eyed at the suited Original before me, and he smiles back at me. His eyes drop momentarily and something shifts in his gaze.

“Maybe you should change, and then we’ll discuss it, " Elijah says, turning to my desk and sitting in my chair as if he owned the place.

I frown in confusion at what he meant but as I glance down at the bright pink towel that is covering my wet body I freeze.

 “Oh my god!”

I tighten my grip on my towel and run towards my closet. I squeeze into my tiny closet and shut the door. As I’m trying my hardest to put any clothing on my body, I swear I can hear Elijah laugh to himself from outside the door. 

As soon as I think my body is covered I take a deep breath. Elijah is in my bedroom. ELIJAH IS IN MY BEDROOM.

Deep breaths Y/n.

I release a shaky breath and open my closet door. I can feel my heart practically jump out of my chest when I lock eyes with Elijah as he smiles softly at me. His gaze drifts down and his soft smile turns into a shit-eating grin. 

“Is that so, Elskan,” Elijah asks me with humor in his voice and I frown.

“What?”

Elijah doesn’t say anything but he nods towards my shirt. I don’t understand what’s funny until I realize what shirt I’m wearing. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I say as I glance down at the shirt Theo bought for me for my birthday. The shirt that says, in big bold letters “Say Perhaps to Drugs.”

“I don’t do drugs,” I exclaim and then gesture to the door, “My brother got this for me and I knew I’d never wear it so I put it in the back of my closet but it was dark in there and so I must’ve just grabbed this.”

Elijah and I stared at each other for a moment after I got done rambling. Elijah seems to be finding everything incredibly entertaining though as his smile hasn’t dropped this entire time.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead,” I blurt out and his smile drops for a second but returns a moment later.

“I’ve been dead for a millennium, Elskan,” Elijah retorts and I glare at him.

Elijah clears his throat and straightens out his suit jacket, “You’re… acquaintance Damon took the dagger out of me. I’m to meet him tomorrow morning.”

My eyebrows furrow, “Demon, helped you? I didn’t know he was capable of that?”

Elijah releases a sigh, “You are not the only one.”

I stare at the Original in front of me, well more like ogle. Not much has changed since the last time I saw him, he’s still got his god-like bone structure, expensive-ass clothing, and beautiful dark eyes. What has changed though is the new haircut, instead of the middle part, he’s now sporting a somewhat spiky shorter hairdo. And it pisses me off just how good he makes it look. 

“You got a haircut,” I state the obvious as I sit on the edge of my bed. 

“Um,” I watch as Elijah fixes a stray hair of his, “I just had it done, it’s something different,” I have to bite back a smile at Elijah’s sudden awkwardness. 

“I like it,” I blurt out and Elijah instantly looks up at me. 

“You do?”

The smile I was holding back peeks through at the look on his face. Elijah has the same look on his that a dog has when you wave a tennis ball in front of its face. 

“I mean the middle part was nice, but you have the facial structure to pull this off too, so you know,” I gesture to his cheekbones and can feel my face warming up. 

“My facial structure,” Elijah questions and I want to die in a hole when I see his smirk.

I glare at Elijah and he smiles and then glances down at the book in his hands. When I realize he’s holding Fifty Shades of Grey my eyes widen.

“How did you get that?!”

Elijah glances up at me and smirks again, “I believe you just threw it at me.”

My eyes widen as I realize that the book is what I threw at him when I came into the room. 

“So this is the literature that you were telling me about?”

My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water at Elijah’s questions. 

“That’s not mine.”

Elijah raises an eyebrow, “It’s not?”

I shake my head, walk over to him, and reach out my hand for him to give me the book, “Nope. Just holding it for a friend.”

Elijah stares up at me with a smile and I feel a twisting in my stomach at the bright look in his eyes.

“Have you read it then?”

My face seems to be getting hotter at his question and I quickly shake my head, “Nope. Have you?”

Elijah places the book in the palm of my hand and I clutch it to my chest. 

“I prefer the real thing.”

I release an abnormal sound at his comment and feel my heart stop.

“The real thing?”

Elijah smirks so hard that a small dimple is shown on his cheek, “You know, real literature. Not that,” He gestures to the book with his hand, “thing.”

]I release a deep breath, “Oh.”

Elijah nods his head and then raises an eyebrow at me, “What did you think I was talking about?”

I squint my eyes at him and then shake my head rapidly, “Same thing as you. Exactly the same thing. Um,” At the knowing look on Elijah’s face, I fight back a growl. 

“How did you get in my house,” I ask, trying to change the subject. 

Elijah seems to realize this as he lets out a small breathy laugh, “Your mother, is quite the inviting woman. I told her I was writing my book about Mystic Falls and that I was working on a chapter about people who’ve moved to Mystic Falls and she was quite excited to tell me her story.”

At the mention of my mother, a dark feeling washes over me and I clench my fists. 

“Elskan? Is everything alright?”

I rub my shoulder and nod my head, “Peachy. Also, why are you here,” I turn to face him and he looks at me wearily. 

“I’ve been gone quite a while. Not that I wanted to be, for the record. I know that my brother has been in town and I wanted to…needed to make sure you’re okay.”

My eyebrows furrow as he watches me. 

“I’m fine, Elijah.”

“You don’t look fine, Y/n,” Elijah stands up and fixes his suit.

“Ouch,” I bite out sarcastically.

Elijah shoots me a look and shakes his head, “That is not what I mean, Elskan. There will never be a day in my immortality that I think you look anything other than ethereal, but… it’s in your eyes. Before I left you, you had a softer look in your eyes. But now… I’m not sure, but I know something has changed. What’s happened since I’ve been gone, Y/n?”

What’s happened since Elijah was daggered in front of me? Well…

I became besties with a vampire who was hired by his brother to stalk me. 

I got shot. 

Found out my dad, isn’t my dad.

Moved out and moved in with Damon, who is kind of one of my closest friends now.

I keep having tiny heart attacks.

My brother knows about the supernatural. 

I got kidnapped by Stefan and was saved by his brother.

Klaus. In general. Klaus kissing me. Yup.

“Um… not much. You know, average Mystic Falls stuff.”

Elijah still stares at me like he doesn’t believe me, “Y/n-”

“Have you seen your brother yet?”

Elijah quickly stops his talking at my interruption and his upper lip twitches.

“Momentarily.”

I blow out a breath at his lack of answer and sit in the chair he was once sitting in. 

“I’m going to guess that you two didn’t hug it out?”

Elijah walks over to my bookshelf and runs a finger over the spines of a few of my books. 

“My brother is not someone I’d like to discuss right now. Or really at any time.”

“Then what do you want to discuss,” I question as I lean back into my chair. 

Elijah turns back to glance at me, “You. I’ll always want to discuss you.”

I roll my eyes at the comment, “Nothing is interesting about me to talk about.”

Elijah walks over to me and leans against my desk. Our knees are touching and it seems to be the only thing I can focus on. I look up to Elijah and it seems I’m not the only one. Elijah’s eyes go from our touching knees to looking down at me.

“I find that incredibly doubtful, Elskan.”

I let out a light scoff but can’t stop the smile that makes its way onto my face as I look at the man. He looks back at me but this time his attention is on my lips and I swear I can see a hint of pink gracing his cheeks. 

“What do you want to know?’’

Elijah quickly clears his throat and glances up to meet my eyes, “I know you have a younger brother, Theodore, how is your relationship with him?”

At the mention of Theo’s legal name I let out a laugh, “Don’t let him hear you calling him that. But…Theo’s,” I stop and smile when I think of my annoying little brother, “He’s my everything. Don’t tell him I said that or it’ll go right to his head, and he doesn’t need anything else to build his ego. But… before when I didn’t have any friends and was pretty much alone,” I stop and clear my throat, “Theo was the only one who grounded me. He didn’t care that I was a loser, it didn’t stop him from protecting me from bullies at school or sitting with me at lunch when I had no one else. He’s my buddy and best friend.”

Elijah smiles softly at me and nods his head, “I’ll have to remember to thank him for protecting you.”

I quickly shake my head, “Please don’t. Big ego and all that.”

Elijah laughs and I feel that weird turning in my stomach. 

“Oh! Speaking of siblings, I met your sister.”

At the mention of Rebekah, Elijah furrows his brows, “You’ve met Rebekah?”

I nod, “Ya. She’s…something.”

Elijah shoots me a look and I continue, “Well, she’s nothing like you. I’d definitely say she’s more like Klaus. But unlike Klaus, she’s… I don’t know. Before Elena daggered her I could have seen myself being friends with her.”

“Yes, my little sister is quite the character,” Elijah frowns and narrows his eyes at me, “You said, unlike my brother… since I’ve been gone, have you and him,” Elijah picks at an invisible piece of lint on his shoulder, “discussed much?”

At the mention of Klaus, I go still.

“Y/n?”

I look up to Elijah who is eyeing me wearily, “Me and Klaus? I mean Klaus! Because there is no me and Klaus! It’s just Klaus!”

Elijah’s eyes narrow even more and I look away and glance at my hands. 

“I mean he hasn’t killed me so that’s something,” I say casually trying to cover up the mess I just spilled out. 

I hear Elijah let out a growl and he grabs my chin to make me look up to him, “Tell me now, Y/n. Has my brother done anything to harm you? If he has I swear to whatever Gods are out there I will-”

“Dude chill,” I move my face out of his hand and stand up.

“Klaus hasn’t hurt me,” I think about my friends, “At least not physically. Him torturing my friends has been kind of emotionally draining. But, no. Klaus, he’s been a nuisance but he’s not been horrible.”

Elijah and I watch each other, well more like I watch him and he accesses me. 

“You’re being truthful with me, right Elskan?”

I nod my head and let out a dramatic yawn, “Yup, totally. God, what is the time? I’m pooped.”

Elijah shoots me a look and then rolls his eyes dramatically.

I raise an eyebrow at him and smirk, “If you keep rolling your eyes like that, you’re going to start looking like me.”

Elijah's tense shoulders loosen and he smiles at me and gestures to my bed, “How tragic that would be. Lay down, Elskan.”

I raise an eyebrow and laugh, “Why? Are you going to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?”

Elijah walks over to me so he’s about a foot away from me, “I don’t see why not. You’ve got plenty of literature for me to read to you,” He looks back to Fifty Shades which is still sitting on my desk. 

“I would rather die,” I blurt out. 

Elijah laughs and picks up the edge of my comforter. He gestures for me to lay down and I bite back a smile as I do. 

I get under the covers and Elijah places the comforter back down. We stare at each other for a moment before Elijah leans down. I suck in a breath and close my eyes. When I feel Elijah’s lips place a kiss on my temple I let out a sigh. 

“Goodnight, Elskan. I’ll be seeing you very soon.”

—-

My father’s in transition.

I stare blankly at the text from Caroline as I read it over and over again. 

Excuse me?

Meredith Fell gave him blood and he died with it in his system. 

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Ok. Should I meet you at the hospital? I can leave now????

I stare at the three dots as I wait for Caroline to finish typing. After what seems like forever I finally get a response. 

No. Elena is on her way. Just wanted to keep you updated. 

As soon as I read the text I pull out Elena’s contact and type out a message.

WHAT THE HELL????!!! Who killed Caroline’s dad?????

We’re not sure yet. There is someone going around killing council members. Sheriff Forbes said they were killed with one of the stakes from Ric’s collection. I’ll update you later. Stay safe<3

I sit on the edge of my bed, mouth wide open as I stare at the bomb drop that is this text message. Does Mystic Falls have a serial killer? What the fuck am I thinking?! Of course, it does, because what else could be more fucked up about this god-forsaken town!?? 

I throw my phone on my nightstand and run across the hall to Theo’s room. I throw open his door and my little brother lets out a squeal.

“Jesus woman! Knock first! I could’ve been indecent,” Theo says as he tightens his silk robe around himself dramatically. 

“When have you ever been decent in the first place,” I place my hand on my hip and glare at him.

Theo gives me an offended look.

“Also, Mystic Falls now has a serial killer,” I drop the bomb and Theo blinks at me for a few moments.

“Repeat that one more time for me,” He gestures to his right ear.

“Serial. Killer. Mystic. Falls. Stay. Inside.”

Theo nods for a moment before turning around and running towards his phone, “Leave now woman, I must tell my precious baby boy about this.”

I roll my eyes and watch as my pathetic brother dials up Jeremy’s phone number.

“You’re welcome.”

—

For the rest of the afternoon, I tried to do anything to keep me busy. I tried painting, but couldn’t paint anything. I tried reading, but couldn’t focus on the words. I even tried yoga, and now I have pains in my lower back. 

To say I pretty much jumped when my phone finally rang is an understatement.

“Hello! What’s going on!?”

“Woah, Pukey. Glad to know you’re finally excited to hear from me,” Demon’s sarcastic voice comes through on the other end. 

“You’re not who I was hoping it would be,” I groan.

“And who were you hoping? A certain Original maybe? Not sure which one you were hoping for though. We need to have another movie night so you can update me on your latest conquest.”

“What the hell are you gabbing about now, Demon?”

“Oh you know, a certain suited Original. Or maybe his younger brother who just happened to save your life the other night. Just between us girls, which one is currently tickling your fancy?”

I tighten my grip on my phone, “I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! I have a favor to ask,” Damon stops me from ending the call.

I sigh, “What is it now?”

“I need you to get yourself all dolled up and make your way to the big bad wolf’s house at 8.”

At the idea of seeing Klaus, I freeze up.

“Pukey?”

I shake my head, “That’s not happening, Damon. Deal with him on your own.”

“Y/n, come on. Help a friend out.”

“We’re not friends,” I retort.

“Lovers?”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“I just love your dirty talk. It amazes me how you’re still single,” Damon’s sarcastic response has my upper lip twitching. 

“I’ll help you stab Stefan with a fork if you come.”

I look back to my closet, “Eight, you said?”

— 

I let out the biggest sigh possible as I stared at the huge mansion in front of me. I then groan when the fabric of my short dress rides its way up my thighs. 

After I got off the phone with Damon I went to my closet to find something to wear. I then realized that the only nice clothing I had was the clothes that Alastair bought for me. And as much as I hate saying it, he does have pretty good taste in fashion. 

As I try to pull down the short hem of my black lace dress though, I’m not realizing he isn’t the best at guessing women’s sizes. Every time I pull my dress down so I cover half my thigh, the tiny spaghetti straps holding the dress up pull down farther to give an ample view of my chest. Fantastic. 

I make my way up the stairs and I just have to keep reminding myself that I’ll get to stab Stefan. When I reach the huge front door I let out a deep breath and knock on it with my shaking hand. 

Not even a moment later a blonde woman in a gold dress answers the door, “Can I help you?”

I stare at her confused, “Um, I’m here for a dinner party?”

The woman stares at me blankly and nods her head, “Of course. Right this way,” she says to me in a monotone voice, and I’ve concluded that she’s most likely been compelled.

The blonde woman leads me through the house and into a large room where Damon, Elijah, Klaus, and Not-Yoda are conversing. They’ve all noticed my arrival now but I just stare at Damon hoping he’ll take the lead on this one. 

“There’s my girl,” Damon loudly says as he hops up the steps to me and reaches out his arm for me to take, “I was wondering what was taking you so long.”

I shoot Damon a questioning look at his odd behavior but as I look at the other three men’s surprised faces I’m concluding that they didn’t know I was coming. 

“Elskan, I…,” Elijah stares at me as his eyes move quickly over me and I bite my lip in embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry for crashing your party,” I gesture towards the door, “I’m just going to leave.”

“Wait,” Elijah calls after me and I watch as he climbs the steps to where Damon and I are standing, “Please, join us.”

I look down at Elijah who has his hand raised for me to take, then to Damon who has a smirk on his face, then to Stefan who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, and then to Klaus. The hybrid is sitting in a chair closest to the wall, from his casual posture someone would think he’s in a good mood but as he raises a glass of red liquid to his lips, but as his dark blue eyes meet mine, I can see the dark fire burning underneath his surface. 

And that’s when I realize, Elijah may want me here, but his younger brother certainly doesn’t. 

  “Y/n?”

I look away from Klaus and back to Elijah who is looking at me expectantly. 

“Um, ya. If that’s alright with you,” I take my arm out of Damon’s and place my left hand into Elijah’s. He slightly tugs me away from Damon with a smile on his face. But as I come almost chest to chest with him his smile drops and dark looks cover his face. A sick feeling builds in my stomach as Elijah drops my hand and grabs my shoulder. I frown, in confusion, but when his thumb grazes my gunshot scar I tense up.

“What happened here,” Elijah’s usually light voice drops into something that makes me want to crawl into a ball and hide. When I look up at him though, I realize he wasn’t asking me, instead he was asking the other men in the room. 

Elijah’s hand hasn’t left its position on my shoulder as he glares at the three men in the room. 

“I suggest one of you answer me, now.”

“She was shot,” Damon answers for the other two men. 

Elijah’s thumb stops its grazing and his gaze goes from my scar to Damon. 

“Who did it?”

At Elijah’s harsh tone, Damon shoots me a look and I shrug. 

“It was an accident,” Damon tries to joke. 

Elijah doesn't seem to find it funny though as a low growl escapes him, making me flinch back. 

“Brother,” Klaus practically growls at his older brother. 

Elijah’s gaze quickly turns to me and his dark look drops as soon as he makes eye contact with me. 

“Elskan,” Elijah takes a step towards me and I take a step back towards Damon. 

The look of utter heartbreak on Elijah’s face makes something deep inside me break as he lowers his hand that is outstretched for me. 

“Can we just get this dinner over with,” Stefan interrupts us with his annoyed tone. 

I turn my gaze to the asshole but can still feel Elijah’s eyes on me. 

“That would be great,” Damon says and slowly gestures for me to go in front of him. 

I nod and start to walk towards the table when I realize there are only four chairs. 

“Oh.”

“Here let me, Elskan,” Elijah quickly says and goes to the edge of the room grabs a chair, and places it at the table. He stands behind it and gestures for me to sit down. I smile at him and nod in thanks. This seems to bring back his mood as his eyes lighten at my acknowledgment. 

After I sit down, Elijah seats himself in the chair to my right. I then look to my left and realize that Klaus is seated right beside me. 

A girl dressed in the same gold one as before places a plate and silverware in front of me but almost all of my attention is on Klaus. Who seems to not even care to recognize my existence. I mean why should I care though? Right?

—

“You lost your appetite. Eat,” Klaus Says to Stefan who is sitting directly across from us.

 Damon chastises his little brother, “I thought we agreed to leave the grumpy Stefan at home.”

I roll my eyes as I pick at the mashed potatoes on my plate. We’ve been sitting for maybe 5 minutes and yet Stefan has already found a way to ruin the night. 

Stefan gives his brother and Klaus a fake smile before picking at the food on his plate.

“That’s the spirit,” Klaus smirks. 

“Wine, Miss?”

I turn my shoulder to one of the waitresses who is holding out a bottle of wine. I shake my head.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

The girl nods her head and then walks over to Klaus and offers him wine.

“You don’t drink?”

My attention turns to Elijah who is leaning towards me with an interested look on his face.

I shake my head, “I’m not 21.”

Elijah smiles at me, “I know that. But, if you wanted some, I’m sure no one here would tell the authorities.”

I look at the glass of wine in front of Klaus and a wave of nausea rolls through me, “No. I’m good with my water. Thanks,” I smile and hope he drops the subject. 

Thankfully Klaus loves hearing himself speak. 

“Isn’t this nice,” He asks us, “The five of us dining together. Such a treat. Is this what you had in mind when you pulled the dagger out of my brother?”

I let out a low breath and sip my water as I watch the men in front of me start their little war. 

“Well, I know what he felt about you, so I figured, the more…the merrier,” Damon smirks and winks at Elija, and I shake my head. This guy really needs to realize he can’t keep picking fights with men 10 times his age. 

“Well,” Klaus responds, “Elijah and I have had our share of quarrels over the centuries, but we always make it through.”

“Kind of like, uh, you and Rebekah, right,” Stefan joins in and I set down my water, “Where is she, by the way? Last I checked, she was still daggered because you were afraid to face her.”

“If you’re referring to the fact that Rebekah knows I killed our mother I’ve already come clean to Elijah.”

Klaus’ words have me glancing at Elijah. Although his face appears nonchalant I watch as his fingers tightly grip the glass he’s holding. It doesn’t take him but a moment to notice my staring and he shoots me a small smile. 

“Hey, Stef, remember when you killed Dad? Might want to dial down the judgment till dessert,” Damon remarks to his brother, and my eyebrows raise. 

“Oh, so hurting people you supposedly care about is something you’ve been doing for over a century now,” I smile snarkily at the vampire who glares at me, “And here I thought it was only something you did to your girlfriend, and friends.”

Stefan goes to say something but I clear my throat and raise a hand stopping him, “My apologies,” I place a hand to my chest, “I meant ex-girlfriend.”

I hear Klaus snort into his drink from beside me and I jolt when I feel his hand grip my thigh and squeeze it. 

“I fear I might’ve missed some things,” Elijah shoots me a look with a sly smile. 

Klaus still has his hand gripping my thigh so focusing is starting to become hard.

“Yes, you’ve missed my brother burning all the bridges he once had,” Damon responds and then takes a sip of his wine.

“Kind of like the bridge he tried driving me and his EX-girlfriend off of,” I respond casually and I feel Klaus squeeze my thigh again.

“You did what,” Elijah’s voice comes out low and I look over to see him glaring at Stefan, the latter who is trying his hardest not to make eye contact with the Original. 

“Ooookay. We’re here to make a deal, gentlemen. Not kill each other,” Damon tries to clear the air. 

“Might want to remind your brother that,” I bite out and match Elijah’s glare.

Damon shoots me a look and I roll my eyes. 

“We have a long evening ahead of us,” Damon continues, “Pace yourselves.”

—-

“Where is the lovely Elena tonight,” Elijah asks at the table and I glance at my phone hoping to get a message from anyone. But frown when I see only one text notification from Theo asking how to cook instant noodles. I don’t respond. 

“I don’t know. Ask Damon,” Stefan says and Klaus and I both laugh. 

“I’d say to ask your little girlfriend over here,” Damon points to me and I stare wide-eyed at him. I feel Klaus’ hand tighten around my thigh. 

“I’m sorry,” Klaus looks over to his brother, “you’ve missed so much. Ah, trouble in paradise.”

“One more word about Elena and this dinner is over,” Stefan gazes at everyone at the table and I roll my eyes.

“And here I thought you were melodramatic when you were off blood,” I stare blankly at the vampire across from me who stares back at me. 

“I never understood why Elena was friends with you,” Stefan responds.

“And what is that supposed to mean,” I lean forward and glare at him.

Stefan shrugs and leans back, “I just mean that all of her other friends aren’t fragile like you. Physically and emotionally. I mean you’ve had to realize that you’re always the last one to find out about things going on. It's because you’re nothing but a liability.”

I stare at Stefan and for a moment I’m right back to the scared little girl who would puke at the first sign of danger. Because he’s right. I am a liability. There’s nothing special about me. I’m just some weak human that no one wants around because they know I’ll just get hurt. Or throw up. 

I’m still sitting silent when I hear Elijah’s chair push backward. But before he can do anything Stefan is being dragged out of his chair by the next by Klaus. 

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear old friend,” Klaus brings Stefan up to his face as Klaus growls down to him, “If I catch you even looking in Y/n’s direction one more time tonight, coffin or no coffin, I will rip you apart. Limb by bloody limb, and feed your body parts to your brother,” Klaus grips Stefan’s throat tighter to the point where I think he’s going to kill him, “Have I made myself clear?”

I watch in shock, along with Elijah and Damon who appear to be the same as Stefan nods to Klaus. 

“Words, Stefan,” Klaus growls.

“I won’t look at her,” Stefan chokes out.

In a second Stefan is being dropped to the ground and Klaus is walking back over to his seat as if nothing happened. 

“Perfect,” Klaus smirks, “Shall we continue?”

I stare wide-eyed at the hybrid next to me, but he doesn’t look over at me.

I look over to Elijah who sits back in his seat, but his gaze is on his brother. A look I can’t quite distinguish is on his face. 

“Alright…let’s keep Elena and Y/n, in the “Do Not Discuss” pile,” Damon says. 

The other men nod their heads but a chuckle from Klaus has me sighing. 

“It’s just the allure of the Petrova Doppelganger is still so strong,” Klaus says and a wave of jealously washes over me. 

“What do you say, brother? Should we tell them about Tatia,” Klaus turns to his brother who lets out a sigh. 

Elijah shakes his head, “Now why should we discuss matters long since resolved?”

I furrow my brows at Elijah’s comment.

“Well, given their shared affection for both Elena and Katerina I think our guests might be curious to learn about the originator of the Petrova line.’’

I take a long sip of my water and start to regret not getting that glass of wine when I had the chance.

“Well, we’re not going anywhere Elijah. Please, do tell,” Damon says.

“Please, don’t,” I whisper under my breath and feel Klaus’ hand squeeze my thigh again. 

“When our family first settled here there was a girl named Tatia. She was an exquisite beauty. Every boy of age desired to be her suitor. Even though she’d had a child by another man. And none loved her more than Niklaus,” Elijah says, and that wave of jealousy from before builds. 

“Oh, I’d say there was one who loved her at least as much,” Klaus says thoughtfully and I roll my shoulders in annoyance. 

“Wait a minute,” Stefan cuts in, “you both loved the same girl?”

I place my right hand on my thigh and tighten it into a fist as I stare at Stefan. I’m about to break skin when a hand pulls my fingers apart and intertwines its fingers with my own. 

I look up at Elijah who is already staring at me with a worried look. 

I have one left thigh being grabbed by Klaus and my right hand intertwined with Elijah. What the actual fuck is going on right now?

Elijah squeezes my hand before continuing, “Our mother was a very powerful witch. She sought to end our feud with Tatia and so she took her. And Klaus and I would later learn that it was Tatia’s blood that we consumed in the wine on the night where our mother performed the spell which turned us into vampires.”

I release a small gasp and squeeze Elijah’s hand in comfort. What kind of mother would do that to her children?

“Tatia wouldn’t make a decision between the two of us so for a time, Niklaus and I grew estranged. Harsh words were traded. We even came to blows, didn’t we, brother?”

“But in the end, we recognized the sacred bond of family,” Klaus responds.

“Family above…all,” Elijah finishes.

Each brother uses their free hand to cheer their drinks together, and at the same time, I feel Klaus tighten his hold on my thigh and Elijah squeezes my hand. 

What the fuck.

—- 

“So why don’t we move this evening along and discuss the terms of this proposal,” Elijah asks the Salvawhore brothers.

“Well,” Damon starts, “It’s very simple. Klaus gets his coffins back. In exchange, he and the Original extended family leave Mystic Falls forever. Me, Stefan, Elena, and Pukey, live happily ever after…no grudges.”

At the thought of never seeing Elijah…or Klaus again a weird feeling washes through me. 

“Most of the deal sounds fair, brother,” Elijah says. 

“I don’t think you understand,” Klaus responds, “Elena’s Doppelganger blood ensures that I will always have more hybrids to fight those that oppose me. I will never leave her behind.”

Klaus stands up, and I can finally release a breath as his warm hand is gone from my thigh.

“Let’s say I do leave her here under your protection, what then? How long before one of you turns her into a vampire? Or worse, how long before she dies caught between your feuding, you see each one of you truly believes that you’re the one that can protect her. And that is simply a delusion. Gentlemen…the worst thing for Elena Gilbert is…the two of you.”

I try not to agree with Klaus’ words but he’s kind of right.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Damon says and gets up from the table. 

Elijah squeezes my hand before standing up, “Let me deal with this,” He says before following Damon. Which I find quite odd. 

“All this talk has made me thirsty,” Klaus says as he leans on the top of his chair. 

“What do you say, Stefan,” Klaus gestures to one of the servers, “Can I interest you in a little after-dinner drink?”

Within in split second Klaus is biting into the poor woman’s neck and I flinch backward. I quickly stand up from my chair and away from Klaus. I watch in horror as Klaus drains the young woman.

“Klaus, stop! You’re going to kill her,” I try to beg him but he doesn’t spare me a glance as he drops the poor girl's body down on the ground. I rush over to her to check for a pulse but feel tears rush to my eyes when I feel nothing. 

“Oh come on, Princess,” I feel Klaus touch my shoulder and I flinch away from him. Something shifts in his face at my movement but quickly morphs back into his sarcastic smirk, “Get off the floor, it’s dirty. You’ll ruin the pretty dress of yours.”

“Don’t touch me,” I look up at him and growl.

“Well, you two will make a happy couple,” Stefan remarks as he stands up from his chair.

Klaus’ attention goes from me to Stefan as he glares at him.

“I guess the only reason agreed to this evening, Klaus is to drive a wedge between me and my brother,” Stefan says as he walks over to Klaus. 

I wipe the hair away from the poor girl’s face and then stand up, distancing myself from the two men. 

“Oh no, you’re doing that well enough on your own. Because of Elena, you’re going to lose your brother and you’ll only have yourself to blame,” Klaus says.

“What do you say, Klaus? It’s time for you to put something on the table. We’ve made our offer, now you counter” Damon enters the room again followed by Elijah. The latter’s attention goes to me and a worried expression comes over his face as he rushes over to me. 

Elijah raises his hands and wipes away tears from my face, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

I don’t say anything as I look over at the dead girl on the floor. I hear Elijah take a deep sigh as he looks at her and then he gestures to someone behind us. Right after two waiters walk over to her body and pick her up off the floor.

I watch wordlessly as they take her lifeless body out of the room. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Elskan. My brother shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”

“He shouldn’t have done it at all,” I bite out quietly. 

“It’s ironic,” Stefan’s voice pulls all of our attention as he gestures to Klaus and then Elijah, “You talk about how Damon and I are causing a rift between ourselves because of Elena when you and Elijah are clearly doing the same.”

I frown as Stefan looks over to Klaus and then over to me and Elijah. I frown in confusion.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stefan. Once again your bloodlust has made you irrational,” Klaus responds sarcastically but his voice is deeper than before and I feel Elijah pull me behind him. 

“Don’t play dumb Klaus,” Stefan smirks snarkily at the Orignal, “I know what she is to you. And from the way Elijah hangs onto every word she says as if she’s the only thing in this world that exists to him, I’m going to take a wild guess and say she’s the same thing to him. So tell me, which of us is truly going to be torn away from our brother?”

I stared confused at the men in front of me.

“Elijah, what is he talking about?”

I walk next to Elijah but he won’t look down at me, “It’s nothing, Y/n. Ignore him. Mr. Salvatore, don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink tonight?”

At Elijah’s equally dark tone, I get even more confused. 

“Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?!”

Stefan finally looks over to me and I see Elijah start to move in front of me again but I push him back, “Don’t.”

“Mr. Salvatore if you continue, I will rip your head from your shoulders,” Elijah threatens Stefan. 

“Let’s go back to the negotiating shall we,” Klaus interrupts and I shoot him a glare.

“Fuck no! I swear to god if someone doesn't start giving me answers soon I’m going to kill myself in front of you all right now to change the trajectories of ALL your lives,” I yell out and move towards the table and grab a knife. Shit. Not a knife, a spoon.

“Stefan,” I turn and glare at the vampire who watches me with a raised eyebrow, “Spill it.”

“Stefan if you do I swear to-” Klaus begins and I hold the spoon up to my neck and glare at him. He just looks at me like I’m a nuisance. 

“Shut it, dog!”

“Brother, maybe this is something that should be held off for another time,” Damon chimes in from the background.

“You shut it too, Manwhore,” I glare at Damon who raises his hands in surrender. 

“Elskan,” Elijah says and I look over to see him walking towards me and I glare at him, “Let us finish dinner, and then I give you my word that we will discuss this.”

I shake my head at his words, “No. You’ll just come up with another excuse or you’ll say again that I can’t know just yet. And I’m sick of it! I’m not some liability, compared to what everyone thinks! I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

Elijah sends me a sad look that pisses me off, “I know, Y/n. No more of that, I promise you.”

I stare at him for a moment before turning towards Klaus who is glaring at his older brother, “Brother, you can’t be serious?!”

“Niklaus she deserves to know,” Elijah says and Klaus opens his mouth to begin to argue.

“Screw this,” I hear Stefan say, “Y/n, you’re their soulmate. Which is a supernatural phenomenon that only happens to a few supernaturals.”

“Fuck,” I hear Elijah mutter under his breath.

I loud growl escapes Klaus as he rushes over to Stefan and grabs him by the throat. 

“I’m sorry, what,” I release a laugh at the absurdity that is that answer. 

All the men turn to look at me and I place the spoon back on the table. 

“That’s a ridiculous answer, Stefan, thanks for the laugh but now the adults are talking,” I turn back to Elijah, “So you’ll tell me after dinner?”

Elijah stands there silently, as he just blinks at me with his mouth slightly open. 

I raise an eyebrow at him and then turn to Klaus, “What’s wrong with him?”

Klaus drops Stefan and then looks at Elijah and then at me. He opens his mouth and then closes it again.

“How about we discuss this after dinner,” Klaus asks and I sigh but nod my head. 

“If you don’t keep your word, I’m daggering you myself,” I turn back and glare at Elijah who blinks at me again. 

“Alright then,” Klaus starts, “I offer Elena’s future happiness. You see what she needs right now is to be rid of you lot and to fall in love with a human. Maybe that nice football player. You know the blonde one.”

“Matt Donovan? Really,” Damon asks disgustedly. 

“Ya, why not? They’ll marry, live a long fruitful life and pop out a perfect family.”

“And continue the Petrova bloodline,” Stefan concludes, “Every few hundred years you’ll have a new Doppelganger to drain and never run out of hybrids, right, Klaus?”

“Consider it a small return on my investment in her well-being. See, after you hand me back the coffin. I’ll ensure her safety for the rest of her natural life. You know it's what’s best for her. So… What do you say, Stefan,” Klaus walks over to the younger vampire, “Do we have a deal?”

Stefan meets Klaus in the middle and goes to shake Klaus’ hand.

“Nice try, Klaus. But no deal,” Stefan says, and within a second Klaus is breaking Stefan’s hand and legs. And then brings his hand to the flames of the fireplace. 

Damon begins to run to help his brother but Elijah easily grabs him by the throat and holds him to the wall. All I do though I stand by the table and drink my water. 

“Now bring me my coffin before I burn him alive,” Klaus says to Damon who finally relents. 

“Go with him, brother. You keep him honest. When you return I will make good on my promise to you and I will hand over our family,” Klaus says to Elijah who gives me a quick glance before following behind Damon.

With a sigh, I sit down at the table again sip my water, and pick at the leftover corn. Behind me, Klaus is still threatening and burning Stefan but I honestly don’t give a damn. He needs to be brought down a peg. Wait…

“Klaus,” I turn in my chair and the hybrid looks over to me.

“What is it, love? I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” He gestures to Stefan and I shrug. 

“While you’ve got him down there,” I stand up and sneakily grab the carving knife off the table, “Damon promised me I could have something if I came tonight. And since he; 's currently gone I was hoping you could help me,” I send him a sickly sweet smile and something shifts in his face and his smile matches mine.

“I don’t see why I can’t,” Klaus smirks and I practically skip over to the two men. 

When I get in front of Stefan who looks up at me with a glare, I lean down to meet eye level with him. At the same time, I see Klaus tighten his hold on Stefan. I look up at the hybrid but he’s already watching me with an intense gaze. 

“I thought we were friends Stefan. I told you things about myself that I don’t tell many people. And you know what you did,” I fake a frown and lean closer into the vampire, “You threatened my little brother and tried to drown me. So fuck you,” Right when I say the last words I take the knife that is in my hands and plunge it into Stefan’s stomach. 

Stefan drops to the ground in pain and Klaus lets him. That red-hot anger I felt those weeks ago returns as I watch Stefan try to pry the bloody knife out of his stomach. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to a woman more, in my entire life, Astin Min.”

Klaus’ words shock me out of my trance and I look up to see him staring down at me with an undistinguishable look. 

Klaus raises his hand and wipes a finger across my cheek. When he brings his finger back the tip of it is covered in blood, Stefan’s blood. 

I watch almost entranced as Klaus locks eyes with me as he brings his finger to his lips and sucks the blood off his finger. 

“What’s going on here,” Elijah’s voice has me quickly stepping away from both of the men.

Elijah’s eyes trail over me and stop at my hands which I can see now are covered in blood. 

“Damon said I could do it,” I quickly point at the vampire standing next to him who shoots me a glare. 

“Why haven’t you left,” Klaus asks his brother as a waitress enters the room carrying a serving tray. 

Elijah’s narrowed eyes leave mine to move to his brother, “Well, where are your manners, brother? You forgot dessert?”

I hope it’s a strawberry shortcake!

Elijah rips a blanket off of the tray to reveal two daggers. Damnit. 

“What have you done,” Klaus takes a step back. 

“What have you done,” Elijaah retorts, “See, I’ve learned not to trust your vulgar promises, Klaus. We’re doing this on my terms now.”

Why was that kind of attractive? No, Y/n. Stop it!

All of a sudden a young attractive man enters the room behind Elijah and Klaus.

“Kol,” Klaus exclaims.

“Long time, brother,” “Kol” Responds.

Klaus backs away shaking his head and the scared look on his face makes me feel sick. Klaus goes to escape but a man with long brown hair stops him.

“Finn, don’t!”

“Finn” stabs Klaus right in his hand and I take a step forward. Within a second though my view is being blocked by Elijah. 

“Stay back,” Elijah softly whispers to me and reaches a hand behind him for me to take. I look at my shaking bloody hand and intertwine it with his. 

Klaus speeds towards the other exit but Rebekah comes into view. 

“Rebekah,” Klaus exclaims right when his sister stabs him in the stomach. 

“I can’t watch,” I lean into Elijah and he pulls me into him hiding my face into his neck.

“This is for our mother,” I hear Rebekah say. 

“You’re free to go,” Elijah's chest rumbles as he speaks. I look up at him and he glances down at me and uses his hand to brush away the hair on my face. 

“You can stay or leave,” He whispers down to me and I turn to see everyone in the room staring at me now. 

“Ah, Elijah! You’ve finally met your soulmate,” Kol smirks as he takes a step towards us and Elijah lets out a low growl, “Congrats brother.”

At Kol’s words, I frown, “Elijah? What is he talking about?”

“Kol, you daft idiot,” Rebekah screeches, “She doesn’t know she’s Nik’s soulmate yet!”

“Nik’s soulmate? No, she’s quite clearly Elijah’s,” Kol gestures to how Elijah is holding on to me. 

Rebekah, Kol, and the other sibling, Finn, all stare at me with confused looks on their faces before Kol breaks out into a loud laugh. 

“Bloody hell! You poor girl,” Kol stares wide-eyed at me and then at Elijah and Klaus, the latter who watches his younger brother with a glare, “You got sacked with both of them. Didn’t you?”

I stare at the young man in front of me and can start to feel myself shake, “Elijah what’s happening?”

“I’ll explain everything, Elskan. Let the Salvatores take you home and I swear to you I will explain it all,” Elijah says and I release a shaky breath as I nod at his words.

Elijah presses a kiss to my temple before nodding to Damon, who quickly comes and grabs my upper arm. 

“Mr. Salvatore, I promise you if anything happens to her while in your care…”

Damon quickly nods his head, “I got it. Come on, Pukey. Let’s go home.”

The last thing I see before I exit the room is the pain-stricken eyes of the Original hybrid.

[aleskie]

18+ nsfw below the cut -> MDNI

just think about your boyfriend who is so gentle and so caring.

who makes you breakfast on the rare mornings he gets to spend pampering you—carefully plating everything just the way you like it, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he sets it down in front of you.

who opens doors for you without a second thought, his touch warm and steady as he keeps a firm hand on your hip, effortlessly guiding you through crowded streets, making sure you’re safe, making sure you’re his.

who carries your groceries inside without you even having to ask, always quick to grab the heavy bags, always there to reach for the things just out of your grasp—because he never wants you to struggle, not when he can help.

who absolutely hates anything that makes you upset—who watches your expression like it’s the most important thing in the world, who softens his voice when he knows you need comfort, who would do anything to keep that smile on your face.

he’s bothered by whatever bothers you. and he’s upset when you get upset.

trust that he’ll do anything in his power to fix things and make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

the orange that broke your nail? he’s pre-peeling all the fruit at home from now on, and don’t worry—he’s already booked an appointment with your nail tech to get you a fresh set.

the creaky doors and floorboards that creep you out on the nights he’s out of town? he’s pulled the toolbox from storage, spent hours watching youtube tutorials, and won’t rest until everything is silent and secure.

your feet start hurting from your shoes in the middle of your walks together? he’s carrying you around town—no embarrassment, no hesitation, just pure devotion that makes him forever want to make sure that you never shed a tear.

well… most of the time, anyway.

it’s different on those nights when he snaps his hips into you, forcing you to sink your teeth into his shoulder, desperate to keep the neighbors from calling in a complaint.

“don’t hold back, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so deep it leaves you breathless, “wanna hear your pretty noises.”

his mouth trails down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a painting of bruises you’ll have to cover for the next couple of days. he groans at the way you shudder beneath him, your body reacting to his every move, clinging to him as though he’s the only thing tethering you to reality. 

“so good for me,” he rasps, grinding against you, savoring the way you tremble, “taking me so well.”

he gazes down at you, awed by his own luck—how someone as beautiful as you is his. even now, completely bare before him, breath ragged, hair a mess, skin blooming with the marks he left behind, you look utterly wrecked. but nothing excites him more than the way your lips part in a silent plea, the way your fingers clutch at him, pulling him closer, as if the space between you is unbearable.

he can’t get enough of it.

can’t get enough of the way you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in close as pleasure overtakes you. how your moans rise in pitch, desperate and unrestrained. how your fingers clutch at him, nails digging into his skin as your body trembles beneath him. how he feels the warm tears slip down your face as you whimper, begging him to let you finish—how your walls tighten around him, pulling him into your undoing.

and fuck, that’s all it takes to send him over the edge too.

he groans against your skin, rutting into you as waves of pleasure crash over him, his body shuddering with the force of it. he holds you through it, soothing you, grounding you, whispering sweet praises as he brings you both down from the high.

god, he loves it. loves you. loves to worship you. loves keeping you safe from the world. loves the way you unravel beneath him, fall apart in his arms, knowing he’s the only one who gets to put you back together.

and maybe, he thinks, just maybe, making you cry is a little rewarding…sometimes.

unedited and non-specific, but was written for the following:  nico hischier  quinn hughes  lando norris  oscar piastri