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bu3ck3r · 2 months ago

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tied together – part 2

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: okay part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the kind words about part 1 i love yall fr. after you read spam my inbox and tell me how was it and what you want to see next in this series because that would help me finish writing it faster🩵

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

there were three different air vents in the ceiling above paige’s bed, and she’d been staring at them long enough to map out their pattern in her head. she could hear the soft hum of the central air unit kicking on and off, a quiet rhythm that should’ve been comforting. should’ve put her to sleep. but it didn’t.

nika was snoring lightly in the other bed. arm slung over her stomach. unaware that her friend was drowning in a mess of memories, nerves, and someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

paige rolled over again. the clock on the nightstand glared at her in burning red: 3:05 am.

she wanted to scream.

instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated groan. her legs tangled in the hotel sheets, which had somehow gotten too hot despite the air conditioning. she threw them off and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. her chest was tight again.

not the post-game adrenaline. not soreness.

azzi.

always azzi.

her name had been playing on a loop in paige’s mind since the final buzzer. since that short conversation they shared just off the court—tense and quiet and loaded with everything paige had been trying to suppress since their last goodbye. since the last time she kissed her in the backseat of her car with trembling hands and didn’t say anything afterward. since she found out azzi committed to south carolina in a headline instead of a phone call.

what azzi had said to her after the game kept echoing in her head:

“i don’t know if it’s too late.”

it felt like it might be. felt like they’d crossed whatever line you don’t come back from. not because of the game. not even because of the school decisions. it was everything in between. the silence. the missed chances. the way they’d let pride fill the space where honesty should’ve lived.

she ran her hands down her face, frustrated. it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

they were supposed to rise together. be legendary together. win together. lose together.

instead? they had become a story people whispered about. “paige and azzi would’ve been inseparable if they played together.”

now they were rivals.

she should’ve said more. in the tunnel. when azzi stood there looking torn between biting her head off and reaching out. paige had seen it—the war behind her eyes. she could read azzi like a damn book. could always tell when she was bluffing. when she was hurt.

tonight, azzi had been both.

and paige had let her walk away.

again.

and now here she was—three in the morning, sitting in a hotel bed , not an ounce of sleep in her body, and one very real urge building like wildfire in her chest.

she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, squinting against the light as she unlocked it.

her thumb hovered over azzi’s name.

they hadn’t texted in months. not since before azzi announced she was going to sc. not since paige stopped replying altogether. there were so many almost-messages saved in the drafts: little check-ins, late-night thoughts, deleted love letters.

she hovered her fingers over the keyboard. started typing. deleted. tried again.

are you still awake?

she stared at it.

didn’t send it.

she started typing again, like she had a thousand times.

i miss you.

just those three words.

she stared at them. read them over. read them again. her heart thumped like it was trying to break out of her chest.

then, like always, she deleted it.

she couldn’t do this through a screen.

not anymore.

she was out of bed five minutes later.

slipping her phone into the hoodie pocket. moving slow to not wake nika. she slid on her uconn slides and crept into the hallway with her hoodie pulled tight around her, the strings bouncing against her chest.

the hallway was dim and silent, except for the low sound of vending machines and the soft, faraway sound of an elevator ding.

paige walked past room after room, carpet muffling her footsteps.

room 350.

she remembered the number because she’d seen it on a clipboard earlier that day when the teams checked in. she was signing some form in the hotel lobby and caught the room assignments. her eyes had skimmed the page, heart skipping when she saw bueckers – 250 right above fudd – 350.

she told herself it was coincidence she saw it. she told herself she wasn’t trying to remember.

but here she was.

standing in front of it.

she hesitated, staring at the door like they held the answer to smthing she didn’t know how to ask.

paige closed her eyes for a second. her hand trembled as she raised it. she knocked.

the door opened fast—like azzi had been standing right behind it.

maybe she had.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair messy. hoodie oversized. barefoot.

she froze when she saw paige.

neither of them said anything for a second.

then azzi leaned against the doorframe, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was real or just something her brain had conjured up from exhaustion.

azzi’s pov:

the room was too cold, but azzi refused to get under the covers. she’d been sitting alone upright in bed for nearly an hour, hoodie on, legs crossed, just… thinking.

not about the game.

about her.

about the way paige had looked when their eyes met across the court again. like she hadn’t aged a day and yet somehow carried years in her expression. about the way her voice cracked when she said, “i don’t know if it’s too late.”

that moment replayed in her mind over and over, like a skipped record.

azzi had pretended to be fine all day. laughed with her teammates, took pictures with fans, smiled for the cameras. but she hadn’t been fine in months.

not since that night paige stopped answering.

not since she chose herself and sc and left paige behind—and paige didn’t fight for her.

azzi had her phone in her lap, paige’s contact open on the screen, but her fingers refused to move. her pride refused to reach out first. again.

she was just about to shut it off when the knock came.

it wasn’t loud. but she knew. somehow, before she even looked through the peephole. she knew.

she pulled open the door fast, heart already thudding in her chest.

and there she was.

paige.

hair messy. eyes tired. mouth parted like she didn’t know what to say.

azzi stepped aside without a word.

paige stood just inside the doorway, her hand still curled around the strap of her hoodie like she wasn’t sure she was staying. her eyes swept the room—messy bed,few azzi’s tshirts hanging halfway off the chair—but she didn’t comment. she just looked… tired. unsteady. like showing up at 3am hadn’t been impulsive at all, but something she’d been fighting herself over all night.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was a whisper. “paige it’s 3 a.m.”

“i know.”

another pause.

azzi tilted her head slightly. “you came all the way up here just to stare at me?”

“i wasn’t done,” paige said, her voice low. “back there. in the tunnel.”

azzi looked away. “you were right not to be.”

there was a beat. a breath.

then paige stepped forward.

“look, i don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. but i’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t still mess me up.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. just a little.

paige kept going.

“i messed up. i didn’t call when i should’ve. i didn’t fight for us when i should’ve. and maybe that’s on me. but i need you to know…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “it wasn’t because i stopped caring.”

azzi blinked slowly, her arms folding tighter across her chest. “it felt like it.”

“i know.”

more silence.

the hallway was still. the only sound was paige’s heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

then azzi stepped aside, just enough for paige to walk past her.

just enough to let her in.

and paige did.

she doesn’t say anything when paige steps inside. the door closes with a soft click, like the quiet has finally wrapped around them and won’t let go.

azzi leans back against it, watching as paige walks a few steps into the room—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to belong here.

the space between them is maybe five feet, but it feels like ten miles.

“nice room,” paige says, her voice low, teasing by instinct but without bite.

azzi doesn’t laugh. just gives her a slow once-over. hair tousled. hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. eyes tired but too alive for this hour.

“you’re bold,” azzi finally says. “for showing up here.”

paige shrugs. “you didn’t slam the door.”

“didn’t mean i was ready to talk.”

“you didn’t look ready to not talk either.”

silence again.

the adrenaline from the game, the tunnel, paige’s sudden appearance—it’s all still buzzing under azzi’s skin.

“you want to sit?” azzi asked quietly, voice low so it didn’t carry down the hallway. “or…?”

“yeah.” paige exhaled. “yeah, i just—couldn’t sleep.”

azzi moved toward the bed and sat cross-legged near the top, motioning for her to sit. paige took the far edge, careful like she was afraid to sink too far into the mattress. the air between them stretched, tight and quiet.

she doesn’t know what she wants more: to scream at her, or to lie next to her and pretend nothing ever changed.

“you really think showing up like this fixes it?” azzi asks quietly.

paige doesn’t answer right away.

“no,” she says. “but i think it’s a start.”

“i kept thinking about what you said,” paige said after a beat. “or what you didn’t say.”

azzi swallowed. “in the tunnel?”

paige nodded.

“it’s not that simple,” azzi said. “it never was.”

“i didn’t ask for simple.” paige’s voice was soft, but not weak. “i just want to know if it’s too late.”

azzi looked at her. really looked. the same loose blonde hair, the same tired eyes, the same little freckle under her lip she used to stare at when paige would lean in close and pretend they were “just friends.”

“it felt like you gave up,” azzi whispered.

paige flinched. “you left.”

“you ghosted me.”

“you didn’t call.”

azzi laughed, bitter. “you think committing to south carolina was about you?”

paige blinked. “wasn’t it?”

azzi’s breath caught. she turned away, stared at the lamp on the desk. “i couldn’t be in your shadow, paige. not forever. not when i was trying to figure out who i even was.”

“i never wanted you in my shadow.”

“you didn’t have to want it. it just happened.”

silence again.

paige shifted on the bed. “so we just… stop talking? after everything?”

azzi didn’t answer.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi hasn’t moved since she sat down. paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. her mouth. her entire body.

“you looked good out there,” she says, trying to break the silence again. “you always do, but… tonight especially.”

azzi looks up at her with a dry, unimpressed expression. “compliments now?”

“too soon?”

“try ‘not helpful.’”

paige nods, tries to laugh it off, but it dies quickly.

“i miss you,” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

azzi freezes.

the air shifts.

“you don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” azzi says slowly.

“i’m not trying to make it easy. i’m trying to be honest.”

“where was that honesty few months ago?” her voice is sharp, but not loud. controlled. the way azzi always was—even when she was breaking.

paige doesn’t flinch. “i was scared.”

“of what? me?”

“of choosing you and losing the rest.”

azzi stands up suddenly. “so you didn’t choose me, and you lost me anyway.”

the words hang in the air like smoke from a slow fire. dangerous. choking.

paige walks closer. not enough to touch. just enough to be in range.

“i didn’t know what i was doing. i thought we’d have more time.”

azzi shakes her head. “we had the time. you just… didn’t show up.”

paige leaned back on her hands, voice lighter, more teasing now: “we were definitely more than friends. i still remember the backseat of my car in december.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “we were cold.”

“oh, right. that’s why your hands were under my shirt.”

“you weren’t complaining.”

paige smirked. “i’m not now.”

and just like that, the air changed again. warmer. more dangerous.

azzi looked at her, studying the soft curve of her mouth, the way her eyes held hers like a dare. like she was testing how far she could push before something cracked.

“you always did this,” azzi said. “made it a joke before it got too real.”

paige’s expression faltered. “it was real.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

azzi didn’t mean to say it like that. but it was too late to take it back.

“i wanted you to fight,” she added, quieter now. “to come after me. even just once.”

paige stared at her. “you think i didn’t want to?”

“you didn’t.”

“i was hurt.”

“so was i.”

paige looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. “we were scared.”

azzi nodded. “we still are.”

neither of them moved for a long time.

then paige looked up, slow, like the weight of every memory was pulling her gaze. “i missed you,” she whispered.

azzi swallowed hard. “i missed you too.”

there was a pull. invisible, magnetic. paige inched closer, her knees brushing azzi’s now. her eyes were soft, unreadable. but azzi knew that look. that was the look that used to undo her in long car rides and quiet corners at tournaments where no one was looking.

she should’ve looked away.

but she didn’t.

and paige leaned in.

just close enough that azzi could feel her breath.

“i shouldn’t,” azzi said.

“you don’t want to?”

paige’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question. not really.

azzi’s heart beat too loud in her chest. “that’s not the same thing.”

usa basketball u16 women’s national team

it was after curfew one night during fiba women’s americas championship in argentina. they were buzzing on adrenaline and the quiet hush of a hotel where everyone else was asleep.

paige had crept into azzi’s room, just like this. hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. she had laid down beside her on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

they talked for hours. about fear, pressure and carrying the weight of a country on their shoulders. paige had this soft way of looking at her—like she saw the good parts azzi tried to hide under perfection.

then paige reached out and touched her hand, so gentle. their fingers curled together. and azzi had leaned in first that night.

their first kiss was quiet. unpracticed. but it burned in azzi’s memory like scripture.

the next morning, they never talked about it. but everything changed.

paige nodded slowly. “it was real, though. right? we weren’t just friends.”

azzi huffed a soft laugh. “friends don’t make out in hotel elevators.”

“or in the back of your mom’s car.”

“or sneak into each other’s rooms during usa basketball.”

they looked at each other.

and smiled. the kind of smile that held too much weight behind it.

october 2021

they were on the rooftop of some building, sneakers kicked off, music low. the stars were hiding behind a thick gray haze, but they didn’t care.

azzi was leaning against her shoulder, paige’s hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent.

“you ever think we’ll get sick of each other?” azzi asked.

paige laughed. “you’d miss me in, like, two days.”

“two hours,” azzi corrected with a smile.

there had been no doubt back then. just this quiet, loud certainty. the way you just knew when you were with the right person—even if the world didn’t make space for it.

azzi traced circles on paige’s hand. “don’t leave.”

“i won’t.”

both of them did.

paige leaned back against the headboard. “you remember the night when we went out on the roof?” she asked, voice low.

“oh my god,” azzi laughed. “you had me wrapped in your hoodie like that was gonna make us invisible.”

“you were cold,” paige said with a shrug. “and also… you looked cute in it.”

azzi turned to her, eyes playful. “so you admit it. you were down bad.”

“yeah whatever, but you know what else i remember,” paige said, voice soft. “usa basketball u16. you kissed me and then you wouldn’t look at me the next day.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “i was freaking out.”

“you still do that, kiss me and then disappear.”

azzi bit her lip. “and you still let me.”

paige turned her body slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

they were quiet again. but not the heavy kind. this was lighter. fragile.

“i kissed you first that night,” azzi said. “and i kept waiting for you to say something after. like, ‘tell me what it meant’. but you didn’t.”

paige looked away, shame crawling up her spine. “i didn’t know how. i was scared.”

“of what?”

“that if i said i loved you, you wouldn’t say it back.”

azzi was quiet.

and then she said, “i would’ve.”

the words hung in the room like a heartbeat.

azzi’s hands are clenched at her sides, and she can feel the war happening in her chest—part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry, and part of her just wants to fall into paige’s hoodie and pretend nothing changed.

“you broke my heart,” azzi says. quiet. not accusing. not soft. just true.

“i know.”

“and you waited until you lost to come here and say it?”

“i didn’t come because we lost.” paige looks right at her. “i came because i couldn’t leave town knowing i hadn’t looked you in the eye and told you everything i never said.”

azzi’s eyes start to sting. she blinks hard.

“i was angry,” she says. “for a long time.”

“you should’ve been.”

“and i hated you for a little while.”

paige doesn’t flinch.

“but mostly,” azzi says, her voice almost breaking, “i just missed you.”

they’re lying on the bed now, not touching, but close enough that their pinkies brush every time one of them breathes too deep.

it’s quiet.

their voices are tired. their eyes are heavier.

“i used to rehearse it,” paige says softly. “what i’d say to you if i got the chance.”

“yeah?”

“it never went like this.”

azzi smiles, faintly. “same.”

azzi looked over at paige, really looked at her. blonde hair messy, eyes bloodshot but glowing in the low light, hoodie drowning her frame.

she looked tired, but beautiful.

azzi shifted. “what do we do now?”

paige looked up. “what do you want to do?”

azzi hesitated.

paige’s eyes softened, and then she said it—just barely louder than a whisper.

“come here.”

the kiss came slow.

no rush. no adrenaline.

azzi leaned forward first, hands trembling just a little, and paige met her halfway. their mouths pressed together in something warm, something real. it was a kiss built on months of silence, years of closeness, and all the things they never said.

when they pulled apart, neither of them moved. they stayed forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same breath.

“i can’t do this if we’re gonna pretend it’s nothing again,” paige whispered.

azzi nodded. “me neither.”

“then let’s figure out how to be something. just… not tonight.”

“tonight,” azzi murmured, “i just want you to stay right here.”

another long silence. but this one isn’t heavy. not quite. it’s almost… suspended. like the night hasn’t decided whether it’s heartbreak or healing.

paige finally turns toward her. “do you think we could start over?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she reaches up and gently tucks a loose curl behind paige’s ear. her fingers linger, and for a second—just one—paige leans into the touch.

“i don’t want to start over,” azzi says. “i want us to keep going.”

“but we’re not the same.”

“no,” azzi agrees. “but maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

they’d moved under the covers at some point. not touching. not kissing. just talking.

about everything.

about how paige felt like the injury had turned her into a ghost and how she didn’t want azzi to see her fading.

about how azzi cried on the plane to south carolina, because she realized she didn’t know how to build a life without paige in it.

4:45 a.m.

they’re still awake when the first light slips through the blinds.

azzi’s head is on paige’s shoulder now. paige’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her wrist.

they haven’t said the word love all night.

but it’s everywhere.

in the silences. in the unfinished sentences. in the way neither of them asked the other to leave.

they don’t know what tomorrow looks like. whether anything really got solved. whether this is just nostalgia wearing a disguise.

but for now—for this hour—it’s enough.

just them.

just paige and azzi.

and the space between them finally closing.

6.00 a.m.

paige doesn’t remember falling asleep. she only remembers the feeling of azzi’s breath warm against her neck, her name spoken softly in the dark, like an invitation and a promise all at once.

now, it’s morning.

the harsh kind. not soft and easy like in movies, where the light’s always golden and perfect. it’s gray, a little cold, and the sheets are tangled at their feet. her mouth is dry, her heart full of things she can’t quite articulate. she’s lying there in azzi’s bed, still wearing her hoodie from the night. everything about the situation feels like a careful balance, and paige isn’t sure how to breathe without making the whole thing fall apart.

azzi’s still asleep next to her, tucked against her side like a piece of her is trying to anchor itself in the moment. her hand is draped over paige’s ribcage, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of the hoodie, but the touch feels intimate, grounding.

it’s too early. too much. too real. paige doesn’t know how to walk this line between regret and longing.

she turns her head slightly, watching azzi’s face. the peacefulness there is so different from what’s been between them for years. paige doesn’t know what to do with the softness.

“i could stay here forever”, she thinks, but the world won’t let her.

azzi stirs beside her, shifts in the bed. the blanket moves slightly, and for a second, paige thinks she might slip into sleep again. but then azzi opens her eyes, blinking slowly as if she doesn’t quite understand where she is.

when their gazes meet, there’s something fragile there, something unspoken. but neither of them says a word.

the tension between them isn’t angry or distant—it’s something else. something too fragile to touch, but impossible to ignore.

azzi finally clears her throat. “you steal the covers even in your sleep.”

paige chuckles softly, though it’s awkward. “you drool on your pillow.”

azzi’s lips twitch, but it’s a strained smile. “good to know you’re paying attention.”

paige’s heart beats a little faster, but she can’t tell if it’s from the teasing or the something heavy still hanging in the air. she shifts slightly, her arm brushing against azzi’s. neither of them pulls away.

they’re caught in this moment—too close to run, too far to hide. but neither of them wants to break it just yet.

the silence between them stretches on, and this time, it doesn’t feel as comfortable. the clock is ticking. the day is waiting, and paige doesn’t know how to start the conversation. how to untangle everything they’ve left unsaid.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi pokes at her fruit, trying to ignore the strange sense of familiarity she’s feeling in this moment. she doesn’t want to feel comfortable. not yet. she doesn’t want to admit that the night before—whatever it was—mattered.

paige is sitting across from her, picking at a muffin like she’s doing her best to pretend this isn’t an awkward situation. but the air between them feels too soft for the usual easy banter they’re used to.

azzi stirs her coffee with more force than necessary, watching paige out of the corner of her eye. it’s too early for this, too raw. she doesn’t want to say anything that could make this harder than it already is.

but paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “i think that dude’s trying to figure out if i’m kidnapping you or something.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the table where one of the south carolina coaching staff is watching them. “you’re not that charming.”

“you let me walk you down here,” paige says, her voice quieter now.

azzi takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “that was pity.”

“that was longing, and you know it.”

azzi doesn’t laugh. just stares at paige, feeling that familiar tension—pulling her closer and pushing her away at the same time.

“can we just… not?” azzi says, her voice quieter, more serious than she intended. “we both know what’s happened. we can’t pretend it’ll be easy.”

“i’m not pretending,” paige says softly, her eyes not meeting azzi’s. “but it’s still real.”

azzi’s heart skips a beat. real. what does that even mean now?

she looks away, trying to steady herself. “we both have things we have to deal with,” azzi mutters.

there’s no more laughter between them, just the sound of soft clinking as they finish their meals, neither one willing to speak more than they already have.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi has no reason to be back at the hotel.

she has practice soon. she’s supposed to be with her team. but something about the morning makes her feel restless—an itch she can’t scratch, a question she can’t answer.

she ends up in front of paige’s hotel room door, her hand poised to knock.

but before she can do anything, the door opens, and there’s paige—hair still damp from her shower.

azzi’s heart skips a beat. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t even have a good reason for it. it’s just that this feels like the place she’s supposed to be.

“oh,” paige says, her voice startled. “i didn’t think i’d see you.”

azzi shrugs, playing it off. “just thought i’d stop by. no big deal.”

“right.” paige looks at her for a long moment, her gaze soft but unreadable. “are you sure you’re not just trying to make me lose my focus?”

azzi shrugs again, like it’s nothing. but something shifts between them, something unspoken and heavy. neither of them knows how to move past this, but neither of them wants to walk away either.

“i don’t know what you want from me, azzi,” paige finally says, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid to speak louder and break whatever fragile hold they still have. “i never meant for any of this to get… so complicated.”

azzi’s eyes flicker, caught off guard by the raw honesty in paige’s voice. she’s not sure how to respond. what do you say when everything you’ve been holding in for so long suddenly threatens to pour out?

“i just thought…” azzi starts, her voice trailing off as she looks at paige, trying to find the right words. “i just thought we could pretend it didn’t happen.”

paige laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “i wish. i really do. but you can’t unfeel something like this.”

azzi steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. the air between them feels thick now, charged in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know why she came, but she knows she doesn’t want to leave yet. not without saying something, anything, to ease the ache that’s settled in her chest.

“i didn’t come here to mess things up,” azzi says, a little too quickly. “i just… i just wanted to talk to you. to make sure you’re okay.”

paige stares at her for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure out if azzi’s telling the truth or just hiding behind words. finally, paige sighs, her shoulders sagging with a weariness azzi can feel in her own bones.

“i’m not okay,” paige admits quietly. “but i will be. i’ll figure it out.”

azzi watches her, heart aching. she takes a step forward, not sure what to say next, but she’s so close now that she can hear the unsteady rhythm of paige’s breath. she could kiss her again. she could lean in and make it all feel better, if only for a few seconds. but something tells her that would just make it worse.

“you can’t do this alone, you know,” azzi says, her voice soft but firm.

paige meets her gaze, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe?—but it’s gone before azzi can name it.

“i know,” paige whispers. “but i have to figure it out on my own. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

azzi steps back, letting the silence fall between them again. she didn’t expect things to be easy, didn’t expect her to just open up and make it all okay. but she hadn’t expected this, either—the feeling of knowing the space between them is widening, and that there’s no easy way to bridge it.

for a moment, neither of them says anything.

“i should go,” azzi says finally, though her voice cracks a little.

paige doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say anything. she just watches her walk toward the door, her face unreadable.

when azzi reaches the door, she pauses, hand on the knob. “paige, whatever happens, don’t forget… i’m still here. even if you don’t want me to be.”

paige doesn’t respond. she just looks at her, and azzi can feel her heart breaking in the silence that stretches between them.

pov: paige

paige steps onto the uconn bus with a heavy heart, taking a seat by the window and staring out at the world as it blurs by. the morning still feels like a haze—azzi’s voice lingering in her mind, her smile, her words.

they’re gone now. she’s gone.

but the ache is still there.

as the bus rolls down the road, the last few hours replay in paige’s head: the kiss, the awkward breakfast, azzi standing in front of her hotel room, her soft admission that she wasn’t okay.

paige closes her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, that isn’t the hole inside her chest where azzi used to be.

“i can’t keep doing this”, she thinks, but even as she tells herself that, she knows it’s not true. she’s already too far gone. and no matter how many times she tells herself to move on, to let it go, the feelings won’t fade. they never do.

she lets her phone buzz in her hand—another notification, another distraction. but when she looks at it, it’s just a text from ice:

you good?

paige doesn’t respond right away. she lets the silence fill her for a moment before tapping out a reply:

yeah, just thinking.

and she is. thinking about the kiss, about the unspoken words, about what it means to have something real slip through her fingers when she wasn’t ready to let it go.

paige stares out the window and lets the silence settle around her like armor.

there’s a text draft open on her phone.

i think i’ve always known it was you.

she doesn’t hit send.

but she doesn’t delete it either.

the bus ride back to the airport had been long, quiet, and almost suffocating. paige couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened the night before, azzi’s words, the soft pressure of her lips—everything was too vivid, too sharp. it’s as if the whole world paused for a moment when they were together.

but then, in the quiet of the morning they said their goodbyes and azzi had left.

paige knows she has to focus. the team needs her. the game is over, but there’s still practice, still the road ahead, still the tournament. but right now, she doesn’t want to focus on any of it.

her phone buzzes, again,text from ice:

yo, did something happened? you seem a lil off.

paige sighs, her fingers hesitating over the keys before she replies:

just tired. we’ll talk later.

she’s not sure what to say. she can’t explain this thing with azzi, this thing that keeps eating at her, and she definitely can’t tell ice that she’s been up thinking about azzi. not without sounding like a mess.

she shoves the phone back into her bag and leans back against the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up her spine.

pov: azzi

azzi is late. she knows it. the rest of her team is already stretching, warming up, the air filled with the low hum of sneakers on hardwood and the sharp calls of coaches.

but azzi’s mind is elsewhere. she’s still tangled up in the early morning hours, the faint echo of paige’s voice ringing in her ears. she told herself she was fine, that she was going to move on, that this wasn’t going to disrupt her focus. but every step she takes toward the court, every drill she starts, the pull of her thoughts drags her back to that hotel room.

she hasn’t been able to shake the look in paige’s eyes when they said goodbye. she can’t pretend it wasn’t something more, something that meant more than it should.

that goodbye wasn’t enough for her, and azzi’s pretty sure it wasn’t enough for paige either.

the whistle blows, and azzi quickly snaps her focus back to the court. the next drill begins, but her body feels like it’s moving without her.

she catches a glimpse of bree, watching her from the corner of the court, and azzi wonders if she has noticed the shift in her energy. she’s been distant lately, quieter than usual. it’s hard to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

aliyah boston calls out to her during a break. “hey, you good?”

azzi forces a smile, trying to brush it off. “yeah, just focused. lots on my mind.”

aliyah’s gaze is sharp, like she sees through the mask azzi is trying to wear. “whatever it is, we’ll get through it. you’re not in this alone.”

azzi nods, though the words don’t feel as reassuring as they should. she appreciates aliyah’s support, but there’s only so much that can be said. what she really wants to do is leave the gym, hop on a plane, and head to connecticut. to paige. her paige.

but she doesn’t. she stays, practices hard, and forces herself to focus.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige is finally in her dorm and flops down on her bed, the midday light creeping through the curtains in soft beams. her mind is still spinning, filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something a little more dangerous. she hasn’t stopped thinking about azzi, and it’s not just because of what happened the night before. it’s everything. the way they’re connected without meaning to be, the way azzi makes her feel things she’s not supposed to feel.

the door to her room creaks open, and her teammate, nika, steps inside, wearing an expression of concern that paige knows too well.

“you okay?” nika asks, her voice low, almost like she’s already figured out what’s going on.

paige doesn’t know how to explain herself, doesn’t know how to tell her friend that she can’t stop thinking about someone she should never even care about. she just shrugs. “yeah, just a little tired. a lot of stuff on my mind.”

nika looks at her for a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly. “i saw the way you were acting at breakfast this morning. you’ve been off for a while now. what’s going on with you and fudd?”

paige tenses. she didn’t think anyone had noticed—but of course nika would.

“it’s nothing. seriously. just… stuff with the game,” paige lies, her words not coming out as smoothly as she hoped.

nika doesn’t buy it. “uh-huh. i don’t know what happened, but you two have been different. don’t let this mess with your focus. we need you, paige. you know that, right?”

paige nods, but even as she says, “i know,” the words feel hollow.

what if this thing with azzi does mess with her focus? what if it messes with everything? she’s supposed to be a leader, supposed to lead her team to victory, but how can she do that when she’s losing herself in thoughts of azzi?

“thanks, nika,” paige says quietly, before turning away from her teammate. nika doesn’t say anything else. she just nods and walks out, leaving paige alone with the thoughts she doesn’t know how to sort through.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi can’t concentrate.

she’s in her dorm, getting ready for the team meeting before they head out for the next game. but all she can think about is the way they left things. how this—all of it—is too much.

“you’re letting this get in your head”, she tells herself, pacing back and forth. focus.

but focus doesn’t come. it never does when she’s thinking about paige.

the room feels too small, the walls too close. she feels like she can’t breathe, like the weight of this whole situation is bearing down on her chest.

there’s a knock at the door, and azzi pauses. “come in,” she calls.

the door opens, and aliyah steps inside, a knowing look on her face. “you’re still thinking about her, huh?”

azzi sighs, sitting down on the bed. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you don’t have to stop. but you need to stop letting it take over your game,” aliyah says, her voice firm but not unkind.

“i know,” azzi mutters, running a hand through her hair. “but what happens when the feelings don’t go away?”

aliyah sits beside her, crossing her arms. “i can’t answer that for you. but i know this: you’re stronger than this. don’t let paige bueckers, or whatever’s going on between you two, take away your power.”

azzi glances at her friend. aliyah’s right, of course. but it doesn’t make it easier.

pov: paige

paige finally admits it to herself. the feelings are too strong to ignore. no matter how much she tries to bury them, no matter how much she wants to tell herself this was a one-time thing, something’s shifted.

she opens her phone, staring at azzi’s name on the screen. should i text her?

the words come too easily.

hey, i’ve been thinking a lot. maybe we could talk?

she hesitates before pressing send. it’s reckless. but the moment it leaves her hands, paige knows she can’t take it back. she’s already in too deep.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn huskies #south carolina #paige x azzi #fiction

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elikajinnie · 7 months ago

Text

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 2)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Obsession, Jealousy, Mentioned Murder, Possessiveness, Flirting, A tiny bit of manipulation, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: part 2 was HIGHLY requested... soooo here it is!! :D i wrote this instead of studying..

part 1 here

After meeting Ni-ki at the club, there had been nothing from him. No texts, no calls, no slyly delivered gifts. Just silence.

Radio silence from him for days.

At first, you told yourself it was a relief, finally some peace from his attention. But eventually that relief began to feel less like freedom and more like… emptiness.

Every time you grabbed your phone, your thumb hovered over the screen, the urge to text him stronger than you wanted to admit. But then you’d stop, heart sinking with a mixture of shame and stubbornness. What would it even say about you if you were the one to reach out first? Ni-ki had always been the one to text first, always the one pushing, teasing, pulling.

And now, without him doing that, everything just felt weird. Off.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. The silence was eating you up in ways you hadn’t expected. It was ridiculous. Stupid. He was a criminal. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him, let alone missing him. But here you were, feeling that strange, hollow ache in your chest every time your phone didn’t buzz with a message.

And you hated how much it mattered to you.

The hours stretched on, the silence suffocating. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself, Ni-ki lingered in your thoughts. His smirk, his voice, the way he looked at you—it was all on an endless loop in your mind.

You’d find yourself overanalyzing every interaction you’d had with him. Did you say something wrong? Did your rejection at the club finally push him away? Was this… it?

You rolled over on the couch, staring blankly at the TV that played some mindless show you weren’t even paying attention to. Your phone sat on the coffee table, and you glared at it like it had personally betrayed you.

Why was this bothering you so much?

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the phone, your fingers hesitating over the screen. Maybe just a casual message? Something simple? But no matter how many times you typed something, it all sounded wrong.

Why haven’t you texted me? Is this some game to you? Are you okay?

You groaned, deleting every draft. Nothing felt right. Besides, if you texted him first, it would be admitting you cared. And wasn’t that the one thing you swore you wouldn’t do?

But as the days passed, the emptiness only grew. Even your friends noticed your distracted state, asking if you were okay. You lied, of course, brushing it off as stress or lack of sleep. How could you explain that you were hung up on a guy who was a literal criminal?

On the eleventh day of silence, you finally caved.

Just as you were about to type out a message, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your heart jumped, hope flaring so quickly it scared you. And when you saw his name, or rather the cryptic alias he used in your phone, pop up on the screen, you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

"Miss me yet?"

Your lips parted, a mix of annoyance and something dangerously close to joy bubbling up. Of course, he’d break the silence with something like that.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back, fingers flying across the screen.

"What happened to you? Finally get bored?"

His response came almost immediately.

"Bored? Never. Just wanted to see how long it’d take for you to crack."

Your jaw dropped, a wave of irritation hitting you.

"You’re insufferable" you shot back.

"And you’re cute when you’re annoyed" he replied, followed by a winking emoji.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

"Don’t disappear like that again" you typed before you could stop yourself, your heart pounding as you hit send.

The pause between his messages felt like forever, but when his reply came, it made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry, doll. I’m not going anywhere."

You leaned back against the couch, phone clutched in your hand, staring at his last message before you typed out a reply.

"Good. Because it was getting kind of quiet without you annoying me."

The typing bubble popped up instantly, and somehow, that made you feel lighter.

"Admit it. You missed me."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Don’t flatter yourself."

His reply came quick, like he was waiting on your response.

"Too late. Flattering myself is kind of my thing."

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you typed back.

"That’s obvious. But seriously… what have you been doing?"

There was a slight pause this time, and when his message came through, you could almost hear his voice in your head.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

You sighed, fighting the urge to play into his games.

"Yes, actually. That’s why I’m asking."

"Touché."

A few seconds passed, and then another message came through.

"Let’s just say I had some… work to take care of. But I’m all yours now."

Your heart skipped at his words, and you hated the way your stomach flipped at such a simple line.

"All mine, huh? That’s bold for someone who disappeared for almost a week."

"Bold is my middle name, sweetheart."

You snorted at that, trying not to imagine his cocky grin.

"Sure it is. Anyway, why’d you text me tonight?"

His response was instant again.

"Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you."

Your breath hitched, and you blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. Before you could type anything, another message came through.

"Don’t look so shocked. You’re pretty unforgettable."

"You can’t even see me right now."

"I don’t need to. I know exactly how you’re reacting."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the blush spreading across your face.

"You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

You didn’t have a comeback for that. The conversation kept flowing, his words teasing yet always laced with something that felt too genuine to be ignored. Every time you thought it would end, he sent another message.

"Still awake?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"What’s your favorite place to get coffee?"

The questions weren’t just idle small talk. They felt intentional, like he wanted to learn every little thing about you.

And you let him.

You answered every question, sometimes throwing one back at him, and the hours ticked by faster than you realized. By the time you glanced at the clock, it was well past midnight.

"You’re keeping me up" you finally typed, even though you weren’t really upset.

"Not my fault I`m fun to talk to" he replied.

"You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming, I know."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as your fingers hovered over the screen.

"Goodnight, Ni-ki."

The reply came almost instantly.

"Goodnight, doll. Dream about me."

You set your phone down with a sigh, but with a smile on your face.

It had been a slow day at work, the kind where you counted down the hours and prayed for something to happen. But you weren’t exactly expecting him to walk through the doors.

Ni-ki strolled in casually, hands stuffed into his pockets, but it was impossible to miss the dark bruise across his cheekbone or the small cut at the corner of his lip. His usual cocky demeanor was still intact, though—shoulders back, head high, like he hadn’t been in some sort of fight.

Your eyes widened as you instinctively took a step toward him. “What the hell happened to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You gave him an incredulous look, quickly closing the distance between you. Your hands moved on their own as you gently touched the side of his face, your fingers brushing against the bruised skin. He winced slightly but didn’t pull back, his gaze steady on yours.

“Ni-ki, this isn’t nothing. Who did this to you?”

He tilted his head, clearly enjoying your concern. “You worried about me, doll?”

You huffed, pulling your hands back. “Of course, I’m worried! You look like you got hit by a truck.”

His smirk widened. “Not a truck. Just some idiots who thought they could take us down. We had a little… disagreement.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “A disagreement?”

“Yeah, you know, some guys in another town thought they could muscle in on our business.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “Let’s just say they won’t be trying that again.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication, but the relief that he was standing here in one piece outweighed everything else. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the sincerity in your voice. Then, that smug grin of his returned. “You’re really worried about me, huh? I knew you liked me.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back, but before you could retreat any further, his hands shot out and grabbed yours. His grip was firm but gentle as he pulled you close, so close you could see the faint stubble on his jaw and the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I kinda like it when you fuss over me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to look anywhere but at him. “I’m not fussing. I just—”

“You just care,” he finished for you, his lips turning into a softer smile. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, you wanted to pull back, to regain some semblance of control over the situation, but something about the way he was looking at you made it impossible to move.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” he said quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something almost… genuine.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Just… be careful, okay?”

He grinned again, the playful Ni-ki back in full force. “Careful’s not really my thing, doll. But for you, I’ll try.”

You sighed, trying to focus on getting your work done, but you could feel his eyes on you. Ni-ki hadn’t left, of course. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, like he had all the time in the world to loiter around and watch you. Every now and then, you’d glance up, only to find him smiling at you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

You huffed, brushing past him with a stack of folded clothes, determined to ignore him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked, not bothering to look at him as you placed the clothes neatly on a display table.

“Not really,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, recovering or something? You’re walking around like you didn’t just get into a fight.”

Ni-ki chuckled, his voice low. “I’m tougher than I look, doll. Besides…” He trailed off, and when you turned to glare at him, you caught him staring again, his gaze lingering in a way that made your stomach flip. “You make a great distraction.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you moved to another rack. But even as you tried to focus on reorganizing the clothes, you couldn’t help but feel the heat of his presence. He was so close, always just within arm’s reach, and the empty store wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Do you just follow me everywhere now?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“Not everywhere,” he replied, his voice dipping into something playful. “Just the places I know you’ll be.”

“Creepy much?”

He laughed at that, the sound rich and unbothered. “C’mon, admit it—you liked that I showed up.”

You turned to retort, but the look in his eyes stopped you. They were looking at you so fondly.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being with you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

The sincerity in his tone threw you off, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

Eunseo suddenly stepped out from the storage room, a bright smile plastered on her face as she noticed Ni-ki leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, hello there! Welcome to our store! Do you need any help?” she said, her voice taking on a tone that was just a bit too cheerful, her steps purposeful as she approached him.

Ni-ki, to his credit, barely acknowledged her, his dark eyes still lingering on you as if Eunseo didn’t exist. “I’m good, thanks,” he replied flatly.

But Eunseo didn’t seem to pick up on his disinterest—or maybe she just didn’t care. “Are you sure? We’ve got some great new items in stock. Maybe I can help you find something?” She gave a little laugh, leaning on the counter and tilting her head in a way that screamed flirting.

You stiffened, pretending to busy yourself with a rack of folded shirts, but your hands were a little too rough as you refolded them. The way she was looking at him, the way her voice dripped with sugary sweetness—it was irritating. And Ni-ki wasn’t exactly pushing her away, which only made it worse.

“Really, I’m fine,” Ni-ki said, his tone remaining neutral, though you noticed the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, come on,” Eunseo pressed, stepping even closer to him. “You’re just standing here all alone. Why not let me show you around? We’ve got some accessories that would look amazing on you.” Her hand brushed against his arm, and that was the final straw.

You slammed the shirts you were holding onto the rack a little louder than necessary, making both of them glance your way. “Eunseo,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, though you could feel the heat of irritation bubbling beneath the surface, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by your tone. “Oh, um… I just thought I’d help out here. He looks like he could use—”

“I said,” you interrupted, your eyes locking with hers, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

Eunseo hesitated for a moment before giving you a slightly puzzled look. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said and glanced back at Ni-ki as she retreated. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

When she was gone, you turned back to Ni-ki, who was now watching you with an amused expression.

“What?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

He raised his hands in mock defense, his smirk widening. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to get all territorial over me, doll.”

“I wasn’t being territorial,” you shot back, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, stepping closer to you, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly low tone. “But for the record, I’m not interested in anyone else. You’ve got my full attention, whether you like it or not.”

You huffed, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words.

“Now, will you finally admit you like having me here?” he said with a grin, leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

You groaned, shoving him lightly toward the door. “Get out before I regret not letting her deal with you.”

Ni-ki laughed, his voice rich and unbothered, but he allowed you to guide him toward the exit. Before he left, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. “See you later, doll.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you to deal with the lingering embarrassment—and the undeniable fact that you did like having him around, no matter how much you tried to deny it.

The evening air was cold when you stepped out of the store, bag slung over your shoulder as you headed toward the bus stop.

You were halfway there when the low rumble of a car engine made you glance over your shoulder. A sleek black car slowing down to match your pace. The window rolled down, and you weren’t even surprised when you saw him—Ni-ki. His lazy smirk greeted you as he tilted his head.

“Need a ride?” he asked casually, his voice smooth and teasing.

You hesitated, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m fine. The bus is just up ahead.”

“Come on, doll,” he coaxed, resting one arm over the edge of the open window. “You really gonna make me watch you freeze out here? Just get in.”

You sighed, glancing around the empty street before finally relenting. “Fine,” you muttered, walking to the passenger side.

As you climbed in, the smell of leather and cologne hit you, mingled with the faint scent of mint. The interior was just as sleek as the exterior, glowing faintly from the purple neon underlighting. Ni-ki barely glanced at you as he started driving again, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the city lights. The way he gripped the wheel with one hand, the relaxed confidence —it was unfair how good he looked.

“See something you like?” he drawled, his tone playful.

You snapped your gaze forward, your cheeks heating. “No.”

“Liar,” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand slid from his thigh to yours, resting lightly. His thumb brushed against the fabric of your jeans, and the bubbling feeling in your stomach intensified.

“Ni-ki—” you started, your voice faltering.

He glanced at you briefly, his smirk deepening. “Relax, doll. Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Very,” he said, squeezing your thigh gently before returning his focus to the road.

You stared at him, speechless, as his fingers stayed on your leg, warm and steady. The fluttering in your chest wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to will it away.

“So,” he said after a beat, his tone casual but still carrying that flirtatious edge, “how was your day? Other than me stealing all your attention at work, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, thankful for the change in subject. “It was fine. Slow, boring—until you showed up and made it worse.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You wound me, doll. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

You gave him a side-eye but said nothing, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

The car eventually pulled into the parking lot of a cozy yet elegant Japanese restaurant, the warm glow of lanterns hanging outside casting a soft light across the entrance. You furrowed your brow as Ni-ki parked and turned off the engine.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He leaned back in his seat and gave you a charming grin. “Dinner.”

You blinked at him. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you and me,” he said nonchalantly, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Before you could protest, he was out of the car and walking around to your side. He opened the door, holding it like a perfect gentleman, one hand resting casually on the top of the car as he peered down at you.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Ni-ki, I didn’t agree to this.”

His face didn’t falter. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You didn’t say no, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way he was looking at you—smug yet so effortlessly charming—made you groan. “Fine,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and stepping out of the car.

He stepped back to give you space, closing the door behind you. “There’s my girl,” he said teasingly, earning a sharp glare from you.

He only chuckled as he led the way into the restaurant, holding the door open for you.

The interior was warm and inviting, the scent of freshly cooked dishes wafting through the air. The restaurant wasn’t overly extravagant, but it wasn’t casual either. It struck a balance between elegant and cozy.

Ni-ki guided you to a table in the corner, away from the more crowded areas. The staff seemed to know him, greeting him with familiarity as he nodded in return. You followed reluctantly, sitting down across from him.

“Seriously, Ni-ki, what’s all this about?” you asked, frowning at him as you placed your bag on the seat beside you.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with that easygoing confidence of his. “Figured you deserved something nice.”

You gave him a look, not buying it. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Exactly.” He smirked, leaning forward this time, resting his forearms on the table. “That, and I like spending time with you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You looked away, pretending to study the menu placed in front of you.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “Relax, doll. It’s just dinner.”

You bit back a retort, choosing instead to focus on the menu and your heart sank at the prices. Everything looked so luxurious—and expensive. You frowned, setting the menu down.

“Ni-ki,” you began hesitantly, “this place is... a bit much. I don’t think—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off. “Don’t even start.” His tone was firm yet playful. “You’re here because I brought you here. So, the meal’s on me. Order whatever you want.”

You still hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just go for something simple—”

Ni-ki’s expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he gave you a mockingly disappointed look. “Really? After I go through all this trouble, you’re going to pick the cheapest thing on the menu?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, betraying you. You blushed deeply, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Ni-ki’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“See?” he said, his tone gentle but teasing. “Your stomach agrees with me.”

Reluctantly, you turned your attention back to the menu, deciding to pick something that looked good rather than the cheapest option. After a few moments, you made your choice, pointing to a dish that caught your eye.

“I’ll have this,” you said, hoping it wasn’t too extravagant.

Ni-ki leaned over to see what you had chosen, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Good choice. I approve.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Well, I’m glad it meets your standards.”

He chuckled, signaling the waiter to take your orders.

Once the waiter left, you looked at him. “You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Yeah, I did.”

You looked away and quickly busied yourself with adjusting the utensils in front of you, unsure how to respond. Ni-ki didn’t press, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he leaned back in his seat.

“Just sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, but he was already leaning back in his chair, a relaxed, almost casual expression on his face.

After a few moments, the food arrived. The waiter placed the beautifully plated dishes in front of both of you. The smell was enough to make your stomach rumble again.

You hesitated for a moment before picking up your chopsticks, trying not to seem too eager. When you finally took a bite of the food, your eyes widened in surprise. It was incredible—perfectly seasoned.

Ni-ki watched you intently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you took another bite. "Good?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

You nodded, your mouth full but your eyes sparkling. "It’s amazing," you said, before taking another bite.

He chuckled lightly, clearly pleased. "I told you. You deserve the best."

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you continued eating. The meal went on like this, with easy conversation between you two. It felt... normal, in a way. He asked about your work, and you told him a little about how things had been going.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, kept his answers short, more focused on making you feel comfortable than discussing anything serious. Every time he glanced at you, there was something in his gaze, like you were the most important thing in the room.

It was strange. Sitting here with him, eating this expensive meal, having casual conversation—it didn’t feel like you were sitting across from a criminal who had held you hostage twice. For a moment, it almost felt like you were on a normal date, one where you could let your guard down.

You paused, lifting your glass of water to your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. Could this really be the same guy? The one who had dragged you around and threatened your life?

Ni-ki’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just... this feels weird, that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Weird good or weird bad?”

You thought for a moment before responding. “Weird good,” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed but also relieved to say it aloud. “It’s hard to reconcile... you know, everything that’s happened with... well, this.”

Ni-ki’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I get it. I get it more than you think.”

"You’ll get used to it," he added softly, before taking another bite of his meal.

After finishing the last bite of your meal, you leaned back in your chair, feeling pleasantly full and a little more at ease than you had all night. Ni-ki caught your eye as he signaled the waiter for the check. The moment the receipt was handed to him, your gaze instinctively fell to the amount, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

The total was outrageous.

You tried to keep your reaction in check, but your lips parted in disbelief, the number far higher than anything you’d ever imagined spending on a meal. It wasn’t just expensive—it was excessive.

Ni-ki noticed your expression and let out a low chuckle, his voice teasing. “You’ve got a look on your face, sweetheart. You okay?”

You quickly straightened up, trying to play it cool, but you could feel your cheeks turning slightly pink. “That’s... that’s a lot,” you muttered, trying to make it sound light, though you were still trying to process the shock of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied easily, waving a hand as if it was nothing. “It’s all taken care of.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t expect—”

“Relax,” he interrupted smoothly, smiling that smug little smile of his.

Before you could say anything else, he stood up, paying the bill and handing the waiter a generous tip. You watched him, still trying to wrap your mind around the amount he had just spent.

You weren’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of treatment.

As you got up from the table, Ni-ki took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with an ease that almost felt possessive. You didn’t resist as he led you out of the restaurant, his other hand holding the door open for you.

The moment you reached the car, he opened the passenger door for you and gestured for you to get in. His hand lightly pressed against your back as you slid into the seat, and he closed the door after you, before going around and sliding in smoothly beside you.

“Relax, doll,” he said softly, as he started the car, the engine purring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

As the car sped down the quiet streets, you tried to focus but your thoughts kept spiraling. The money. It was stolen. Ni-ki was a criminal. Everything that had happened—the meal, the expensive gifts, the constant attention—came with a price. And that price was his life, his world. His actions were all tainted by theft, violence, and chaos.

You tried to remind yourself of that, to convince yourself that you should be repulsed. You should feel anger or disgust. But none of it bubbled inside of you.

It didn’t make sense. The pieces didn’t fit. You told yourself over and over again that you should hate Ni-ki, that you should despise the life he led, but each time you tried to convince yourself, you found your resolve crumbling.

Why didn’t that feel like a bigger deal?

His actions were a blatant disregard for everything you stood for, for the world you’d grown up in. He was a criminal. A dangerous one. And yet, as you glanced over at him in the driver's seat, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel disgusted or scared.

Why didn’t I feel any different?

He was using stolen money. He’d manipulated you into situations. And yet, somehow, here you were. And you were no longer asking why it felt wrong—you were too busy asking why it felt right.

When the car came to a stop in front of your building, Ni-ki didn’t waste a second. He stepped out, walking around to open the door for you, his expression unreadable as he gave you a soft nod. You hesitated for a moment, still trying to collect your scattered thoughts, but then you got out of the car, following him up to your place in silence.

When you reached your apartment door, Ni-ki made a soft sound—almost like a chuckle. You turned to look at him, expecting some joke or comment, but he was holding something in his hand.

A ring.

You blinked, confused, your eyes darting between his face and the small, shimmering band he was holding. It looked so familiar. A glint of gold, with a small diamond set in the center.

"What is this?" you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He eyes darkened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's the same ring you were eyeing before the robbery. Thought you’d like it."

You stared at him, a mix of emotions bubbling inside you. The same ring? You weren’t sure whether to be shocked or frustrated. But before you could voice any of those feelings, he nudged the ring toward you.

You didn’t move immediately, still processing what was happening. But Ni-ki wasn’t waiting for you to decide. His fingers gently closed around your hand, and before you could protest or pull away, he slipped the ring onto your finger.

You didn’t pull your hand back, though every part of you screamed to. For some reason, it felt... right.

"There," Ni-ki said softly, his voice low and purposeful. "It’s yours now."

You didn’t know what to say. How to respond. All you could do was stare at the ring on your finger. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Ni-ki watched you, his eyes dark and intent, as you stood frozen, staring at the ring on your finger. He could see your inner turmoil, the hesitation in your eyes. "You know," he began, leaning in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear, "you're really quiet all of a sudden. That’s not like you, doll."

Before you could respond, he tilted your head up by your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly pressing against your skin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You felt your heart race in your chest as he held you there, steady and unyielding, making sure you couldn’t look away.

His other hand slid down, intertwining your fingers with his, his hold tight. You could feel the warmth of his palm against yours, the pressure of his fingers against yours. There was no room to pull away.

He leaned in so close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered softly, "You’re not going to run, are you? Not after all this. Not after everything we've been through."

You felt his other hand slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

Ni-ki's voice softened, his words nearly a purr as they slipped from his lips. "You wouldn’t leave me, would you?" he asked, his fingers trailing down the back of your neck, sending jolts of warmth through your body. His eyes, intense and piercing, never left yours. "After everything we've been through... after all the time I've spent making sure you’re safe, looking after you..."

You couldn’t speak, your chest tight, your mind a blur of confusion and emotions. You were caught—stuck between wanting to run, wanting to get away, and something else... something that made it hard to think, to move.

Ni-ki seemed to sense your hesitation, and he pressed in closer, his lips hovering near yours. "I’ve been patient with you," he murmured, each word carefully measured. "I’ve waited for you to see it, to see that I’m good for you." His voice purred as if coaxing you. "I want to be good to you. You deserve it. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted."

His other hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and only him. "You’re the biggest treasure in the world, doll," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And I want you."

Your heart hammered in your chest, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, the shock evident in your eyes. His words felt heavy—almost too heavy to bear.

Could you even run now? Could you really?

You couldn't resist and your gaze landed on his lips.

He caught your gaze, and a smile tugged at his lips, slow and knowing. "Do you want it?" he asked, his voice rough.

You blinked, confusion flickering in your eyes. "What?" you whispered, unsure of what he meant.

Ni-ki didn't answer right away. Instead, he hummed softly, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest, before his hand cupped your face. In one smooth motion, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so sudden, it stole your breath. His lips were warm, demanding, as he pushed you backward into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

You gasped into the kiss, the suddenness of it sending a wave of heat through you, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly, as if he was anchoring you to him.

You didn’t pull away, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t. You were drawn to him in a way that felt too strong to fight.

Ni-ki’s hands slid to your back, holding you close. You could feel the way his body moved with yours, the way he wanted you, the way he craved your every touch. It was impossible to resist, even though a small part of you tried to.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, his hands roaming over you, pulling you closer as he murmured into the kiss, his voice low.

“You’re the only one for me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. “Only you. Always you.” His hands slid from your back to your hips, gently guiding you toward the couch. You didn’t resist; instead, you let him pull you down, your body sinking into the soft cushions as he hovered over you.

His lips never left yours, his hands tracing the curves of your body. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he murmured, his words coming in short bursts as his lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Anything, baby. Just say it.”

You could barely focus on anything but the way his body pressed against yours, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your jawline, your ear. He whispered more sweet words, each one making your heart flutter despite the uncertainty you still felt in the back of your mind.

“I wanted you from the moment I saw you,” Ni-ki confessed, his voice rough, as if he couldn’t control the emotions spilling out of him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I need.” His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything that was happening. His words, his touch—they were consuming you, and it felt so good. It felt like nothing mattered but this moment, and it was so easy to get lost in him.

You pulled him back gently, your hands cupping his cheeks, holding him still as you locked eyes with him. His gaze was intense, searching yours.

With a small, teasing smile, you leaned in closer, your voice soft. “Show me how much you want me.”

A slow, pleased grin spread across his face as he closed the space between you. “I’ll show you that, and more,” he whispered, his voice husky with promise.

He slid close, his body pressed against yours as his lips found yours again.

As he kissed you, his words were a low murmur, barely audible against your skin. “I’m yours, doll. And I’ll make sure you see that.”

part 3

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@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash

Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

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lilliezzzzz-fics · 22 days ago

Text

Voicemails [Unsent]

pairing: lando norris x reader author's note: uh. okay. hi! for starters, this is intended lowercase. unusual for me, all prim and proper with my writing or whatever, but yeah! idk! i was scrolling through a prompt list and saw voicemail and thought, huh! this! seems fun to write! so i did, and here we are. enjoy! (no use of y/n as always) tags: full smau. established relationship. text through voicemail and lando only. a little angsty!! warnings: none(?) word count: 1.1k

liked by f1, and 1.5M others lando some start ay

user444 let’s go!!! this is ur year!!! ↳ user414 this is his year fr!!!

mclarenauto what a start to the season 🧡 user33 killed it man! amazing quadrant honestly what a drive

You have 2 new voicemail(s)! 1 - [deleted] 2 - from: lando ❤

Transcript of voicemail from: lando ❤ | 1:31

> is- is this thing going? yeah— yeah, okay. hi baby! i know it’s late for you. i’m sorry— really, i just… yeah. no, i miss you. shit, this is really hard—isn’t it? awkward laugh, rustling. anyway. sorry. i won today in australia! it’s probably the first thing you’ll see when you wake up, anyway, with how much you try to keep up with my work. thank you for that, by the way. it means a lot, what—with how busy you are? work and studying and shit. thank you, really. i- i think i even looked for you in the crowd. rustling, heavy breathing. i’m- uh, i’m in bed, at the hotel? i don’t know.. uh, it’s really weird not sleeping next to you. feeling this happy—celebrating without you. i miss the soft smile you give me when you’re at the verge of sleep and you just listen to me ramble. i’m rambling now, aren’t i? laughs. god, i’m sorry, baby. anyway—i really, really fucking miss you. it’s- uh- it’s late for me now, too. not as late as it is for you, but like. i think my trainer’ll get mad if i don’t go to sleep soon. uh- but, call me back? or, send me a message, when you can. i love you to the moon and the stars and forevermore, baby. good night.

liked by oscarpiastri and 587K others lando nice double podium for us, proud of everyone. we’ll keep moving forward.

quadrant 🤜🤛 user444 so proud of u lando! mclarenauto amazing race team

You’ve got 1 new voicemail(s)! 1 - from: lando ❤

Transcript of voicemail from: lando ❤ | 1:39

> short pause. heavy, shuddering breathing. i miss you so much. fuck. fuck! i miss you, baby. like, so much. so, so much. i said that already, but… today was—oh, today wasn’t easy. wavering laugh. sniffling. shit—i’m, i’m fine. i just… it’s so hard. i didn’t— i didn’t think i’d miss you this much. it’s like… it’s like there’s this ghost of you just lingering, but you’re never really there. i’m gonna be honest— pause. shifting, rustling. —today was hard. like, really fucking hard. it was a double podium, at least, but… i, i don’t know. it was just so hard. big inhale. exhale. you know, i thought i could get a hold of you. i really wish i could get a hold of you. i really need you, baby. need to hear your voice. shit! i’m—i’m sorry. i just— you said we’d talk more. you- you said… that, that you’d try to get a hold of me. i know you’re busy—god, i’m being really selfish right now.. fuck, sorry, baby. just— call me back? please. i… i love you, to the moon and the stars, and forevermore. call me back.

Voicemails <Unsent Draft>

Transcript of <Unsent Draft> | 1:09

> short pause. light breathing. i… i don’t know what the hell i’m doing, man. it's like you're haunting me. i saw a fucking—i saw a seashell, and i thought of you. the stupid kind you'd always pick up, even when it was cracked, and you'd say it looked like a heart... it’s like— it’s like i keep seeing you everywhere, just running and running—and i just let you. is that— is that fair? is that what love is supposed to feel like? because baby, i’m tired. so fucking tired of running after you. pause. harsh breathing. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that. i- i don’t want to fight. i just want you. here, with me. long pause. rain starts to pour. light. …i’m not sending this.

You’ve got 1 missed call.

Call with lando ❤ ended after 27m

2 new notifications!

snapchat • lando <3 • 13:06 sent you a snap!

snapchat • lando <3 • 13:14 sent you a snap!

You’ve got 1 new voicemail! 1 - from: lando ❤

Transcript of voicemail from: lando ❤ | 1:50

> hi baby, it’s me again. i’ve been calling a lot. i’m sorry. soft rustling. light crackles. static. i’ve… i’ve been thinking about you. like, a lot. i’m sure you saw—with the snaps i sent. soft laugh. low yawn. i hope you didn’t mind. i— i know we talked a little. i’m glad. but— it’s still not the same. i don’t get to hear you rant about your day and your work and studies. i don’t hear your rambling about that one thing you keep thinking about— quick pause. —some series? i don’t quite remember. fuck. sorry. pause. gentle breathing. you know, i told oscar a joke. one that i’d tell you, right? and— and he laughed… but like he was being polite. like he didn’t get it. like you would. he laughed, but not in the way you do. soft breathing. a barely audible gulp. not in the way you do. you know, with your smile, and your eye crinkling. like i’m the funniest man in the world! low laugh. i sleep, uh… i sleep on the right side of the bed. your side is always cold. i hate the cold. low pause. uh, sorry. uhm… i miss you, baby. as always, i love you… to the moon, and the stars, and forevermore. pause. crackling. clicking, tapping on his phone. bye.

lando <3 posted on their private story!

You’ve got 1 new voicemail(s)! 1 - from: lando ❤

Transcript of voicemail from: lando ❤ | 0:53

> long pause. quiet hum in the background. okay, baby. i miiight’ve done something. after— after our talk yesterday, i decided that i will book a flight. home. pause. soft breathing. i— i know, that uhm… that i should’ve told you beforehand, but… i hope you don’t mind. but i’ll finally— finally, get to see you again. get to hear your voice again— and no, your voice through phone isn’t the same. too staticy. not warm enough. laugh. i’m landing in like an hour, but… i’ve got the keys to our house. in case you hear this before i get there, keep the light on for me? soft giggle. i love you baby, to the moon and the stars, and forevermore. see you soon.

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

author's note: this one was a little different! abrupt end too lol,,, hope u liked it though!! lando is so fun to write tbh

taglist: @toodeepintofandoms @milessunflowers

#♬ snapshot #lando norris x gn!reader #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando smau #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #f1 x gn!reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine

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yazmarina · 8 months ago

Text

in my drafts

for the love circuit series

—that message wasn't for you but paul doesn't mind as long as you don't, either.

paul aron (f2) x gn!social media admin reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, lewd photography, office sex, fingering, creampie, accidental nude sending, mild dirty talk

a/n: sorry i disappeared again!!! pls take this as my apology

It was supposed to be just pictures of him during the break. You expected innocent, somewhat average snapshots of how Paul spent his past two months. You knew he took that trip to Italy, attended his sister's graduation, did some training. It was your job to be at least a little updated on the drivers' whereabouts, in case the head of comms needed you to capitalize on it for content.

So when you received a few photos from Paul through iMessage of all his fall whereabouts, you didn't think much of it. You messaged him a few days earlier asking if he could send a few more unreleased pictures that he hadn't posted on his personal account yet, stating that it was for a post you were putting together for the Hitech Instagram. He was delayed in his reply, as usual, but that's something you expected. He was busy, after all.

Perhaps too busy to notice the outlier in the stack of photos displayed in your message thread. Everything seemed to be normal at first; Italian architecture, gym photos, the cheesecake he made. Typical day in the life photos.

And lastly, a photo of him in dim lighting, taken in front of a mirror, with nothing but shadows covering most of his naked body.

You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Your first instinct is to wait to see if Paul has anything to say, an apology, maybe, or a half-assed excuse. Anything to indicate that he noticed how he sent you a full-on nude. You prepare yourself for the three dots that show he's typing, the frantic scramble to delete the photo from your exchange, but it never comes. Heat rises up your neck as you realize you're going to have to confront him about it. This was, after all, a professional exchange and you'd hate for HR to come knocking at either one of your doors.

-Paul, please review the photos you sent. Thanks.

You regret it as soon as you send it. Was that perhaps too snippy? Too callous? It was as embarrassing for him as it was for you, maybe even more. But come on, how hard is it to distinguish your nudes from your vacation photos?

The loud throb of your heartbeat reverberates in your ears as you wait, cursing under your breath as a full minute passes and then another. You lock your phone, getting up to pace around your room. You're most likely going to see him tomorrow as he'll be at HQ for sim work and other things and you just so happen to have a lineup of meetings at the very same time. You're going to have to face the fact that you'll have to look each other in the eye after you've seen the outline of his dick.

Wonderful.

You unlock your phone, resigning to just delete the photo from your side. You can claim plausible deniability or whatever legal term it is, if it comes down to it.

Just then, Paul starts typing.

You yelp, setting your phone down on the desk harder than intended.

You realize belatedly that you're holding your breath, fingers pressed into your mouth as if suppressing any more potential noises. He stops then starts again then stops, as if he's unsure of what he's typing out.

-I'M SO SORRY!!!! It was an accident I promise 🥹 Don't report me

-Please I'm so sorry it's totally my fault ______ 😭😭😭

-______ please I'm so sorry

Somehow, despite everything, this coaxes a chuckle out of you. Paul was always open and easy around you, and you know he knows you won't report him for an honest mistake. He's probably just red in the face right now, fighting his inner demons.

You type out a reply to ease his nerves.

-I'll just delete it off my phone so no one can say we were fraternizing inappropriately 🥲

The response from Paul is almost instant.

-YES please I'm sorry again

Your finger hovers over the photos when another message comes in.

-Unless you want to save it for a rainy day that's okay too

-I WAS JOKING its a joke I'm sorry I'm sorry

You groan, throwing your head back against the backrest of your office chair.

He's done this on occasion. Flirt. Compliment you on your hair, your outfit (despite it being the team uniform), your smile, even. You brushed it off as typical driver behavior. Nearly all of them had that kind of nerve about them, a confidence that only comes with driving cars that are closer to rockets than actual cars on the street.

Bringing the phone up to your face, you gingerly scroll back up to the photos Paul sent, opening the accursed photo. Your breath hitches as you take it in more carefully, the light cutting sharply between the shadows of whatever hotel room Paul was in. Your eyes trail down and your fingers pinch at the screen, zooming in.

"No! No, no, absolutely not," you admonish yourself, swiping the photo away and typing back a slightly crazed reply.

-Whoever that photo was meant for might not like it if I do

"________!"

You freeze on your way out the door from the conference room, Paul's figure jogging toward you from the other end of the hall. The presence of some execs and the head of comms looms from behind you and you quickly shuffle out of the way to let them pass, all of them greeting Paul as he sidles up to you.

"Hi!" You say a little too brightly, turning to Paul, arms coming up mechanically then stopping, your brain reminding you that a hug might be too awkward but standing around without greeting him in some way would be just as weird. A flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach as Paul stops in front of you, his cologne coming off strong as always. Just the way you liked it.

"How's the meeting?" Paul asks, gesturing to the room. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit he has that you've observed over the time you've worked with him. He has his hands shoved deep in his jeans, too.

You shrug, forcing out a laugh. "Same old, just going over social media plans and PR."

Paul nods, a little too eagerly perhaps. His eyes shift to the retreating personnel, all of them turning a corner, leaving you and Paul alone in the vicinity.

"Were you waiting for me?" You ask before he can say anything else.

Paul swallows. "Yeah. Look–"

"Paul," you cut him off, raising a hand between the two of you. "It's okay. It's no big deal. Happens to the best of us."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Have you ever sent a nude to the wrong person before?"

Your cheeks flare up in a violent blush.

"Well, no. And keep your voice down," you berate lightly. Paul looks around and shrugs as if to say, 'Nobody's here'.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "But what I meant was, like, messages are sent to the wrong people all the time, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, and besides, no one else knows. I promise I haven't told anyo–"

"Okay." It was Paul's turn to cut you off. "Okay, I believe you."

He smiles at you good-naturedly, opening his arms and coaxing you into a hug. It takes you a second, but eventually, you let yourself laugh in relief, wrapping your arms around his strong frame.

"I missed you over the break," Paul admits, pulling away and holding you at arm's length. You blush again, masking it with a chuckle.

"Well, the break isn't over yet. We still have three weeks to go," you remind, your own hands coming up to settle on Paul's outstretched arms, making it look as if you're holding him in place. To anyone who didn't know, you two would look like a couple deep in discussion.

"At least you get to see me more," Paul offers with an easy smile. nudging you lightly.

You scoff. "I think I've seen enough of you, thank you very much."

A heavy silence settles over the two of you as you realize what you just said. Paul lets his arms drop from where they held you, an apology ready at your lips but Paul gets to it first. He runs a hand through his unkempt hair, blonde strands tugged between his fingers.

"You haven't deleted it, have you?"

No, you haven't.

"I was going to, but I got distracted with other things." Not entirely a lie. You really meant to do so, but thoughts you'd rather not share took hold and there were matters you needed to attend to. Matters that could only be solved with your fingers and a vibrator.

You should feel guilty, getting off to a picture of a coworker that wasn't even meant to be sent to you in the first place. Maybe you're terrible, maybe you should be fired, sued by the Aron family.

Memories of you gasping out Paul's name in the quiet of your room come flooding back and you pray that Paul doesn't notice the irregularity in your breathing.

"I'll delete it now, in front of you, so you can see that I did," you offer, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Paul shakes his head, catching you by the wrist, his hand large and warm against your own skin.

"I mean if I was going to send it to anyone, it would have been you," Paul says lowly, as if afraid someone would hear him, despite the entire expanse of the hallway void of any people other than yourselves.

"Consensually, of course," Paul adds in a hurry, eyes widening. "If you wanted to receive them. It. Receive it."

Your eyebrows shoot up, your mouth curling into a smirk. "You have more you want to send?"

Paul's lower lip slips between his teeth and it seems the two of you are finally on the same page. You try to suppress the smile threatening to break out, clearing your throat and avoiding his eyes.

"Until when are you staying here?" You ask casually. You didn't mean 'here' as HQ. Here as in, in town, close to you.

"Next week," Paul replies, stepping closer. "I won't see you until Qatar after that."

"Shame," you mutter, tilting your head as you meet his gaze once more.

"Maybe," Paul begins, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together. "I can add one more thing to my break to-do list."

"Now?" You ask incredulously. Paul nods immediately.

"You know that one storage closet inside the sim room?" He asks, winking at you.

"What? Paul!" You whisper-shout, but he's already leading you down the hallway. The two of you make a sharp turn to the right where big blocky letters spell out 'SIMULATOR' on the large double doors of the sim room.

You squint, immediately plunged into darkness as the only source of light inside is the curved screen, dimmed as well as it sits on standby.

"What if your engineer walks in? Your teammate? Doesn't he have a session soon?" You continue to protest, even when Paul gently pushes you toward the storage room door at the very corner. He flings the door open and you see that it's filled mostly with spare sim components and monitors.

"Babe, that's why they call it a quickie," Paul reasons, flipping the light switch on inside. The lightbulb offers little respite in the darkness and shadows still play along the lines of Paul's face. He shuts the door behind him.

"It doesn't lock? Paul, I swear–"

You gasp but barely any sound comes out as Paul presses his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips. He maneuvers you toward a shelf, pushing you against it and pressing himself fully on you.

You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

"Did you like it?" Paul asks as he breaks away for a second. He kisses your jaw, tracing its outline as you sigh, your head falling back. He takes his opportunity to kiss along the column of your neck, his tongue smoothing over your skin.

"Did you get off to it?" Paul asks again and your breath catches in your throat. It's as if he knew all the dirty, deplorable things you did over that one picture.

"I know you did," Paul concludes with a breathy laugh, reclaiming your lips and driving a knee between your legs. You groan in response, grinding against his thigh while your fingers tug at his belt.

Paul pulls away and takes over for you, undoing his jeans and slipping them down to his knees. You silently thank whatever god is listening for the fact that you so conveniently decided to wear those easy cotton office pants, slipping them off in one quick swoop along with your underwear.

"I'm tempted to get on my knees right now so I can eat you out," Paul teases, hiking your shirt up and exposing your chest.

A snide remark forms in your brain but it's cut off when you feel the cold press of fingers on your clit. You clamp a hand down on your mouth as Paul gently flicks at it, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Maybe later after work," Paul says, rubbing harder. Your elbow spasms at the sensation, hitting the shelf behind you.

"Ow, fuck," you curse, meeting Paul's eyes. You two burst into muffled laughter just as Paul slips a finger in.

"What happened to a quickie?" You demand, hips moving along with Paul's hand. He adds a second finger and you whine, fingers digging into Paul's shoulders.

"I have manners," Paul informs with an easy smile, face impossibly close to yours. You can see the shift in his bright blue eyes. "I need you wet and ready for me, no?"

You bite down on your lip, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Paul curls his fingers inside you. A shiver runs through you and you feel yourself clenching down and around his digits.

Paul retracts his hand, much to your dismay, but you don't get to complain before Paul kisses you again, rough and heated. His tongue dances against yours and you grip at his Hitech team kit for purchase.

"Bend over," Paul commands and you're more than happy to oblige, turning around to do just that.

You brace yourself against the shelf behind you, gripping at the wood as you lower the front of your body. Paul grabs your hips and your back arches almost automatically. You can feel him pressing up against you and you sneak a peek behind you to see Paul with his phone in hand.

"So I can 'accidentally' send you another one," Paul jests before slowly sinking in. You whine, head dropping down between your shoulders. The thought of him documenting your little tryst sends a shiver up your spine which only intensifies as Paul grabs one side of your hips. He sets up a hard, steady pace that has the shelf in front of you creaking.

"Paul," you gasp out, your whole body shuddering at the force of how hard he's fucking you.

Both of his hands grip at your sides now so you can assume his phone has been put away. You try to stay upright which proves challenging considering Paul is ramming into you ferociously.

Contradictory to it all, you feel the soft touch of fingers through your scalp, smoothing over your hair. In a moment's turn, your head is yanked back as Paul tugs at your hair, arching your back even more.

A garbled sound escapes you, part moan, part sob as the sting in your scalp shoots straight down to your core, pushing you ever so closer to your release.

"The social media person," Paul begins through gritted teeth. "Always so pretty behind the camera. Making me do trend after trend. I'd do anything for you, baby."

You mewl in response, reaching back to grip at Paul's wrist, pushing back against him, urging him to go faster. Paul gets the memo.

"Funny how that photo was taken only because I was about to jack off to the thought of you," Paul continues. "You sent me a message and I was missing that pretty face of yours so I went through your Instagram. Looks like you had fun in Mallorca, tiny swimsuit and all."

"Sorry, baby," Paul says close to your ear. "Couldn't help it."

"Inside," you plead. "P-Please, I'm close. N-Need you to cum inside me."

Paul merely grunts, letting go of your hair so he can pull you flush against him. His thrusts grow erratic, barely pulling out of you each time. He pulls you back to him, your back against his front as he bites down on your shoulder.

"Yes, yes, right there." Your voice comes out raspy, walls squeezing around Paul's throbbing cock. He reaches over and resumes his movements from a while ago on your clit and you yelp, hips spasming pathetically.

You cum with Paul deep inside you, his groans filling your ear as he follows soon after. He stills and pulls you even closer to him, arms encircling your torso. He kisses the spot where he had bitten you, pressing his lips almost reverently to the indented skin.

You're both breathing hard and you're perfectly content to stand around while the two of you gather your bearings. But Paul momentarily disentangles himself from you and reaches down. You see him pull his phone out from his jeans from where they've presumably fallen down to his ankles.

"Smile," Paul prompts, his lips planting a soft kiss behind your ear as he angles the camera toward the two of you.

He snaps a blurry photo, just in time to capture your hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he grins into your skin. Emboldened by the somewhat artsy, flirtatious nature of the photo, you turn around and land a proper kiss on Paul's lips, savoring each second his tongue passes over your mouth.

"Send all the photos you want," you whisper, smiling up at him.

"Or we could just take them together," Paul offers, kissing the tip of your nose.

#f2 x reader #f2 fanfic #f2 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #paul aron x reader #pa17

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mssbambi · 9 days ago

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izana kurokawa: nsfw hcs ‹𝟹

little note: hi, loves!! i was dumb enough and accidentally published an unfinished draft where i replied to an anonymous request. i had to delete it so i can't reply to the person anymore 😭😭😭 it was a cute message where they said they loved my hcs and asked politely for an izana version. i don't know who you are, but tysm for the words, you were the sweetest 💕 here you are, i hope that these hcs reach your expectations and i wish you the best!!

!! english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes (let me know if that's the case); minors DNI, please

izana x f!reader: dating

꩜ izana has a PERFECT intimate hygiene. spending a good money on soaps and deodorants to his private parts is something that really matches his personality in my opinion. he loves smelling good just for you and that feeling of freshness. it also boosts his confidence, so be ready to receive his best every time you have sex.

꩜ hickeys and bites marks EVERYWHERE. as we all know, this man is quite possessive, so it means that he wants to make it clear to everybody that you are HIS. his favorite places to leave them are your inner tights and collarbones.

꩜ i'm convinced that he has a very sensitive neck, and no one can tell me otherwise. his cock gets really really hard and it starts throbbing painfully just by you kissing and licking that area. he feels goosebumps all over his body too.

꩜ missionary position FOR LIFE. in his perspective, fucking face to face makes your connection even stronger. izana also cups your face while thrusting hard inside you. he thinks it is a romantic way to show you his care and passion for you, even if it is not explicit.

#tokyo revengers #izana kurokawa #tokrev #tokrev izana #tokyo revengers smut #izana smut #tokyo revengers x reader #izana x reader #tokrev x you #izana x you

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dnd-writes · 11 months ago

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Tease

A/N: Yeojin quickie, written in 1.5 hours, just simple stuff (aka nothing extreme), wrote a little something for the time being cause my God those bikini outfits. Anyway, back to my drafts that I might never finish writing

You’re dozing off on the couch again, just half-watching an episode you’ve seen a couple of times already. Your phone lights up and you open your eyes. “yeojin._.o_x just made a post.” You see the small picture in the notification and make out what appears to be Yeojin in a bikini just by the pool in the backyard. Your eyes go wide and it’s like you’ve just been injected with some caffeine. You quickly open the post but unfortunately it’s been deleted already, as annoying as it may be you can’t help but chuckle, typical Yeojin.

You make your way outside and see Yeojin taking more pictures of herself, probably looking to post them and then delete it after a minute just to tease all of her fans. Even from a distance you can tell how cute her butt looks in that tiny black bikini. As you approach, you see yourself in Yeojin’s camera, she continues to take pictures while ignoring you. You get behind Yeojin and hug her from behind, leaning your head down into her neck to nuzzle inside and leave a few bites. “You really deleted it? You might as well have just sent those to me. Or did you do that on purpose?” you ask rhetorically.

“Why? It’s funner that way.” Yeojin loves to show herself off but lately she’s realized that teasing the public is way more exciting than just simply showing her body. And to prove her point, in comes the flood of messages coming from her members. You see the same couple of nicknames sending the usual messages asking Yeojin what she’s doing, asking Yeojin to take down her posts, asking Yeojin to cover herself up, and so on.

The two of you just chuckle reading all those messages. “They love protecting you so much but little do they know that their sweet innocent youngest turns out to be a massive slut.” You snake your hand down her bottoms and, to the surprise of no one, find her so wet already. Yeojin starts to curl up as she moans from you fingering her. You take her phone from her hand and since it’s already open, you might as well—you switch to video and start recording Yeojin’s pleasure face.

“You love rebelling against your unnies, right? You love whoring yourself out? You love teasing your fans?” Yeojin nods frantically, wanting to answer right away in order to focus all her attention on your fingers inside of her. Unlike Yeojin, you aren’t a tease, so you keep playing with Yeojin’s cunt until her bikini gets soaked in her cum. You let her sink to the floor as her legs become weak. You leave her there as you find yourself a seat.

As Yeojin recovers from her orgasm, you go through her camera roll to see what else she took that no one else knows about. You go through a lot of pictures of her in her bikini but once that series ends, you stumble upon a video and you don’t hesitate to play it. You see Yeojin on the stairs just below the pool wearing the outfit you last remember her wearing. But those clothes are quickly discarded and all that’s left is her naked form standing in the cold open air. You expected more of a strip tease but considering she’s gotten naked out in the open when any of the neighbors can just peer in and see her is enough to meet her quota.

She sits down in her bundle of clothes and starts playing with herself, one hand playing with her cunt and the other with her asshole. “You sure know how to put on a show, don’t you? Such a shame that no one else gets to see this,” you say half-jokingly, not like you haven’t edited some of the videos she takes to blur her face then upload it on the internet for everyone to admire her tiny frame being used like a human sexdoll, as her many fans would refer to her body, though you would be lying if you said that you don’t see her as such. Sometimes you wish that she got a tattoo on her body so there’s that very slim chance someone would see it in an upload and make the connection that it is indeed Yeojin.

As you hear grunts coming from a recovered Yeojin, you close the video and start recording another one. All you do is tap your thigh and Yeojin starts crawling towards you. Her slow movement exudes sultriness but you can see on her face just how needy and hungry she really is. You do the hard part for her and pull your shorts down yourself, letting your cock stand proud. The mischievous facade on her face quickly fades away as you reveal yourself to her and she starts panting like a dog. You’ve been teased enough already, time for Yeojin to pay the price.

Yeojin swiftly takes your entire length into her throat, too needy to hold herself back and tease you like she always does. You run your hand through her hair but you don’t grip it just yet, it seems that Yeojin wants it just as much as you do so you freely let her do the work.

You move the camera closer to her face, making sure to get a good view of all the spit she’s slobbering all over your dick. She smiles as you aim closer to her, loving that you’re capturing the slutty side of her that people don’t normally see. “If only the other members can see you now, you take my cock so well.” Another smile from Yeojin, this time using her eyes, wanting to make sure that her lips are wrapped properly around you. “Good little slut.”

#kpop #kpop smut #loona #loona smut #yeojin #yeojin smut

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amirawrah · 2 months ago

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⭐︎Blocked Love

with JUDE BELLINGHAM⭐︎

synopsis: A heart that ran from love finally comes back, but is it too late to fix what was broken?

amirah: here is a little draft, hope yall like it!

You were never quite sure what to call it—what you and Jude had.

It wasn’t just sex, though that part came easy. It was the way he looked at you when you were mid-rant about something stupid. The way his hand always found yours. The quiet dinners. The sleepy good mornings. The comfortable silences and the teasing touches. It was something. It just wasn’t… defined.

And you didn’t ask. Maybe because deep down, you already knew the answer you didn’t want to hear.

Still, it was enough for a while. Enough to keep letting him in, emotionally and physically, while pretending your heart didn’t ache every time he left without saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Until one day—he didn’t come back.

No message. No call. No voice note saying he was swamped. Just nothing.

You’d stared at your screen for far too long, thumb hovering over his name, until you finally tapped to open the chat and realized… you were blocked.

Blocked.

Like you were some casual fling he needed to erase. Like you didn’t know his favorite way to fall asleep. Like he hadn’t once kissed you in the middle of a grocery store aisle for no reason.

The worst part? You never even got the dignity of a goodbye.

The silence stretched for days.

Then weeks.

Every ding of your phone made your chest tighten. Every tagged post, every blurry party video, you watched with narrowed eyes—scanning for a glimpse of him.

And then you saw it. Jude. At some lounge in Madrid. Leaning in, whispering something to a girl with slicked-back hair and a red dress that hugged her like skin.

You didn’t cry. You refused to cry. You closed the app. You curled up under

Time dragged.

People who knew asked about him. Mutual friends danced around his name like it might bite. You smiled through it all, made jokes, told them you were good.

You weren’t.

And yet, life didn’t stop. You still went on your walks. Still worked. Still listened to the playlists he made you, because torturing yourself seemed easier than deleting him entirely.

A week after seeing him on someone’s story, you woke up and couldn’t shake the urge to leave the house. It was too stuffy. Too quiet. You needed air.

You slipped on your sneakers, hoodie pulled up, ready to escape the weight of your apartment. As you opened the door—

There he was.

Jude.

Standing on your front step. Holding a bouquet, like some tragic rom-com cliché. His curls were slightly messy, eyes tired, but his smile was soft and hopeful.

“Hey.”

Your body froze. For a second, you wondered if this was some sick hallucination brought on by three hours of sleep and half a protein bar.

But it was him. Real and breathing. Looking at you like the sun rose with you and not over Madrid.

You didn’t smile back. How could you.

You didn’t say anything.

You just stared—arms crossed, heart slamming against your ribs.

“I know,” he said, dropping his gaze. “You probably wanna slam the door in my face.”

You raised your brow.

“That crossed my mind,” you murmured.

He let out a breathy laugh, but it faded quickly. “Can I come in? Please.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to hear what he had to say—but because you weren’t sure your heart could take it.

Eventually, you stepped aside.

He stepped inside quietly, like he didn’t want to disturb the air between you, even though it was already thick with everything unsaid.

You closed the door behind him. The click echoed.

He held the flowers awkwardly, like he’d forgotten what to do with his hands. You didn’t offer a vase.

Jude looked around the room he hadn’t been in for weeks. Everything was the same. Everything was different.

You stood by the counter, arms crossed again.

“Say what you came to say,” you said, your voice soft, but not kind.

He looked down at the flowers. “These are for you.”

You didn’t move.

He swallowed hard. “I’ve been an idiot. I know. I know what it looks like—what I did, what I didn’t say.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You blocked me, Jude.”

His jaw clenched. “I know.”

“You ghosted me like I meant nothing.”

He shook his head quickly, taking a step toward you. “No. Don’t—don’t say that. You meant everything. That’s the problem.”

You blinked. “Well fucking elaborate jude.”

He ran a hand down his face. “I started falling in love with you, and it scared the hell out of me. We aren’t even together—we aren’t calling it anything, and I keet telling myself that its fine, that its just casual.”

“It wasn’t casual,” you said sharply. “At least not for me.”

“I know,” he said, pain pinching in his voice. “It wasn’t for me either. But I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know how to ask for more without losing what we had. So I did the stupidest thing imaginable. I tried to rip it off.”

You were quiet for a moment. “So you blocked me.”

He nodded. “Because seeing you—talking to you—was making it worse. I was already in too deep. And I thought maybe, if I created space, it’d go. That I’d forget the way you talk in your sleep, or how you make fun of me when I’m losing at Uno. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Your heart twisted painfully.

“And then I saw you weren’t reaching out anymore,” he continued, “And I thought, maybe she’s moved on. Maybe she’s okay. So I tried to be okay too. Went on dates. Smiled in the photos.”

You clenched your jaw. “So I was just a phase you had to shake off?”

“No,” he said immediately. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I ran from it like a coward.”

Silence settled between you again. He took a careful step closer.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “But I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at him, arms still wrapped around yourself like armor.

“I waited, you know,” you whispered. “I waited for a call. A text. Anything. I checked your name every day like an idiot.”

Jude’s shoulders dropped like your words physically hit him.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said. “I blocked you to ease the pain, but it only made it worse. I thought I could force myself to stop loving you.”

Your breath caught.

He looked you in the eye, finally stepping close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.

“But I do,” he said softly. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I never stopped.”

Your arms slowly dropped to your sides.

You didn’t say anything.

He held the flowers out again—an awkward, pleading gesture. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to tell you. Even if it’s too late.”

There was a long beat. And then you exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I hate that I still love you,” you said, voice cracking.

His eyes flickered with hope.

“But I do,” you added, blinking back emotion. “I love you. And I hated you for making me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

He stepped closer again, setting the flowers down on the table so he could gently, cautiously touch your cheek.

“You’ve always been more than enough,” he said.

Your lips trembled.

And then—finally—you let yourself fall forward. Into his chest. Into the arms you missed every night. You felt his breath stutter as he held you tight, one hand at the back of your head like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, over and over, into your hair.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, face inches from his.

“You don’t get to run again,” you said. “If we do this… we do it for real.”

His eyes were glassy. “I want that. I’ve always wanted that.”

Then he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just soft. Real. Like a promise made with lips instead of words.

The kiss deepened slowly.

There was no urgency, no hunger to make up for lost time. Just warmth, like breathing after holding your breath too long. His hands cupped your face gently, and your fingertips curled into the soft cotton of his hoodie, grounding yourself in something real. Him.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together.

You both smiled. Small. Tired. Safe.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

He kissed your cheek. “I missed us.”

You stepped back, finally picking up the forgotten flowers and walking to the kitchen to find a vase. Jude followed silently, like he didn’t want to be more than two steps away from you ever again.

As you filled the vase, you asked softly, “Are you staying tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

You gave him a look. “Jude.”

He grinned a little. “Yeah. I want to stay. Not just tonight. Every night, if you’ll let me.”

You tried to hide the way your heart soared. “Let’s just start with one.”

The night was quiet after that. You reheated leftovers. He sat at your kitchen island watching you like he couldn’t believe he was here again, like he didn’t deserve this peace but was grateful for it anyway.

You both curled up on the couch afterward, half-watching a film neither of you really cared about. His arm wrapped around you, your legs over his, your head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.

At one point, you looked up at him and whispered, “Why now?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Why come back tonight?”

He took a breath. “Because I saw a photo of you yesterday. Just walking. Headphones on. Laughing about something on your phone. And I realized that I could spend the rest of my life going on fake dates, trying to forget you—but I’d never be happy.”

You stared at him.

“And if you’d already moved on,” he added softly, “I was ready to let you go. But if there was even the smallest chance you still loved me… I had to try.”

Your eyes welled up.

You pressed your lips to his again, this time slower, more certain. Like something sacred. He pulled you closer, your bodies flush together, not out of lust—but because there was no other way to be close enough.

One kiss turned into two.

Two into more.

His hands slid up your waist, careful, familiar, patient.

He lifted you into his lap, your mouths still moving together, it wasn’t a firestorm—it was warmth. Home.

That night, you made love like it meant something. Like it always had.

No more confusion. No more blurred lines. Just you and him, rediscovering each other with whispered apologies and soft touches. His lips murmuring your name like a prayer. Yours tracing his shoulder like you were mapping your way back to something you never truly left.

He said “I love you” again. You said it back.

And when you finally collapsed together, tangled in sheets and each other, he kissed your forehead and smiled.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You believed him this time.

#mirahsworks🦫#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham x you #footballer x black reader #footballer x reader #footballer x you #footballer x y/n

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bitchinbarzal · 3 months ago

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Unsent Texts | M Barzal

summary: syd steals mat’s phone to uncover how your break up really made him feel.

You weren’t supposed to be thinking about Mat tonight.

You were supposed to be having a normal, drama-free dinner with your best friend, Sydney.

But the universe had other plans.

Because somehow, in the middle of drinks and half-finished appetizers, Sydney accidentally unlocked Mat’s phone. And now? Now you’re staring at hundreds of unsent messages—all of them to you.

It had been months since you and Mat ended things. At first, it was unbearable—learning to sleep alone, getting used to waking up without hearing his voice, forcing yourself to unlearn the way you fit so easily into his life. But you did it. You moved on. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You didn’t check his Instagram anymore. You didn’t avoid places you knew he’d be. When people mentioned his name, you smiled politely, like it didn’t twist something deep in your chest.

And you definitely, definitely didn’t still have a note in your phone filled with messages you were too afraid to send.

But it was there. Just sitting in your drafts, filled with late-night thoughts and regrets:

• I miss you.

• I saw your post-game interview today. You looked tired. Are you okay?

• I hate that I still think about you this much.

You could delete it. You should delete it. But you never did.

Sydney had mentioned casually earlier in the night that Mat was at their house before she left to meet you. It wasn’t unusual—he was always around since Matt and him were practically attached at the hip. You brushed it off at the time, convincing yourself it didn’t matter.

But now, here you were, holding his phone in your hands. Because he had left it at the Martin’s house, and Sydney—being Sydney—grabbed it, meaning to bring it back to him later.

And now you’re staring at your name on his screen.

And a message.

“I keep typing these, but I never send them. I don’t even know if you’d want to hear from me. But I miss you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Y/N?” Sydney says softly.

You don’t answer.

You just scroll.

Because it’s not just one message.

It’s dozens.

No—hundreds.

Unsent texts, stretching back months.

• I saw something today that reminded me of you. I wanted to tell you but… I didn’t know if I should.

• I don’t even know why I’m typing this. Maybe just to pretend like you’re still here.

• I miss your laugh. I fucking hate that I miss your laugh.

• I hate that I let this happen.

Your chest tightens. Because you had done the exact same thing. You had unsent messages too—ones you never dared to send, ones you forced yourself to delete because you thought Mat had already moved on.

But he hadn’t. Not even close.

“Y/N,” Sydney says again, more serious this time. “What are you gonna do?”

You shake your head, gripping the phone tighter. “I don’t know.”

Because there was only one real option.

You could pretend you never saw this. Put the phone down, walk away, let the past stay buried.

Or You could type a message of your own.

And this time, hit send.

Before you can make a decision, the restaurant door swings open.

And suddenly, there he is.

Mat.

Wearing a hoodie, damp hair from the cold, looking like he rushed here the second he realized his phone was missing. His eyes lock onto you immediately. Then flick down.

To his phone.

In your hand.

And you watch it happen—the realization, the panic, the sharp inhale when he realizes exactly what you’ve seen.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Sydney coughs awkwardly. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

But neither of you even notice her get up.

Because Mat’s eyes are locked on yours, his whole chest rising and falling like he’s bracing for impact.

And then—quietly, hesitantly—he asks, “Did you read them?”

Your throat is dry. You can barely breathe.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I did.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He swallows hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was gonna delete them,” he admits. “I just… never could.”

You exhale shakily. “Neither could I.”

His gaze snaps to yours, wide. Disbelieving.

And suddenly, the air between you is charged with something new. Something unfinished. Something that, for the first time in a long time, feels like hope.

The restaurant feels smaller now. Like the walls are pressing in, like the air is thinner, like you might suffocate under the weight of everything you never said.

Mat stares at you, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear.

And maybe he’s right.

Maybe you should disappear.

Maybe you should walk away right now and leave him with nothing but his own regrets, the same way he left you.

But you don’t.

Instead, you whisper, “Why didn’t you ever send them?”

Mat exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Because I was a coward.”

You blink, not expecting him to say it so bluntly.

“I thought about you every day,” he continues, voice low, hoarse. “Every fucking day, Y/N. But I convinced myself you were better off without me.”

Your throat tightens. “And now?”

His lips part, but he hesitates. “Now…” His gaze drops, flickering to the phone in your hands. “Now I just want to know if you ever thought about me too.”

You inhale slowly. “I did.”

His head snaps up.

“Mat…” Your fingers tighten around the phone. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

His face crumples—like he wasn’t expecting you to say it, like he’s spent months convincing himself you had moved on completely.

And maybe you had tried. Maybe you had told yourself that he was just a chapter in your life, that you had turned the page. But standing here, seeing the desperation in his eyes, knowing that he never stopped thinking about you either?

That changes everything.

“Do you still love me?” The words are out before you can stop them.

Mat inhales sharply.

Then, quietly, without hesitation—

“Yes.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is raw, almost broken. “I never stopped.”

You swallow hard, hands shaking. “Then why did we let this happen?”

Mat exhales, stepping closer, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.

“Because I was stupid,” he admits. “Because I thought I had all the time in the world to fix it. But then you were gone, and—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I didn’t know how to get you back.”

You stare at him, your pulse pounding.

“And now?” you whisper.

Mat’s throat bobs. “Now I’m standing here, praying that I haven’t lost you for good.”

You don’t overthink it. You don’t let fear win this time.

Instead, you take a shaky breath—and hit send.

Mat’s phone vibrates in your hands, and when he looks down at the screen, his breath catches.

Because there, sitting in his messages, is the first text you’ve sent him in months.

“Come home.”

He looks up at you, eyes wide, glassy, disbelieving.

“Are you sure?” he whispers.

You nod.

And then, before either of you can think twice, Mat pulls you into his arms, gripping you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

And this time, You’re not going anywhere.

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine

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kierahn · 2 years ago

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yandere ! ceo x stripper ! male reader for @rin-sama-writes.

[ nsfw, minors dni. ]

hi, i read your ideas in my inbox and i just had to make a quick drabble about it :] i’ll be making a full one some other time though since i still have 3 prompts to work on. (also, i accidentally published your previous ask before i got to complete the draft, so it got deleted. i’m so sorry,, 🥹🙏)

this is more of a power bottom reader, but i'll do a couple of dom readers soon. this just is a small warm up lol.

× cero had a long and tiring day of filling up paper works, organizing documents, attending several meetings, and the likes; usual CEO stuff. so to reward himself for a job well done, he decides to ask his driver to drive him to your workplace after work. he deserved a treat or two from you.

× the moment he stepped foot inside the nightclub you worked at, it was like a message had been sent to all the present employees. everyone scurried away the moment cero blessed the room with his presence, rushing to prepare the v.i.p room that he had built specifically for you and him to have some fun alone; away from prying eyes. no one deserved to see you in that blissed out state but him.

× the performers that you worked with on stage stopped to inform you that a client had requested your presence in the v.i.p room.

× it was him again, the man whose name you learned was cero, dressed in designer clothes from head to toe and a branded watch around his wrist. everything about him screamed rich which made him an immediate target for you. it was so easy to have guys like him all hooked up on you like some moth drawn to a flame.

× usually, cero would tease you or whistle upon seeing you enter the room, but he was strangely silent tonight.

× you approach the leather couch where he was seated and noticed how his usually neat appearance seem to be absent today. his hair was slightly a mess and his tie was crooked. he looked tired overall.

× normally, you wouldn’t care much about his wellbeing. however, you couldn’t help but notice how cero didn’t seem to be performing his best today. his thrusts were sloppy and he wasn’t hitting the right spots for you to feel good. even prepping you was a major fail ! you ended up scratching his back when he tried to put himself inside, expressing your discomfort.

× with a sigh, you stop him. “i think i’ve seen enough,” you say exasperatingly, detaching yourself from him. his grip on your waist seem to tighten, a conflicted look on the ceo’s face. he almost looked like a kicked puppy.

× he tried to protest, but you stop him by holding up a finger to his lips. “look, sir, i can see that you’re tired.” you trail your hand to cup cero’s cheek and glaze your thumb under his eye. you stayed seated on his lap, cero’s tired eyes gazing up at your own.

× “i’m fine. i’ll manage, i just need you right now.” cero stubbornly protested, a slight rasp in his voice. his hands trailed down your waist to resume what you two were previously engaged in, but you grab his wrists gently. “say.. how about i do all the work tonight ?” you insisted.

× it wasn’t like you were worried about him, you simply couldn’t handle any more of his sloppy attempt to pleasure you.

× you left no room for an argument. you shut down his protests about how he possibly couldn’t let you do that, or how he had been doing just fine doing the work. maybe in a normal night he would be good at it, but not tonight.

× you got off his lap and positioned yourself in between his thighs. no doubt, he was still rock hard and raging due to your interruption, but cero still kept trying to insist that you didn’t have to.

× when he tried to grab a fistful of your hair to stop you, you grab his wrist first, sending him a look of warning. he really needed to keep his hands to himself.

× just as the thought crossed your mind, your gaze wandered over to his crooked tie. ‘that could work.’

× without explaining any further, your hands worked to undo cero’s tie. he didn’t seem to have any violent reaction towards it, so you assumed that he was fine with you doing so.

x as soon as you finished removing his tie, you held his wrist together and tightly tied them up together with his expensive tie, much to his surprise.

x “for now, i’ll do all the touching.” you say with an edge to your tone, meaning that what you said was absolute. “if you try to touch me even once, you’ll have to forget about getting what you want.”

× cero furrowed his brows at your words. were you ordering him around ?

× but before he could express a single word of protest, a jolt of his thigh caught him off guard. he bit his lower lip to suppress the lewd sounds that threatened to escape his lips.

× your tongue wrapped around his tip sent him into overdrive. he immediately hardened inside your mouth, a small groan escaping his lips.

× “wai..t, y/n– ngh!” his muscles tensed when you started to move. holy shit. it was as if all his stress melted away.

× it was a foreign feeling for cero to feel so stripped of his control over his own release. it was all in your hands now.. or well, mouth.

x as soon as you got a hold of his whole length in your mouth and you assured that there would be no gag reflex holding you back, that was when you went all in. cero’s ragged breathing and low moans filled the spacious room, along with the sound of your muffled groans.

x it took him a lot of willpower to hold back from forcing you down on his cock and hitting the back of your throat, but he knew that he couldn’t touch you. damned tie.

x cero threw his head back, cold sweat dripping from his forehead as his fingers twitched and itched to lay a hand on you. a quiet whimper escaped from the ceo’s lips when you slowed down to tease him a little.

x when you looked up at him, you were met with cero’s eyes that held a hint of pleading. a plead for relief perhaps. it was quite a new sight, but not an unwelcome one. you were so used to seeing him act so prideful about making you feel good, seeing him in this state wasn’t so bad.

x a slight chuckle. the vibration from your mouth was, surprisingly, enough to make the ceo finish inside your mouth. you slowly pull out, his load staining the inside of your mouth and your tongue white.

x who knew he was this sensitive. you avert your gaze to study cero’s aftermath. his hair clung to his skin that glistened with sweat, eyes clouded with bliss, and he panted heavily like some dog in heat.

x you couldn’t help but smile in mischief at the realization that you could put a powerful man like him in such a state.

#male reader #yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere #kiahndere

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ineffable-romantics · 2 years ago

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Some thoughts on why and how I believe Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship would incorporate sex/why I do not read them as wholly asexual:

This is something I've seen the most discourse about in this fandom, and I've had a few thoughts of my own that I really wanted to expand upon in a full meta/character analysis post. I do understand that this can be a contentious topic, so first, let me clarify a few things:

First of all, this is going to be long. Tbh it probably won't be that organized either. I ramble and I'm not very good at editing, so just... you know. Be warned. (*Hi, it's me from 2 days after writing this; I'm really not kidding, it's LONG)

These are all my own thoughts. They might not be hot takes, because recently I've seen more than a few people come to the same conclusions on a lot of these points as I have. But I've also had these notes in my drafts for about a week and a half now, and have been continuously adding to it as things have occurred to me. This post is essentially just somewhere for me to collect the separate but related meta I've been kicking around in my head.

I fully respect anyone who does see and prefer an asexual reading of this relationship. These are my own thoughts and interpretations as someone who is not asexual. I am in the LGBT+ community, so while I do know a few things about the asexuality spectrum, I am by no means an expert.

This is NOT something I expect, need, or even necessarily want the show (or, God forbid, Neil's tumblr ask box) to address. Tonally, it's just not that kind of show. Newt and Anathema's sex scene was very much played for laughs, and it worked for that reason. If the show found a way to address it in a way that was both appropriate for the tone of the show and ultimately satisfying, then great! But there is so much more to this relationship than sex, and I didn't need a kiss to confirm their love, so I certainly don't need a sex scene. As immortal beings (as I assume they'll stay) there is so much of the rest of their lives we'll never get to see. You can headcanon them as asexual and potentially be right. I can headcanon them as not and be equally potentially right. Again, these are just a collection of my own thoughts, because I think the question of sexuality (or lack thereof) is just as interesting a facet of these characters as any other.

Note: Tbh I've been second-guessing this whole post and debated deleting the whole thing several times for being silly or unnecessary, bc I don't want anyone to think that this is the only thing I care about when it comes to this story/characters. But if nothing else, it's inspired me to write in a way that nothing has in a very long time, so I've decided it's worth continuing, if for no other reason than that.

This is going to be a mixed bag of textual reading, subtextual reading, and a full-on reach or two. It's been a while since I've been in an English class, but if my teachers expected me to find a deeper meaning behind blue curtains, you can expect me to read too deeply into the symbolism of a loaded rifle or an ox rib. (This is probably not what my professors had in mind when grading my literary analysis papers but oh well) My point is, if it feels like a reach, I'm as aware of it as you are. I am in no way saying that all (or even any) of my points made were deliberate on the part of Neil or the actors or the writers or the directors. I am no longer the delulu Apple Tree Yard child of my youth, I promise.

If anything said here is in any way offensive or hurtful to anyone in the asexual community, please do not hesitate to message me or comment and let me know exactly what it was. I promise you it is not my intention to do so, and am happy to clarify or outright edit anything that reads that way.

With all that being said, let's talk about why I think Crowley and Aziraphale would absolutely fuck nasty incorporate sex into their relationship.

Note: I am out of practice with essay writing, so I think I'll just go down the bullet points of notes I have been making, and expand on each as best I can

Food

Where better to start than with Aziraphale's introduction to Pleasures Of The Flesh? (Just a heads up, this entire post may feel very Aziraphale-heavy, and with good reason).

This might be the least hot take here. We've all seen the Job minisode. We've all seen That Scene.

Whether this was intentional or not, the symbolism here is off the charts. Eve was tempted by an apple. So why not go a similar route and tempt Aziraphale with another fruit, or cheese, or bread, or literally anything else for his first experience with food? Instead, we go with a huge, glistening slab of fresh meat that he proceeds to absolutely go feral upon, moaning and gasping into his meal while Crowley watches with what definitely doesn't look to be disgust or even satisfaction with a good temptation. There's surprise at the ferocity of Aziraphale's appetite, certainly. But ultimately he looks to be intensely fascinated by it, while the thunder crashes, the music crescendos, and the earth literally shakes around them.

(It's also interesting to note how very little it takes for Crowley to tempt him with the ox rib. One murmured suggestion, a bit of unwavering eye contact, and vavoom Aziraphale immediately meets him in the middle.)

Cut to Aziraphale devouring the rest of the meat with Crowley splayed back on a makeshift bed, drinking wine and continuing to watch him indulge through half-lidded eyes. Outside a thunderstorm rages while they're learning secrets about each other in warm flickering firelight. It's cosy, it's intimate, and if they'd thrown in a bearskin throw blanket, it might as well be a post-coital scene straight out of Game of Thrones.

The next time (chronologically) we see them discuss food is when Aziraphale "tempts" Crowley with oysters in Rome. So Crowley first tempts Aziraphale with meat and then Aziraphale tempts Crowley with what is widely regarded to be an aphrodisiac. Interesting.

And then chronologically after that, the Arrangement begins to form, which has always reeked of a friends with benefits situation. Just to throw that in there.

It's What Humans Do

In the very first episode, we're shown Gabriel's obvious disgust and bewilderment towards Aziraphale eating sushi, calling it "gross matter" and being proud of the fact that he does not sully his body with it. Aziraphale initially tries to defend his own enjoyment in it, before passing it off as something that humans do, as something he simply has to do in order to blend in (which we know very well is not the case).

He does this again in season 2, passing off Nina and Maggie being in love as "something humans do". But it isn't, is it? Angels are beings of love, and can sense it, and understand very well what it is... up to a point. Even romantic love is obviously within their wheelhouse, given what we now know happened between Gabriel and Beelzebub (we'll come back to them).

What the "humans do" that angels wouldn't understand is messy, physical forms of love.

But here's the thing: Aziraphale and Crowley love doing what the humans do. They love drinking, they (or at least Aziraphale) love eating. They love music. Crowley loves driving and sleeping and watching rom-coms and sitcoms. Aziraphale loves reading and doing magic and earning little licenses and certificates for achievement in his various hobbies. They love to playact at being human so much that they've stopped playacting and started building a genuinely human lifestyle for themselves and with each other.

Once together in an unambiguously romantic sense, why do we think they wouldn't also want to explore one of the most prominent, intimate, powerful human expressions of love and desire with each other?

Angels, Demons, & Asexuality

Here's where I really want to clarify that in no way do I mean that sex is necessary for a healthy, fulfilling, and loving romantic relationship, or that the lack of desire for sex makes you any less human. Asexuality is a sexuality as valid and human as any. What I would say is that it is definitely in the human minority compared to allosexuality.

Angels and demons, on the other hand, are predominately asexual. Sexless/genderless unless Making An Effort. (Which, btw, is a concept introduced as early as the original book; why even bring it up as a possibility? Why not keep angels/demons being sexless/asexual as a hard and fast rule, if not to open up the potential for later use? Chekhov's Effort, if you will. And isn't that something that Aziraphale in particular is shown to do time and time again? He makes an effort in French and driving and magic, doesn't he?)

And this is why I don't believe Aziraphale and Crowley necessarily need to be asexual, narratively. There is already a huge amount of ace rep within the angels and demons (and no, not just the horrible ones. Muriel also doesn't "drink the tea" and has no reason or desire thus far to Make An Effort, and there are certainly other angels and demons who aren't horrible like the archangels seem to be who likely wouldn't Make An Effort either).

The central conflict for Aziraphale and Crowley is that they are on their own side, the ones who went native, the ones who are so different in so many ways from their respective hives. It would make sense for them to also break away from traditional angel/demon asexuality.

I say "traditional angel/demon asexuality", because I would also like to note that I would absolutely not rule out demisexuality for either of them. This post is being written to as a response to people who specifically believe that they (like the rest of the angels/demons seem to be) would be sex-averse in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be a factor in their relationship. I could easily read them as demisexual, but I do think there would be no real way of verifying this, because they've never been able to form as close an emotional relationship with anyone else but each other. Certainly not in heaven, and I can't imagine they would be able to form that kind of attachment with any of the humans, who they love and emulate but ultimately regard as the separate species they are. So yes, they could either be allosexual or demisexual, in my opinion.

Then again, now that I think about it, Making An Effort itself could be a great metaphor for demisexuality, since they would be entirely sexless/asexual until they have enough of an emotional connection with someone to consciously manifest otherwise. Since the other angels and demons don't generally form those types of emotional connections with anyone, there hasn't been a precedent for it.

Except...

Brielzebub

We do have a precedent for it now, don't we? Gabriel and Beelzebub fell in love. They are a direct foil for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, speedrunning right through their courtship and finding their happily ever after on the other side of things.

For being such a 1 to 1 comparison, it feels deliberate that they did not kiss. They held hands, they were gooey with each other, but they did not kiss. That feels like such a deliberate thing to omit when you know what's to come at the end of the episode between Crowley and Aziraphale.

And going back to the food = sex metaphor for a moment, let's notice how even as they fell in love over the years, even when pints and crisps were there on the table in front of them, they never felt the desire to reach out for them. They didn't need to. It's a date (love story) even if you aren't eating dinner (sleeping together).

Yes, I know Jim liked hot chocolate. No, I am not counting it because I don't consider Jim and Gabriel to be the same person with the same proclivities, and Jim was highly suggestible at the time anyway.

Gabriel and Brielzebub's big happily ever after moment (as of now) was one between two asexual supernatural beings. They did not need to kiss to drive the point home. They showed what Crowley and Aziraphale could have, if they would only acknowledge it.

Crowley & Aziraphale's Dissatisfaction

But they do have that already, don't they? If you really think about it, what do Gabriel and Beelzebub do with each other that Crowley and Aziraphale don't already? They hold hands, they spend time together, they create little rituals, they give gifts, they're visibly and verbally affectionate with each other, etc. They are more or less already in a romantic asexual marriage relationship with each other, aren't they?

And it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them.

At the beginning of the season, Crowley is immediately shown to be unsatisfied with the way things are. Obviously part of it comes from living in his car, but it seems to be more than that (especially since Aziraphale makes it clear that the bookshop is just as much Crowley's as his, implying that he could have been living there the whole time and is choosing not to, for some reason?). You could argue he's feeling unmoored without Hell telling him what to do, but isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what he still wants, by the end of the season? All season long, he's never indicated the desire for a new job, or a new project. He stopped the apocalypse because he wanted the freedom to openly spend time with Aziraphale, to spend his time on Earth however he sees fit. Until Gabriel arrives, he has exactly that (minus a flat).

So where does the dissatisfaction come from? And if it represents anything to do with his relationship, what does he want out of it that he isn't getting already?

I think Crowley only really comes to the realisation of what he's missing when Nina names it for him, not only putting them in the category of romantic, but physical (outright asking if they are sleeping together). These two posts [1], [2] go into more detail about what I mean, but I think it really pushes him into acknowledging that their relationship is more human than either of them have stopped to consider, and what that might mean as far as everything a human relationship can entail.

After all, Nina and Maggie only advised that he should talk to Aziraphale, make clear his feelings. The decision to kiss him, to tip them over the edge from nonphysical to physical, that was all him. And no, kissing isn't sex, but I wonder how taboo even that might be in the kind of all-encompassing asexuality most angels seem to identify with. (If they're disgusted by food and drink, I can only imagine what they think of snogging, much less sex.)

Aziraphale doesn't have this moment of someone observing their relationship from the outside. He loves Crowley, and as of 1941 probably even knows he's in love with him in a way that Crowley doesn't understand yet. Which makes sense, since love is technically his job, he'd be more likely to recognise it for what it is.

However, Aziraphale's reference for romance and relationships is Jane Austen. It's chaste. It's dancing and dinner and doing sweet things for each other and roses and candles and handholding. He contextualises his love for Crowley in that soft fantasy sort of way, where it's there, it's obviously there, but it's neat and easy and unspoken. Not to quote Glee in this, the year of our lord 2023, but it's all very "the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets".

Someone should tell that to Aziraphale's face, then.

I'm not going to pretend I know what Michael Sheen's script notes were, but there were definitely some Choices™ made. Because yes, there were plenty of moments in both seasons with Aziraphale looking at Crowley in a sweet, loving, smitten way. And then there were moments that were yearning.

But yearning for what, exactly? All of those sappy Jane Austen tropes already apply to the two of them. So why are there moments where Aziraphale is looking Crowley up and down like the last eclair in the window and licking his lips and visibly exhaling like he's trying to get in control of himself (see: Bastille scene + Crowley telling Muriel to ask him if they have any other questions about love)? Why is Aziraphale not only unconcerned when Crowley shoves him bodily up against a wall in s1, but staring at his lips and a beat too late in noticing Sister Mary's arrival? Why are some of his lines so suggestive? I'm sorry, but the car ride after the church explosion might as well have been the beginning of a Pizza Man porn with a really weird Blitz theme. If even my mother picked up on that vibe, I can't imagine it wasn't intentional on part of both the dialogue and the delivery.

(This section may feel like more of a reach/joke, but I'm really only 20% joking. These are writers and actors who are EXTREMELY good at their jobs; they know what they were doing here.)

More importantly, I don't think Aziraphale is even aware that there is more to what he wants. He lives in the Jane Austen fantasy and it never even occurs to him that he might be interested in anything further. It never even occurs to him that, as an angel, there is anything further to be interested in in the first place. Until Crowley forces it to occur to him. Just like I believe Nina forced Crowley to confront the idea that romantic love is what he's been feeling all along, I believe Crowley forced Aziraphale to confront the idea that physical intimacy is something he's been wanting, without even realising.

Aziraphale's Hedonism

Expanding on Aziraphale for a moment. We talked about his relationship with food, but we all know that Aziraphale is defined by his love of things that Feel Good.

It isn't just that he and Crowley love human things. Aziraphale loves the best of the best, or at least his version of it. He doesn't just love food, he loves going to fancy restaurants. He doesn't just love clothes, he loves soft, cosy, warm, plush clothes, or shiny, flashy, bougie fashion. He loves the warmth of tea and cocoa, loves getting drunk, and sitting in a comfy chair in the sunlight. He doesn't just experience, he indulges.

Given the emphasis put on things that Aziraphale loves just because they Feel Good, it feels narratively strange to assume that he wouldn't enjoy the feeling of being touched, or that he wouldn't be willing to try it, at least once, with someone he cared very deeply for. And just like the ox rib, I think that once he gets the first taste of things, he would absolutely tip over into complete and utter self-indulgence.

Dancing

I also think that dancing could be construed as a huge metaphor here. After all, we're told flat-out that angels don't Dance. Except one.

I would argue that Aziraphale, in fact, Made An Effort to learn how to Dance. He threw himself into the gavotte with delight (at a Victorian gay club; noted) and worked hard to be good at it. He's chomping at the bit to Dance with Crowley, working up the nerve to ask him with undeniably romantic intent and eagerness. So, angels don't Dance... unless they Make An Effort to do so.

We are told that demons, on the other hand, do Dance, but not well. Makes sense, since they're the ones who would want to encourage a deadly sin like lust, but have as little understanding of human love and physical intimacy as the angels. Crowley, however, is shown to be an excellent dancer at the ball, especially in his compatibility with Aziraphale.

(But Aziraphale WandaVisioned the ball so everyone knew how to dance! Yes, he did. However, the rest of the brainwashing doesn't seem to affect Crowley in any way, and they did actually live through the time period where this sort of dancing was a social norm; I'd be surprised if he never needed to learn. After all, the demons can't spell either, and Crowley is at least functionally literate, as far as we know.)

As of today, it's also been confirmed that when Aziraphale asked Crowley to dance, Crowley replied with "you don't dance." Not "WE don't dance". So going along with the metaphor, Crowley is just now discovering that Dancing is something Aziraphale is interested in at all, much less with him, and not denying that he himself is interested in Dancing. In his defense, I believe he was asleep for a few years while Aziraphale was learning the gavotte, so he wasn't exactly aware of Aziraphale's hot girl summer.

Love Languages

I want to expand on that; Crowley and Aziraphale's compatibility. Specifically in regards to their individual love languages.

We all know Crowley's love language is Acts of Service. I don't think there's any debate there. He loves it, Aziraphale loves it, they're both aware of it, we're all aware of it, God and Satan are aware of it, no surprise there.

You may disagree with me, but I believe Aziraphale's love language is Physical Touch, for a number of reasons. One of which being his aforementioned hedonism. Aziraphale likes things that Feel Good, remember? He likes soft clothes, and well-worn books. Neil himself has said that they like holding hands. And any time he is taken by surprise (Brielzebub getting together, the wave of love in Tadfield, etc.) what is the first thing he does? Reaches out for Crowley. He stops him with a hand to the chest in the pub. He leads him by the hand to the dance floor. He guides him by the waist in the graveyard. He reaches out during the entire Brielzebub scene, whether he can reach Crowley or not. Despite his own turmoil, he grasps at Crowley's back during the kiss.

The one time Crowley reaches out for him (not counting the kiss yet; we'll get there), he is aggressively pushed against a wall (by someone he loves and trusts) with a complete and utter lack of concern (and perhaps some interest, depending on how you read it).

And when he isn't reaching out for anyone, or there isn't anyone to reach out to? Well, he's wringing his own hands together, squeezing his own fingers, as if to find that physical comfort in himself.

So. With that theory in mind, we have Aziraphale (Physical Touch) + Crowley (Acts of Service). Throw in 6000+ years of deep love, cherished companionship, and forcibly repressed longing, and there is a very real potential of this combination resulting in fierce sexual compatibility. Where Aziraphale would want to touch and be touched, to indulge in physical pleasure with someone he adores, in the same the way he indulges in every other fine thing in his life. And where Crowley would want to indulge him in return, to give him everything he wants, and to take pleasure in Aziraphale's pleasure, in the same way he enjoys watching him take joy in food everything else.

So Aziraphale is an angel who is insecure about his own less-than-holy desires, who would want to treat Crowley like a luxury to be touched and cherished and adored. And Crowley is a demon who has, over the millennia, been unhappy about how they've been forced to deny even their friendship with each other, who would want Aziraphale to feel comfortable and safe and encouraged to indulge in earthly delights. That sounds like a stunning recipe for sexual compatibility to me.

"You said 'trust me'" / "And you did"

Just like the Job minisode, the Blitz is RIFE with symbolism (intentional or otherwise). This one will be quick, but I did want to touch on it because I thought it was interesting. Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I'm assuming you read the tin.

First of all, Crowley not wanting to admit to never firing a gun before; comes off as someone who very much does not want to admit to their crush that they're a virgin ("You must have done this lots of times!" / "Umm.... yyyyyeah.")

(You could make the argument that Aziraphale having a firearms license and a Derringer in a hollowed-out book is symbolic of him not being a virgin while Crowley is. I disagree, for reasons I'll go into later, but it's a valid reading. However, I see it more like keeping a condom in your wallet; it's there in case you need it, but the opportunity has not yet risen no pun intended.)

More importantly, the theme of this entire minisode is trust. We already know they trust each other with their lives against the rest of Heaven, Hell, and the world. But specifically, this is about the importance of having complete trust in your partner in a charged, physically vulnerable, intimate moment, where the only danger is between the two of you.

Aziraphale needs to believe Crowley would never hurt him if he can help it. Crowley needs to trust Aziraphale's unwavering blind faith in him. Frankly, it all feels very symbolic of two people deeply in love losing their respective virginities with each other.

The trick is a success, and they share an intimate candlelit dinner in which they reaffirm their faith in each other. Aziraphale also begins to voice his agreement with Crowley, that maybe Heaven's rules shouldn't have to be as black and white as they are, and that there are benefits to... blurring the lines, shades of grey, wink wink (at which point even my mom was like, whoa guys, this is a family show).

Btw also: Can we all agree how much it looked like Crowley was getting ready to get a lapdance in that one scene? You know the one.

Also also: "Aim for my mouth"? Come on.

The Birds & The Bees

Now that I think of it, there's also something to be said for the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are both obviously familiar with where babies come from (how they're made and how they're born) while the other angels aren't.

Something something Aziraphale and Crowley fundamentally understand sex and reproduction in a way the other angels (and probably demons) very much do not, nor have any desire to.

Probably not important. Just thought it was worth mentioning.

The Kiss™ & Religious Trauma

The Kiss. Where to even begin?

This has definitely been the hardest one to start, because there is so much going on here that I definitely won't be able to cover it all, and will certainly miss a few things here and there.

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss afterwards is the most interesting to me. And I don't mean directly after, I don't mean the "I forgive you" part. I mean the way he touches his lips when Crowley is no longer in the room and he no longer needs to save face, when he is completely alone. Had it been directly after the kiss, it would have been rightfully read as horror, or disgust, a shield to discourage further action.

It's not. It isn't just a touch, it's a press. As desperate and angry and unexpected and imperfect as the kiss had been, Aziraphale is pressing it into himself, recreating the feeling as best he can. Beneath all the poor timing and shock and hurt from their fight and fallout, I think it's fair to say that it was something he enjoyed. Something he doesn't think he should enjoy, something that Feels Good that he only allows himself to indulge in when completely alone.

Remember, Aziraphale's idea of love is Jane Austen and gentleness and courtship and fantasy. If he'd ever even considered kissing an option, it might have been gentle pecks, cheek kisses, forehead kiss, hand kisses. Soft, safe, chaste affection.

Crowley's kiss turns all of that on its head. He introduces physical intimacy in a very real, very messy, very human way that I don't think Aziraphale ever even considered could apply to them. Considering what other angels are like and what they look down on, even Aziraphale's Jane Austen fantasies probably would have been considered taboo.

So for their first kiss to be rough and desperate and passionate in the way it was, of course he was confused and in shock. It was deeply physical, and as overwhelming and awful as it was in the moment, it Felt Good. Enough that he grasped at Crowley and kissed back, if only just for a moment, before stopping himself. Enough that he actively pressed it into his lips afterwards, in private, to remember.

I adore how Neil has decided to evolve these characters past the first book/season. More so in this season, Aziraphale and Crowley have both become such interesting allegories for queer people on either side of the spectrum of toxic religion. Aziraphale in particular obviously, because he is the side that so desperately wants to believe, to make a difference, and to unlearn all of the propaganda he's been fed over such a long time. Just like so much of organised religion, there is so much that he is told, time and time again, that he should not want, that he is silly or stupid or outright wrong for wanting. It reminds me so much of the severe Catholic guilt one might feel for wanting/engaging in sex for the first time, and the stigma of being queer layered on top of that.

What is so critical to Aziraphale's character is that he goes on wanting, and more than that, actively pursues. He was convinced to go up against Heaven and Hell and stop all of Armageddon because he wanted to go on listening to music and eating lunch and reading books and enjoying the simple company of the person he cares most deeply for, even if that person is supposed to be the enemy.

All this to say that if angels are as generally asexual/sex-averse as I believe them to be, narratively speaking, it would make sense for Aziraphale to be singular in that regard as well. Mirroring his first experience with food, it would make sense for Crowley to be the one to first introduce this new messy, physical, human dynamic between them, for Aziraphale to hesitate (obviously we are at the Hesitation phase at the moment), and then (eventually) for him to dive in wholeheartedly, to absolutely glut himself on this new thing that Feels Good. It would make sense for his character development to show him overcoming his metaphorical Catholic guilt and pursuing the sexual intimacy most (if not all) of the other angels would scorn.

(I can't help but remember that plot idea Neil described from the unwritten sequel, with Aziraphale in a hotel room trying to watch a full porno by way of the free 2-minute teaser clips so he wasn't technically sinning by paying for it. I so hope this is used in season 3, because gosh, I wonder why Aziraphale would suddenly be so interested in observing human physical intimacy after 6,000 years. Lonely and doing a little surreptitious research there, angel?)

Crowley, on the other hand, is the queer person who has broken free from his toxic religion. He prides himself on being his own person, on their his own side. He doesn't have the hang-ups Aziraphale does. He doesn't worry that he's going to be judged or cast aside for wanting things he's not supposed to. So it only makes sense for him to be the first one to suggest/initiate physical intimacy. It makes sense for him to be the one who "goes too fast" (another fantastic example of this dynamic beginning as early as s1; what is that conversation in the car meant to represent, if not Aziraphale being overwhelmed by the intensity of their relationship, and his fear of succumbing to it when he believes he shouldn't? It's also interesting that this is the first conversation to take place in Soho, just after watching Aziraphale realise he's caught feelings for a demon, with the red glow of lust serving as the backdrop).

Do I think the kiss in and of itself was sexual? No. I think it was a passionate and devastating last-ditch effort on Crowley's part to convey the way he feels for Aziraphale. Not just that he loves him, but that he loves him in the most human way possible. But I do think that the kiss represents how they can move forward from here, and what they might want to explore with each other once they feel free enough to do so.

In Conclusion

I am sure, deep in my bones (unless we are explicitly told otherwise), that this was both of their first kisses no, I'm not counting the gavotte, and that neither of them have ever thought to do anything else physical with the humans while they have been on Earth. Like I said before, they adore the human race and lifestyle in general, but ultimately view them as a separate species altogether, and they seem mostly happy to keep to themselves and each other, unless otherwise necessary. I just can't see either of them being drawn enough to a human to pursue anything close to sex. If Crowley in particular has had anything to do with sex in the context of temptations, I'm positive he would be inciting lust amongst the humans themselves, not involving himself directly. At least not that directly.

So, like every other human experience they've had on Earth, sex is something new that they could explore together, just the two of them, on their own side. A deeply intimate, tangible declaration of their love and everything they've gone through to earn it. A visceral finger to give both Heaven and Hell. A renewed appreciation for their corporations and for each other's. A enjoyable method for immortal beings to simply pass the time in each other's company. A new and exciting way to Feel Good, and all the variations that come with it.

You might agree with this post, or you might not. Whether this is something that is ever addressed or not, it doesn't matter to me. This is a brilliant love story either way, and I genuinely feel so privileged to witness it.

But I just can't find it in myself to imagine, given everything we know about these two characters, that sex isn't an experience they would both consume with wholehearted enthusiasm, curiosity, and profound, ineffable adoration.

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Bonus feature: the very silly notes I made to myself that inspired this post

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