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inkieun · 1 month ago

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Pretty Mouth 2 — Geum Seong Je x F!Reader x Na Baek-Jin

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Seongje said, voice low . Baekjin didn’t speak at first, he just reached out brushing your hair from your face with a tenderness that made your breath catch. His eyes lingered on you, dark and certain. “He’s not wrong,” he said softly. “You’re breathtaking like this.”

cw: dark!seongje, noncon, forced oral, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation, slight breeding kink? #MDNI

link to part one here

“Maybe next time… I’ll bring Baekjin.”

That sentence has haunted me for a week.

Seongje said it like a threat as he walked out of the bathroom stall, leaving me on my knees, throat sore and spit-slick, the taste of him still clinging to my tongue. He didn’t look back.

Baekjin.

He said it slowly, like a threat wrapped in silk.

And ever since, my brain hasn’t stopped trying to fill in what that "next time" looks like.

And then—

Snap.

A pen hits my desk, hard enough to make me flinch.

“Shit, sorry,” Jun-tae says, voice low and half-laughing. “Didn’t mean to wake you from whatever dark place you just went to.”

I look up too fast, heat blooming up my neck.

He’s already grinning, sliding into the chair beside me.

His gaze flickers to my face.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now.

I nod. “Yeah.” A lie.

Jun-tae leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Haven’t seen you around much since last weekend. What’s up with that?”

I shrugged, keeping my gaze fixed on my notebook. “Nothing, really. Just been studying.”

A weak excuse, but I didn’t trust my mouth with anything closer to the truth.

Jun-tae let out a short laugh. “Studying?” He tilted his head, clearly amused. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that with a straight face.”

Before I could answer Jun-tae, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around my shoulders from behind.

“Baku!” I breathed, startled.

He leaned in with a grin, chin brushing my hair. “Hey, hey! you guys up for fried chicken later?”

Before I could respond, he added, “And don’t even think about saying no.”

I glanced between them—Jun-tae still watching me closely, Baku’s arms heavy and warm around me, both of them waiting. The attention made my chest tighten, the unspoken pressure curling in my stomach.

I swallowed. “Yeah… sure. Let’s go.”

Baku gave a satisfied hum, and I felt his grip linger just a second longer than it needed to before he let go.

"I'm so full," Hyun-tak groaned, leaning back with a dramatic sigh like he’d just survived a war.

Baku snorted, stealing one of the last fries off his plate. “You say that now, but I swear your hand’s been hovering over the basket this whole time.”

“Let him breathe,” Jun-tae said, stretching lazily with a grin. “Hyun-tak’s body’s 80% chicken at this point. We should be grateful he hasn’t started clucking.”

Sieun laughed, deep and low, the kind of sound that made people lean in just to hear it again.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I barely glanced at the others before unlocking it. One tap. Then the air left my lungs.

It was me. Staring back at myself through the screen—eyes wide, mascara streaked, lips parted like I’d just been wrecked. Because I had.

My chest tightened. My grip on the phone faltered.

FLASHBACK

“Seongje, what the fuck are you doing—delete that right now! You can’t—”

“Shut up.” His tone was flat. Razor-sharp. “You think you get to fuck around with that little pretty-boy, Baku, and not pay for it?”

He angled the screen toward me to see my own image staring back. Mascara smudged. Mouth open.

“You belong to me now,” he said. Calm. Cruel. “And if I see you near him again, hell, if I even hear his name in your breath, this photo goes to every inbox at your school.”

END FLASHBACK

"Hey."

I flinched.

Jun-tae was frowning at me, leaning across the table. "You good?"

“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Yeah. Just spam.”

“Spam,” Baku joked, bumping my knee under the table. “Must’ve been your secret admirer confessing in Morse code.”

They laughed again, easy and bright.

I forced a sound that passed as a chuckle and shoved my phone deeper into my pocket.

But I could still feel it. The weight of Seongje’s voice. That picture burned behind my eyes. His threat.

And across the table, Baku smiled at me.

I smiled back.

Even though all I could hear was:

“You belong to me now.”

“Alright guys, I think I’m gonna call it a night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, forcing a smile as I stood up.

“So soon?” Jun-tae asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah… sorry for being a buzz kill.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Hyun-tak said, stretching. “I was about to head out too. Want me to walk you home?”

I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to drag you out of your way.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I smiled again, a tight one. “But thank you.”

“Alright... if you say so,” he said, still sounding unsure.

“Night, guys!” I called over my shoulder with a wave as I slipped out the door.

The moment it clicked shut behind me, the smile collapsed.

Gone.

I stood there on the street for a second, the cold air biting against my skin, my breathing suddenly too loud in the quiet night.

And then I started walking—fast. Hands shoved into my pockets, head down, heart hammering.

I was so deep in my thoughts—spiraling about that damn photo, about what Seongje could do with it—that I didn’t notice the car until it was already beside me.

The door swung open, and before I could react, hands grabbed me from behind.

Rough. Forceful.

I barely had time to scream.

“What the—fuck!” I yelled, kicking back, but I was already being shoved inside. The car door slammed shut before I could process what was happening.

Then I heard it.

“Oh, so noisy.”

That voice.

I froze.

Seongje.

He was in the front seat, half-turned in the passenger seat like this was all some casual meet-up. A cigarette dangled from his lips, lit with an audible click of his lighter. He took a long drag, exhaled slowly through his nose, and smirked like a snake watching a mouse twitch.

“Miss me?” he said, voice low and smug, as if this was all some inside joke I was too slow to catch.

I couldn’t speak.

My heart was beating too fast. My skin was ice.

He tapped ash out the cracked window and looked forward. “Let’s hit the bowling alley,” he said, like we were going for fucking ice cream.

The moment he said it, my stomach dropped.

I knew what that meant.

I knew exactly why he was taking me there.

I knew exactly who he was taking me to see.

“No—Seongje—please,” I stammered, panic rising in my throat. “I don’t want to—”

He turned his head just enough to glare at me from the corner of his eye, cigarette perched between his fingers. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Did I ask you something, babe?”

Silence.

Complete. Crushing. I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, right. I didn’t.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. Like he was talking about the weather—not about dragging someone off the street and shoving them into a car.

I pressed back against the door, fingers scrambling for the handle. It wouldn’t open.

Child lock.

He leaned his elbow on the seat, cocked his head, and smiled wider.

“Try it again,” he said. “Please.”

My hand froze.

I didn’t move.

“Smart girl,” he whispered.

And all I could think was:

Oh god!

When we pulled up to the bowling alley, the air in the car thickened.

"Alright, everyone. We're here," Seongje announced, mocking cheer in his voice, like we were on some twisted school trip.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

My body locked up in the back seat, my fingers curled into fists against my thighs, praying he'd forget I was even there.

But of course, Seongje noticed.

He turned, annoyance flaring across his face like a switchblade. “Hey! Get the fuck out.”

His voice cracked like a slap.

That jolted me. I scrambled to open the door, fumbling with the handle like a scared animal. My feet barely hit the ground before his hand clamped around my wrist, tight.

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

He yanked me behind him, dragging me across the lot like he was pulling a dog on a leash. His half-finished cigarette hung from his lips until he spat it out mid-step and ground it into the pavement with his heel—never even breaking stride.

The whole walk, I felt it—eyes on me. They were watching him drag me like property, like a joke.

We slipped through the front entrance and into the hallway down the stairs.

I knew where we were going. I didn’t want to go there.

But Seongje didn’t care what I wanted.

We reached a door—Baekjin’s office.

Seongje kicked it open like it belonged to him and shoved me inside.

The room was dim, smoke still hanging faint in the air. Baekjin sat behind the desk, calm and unmoved, while Dong-ha and Seong-mok stood nearby, mid-conversation.

Everything stopped the second they saw me.

Baekjin’s eyes met mine.

My knees gave out.

I hit the floor hard.

“Didn’t think I could scare her that easy,” Seongje muttered, grinning as he stepped over me, like I was trash in his way.

I looked up.

Baekjin was still staring.

His face was expressionless. Not angry. Not surprised.

Just interested.

“Out,” Baekjin said softly.

Seong-mok and Dong-ha didn’t ask questions. They left quickly, closing the door behind them without a sound.

And then it was just us.

Seongje leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like a wolf with a rabbit in it’s mouth.

Baekjin stood slowly, pushing back from the desk like he had all the time in the world. His movements were precise.

He circled around and stopped in front of me.

I couldn’t meet his eyes.

I stared at his shoes instead. Shiny leather.

I couldn’t breathe.

He knelt.

I flinched.

Then his hand came down grabbing my jaw with cold fingers and forcing my face upward.

"Eyes on me," he said quietly.

I met his eyes.

And immediately regretted it.

There was nothing human in them.

He tilted his head, studying me like a piece of meat someone had delivered as a present.

“What do we have here…” he murmured. “You look smaller than I expected.”

Seongje laughed behind him. “She’s fun when she’s scared.”

Baekjin didn’t respond. He just kept looking at me.

Like I was something beneath him.

Like I couldn’t escape even if I tried.

And I knew nothing good was going to happen if I tried anything.

Baekjin let go of my jaw with a slow, almost thoughtful motion, like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble or not. His hand lingered a second longer than it needed to, and then he patted my cheek.

Soft. Patronizing.

Like I was something to be pitied.

Then he stood, gaze never leaving me, and slid his fingers to his belt. The click of the buckle sent a shock down my spine.

“I want to see how good your mouth really is,” Baekjin said, voice like warm silk hiding something rotten underneath.

He wasn’t smiling.

Not really.

Just watching me—calculating.

Behind him, Seongje let out a twisted little laugh, pacing like he couldn’t sit still.

“She’s got talent,” he said, grinning like a madman. “Been rating it five stars all week.”

He tilted his head toward Baekjin and clicked his tongue. “You’re gonna love it. She tries so hard when she’s scared. Starts off all shaky, but the second you praise her? She melts.”

He leaned closer to my ear from behind.

“She lives for it.”

Baekjin’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Do you?”

His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of voice that made your skin crawl even though it never rose above a whisper.

“I think you do,” he murmured, letting the belt slide from his waistband. “Because girls like you... the ones who pretend they’re too good for this? You break so beautifully when someone tells you you’re doing a good job.”

His gaze dropped to my lips.

“You want that, don’t you? To be useful. To be told you’re perfect when you’re on your knees. Even when you’re full of shame.”

I stared at the floor, pulse racing in my throat.

“Look at her,” Seongje cackled. “You see that, right? She hates this. But she’s soaked. Probably didn’t even notice.”

He crouched beside me, his grin wide, manic, wrong. “I’d say she’s got a praise kink... but the degradation’s what really makes her squirm.”

Baekjin gave the faintest nod, like he was filing that detail away. Like I was a lab experiment reacting exactly as expected.

“This isn’t about what you want,” he said, leaning down, cold fingers brushing my jaw again. “It’s about what you're made for. And you, sweetheart?”

He bent lower, eyes locked on mine.

“You were made for this.”

I didn't move.

Not until I felt Seongje’s fingers thread into my hair from behind, yanking my head back just enough to make my eyes water.

“Come on,” he whispered against my ear, tone high and sharp like he was barely holding back a laugh. “You know the rules. Good girls don't wait to be told twice.”

“Show him,” he said louder, for Baekjin now. “Show him how well you’ve been trained.”

My hands moved before my brain caught up. My knees ached against the cold floor, and I felt heat crawling up my throat.

Baekjin didn’t stop me.

He just watched.

Like a predator watching a trapped animal make the inevitable choice.

Seongje laughed again, a short, breathless sound like he couldn’t believe how easy it was. “She’s perfect like this, isn’t she? Scared out of her mind, but still trying so hard to be good.”

Baekjin tilted his head, still watching me with that same cold curiosity. “It’s fascinating,” he said. “How humiliation makes you obedient.”

His hand brushed my cheek.

Not gentle.

Just possessive.

“You want to be useful, don’t you?” he asked. “Want to be praised. Even when you’re on your knees, you want someone to tell you you’re doing well.”

Baekjin stood over me, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the floor. His eyes, cold remained fixed on my face. The belt dangled from his fingers, a silent threat and promise.

"Go on then," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Show me what that clever mouth of yours can really do. And don't leave out a single inch."

Behind me, Seongje laughed—low and dangerous, his voice bouncing off the walls like a warning. He fisted a hand in my hair, yanking my head back to bare the vulnerable column of my throat. Then he crouched behind me, close enough for his breath to graze my skin.

"Fuck, I love watching her choke on it," he crowed, eyes wild with sadistic glee. "Especially since she acts all high and mighty at. Makes it so much sweeter when she gives in."

Baekjin's gaze never left mine as he slowly undid his fly, the sound of the zipper seeming to echo in the charged silence. He pulled out his cock, already hard and heavy in his hand.

"Open," he ordered.

My lips parted on a shaky breath, and he took that as the invitation it was. He pressed the swollen head of his cock against my mouth, smearing the salty precum across my bottom lip.

"That's it," he encouraged, voice low and rough, like gravel crunching under tires. "Take it in. Show me how well you can follow orders."

Seongje chuckled darkly from behind me, a sound that sent chills down my spine. "Fuck, I can't wait to see her gag on it," he said, voice dripping with twisted anticipation. "She's got such a pretty throat. I bet it's going to look even better stretched around your cock."

Baekjin ignored him, his attention solely focused on my face, on the way my lips parted wider as he pressed forward, pushing his thick length past my teeth and onto my tongue.

"Relax your throat," he instructed. It was gentle. Like he wanted me to do well, to please him.

I tried. I swallowed around him

Baekjin groaned, a low, approving sound as he felt my throat constrict around his length. "That's it," he praised, voice rough with pleasure. "You're a natural at this, aren't you? Born to be on your knees, choking on cock."

Seongje let out a high, manic laugh, still gripping my hair tight enough to make my eyes water. "You see that, Baek? She fucking loves it. Pretending to be all reluctant, but her throat's sucking you in like she can't get enough."

Baekjin started to move, thrusting shallowly at first, letting me adjust to the thick intrusion stretching my mouth. His free hand came up to grip my chin, holding me in place as he began to fuck into my face with more purpose.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice tight with concentration. "I want to see your eyes when you choke on my cock."

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as he hit the back of my throat, his length pulsing, twitching against my tongue. I gagged around him, throat convulsing, but he didn't let up. If anything, he seemed spurred on by my distress, fucking my face with harder, deeper strokes.

"Fuck, she's gripping me so tight," Baekjin grunted, hips pumping faster. "Her throat's like a fucking vice."

Saliva dripped down my chin as he used my mouth, my body, for his pleasure. Drool pooled on my lap, soaking into the fabric of my skirt as he fucked my face with brutal intensity. Seongje's grip on my hair never loosened, holding me in place as Baekjin took his pleasure.

"Don't forget to breathe through your nose," Seongje mocked, voice breathless with sadistic amusement. "Wouldn't want you passing out before he's done using that talented throat of yours."

Baekjin just snorted, the sound almost drowned out by the wet, obscene noises of him pounding into my mouth. The room filled with the scent of sex and the taste of him, thick and heavy on my tongue.

"Fuck, I'm close," he growled, voice strained. "Gonna fucking cum right down your throat.”

Baekjin slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt in my throat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot down my throat, choking me, forcing me to swallow.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, head thrown back in pleasure as he emptied directly into my stomach. "Take it all, you fucking cock slut."

As suddenly as it began, it was over. Baekjin pulled out, his softening cock slipping from my abused lips with a wet pop. A strand of cum connected the swollen head to my mouth before breaking, dangling obscenely on my chin.

He smiled then, a twisted mockery of a genuine smile, more like the baring of teeth than anything else. His eyes glinted with a dark, satisfied light as he looked at the mess he created.

"Beautiful," he purred, voice like honey laced with poison. "You look so perfect like this. You're really something special, aren't you?"

Seongje didn’t give me a second to catch my breath. He had me by the hair, his fingers twisted deep in the strands as he dragged me up, yanking me forward. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the metal desk that dominated the back of the office, the cold surface biting into my palms. I barely had time to catch my balance before he spun me around and lifted me onto the edge of the desk. My thighs clenched against the cool steel as he stepped between them.

"I've been waiting for this." he growled.

His voice was low, razor-sharp.

“For what?” I asked.

His hand slid up under my skirt, slow and possessive, until he hooked his fingers in my underwear and pulled them down with deliberate precision. “Waiting for you to fuck up, to give me a reason to put this pussy in its place."”

He unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he freed himself, gripping his cock at the base, spitting into his palm before stroking once.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, voice dripping with cruel affection. “already wet like a filthy little whore.”

Seongje didn’t wait for permission.

With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside me, thick and unrelenting, forcing a gasp from my throat that shattered the silence. The metal desk beneath me groaned with the force, the cold surface biting into my skin as my thighs trembled against his hips.

“Fuck,” he growled against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “You feel like a fucking dream—tight, wet, and so fucking needy. I bet you were waiting for this, weren’t you? Waiting for me to use you like the little cum dump you are.”

His hands gripped my hips with bruising strength, slamming me back onto him again and again, each thrust harder than the last. My body jolted with the rhythm, spine arching involuntarily as pleasure twisted violently with shame.

“That’s right,” he whispered, dragging his teeth along the shell of my ear. “Take it like a good little slut. This pussy was made to be ruined.”

Behind him, I could hear a slow breath.

Baekjin.

He was lounging on the couch like he owned the room, one hand lazily stroking his cock, eyes glued to where Seongje was splitting me open on the desk.

“Fuck,” Baekjin murmured, his voice thick with lust. “She looks so fucking perfect like that—stuffed full and shaking. You breaking her in good or do you need help?”

Seongje chuckled, low and cruel. “She’s dripping around me like a bitch in heat. She’ll be cock-drunk in a few.”

I whimpered, shame burning across my cheeks as Seongje fucked me harder—deeper—his cock dragging against every spot inside me like he was mapping me from the inside out. His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat.

“You hear that?” he hissed into my ear. “He’s watching you. Jerking off to the way I use you. You like being put on display, you fucking whore?”

My moan gave me away.

Baekjin groaned from the couch. “Goddamn… she just clenched around you.”

“Of course she did,” Seongje spat, slapping his hips hard against mine. “She loves being degraded. Don’t you, baby? You love when we treat you like nothing more than a wet little hole.”

“Say it,” Baekjin called out, his strokes getting faster. “Say you love being used.”

Seongje wrapped a hand around my throat—not tight, just enough to make me feel the heat of his dominance. “Go on,” he growled. “Let him hear you.”

“I—I love it,” I gasped, my voice cracking. “Love being used.”

Seongje’s groan was primal. He slammed into me so deep I saw stars, his breath breaking against the side of my neck.

“Good fucking girl.” He said as he finished inside of me.

He pulled out with a filthy squelch, a trail of slick clinging to his cock as he stepped back. My body collapsed onto the metal desk—used, aching, shaking. I didn’t even get the chance to exhale before his hand gripped my jaw and turned my head toward the couch.

Baekjin was watching.

His dark eyes never blinked, his cock stroking lazily in one hand. His lips were parted slightly, breath uneven, his face was flushed with arousal.

He stood up slowly and circled the desk, his bare chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I could hear the slick rhythm of his hand as he walked—slow, teasing strokes down his length as he approached the chair opposite the desk.

He sat.

Spread his legs.

And smiled.

“Come here, baby,” he said softly. Like he was inviting me into his lap for a hug. “Climb up and sit on my cock.”

My throat tightened.

I didn’t move.

He tilted his head, voice still soft. “Don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart. You’ve already let him fuck you like a cheap little toy. You gonna pretend you’ve got any dignity left?”

Behind me, Seongje laughed—cruel, sharp. “She’s too fucked out to pretend anything.”

Baekjin reached down, stroking the tip of his cock with his thumb, smearing precum over the flushed head. His voice dropped lower, breathier.

“Come on, princess,” he cooed. “Be a good girl.”

The sweetness in his tone made the filth hit harder. It felt like being stroked with too much care—like a mouse in someone’s palm.

I slid off the desk.

Stumbled.

I dropped to my knees, breathless, my legs too shaky to hold me after the way Seongje had fucked every ounce of strength out of me.

Baekjin watched me crawl to him, pupils dilated, the corners of his mouth twitching with delight.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So messy already. All stretched out and leaking all over my floor.”

I reached him—shaking, breathless.

He patted his thigh gently. “Up. That’s it. Come ride me like a good little slut.”

I climbed into his lap.

His cock pressed against my entrance.

But he didn’t thrust up.

Didn’t grip me.

He looked me in the eyes and whispered:

“You do it.”

My lips parted.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me,” he said, so gently it made my stomach flip. “Because you need it, don’t you? Need to be filled again. Need someone to remind you you’re nothing but a greedy little whore.”

I whimpered—but I obeyed.

Slowly, I sank down, inch by inch, until he was fully inside me.

He let out a soft sigh, as if I was the most relaxing thing in the world.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Nice and full again. Just like you’re supposed to be.”

His hands smoothed over my thighs, deceptively gentle as he started guiding my hips.

“Bounce for me, baby,” he said, kissing the corner of my jaw. “Let me feel how tight this filthy little cunt still is.”

And I did.

Because his voice made it impossible not to.

Each movement dragged him deeper, his soft groans filling my ear like praise turned poison.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathed. “So fucking good for us. Just a pretty little thing who likes being passed around and filled up.”

He kissed my throat.

“Such a sweet, obedient little slut.”

My moan cracked in the back of my throat as I trembled in his lap.

Baekjin’s hands tightened on my waist, his breath suddenly harsh, uneven.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned softly, voice still wrapped in silk even as his cock twitched inside me. “You feel too fucking good. This perfect pussy, all warm and stretched and used up—like it’s begging to be bred.”

My body seized at the words. And he felt it.

“Yeah,” he cooed, thrusting up gently once, twice—deeper than before, slower. “You want that, don’t you? Want me to fill you up?”

His voice dipped into something darker.

“My cum inside you. Leaking down your thighs when you walk out of here.”

I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders—but I didn’t stop him.

I couldn’t.

His grip tightened.

“Say thank you,” he whispered against my lips.

“T-Thank you,” I choked.

And then he came.

A deep, guttural moan spilled from his throat as his cock throbbed inside me, thick warmth pulsing into me in slow, possessive waves. He held me down—buried to the hilt—as if he wanted every drop to stay inside.

I barely registered the moment Baekjin pulled out—his cum thick and warm as it spilled out of me, dripping down my thighs and onto the floor. My body gave out, slumping boneless against him, my mind fogged and flickering at the edges.

fin

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 28 days ago

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──── PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka jake's love language is physical affection, words of affirmation...& mild desperation.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 880 ⌗ comfort, fluff, skinship, slice of life!, kissing (making out?), they're deeply in love my honor </3 (also jake is literally just a freaking loser in this one it's actually almost sad but we love loser!jake in this household so .)

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── EVERYONE . there's only two official parts left of this series...IM EMOTIONAL dont play with me rn ... can't believe we're almost at the end...but i do have a few requests for jakeyn in my inbox that i will definitely get to! so stay tuned for those hehe :D

Like always—it’s late.

Jake had begged you to watch Star Wars with him for movie night, and the result?

Here you are:

Three movies in.

One YouTube theory video later.

And freshly done giving a very dramatic, very passionate speech on why he absolutely does not need to make a PowerPoint explaining the lore to you.

Long story short: it’s stupidly late.

You’re stupidly tired.

And you’re 98% sure going to dream about baby Yoda and Kylo Ren at this point.

Oh, well. Whatever makes him happy, you guess.

The bedroom is quiet, save for the sound of your breathing trying to settle and the occasional shuffle Jake makes whenever he tugs you closer to him every time you shift in your spot. His arm wraps lazily around your waist, his legs tangled with your own under the ridiculous mountain of blankets you insist on sleeping with (and yet he never complains about), and his face is buried somewhere in your hair, his lips smushed warm against your temple.

It’s warm. It’s tight. It’s a little suffocating.

It’s perfect.

You let out a quiet sigh—soft, sleepy, content—your hand moving up to rest against Jake’s chest as you tuck your head further into the crook of his neck.

“Goodnight, pretty,” Jake whispers, voice low and soft, barely brushing your skin. His fingers comb through your hair absentmindedly, his familiar touch yet leaving a trail of goosebumps every time you feel him. “I love you.”

You smile.

You always do—especially when he says it like that.

Soft, cracked at the edges. Carrying all his emotions and spilling them into those three simple words for you—only for you.

“Mmm,” you hum, sleepily teasing, burrowing deeper into him without answering.

Jake pauses.

You feel his arms tighten around you. His head lifts. His breath hitches.

“Y/N,” he whines, so small and so broken you nearly start laughing into his shirt. “You can’t do that. You can’t not say it back. That’s so evil…you have to say it too.”

He’s fidgeting now, his hand frantically smoothing down your arm like it’ll somehow get the words out of you, “Baby, seriously—I’m not letting you fall asleep without hearing it. Please. Y/N.”

His voice is higher now. The sweet mix of desperation and affection. You swear he might cry.

Or make a PowerPoint.

You pull back just enough to look at him, a smirk on your face and his own expression too pitiful to ignore—eyes wide, pleading, his lips in a pout, and what you swear is a little spark of panic in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “You’re so whipped, Jakey.”

Your fingers reach up to cup his face as you pull up slightly just to get a better look at him. His pout only deepens, and you let out another laugh.

“No, no, baby,” he insists, shaking his head as your thumb brushes his cheek. “I’m not joking. Say it. Just once. Please.”

And then his arms curl tighter around you again, as if holding on for his dear life. And it’s so Jake—the voice, the pout, the way he can’t stand the idea of not hearing you say it back, as if you haven’t said it a million times before.

So completely dorky. So utterly pathetic.

And it makes your heart thump a little harder.

You pretend to think for a second. And then—

“I love you, Jake.”

The words will always slip from your mouth as naturally as breathing.

Soft, warm, and entirely his.

His face instantly lights up, his eyes widening just a little, and you’d think you’d just given him the world (and frankly—you did).

And before you can even process—

Jake immediately pulls you into him, his lips crashing into yours with an intensity that’s almost too much for an easy goodnight kiss.

You giggle against his lips, grabbing onto his shirt for balance, but he’s not having it. He moves his hands to cup your face, desperately holding onto you like he’s going to open his eyes and watch you disappear in an instant.

“Say it again,” his pants, voice a little breathless now, already kissing you again. “Please, please, please—say it again.”

You let out another laugh, pulling back to see how he looks at you with those soft, lovestruck eyes, how his voice is so heartfelt, how he holds you like he can’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” you whisper again. Slow and soft—only meant for him.

He lets out a soft groan before his hand slips to the back of your neck as he kisses you again. Slower this time, more gently—as if savoring this moment.

“I’m so in love with you,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with emotion as he finally stops to rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re so dumb,” you whisper, smiling as you kiss him again, quick and so full of love.

“I’m not dumb,” he protests. Another kiss.

“Okay…you’re so whipped,” you tease again, your fingers brushing through his hair as he looks at you with that stupid, goofy smile that you can’t resist.

Jake grins, his eyes crinkling, his hand back to rubbing slow circles on your hip as he holds you impossibly close.

“That I am. And I’m never going to stop.”

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

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deesseshesca · 20 days ago

Text

PAC : Moving in with them (18+)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~6)

Hiatus FUCKING OVER !

PILE 1

5 wands, Page wands

How will it be ?

Hey babes … How are u ? Another night spent in insomnia… one would think that with all that overthinking you would live an amazing life yet you only look drained. Almost as if that is the point … xoxo. Now let’s dive into your reading, living with them is going to be very passionate.

A lot of displays of affection, a lot of touching and a lot of teasing. Morning cuddles, bad breath kisses, back hugging while cooking breakfast, teasing them with your booty short when they comeback from work or them running a bath for you so they can dive in it (iykyk) and constant fucking hugging. Don't get me wrong since I am diving into a relationship, I know it is going to be cheesy but y’all are pussing it in my visions. ALWAYS HUGGING, KISSING OR TOUCHING IN ALL THE WAY POSSIBLE. Had to turn around and look for the camera crew because it looks like y’all are filming some kind of romcom. Lets not forget the eye contact, all I could think was : ‘’Just fuck already…’’ before I realize I am the one out of place. Don't yell at me, I am getting out of your way babe. Not to mention the beautiful friendship y’all have. You be roasting each other on the low for the fuck of it. You have a TV show you watch everyday together and no cheating or that is going to be a problem … lol. You guys may be both obsessed with legos, you with the flowers one and them with the Star Wars one. You guys get really excited to spend y’all grown money on childish things together. Get even eager about basic shit like walking together or even grocery shopping because as long as y’all are together everything is worth it.

How will it feel ?

Y’all are going to keep the spark alive. Y’all are never settling the relationship or even taking the other for granted. Is not because you pay bills, you have to deal with changing lights or even putting furniture together that you are not lustfully in love. You would go on dates often. Is not because y’all are home together everyday that you dont deserve to go on dates. You will still put effort in your looks. Doing your hair, nails and keeping up with the shaving and lingerie to please your men. That does not mean you can not rock a bush and an amazing Adam Sandler outfit at home without him being turned on. You genuinely put in the work to make each other happy. They will help with house chores even tho you actually enjoy doing them because they want to show you that they care and see the work that you are doing around the house. You cook and they do the dishes. Even the simple act of you taking a bath, they would probably be sitting beside you, laptop on their lap answering some emails. At the end of the day both of you understood that it takes effort to show love the proper way to your partner.

PS: They love when you are busy doing your own thing around the house it turns them on. You are cooking while they are probably just yapping beside you, having a hard on or getting wet. You are moping around the house while they are playing video games, they are having a hard on. You do your hair and makeup in the morning and they just start hoping they dont get hard. Is almost like seeing you acting in a domestic setting with them is making them more horny.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Why are they grateful for your existence ? (I know I said no more free but I love y'all 2 much)

3. COLLECTIVE READING (FREE) : BLOSSOM.

PLZ, if you have any ideas of topic regarding this playlist share it with me (comments, dm or inbox ... thx babe)

PILE 2

4 pentacles, 9 pentacles (reverse)

How is it going to be ?

Hey Chérie d’Amour ! How has life been lately ? Good … You sure. If life has been that good why are you spending it daydreaming. Is ok, maybe everything is too overlearning right now but it is not by hiding behind your maladaptive fantasy that your reality will get any better. Don't rush, take a deep breath, I am sure you have all the power in you to find your way out of that situation.

For now, let's dive into what's good awaiting you when you are brave enough to deal with reality. When you eventually move in with the love of your life, nothing will really change. Before you move out, they may be very protective and possessive over you. They don't like it when other eyes wander over you. They will never ask you to change because they enjoy your creativity and love seeing you feeling comfortable enough with your body to wear your risky outfit. Knowing how really insure you feel sometimes in your skin. Yet it does not stop them to death stare every fucking persorn laying yes upon you. They need you location on all the time. Every time they dont get to drive you around they must know who is with you and if you are safe. Honestly you love it , because often you grew up and nobody would pay attention to you. Often people would joke and say their only friend is their parents but for you it has been like this since elementary school. It's like you don't exist. People at work can go months without knowing your name and in some fuck up way some people dont even know your existence while literary sitting right beside you. You never thought you really matter, you were sure that if you die it would not change a fucking thing. Until him, all the way he deals with you makes you feel very seen. Living together they may even throw baby tantrums because all they want to do is spend time with you. They may have a 20 minute alarm before they real alarm so they remember to cuddle you before starting to get ready for work. They may even try to invite you to boy night just to be with you. They will often want to cuddle you while he plays video games. Dont worry I dont see you giving up on yourself to please their little bratty needs. Them pouring into you is actually going to make you go after what you want in life. I see you are going to meet your soul tribe after them, your grades will improve or you will find a better job after him because you are not going to be scared to ask for more from life anymore.

How is it going to feel ?

A bad bitch is born. I know I am supposed to focus on your couple but all I see is you. You are going to be so much more independent when you are going to be living with them. You may actually get your driver license which is weird because rn you may have driving anxiety. You may enroll in a hobby like pilates, yoga or even pole dancing. Your calendar is so much more busy. You pour so much more into you. You eat with no shame, you dress how the fuck you want, you create and enforce bounderies regarding the respect people should give you. Damm I am not a fan of the rhetoric that love heals because I believe that you should be your own healer. I don't think they healed you because to meet them you need to get out of your own way but them pouring into you gives you enough strength to finally look at the glass with no shame and see all your potential.

PS : I don't know if y’all care but the message came through. They have a circumsized dick. No extra skin with that one…lol.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Why are they grateful for your existence ? (I know I said no more free but I love y'all 2 much)

3. COLLECTIVE READING (FREE) : BLOSSOM.

PLZ, if you have any ideas of topic regarding this playlist share it with me (comments, dm or inbox ... thx babe)

PILE 3

Knight pentacles, 10 cups

How will it be like ?

How are y’all doing babies? Don't worry … no need to grab your pearls. I come here in peace and with good news. Whatever manifestion you did recently weather you did a whole spell work or just wish upon the star that shit is coming in fucking quickly ! Congrats babes ! Now let's dive into more good stuff.

To begin with I think you are going to move in together with bigger commitment than the other piles. There's a high chance that y’all are going to be engaged. Also I think whoever you are moving in next … you are going to marry them. You may also get pregnant in that apartment. To add, after marriage, y’all are going to build your dream house not actually buy it . Going back to baby… you know what is the best part of it … MAKING IT ! A shit y’all going to have a whole lot of sex. Damm when you are ovalating the house is transforming into a sex dangeon, like you can even fuck 2 to 3 time a fucking day. I mean you fucking everywhere. On the sofa, the bed, in the hallway, in the closet, on the kitchen counter … does not matter. Like is not fucking enough, it take nothing to set the fire between y’all. Just one intense eye contact or your hands barely caressing each other and you are on it. Fucking like animals going as far as pushing anything on your way. That being said stability is going to be a key element in y’all relationship. You guys are serious about making it in this fuck up economy. You want the house and the kids. You will invest together, save and meet with a specific financial advisor so they can help you sort out the best assurance. You will have cars and save every year for a couple trips. You will have meetings in the dining room or living room discussing your fiance and doing weekly check ups to make sure to keep y’all motivated and to keep y’all in line. If you have a couple goals surring eating better and moving more the whole house is going to reflect it. With vegetables and everything free ingredients filling up the fridge and pantry.

How will it feel ?

You are going to feel seen. You are going to feel like you matter. Is the way they can spend hours staring at you. Is the way they go to the store and buy products made for you curls because one day while you were pillow talking you complained about your curls being dry and not juicy. Took upon their own hand to actually research about good products. Is the way you have fresh flowers every 2 weeks without asking. Is the way they do you cup of coffee every morning or bring you a snack when you stay up late on an assignment. I can go on and on but to sum it up, you are fulfilled by the effort they put out to make sure you FEEL love.

PS : They may be quite submissive in the bedroom. They whimper more than grunts or groan (or whatever noise men are making). They love being your good boy and also enjoy obeying your orders in the bedroom. Not in a BDSM way, more in a natural sexual power play in the bedroom. Also love to please you and worship you.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Why are they grateful for your existence ? (I know I said no more free but I love y'all 2 much)

3. COLLECTIVE READING (FREE) : BLOSSOM.

PLZ, if you have any ideas of topic regarding this playlist share it with me (comments, dm or inbox ... thx babe)

678 notes · View notes

ghsface · 8 months ago

Text

Same old love - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: You helped Nick paint his room but the smell didn't go away completely and you had nowhere to sleep. Matt offered to let you sleep with him and you didn't hesitate for a second.

Warnings: smut +18, sexual tension, explicit content, use of fingers, wet dream (I don't know if that counts as a warning), unprotected sex (don't do it), soft!dom!matt, no use of y/n, friends to lovers, soft and funny end, rubbing, I think that's all.

A/n: Okay I wrote this without having any idea what it was going to be about but I feel like it's good but at the same time not so idk, and this is my first time writing a Matt fanfic or whatever you want to call it, btw if you didn't know I'm Matt Girl, I also wanted to tell you to leave me ideas here or in the inbox on my profile, since I'm running out of ideas.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

You were at the Sturniolo house again, which wasn't unusual at all, spending more nights there than in your own house. You and the triplets were inseparable. That particular day, you had spent most of your time helping Nick paint his room, which had been more chaotic than you had expected. What had started out as a normal chore had turned into a paint war, leaving you completely covered in stains, from your face to your feet.

As the day was ending, you and Nick realized that the smell of fresh paint was still too strong to sleep in his room. Nick, hoping for a quick solution, went to ask Chris if they could share Matt's bed. After all, Matt had enough room and Nick thought it was the best option. But Chris, being Chris, flatly refused, starting a small argument in which a couple of insults were exchanged in a playful tone.

"Come on, Chris, don't be a jerk," Nick had said in frustration. “We just need a place to sleep, the smell in my room is disgusting.”

Chris looked at him with a mocking expression. “Why don’t you sleep on the couch or something? Matt needs his own space and he doesn’t want me sleeping with him anymore.”

“It’s not just me, there’s her too,” Nick explained. “I can’t make her sleep on the damn couch, Chris!”

“Well, that changes everything, doesn’t it?” Chris laughed mischievously. “No, not that.”

You just watched the scene, trying not to get too involved, but when the options started to run out, Matt stepped in.

“Now, Nick, forget it. She can sleep with me,” Matt said, looking at you with a mix of sympathy and calm. “It’s better if she stays in my room if there’s no other option.”

Although you tried to hide it, your heart started to beat faster at the thought. Sleeping with Matt… it wasn’t something that happened often, but you weren’t bothered by the idea in the slightest. There was something about Matt that had always attracted you, his way of being so sweet, but at the same time, it made you think there was something more hidden behind that good boy facade.

Once everything was sorted out, Matt lent you some clothes to change into since your clothes were covered in paint. The t-shirt he gave you smelled like him, a soft, comforting scent that you always liked. Along with some shorts, it looked like you were going to be comfortable that night, or at least that's what you thought.

After your skincare routine, Matt left you alone in the room to change in peace. That was what you liked most about him: always so considerate, such a gentleman. As you put on his clothes, a mix of nervousness and anticipation settled in your stomach. You knew Matt was sweet, but you had also felt a tension between you on more than one occasion. You couldn't deny that you were attracted to him, and although nothing had happened before, tonight you felt like something could be different.

When Matt came back into the room, the atmosphere changed. There was a brief awkward silence as you both climbed into bed. He kept a respectful distance at first, and you both exchanged a few words before sleep began to take over.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked you in that soft voice that always soothed you.

“Yes, thank you,” you replied with a smile, even though your mind was racing in a thousand directions.

Slowly, the two of you settled into bed, and soon silence filled the space. You felt the warmth of Matt’s body close to yours, and even though you tried to relax, you couldn’t help but think about how close you were. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on sleeping, but a strange sensation pulled you out of that state of tranquility.

At some point in the night, you felt Matt hug you from behind. It wasn’t unusual; you knew Matt always needed something to hug while he slept, and it didn’t bother you that it was you on this occasion.

What surprised you was the pressure on your lower back, a hardness you couldn’t ignore. You shifted your hips a little, trying to get yourself more comfortable, but as you did, that uncomfortable feeling in your lower back became more and more apparent.

It was a firm pressure, and although you tried to ignore it at first, you quickly realized that it wasn’t something that could go unnoticed for much longer. You shifted your hips slightly, hoping to find a more comfortable position, but as you did, the bulge in your back felt even more distinct. You paused for a second, taking in what was happening, and it was at that moment that your brain connected the dots: Matt was having a wet dream, and what you felt was his erection pressing against you.

Heat quickly rose to your cheeks, and you found yourself at a crossroads between two thoughts: the part of you that wanted to do the right thing and move so as not to make him uncomfortable, and the other part, the one that was already starting to get excited with the idea of helping him, of provoking something more. You knew you shouldn't... but that same reason drove you even harder to continue.

You took a deep breath, allowing desire to take control. Slowly, you began to move your hips once again, this time with a purpose. Your ass rubbed against his erection, feeling how the hardness of his member molded perfectly to your body. At first, Matt didn't react beyond a soft grunt in his sleep, but it didn't take long for you to notice a change. His hands, which had previously rested relaxed on your waist, began to squeeze a little harder, pulling you towards him unconsciously.

Each movement of your hips became more intentional, rubbing against him slowly, enjoying the feeling of having him so close, so hard, and at your disposal. The pace was gentle at first, like a little experiment to see how far you could go without waking him up. But with each rub, the tension in the air became more palpable, and your body began to ask for more.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat between your legs increase. Just being so close to him, with his body pressed against yours, and the feeling of his erection growing more under your movements, was driving you crazy. You couldn't deny that you had fantasized about Matt before, but you never thought you'd be in a situation like this, so intimate and dangerous. However, now that you were here, you didn't want to stop.

You moved a little faster, feeling the friction begin to send small waves of pleasure through you. Every time your hips slid back, the bulge in his pants rubbed directly against your ass, causing a soft moan to escape your lips. It was an almost imperceptible sound, but loud enough for Matt, though still in his dream, to react. His grip on your waist tightened, and his body leaned forward slightly, as if he was unconsciously seeking more of you.

What surprised you was how hard he pulled you towards him, as if, even in his sleep, his body knew exactly what he wanted. You felt his breathing grow heavier behind you, his chest rising and falling faster as his hips instinctively began to move in response to your movements. He was rubbing against you now, almost matching the rhythm you had set, but doing so with a little more urgency, as if his body was begging for relief.

The pleasure of feeling him react in such a way made you move with more intensity. Your ass rubbed against him more purposefully, seeking to increase the friction. You closed your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by the sensation, by the heat that was beginning to build in your abdomen and the tension that was growing with every second. You knew you were getting wet, and you couldn’t help it. Just being so close to Matt, teasing him like this, was taking a toll on you more than you had anticipated.

Suddenly, you felt Matt’s hips leaning closer to you, a low growl leaving his lips. You tensed slightly, wondering if he was about to wake up, but when there were no more rough movements, you decided to keep going. Slowly, you began to move again, this time with more pressure, making sure that every time you rubbed against him, his erection felt more directly against you. You were enjoying the power you had way too much at that moment, knowing that he was so vulnerable to your movements, so needy and oblivious to what was really going on.

A low moan left Matt’s throat as he leaned closer to you, and his hands slid down your waist, gripping you tighter. His breathing had become erratic, almost as if he was struggling to stay in that dream, but his body was already fully responding to what you were doing. You knew that if you kept this up, he wasn’t going to last much longer in this position.

So, in a moment of pure daring, you began to move faster, grinding against him in a way that provided as much pleasure to you as it did to him. The bulge in his pants rubbed directly against your ass, and the heat emanating from his body made you feel like you were going to explode at any moment.

It was then that you felt Matt's hands grip your hips in a more possessive manner, and his mouth moved closer to your ear. In a low, husky whisper, he said something that made you shiver from head to toe: "If you keep moving like that, I'm going to have to fuck you instead of staying still."

The way he said it, so charged with desire and need, made your entire body react immediately. The choice was now in your hands. And instead of stopping, you decided to continue teasing him. You moved your ass back, pressing yourself further against his erection, seeking the friction more intensely, making him grunt in pleasure against your neck.

Matt didn't hesitate for another second.

The moment your hips moved back, deliberately pressing yourself against him, everything changed. Matt stopped trying to keep still, his self-control finally giving in to the desire he had been suppressing. His breathing became even deeper and more erratic, and without another word, his hands gripped your hips tightly, pinning you against him.

You could feel the tension in his body increasing, the heat radiating from his skin, and that was when Matt began to move on his own. Slowly at first, his hips rocked forward, his erection sliding along your ass as his hands held you in place. The moan that escaped his lips was low, almost like a growl, and the intensity of his grip made you realize that, from that moment on, there was no turning back.

Your breathing quickened, pleasure and adrenaline coursing through your body as you felt Matt press harder against you. Every movement of his was more determined, more desperate. His erection rubbed against you with a firmness that drove you crazy, and every time he moved his hips, you felt the pleasure grow between your legs, as if your own body responded automatically to each touch.

"Fuck..." Matt whispered close to your ear, his voice husky and full of desire. His lips barely grazed the skin of your neck, but it was enough to send a shiver through your body. "You don't know what you're doing to me..."

The need in his voice made you bite your lip, and without thinking too much, you pushed your hips back, seeking more contact. The rubbing of his erection against your ass, the feeling of his possessive hands on you, and the heat of his body pressed against yours were making it increasingly difficult to stay calm. Your body was asking for more, begging for more.

Matt groaned as you moved, and in one swift motion, one of his hands moved down your belly to your thighs, caressing the bare skin that had been left exposed by the shorts he had lent you. The touch of his fingers, gentle but determined, sent a current of electricity straight to your core. You knew what was coming, and your body eagerly anticipated it.

“If you keep rubbing yourself like that…” he hissed, his voice deep and lust-laden, “I’m not going to be able to control myself.” But even though his words warned of what he was about to do, you didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping. The tease was mutual now, and you both knew the situation was going to spiral out of control.

You moved your hips again, seeking the friction of his erection, and Matt couldn’t hold back any longer. With unexpected speed, he turned you on the bed so that you were facing him, your breathing ragged as you looked into his eyes. His were dark with desire, the tension evident in his features. The whole atmosphere had changed in a second, and now, the urgency between them was palpable.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper filled with need. His hands ran quickly over your body, sliding down your thighs, over your hips, and then up under the shirt he’d lent you, caressing the exposed skin. Every touch of his turned you on more, making the desire become unbearable.

And then, before you could process what was happening, Matt slipped a hand inside your shorts, his fingers brushing your crotch, finding you already wet with anticipation. You let out a soft moan as his fingers began to move, caressing you slowly, playing with the wetness there. You knew there was no hiding how much you wanted him right now.

"So wet..." he murmured, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers slid inside you, with an ease that made you shudder. "All this for me?"

You couldn't answer right away. The pleasure that was overwhelming you was too much, and the words were stuck in your throat. All you could do was let out a soft moan, your hips moving instinctively to seek more of his fingers.

Matt smiled darkly at the sight of you reacting that way, and without warning, he began to move faster, his fingers entering and exiting you at a pace that left you breathless. The pleasure enveloped you completely, and your body could do nothing but surrender to him, enjoying every second, every touch of his fingers.

"You know..." he began to say through clenched teeth, moving closer to you, his mouth just inches from yours, "I've wanted you like this for so long."

Matt held you tighter, his body still hot and sticky with sweat. His breathing was beginning to even out, but you could feel his heartbeat through his chest, still racing. The silence that followed felt comfortable, filled with that connection you both knew had been there all along, even if neither of you had admitted it before.

“This wasn’t a mistake, was it?” Matt asked after a few minutes, his tone vulnerable. As confident as he had been throughout the encounter, he now sounded a little unsure, like he was looking for confirmation that he hadn’t crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

You turned your head to look at him, noticing how his eyes watched you with a mix of curiosity and concern. You smiled softly at him, reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. “No, Matt. It wasn’t a mistake.”

He seemed to relax at your words, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Good. Because I don’t know if I could have held back any longer,” he admitted, laughing a little. “You’ve always driven me crazy, you know? But I never thought you… you’d want anything with me.”

You laughed softly at his confession, feeling relieved that he’d been suppressing all that desire as well. “And you think you weren’t giving me any signs? You always treated me differently than everyone else.”

Matt smiled mischievously, caressing the skin of your waist with his fingers. “And how do you want me to treat you now, after all this?”

You felt a shiver run through your body at his playful tone, and you moved closer to him, feeling his warmth against your bare skin. “I think you can treat me however you want now,” you replied, biting your lip as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

He let out a low laugh, clearly satisfied with your answer, and then his lips sought yours, this time in a softer, more intimate kiss. There was no rush, no urgency like before, but the emotional intensity was still present. His lips moved against yours with a slowness that made you feel like they wanted to savor every second of that moment.

When the kiss broke, Matt stared at you, his dark eyes filled with something more than just desire. “This changes everything between us, you know?” he murmured, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I can’t see you the way I used to go back to you.”

“And I don’t want you to,” you admitted, your fingers gently playing with the edge of the sheet that covered both of your bodies. “Because I can’t see you the way I used to either.”

Matt smiled, that charming smile that always managed to disarm you, and kissed you once more, this time shorter but just as meaningful. “So… I guess we’ll have to keep this a secret for now.”

“Definitely. I don’t think Chris or Nick will take it well,” you laughed, imagining the chaos that would break out if they found out what had happened in that room.

“No way,” Matt agreed. “But honestly, it’s worth the risk.”

And with those words, you both fell silent, enjoying the quiet and closeness. There was no need for more words at that moment. What you had shared that night spoke for itself.

As you settled into his chest, closing your eyes and feeling the rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of everything that had changed between you. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but for some reason, that didn’t worry you. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

The next morning, you woke up wrapped in the warmth of Matt’s body, who continued to hold you close as if he never wanted to let you go. Still half asleep, you carefully stretched, trying not to wake Matt up. Every part of your body felt relaxed but, at the same time, aware of everything that had happened the night before. Your thoughts were a mix of contentment, happiness and a slight anxiety for what was to come next.

You got out of bed slowly, trying not to make a sound, but as you moved, Matt groaned softly and pulled you to stay next to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured hoarsely, his hand still gripping your hip.

You laughed quietly, turning to face him. “I was just going to the bathroom, don’t worry.”

He narrowed his eyes, smiling softly before letting go and letting you go. “Okay. But don’t be long, I don’t want Chris or Nick to find you before I get up.”

“Too late for that,” you heard a familiar voice from the doorway. You turned quickly and there was Chris, leaning against the door frame with a smirk on his face.

“Chris!” you yelled, bringing your hands to your face, horrified at the thought that he might have heard something. Matt, on the other hand, just huffed, rolling his eyes before flopping back onto the bed.

“Well, well, well,” Chris began, crossing his arms. “Look who finally did it. Nick owes me twenty bucks.”

You frowned, not quite understanding. “What are you saying?”

Before Chris could respond, Nick appeared behind him, sporting an equally wicked grin. “I said I was going to stop by before the month was out. Chris bet they wouldn’t dare until Christmas, but look at them.”

“I can’t believe it,” Chris sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I lost the bet on you, Matt. And the worst thing is that all this time we knew how you felt.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at them both, incredulous. “What? They knew?”

Nick shrugged, smiling with a mischievous grin. “Well, you weren’t very subtle, to be honest. And Matt even less so. He always looked at you like you were the only person in the room.”

Chris laughed. “And not only that. We’ve been noticing for weeks how nervous you got whenever Matt was around. We realized you felt the same way.”

You looked at Matt, who was now sitting on the bed, rubbing his face as if trying to hide his embarrassment. “They knew all this time…?” you asked, unable to help but blush.

Matt sighed deeply, looking at his brothers with a mix of annoyance and resignation. “Yeah, they knew. They made my life miserable all this time, just to see when I was going to tell you.”

“I can’t believe it,” you murmured, still shocked by the fact that Chris and Nick knew about your feelings the whole time.

Nick walked over, inspecting you with a mischievous grin, and suddenly his gaze stopped at your neck. “Wait a second…” His grin widened and he started laughing. “Wow, Matt. Not only did you finally tell her how you felt, but you also left a mark of ownership.” Nick pointed a finger at your neck, and that’s when you noticed that you had several hickeys scattered all over the exposed skin.

You brought your hand to your neck, completely embarrassed. “Oh my god, Matt!”

Chris laughed even harder, leaning into the door frame. “Matt’s always been passionate. But boy did you leave a mark last night.”

Matt threw a pillow at his brothers from the bed, trying to keep calm. “Shut up, you idiots.”

Nick dodged the pillow, still laughing, and made his way over to you, giving you a light punch on the shoulder. “Hey, at least you won’t have to sleep in my room smelling like paint anymore.”

“Yeah, you have a new bed assigned now,” Chris added, winking at you. “And it looks like Matt isn’t going to let you go anytime soon.”

Matt let out a sigh, clearly resigned to the teasing. He then got up from the bed, walking over to you and placing a hand on your lower back. “Don’t mind them. They’re just a couple of kids.”

“I can’t believe they bet on this,” you said, still shaking your head in disbelief.

“Welcome to my life,” Matt murmured with a smile as he kissed you softly on the forehead. “But at least there are no more secrets now.”

Nick and Chris continued to laugh as they left the room, leaving Matt and you alone once again. Even though the teasing from his brothers had been intense, you couldn’t help but feel relieved. Finally, everything was out in the open, and there was no need to hide how you felt about each other anymore.

“So… what do we do now?” you asked, looking up at him with a shy smile.

Matt smiled back at you, gently pulling your waist to bring you closer to him. “I think we can keep betting on how long it will take for Chris and Nick to stop bothering us.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your forehead against his chest. “I guess we’ll just have to get used to that.”

“Definitely,” Matt whispered, leaning in to give you another kiss, softer and more loving this time. “But I promise it’ll be worth it.”

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

Tags... @matt-sturnioloo @realqueenofpepsi @cayleeuhithinknott @strnlslut @bsturnzmtt @slutforsturniolo @sophsturns @demisthings05

#matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff

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tacobacoyeet · 3 months ago

Note

George and y/nn broke up after the war because they both wanted to concentrate on their careers. The two see each other again years later at Ginny's and Harry's wedding because y/n and Ginny were very good friends even though she was in Fred and George's year. She was always like a big sister to ginny. George and y/n have never stopped loving each other and getting closer to each other again at the wedding. Then they disappear into the burrow and have hot sex. George is Dom as always. When the two come back Fred and Ginny already look suspiciously at them, because both of them always had to hear from the two how much they miss each other.

as fate promised | george weasley x reader

a/n: happy birthday to the most impactful and long-lasting book crush i've ever had. george weasley will always be the character i could never live without. thank you for all 5 requests i have in my inbox for him, but specifically this one. i took some creative liberties, but i hope i've at least given you a hint of what you were hoping for.

warnings: SMUT 18+, alcohol mention, war mention, pregnancy mention, au in which fred is alive (it's his birthday and i'm not cruel) and harry and ginny have a happy wedding, this isn't exactly accurate but... it's fun, i actually wrote a happy ending for once! yay, hastily proofread

The sunlight in Ginny’s bedroom streamed in slow, golden ribbons, casting a soft spell over everything it touched—the lace veil folded carefully on the dresser, the half-drunk flute of champagne on the windowsill, and the back of your neck, where a loose strand of hair clung to the curve of your skin. You laughed, breathless and fond, as Ginny spun in front of the mirror, the satin of her gown whispering against the wooden floor.

"You look like a painting," you murmured, reaching forward to adjust the fall of Ginny’s hairpins, fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Something out of a dream."

Ginny rolled her eyes with affection. "Don't go getting sentimental on me now. I need you composed, remember? One of us has to be."

But you weren’t listening anymore. Not really. Because the second you lifted your gaze out the crooked-pane window, your heart snagged on the sight of him.

George.

He was standing in the garden in a navy-blue jacket that clung to his shoulders like memory. His hair—still a riot of that unmistakable Weasley red—glowed brighter than the sun itself. He was laughing at something Charlie had said, tossing his head back. He laughed the way he always had, but it sat different now. Like something had broken beneath it. Something quieter rested behind his eyes.

Time.

It sat on both of you.

And just like that, the years folded in on themselves. Hogwarts corridors. Sneaked kisses behind greenhouses. Midnight swims in the Black Lake. Fred yelling, "Oi, get a room, you two!" as you and George tumbled into the Gryffindor common room hand-in-hand. Ginny’s endless teasing, how she would groan every time George sent an enchanted origami bird fluttering into your textbooks.

You remembered the day they fled Hogwarts. He had told you beforehand, of course. It was a painful night. Tears streaming, whispered "I love you"s, promises about the future you two had planned. You watched, soon after, the way the fireworks bloomed across the Great Hall ceiling, the way your chest cracked open watching him disappear through the clouds of rebellion. You had known. Even then. That something had ended.

You stayed. Finished what you started. Buried your heart in textbooks and late-night patrols, every breath a battle not to sneak out of Hogwarts and into the joke shop to throw your arms around him.

You kept your chin up. You trained. You earned your Auror badge like it meant something. Like it could stitch up the gaping space he left behind.

The letters faded. The visits stopped. And in their place—emptiness. Weeks turned to months turned to years, and you both just… let it happen.

It hadn’t been an ugly ending, just an agonizing one. A slow unraveling. A missed goodbye. No fights. Just silence where laughter used to live. Tear-streaked cheeks and clutched hands and whispered promises you were both too proud—and too young—to keep.

You’d never stopped loving him. That was the worst part. The love had never left. It had only settled somewhere quieter. Heavier. Waiting.

You blinked, and he was still there.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

But he would.

And when he did, the whole bloody world would stop. It may as well have, already.

You didn’t know if it was hope or fear blooming in your chest—only that it was alive again.

-----

The wedding was soft and golden, like everything that had come before it.

The garden behind the Burrow had been transformed—lanterns floating overhead like tiny stars, wildflowers blooming in mason jars along each aisle, chairs arranged in a perfect, charmingly crooked arc. It smelled like rosemary and lemon tart, like old wood and fresh beginnings. Someone had enchanted the breeze to stay warm and gentle. You could almost pretend it was magic itself.

You stood with the other bridesmaids, bouquet tight in your hands, your dress the same shade of blush Ginny had insisted on months ago with a wicked grin—“George will faint when he sees you in this.”

You hadn’t thought she meant it literally. But now, you weren’t so sure.

Because he was there.

Groomsman. Just across the aisle. Tense, freckled hands clasped in front of him, boutonnière slightly crooked, smile tight at the corners like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. And then—

His eyes found yours.

Everything else faded.

He stared at you like it hurt. Like it healed. Like you were everything he'd buried and didn’t dare dig up again until this moment. He looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world built from dreams. Like he'd spent every day since the war pretending not to search for you in every crowded street, every silent room.

And there was something else too—grief tucked behind the edges of his smile. As if the war hadn’t just taken his ear and a piece of Hogwarts, but pieces of all of you. The laughter was still there, but it sat deeper in his chest now. Older. Earned.

And you? You stared right back.

Because how could you not?

That was your George. Still him. Still yours. Except not. Not really.

Fred elbowed him sharply, grinning like a devil, and George blinked—smiling back with something startled and sheepish and boyish in a way that gutted you.

You looked away before you could drown in it.

But you would’ve given anything to drown in it.

You had imagined weddings before. Countless nights holed up in the Gryffindor Dormitory with Ginny, Hermione, and all of the other girls you grew up with. Some nights it was their dream wedding. Other nights it was yours. A beautiful venue, a devilishly handsome court-jester of a ginger across from you at the altar. A sting in your eyes, a warmth in your chest, the vows you had planned out hidden deep in your diary.

It wasn’t just a conversation with your friends. It was late nights and early mornings, the Gryffindor common room fire crackling beneath whispers between you and your lover. Your head would rest on his chest, the two of you staring off as you planned every little detail of your life together. The color scheme of your wedding, the names of your future children, who would be on dinner-duty each night. You were convinced it was fated. Prophesied. Y/N Y/L/N and George Weasley were written in the stars.

Today, though, this ceremony blurred around the edges, dipped in candlelight and vows and Molly’s occasional sniffles. You caught flashes—Harry trying not to cry, Ginny radiant like sunlight incarnate, Arthur clutching a handkerchief in both fists. There were enchanted doves, there was a harpist whose strings shivered like glass, there was magic in the air and it wasn’t all from the spells.

But mostly, there was him.

Watching you.

And you, pretending you didn’t keep looking back.

Your pulse raced, hot beneath your collarbone. Your knees trembled inside your heels.

Because you knew it, deep in your bones. The moment the last toast was made, the first chance he got—he was going to come to you.

And when he did, you wouldn’t run.

You weren’t seventeen anymore.

You were still his. Even if you hadn’t said it out loud in years.

---

The sun had dipped behind the trees by the time the reception hit its stride. Candles floated over tables dressed in mismatched linen. Music played low and rich beneath the hum of voices and laughter. Plates clinked. Wine glasses glittered in the fairy light. You danced with Neville, with Luna, with Bill, all with a smile stretched too tight across your face.

Because you could feel him watching.

Every time you turned, George was somewhere near—laughing with Charlie, talking with Lee Jordan, charming someone’s grandmother, standing in his brother’s personal bubble as he whispered something that made Fred choke on his drink from laughter.

But he hadn’t come to you.

Not yet.

Your skin buzzed like a live wire. Every inch of you attuned to the way he moved, the weight of his gaze when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You were burning with it. Trembling with it.

And then you were gone.

You slipped away from the crowd, quiet as a spell. Past the string lights, past the garden’s edge, past the kitchen window glowing warm with laughter. You found your way to the porch—the one that creaked beneath your heels and smelled like pine and old summers.

You kicked off your shoes. Wrapped your arms around yourself. Breathed.

The door behind you creaked open, then closed.

You didn’t need to turn.

"You always did disappear at parties," he said softly.

You smiled to yourself. "You always did find me."

His footsteps creaked across the boards.

Then he was beside you.

Close enough to touch, but not touching. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him through the air. You stared ahead, out at the setting sun. Fireflies began to buzz over the garden, and someone—Hermione, probably—had enchanted the pond to shimmer gold.

"Hi," he said.

You looked at him. Slowly. Let your eyes take him in, like your memory had starved for him.

"Hi," you whispered.

He breathed out a laugh. "Didn’t know if you’d actually come."

"I wouldn’t have missed it for the world."

He tilted his head. "Fred was bouncing off the walls. Told me if I didn’t clean up and act right, I’d regret it when you walked through the door."

You smiled. "He’s usually right."

George went quiet. His gaze dropped to the floorboards, then rose again to meet yours.

"You look beautiful," he said, voice low. "I mean—you always do. But tonight…"

Your chest ached. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t say things like that unless you mean them."

He stepped forward. Close. Close enough that your arms brushed.

"I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you," he murmured.

You couldn’t breathe.

He was looking at you like he did in the greenhouses. In the library when you snuck him in after curfew. On the Astronomy Tower with your tie in his hand and the stars in your eyes.

Like he was falling through every single galaxy to end up in your arms once again.

"I missed you," he said.

You didn’t speak. Just stood there, blinking hard, willing the tears to stay where they were.

George shifted closer, voice unsteady. "I didn’t know how to let go of you. I thought I could pour everything into the shop, into laughing until it didn’t hurt anymore—but you never really left."

Your breath caught. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I kept moving forward, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. But it did. It does."

His eyes searched yours, but he didn’t flinch. "Then let’s stop pretending."

You opened your mouth to respond—but he kissed you instead.

It was not polite. Not soft.

It was filth and fire, all teeth and tongue, years of frustration and longing colliding behind lips that had forgotten how to be gentle. Your back hit the porch rail with a thud as he gripped your hips and ground against you like he could make up for everything in one breathless second.

You moaned into his mouth, clawed at his jacket, dragging him impossibly closer. His hands were under your dress, fists bunching the fabric as he palmed your ass with a growl.

"Come with me," he rasped, biting your lower lip just hard enough to make you gasp. "Now."

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

He took your hand and hauled you upstairs like a man starved, the tittering portraits lining the walls hardly audible as your hearts pounded in your ears, barely making it through his bedroom door before he shoved it closed with his foot and pinned you against it. His mouth was on your neck, hot and open and frantic.

"Missed this," he groaned. "Missed you."

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, yanked his shirt open, buttons pinging off the walls. He didn’t even flinch. Just lifted you, carried you across the room, and dropped you onto the bed like he owned you.

And maybe he did.

You pulled him down with you, mouth on his, legs wrapped tight around his hips. He kissed you like he was trying to brand himself into your bones.

Your dress hit the floor. His trousers followed.

He didn’t wait.

He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and dragged your panties off with his teeth, eyes locked on yours. Then he was on you, tongue lapping between your legs, filthy and unrelenting.

You cried out, hips bucking against his face, and he groaned like he was addicted to it. He licked you through it, through your shaking thighs and gasping sobs, until you were trembling and pleading and yanking at his hair.

He rose over you, lips slick, pupils blown wide.

"You taste just as incredible as you used to," he said hoarsely, stroking himself as he crawled back over you. "I’m gonna ruin you."

You grabbed his face, pulled him close, lips clashing. "Please."

And he did.

He slammed into you in one deep, devastating thrust that made your eyes roll back.

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. He set a brutal pace, fucking you into his mattress like a man possessed, like every second without you had been agony.

"You’ve always been mine," he growled, hips snapping hard against yours. "Tell me you never stopped."

"Yours," you gasped. "Yours, George, fuck—don’t stop—"

He flipped you onto your stomach, dragged your hips up, and drove into you again from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, the other splayed over your lower back to hold you still.

The sounds—your moans, the slap of skin, the creak of the bed—filled the room, obscene and perfect.

You were gone. Wrecked. Nothing but sensation and him.

He reached around, fingers circling your clit, and you shattered with a scream, clenching around him so tight he cursed loudly, bucked once more, and spilled into you with a groan that sounded like your name and a prayer.

You collapsed into the sheets, limp and breathless. He followed, covering your body with his, panting into your neck.

"Still with me?" he asked, voice wrecked.

You turned your head, kissed the corner of his mouth. "Always."

He chuckled darkly, still catching his breath. "Hope you're not done. I’m not finished with you."

You grinned at him, panting, glowing. “We’ve got a few years to catch up on, you know. Our plans from 6th year said that I was supposed to have a ring and a pregnancy by now,” you tease.

And from the way he was already hardening again against your thigh—you knew he’d make up for lost time.

He didn’t give you a moment to rest, not until the moon was casting over the backyard, encasing the party still roaring outside in a cool, whispered glow.

-----

Later, when you finally emerged, flushed and radiant with something more than just exertion, Fred’s eyes caught yours. Ginny’s followed. They didn’t say a word—just exchanged a look, one that spoke of too many shared conversations and the soft satisfaction of being right.

You didn’t let go of George’s hand.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low enough only for you.

“It’ll be ours next.”

You turned to him. "What?"

He didn’t hesitate.

“The wedding. It’ll be us getting married next.”

And this time, you didn’t flinch.

You smiled.

You believed him.

-----

tagging: @jamespotteraliveversion @hanneh69 @glennussy

#a writes #george weasley #harry potter #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #george weasley fic #harry potter fic #harry potter smut #harry potter fluff

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bu3ck3r · 2 months ago

Text

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

289 notes · View notes

maidragoste · 1 year ago

Note

can we get some headcanons for mister daeron, since he finally was mention on the last episode ✊🏻

Hi anon, thank you very much for your request! I really wanted to write to Daeron 🤭

btw, there is a headcanon that has smut but it is not very detailed, I still warn you that it is number 4 in case you want to skip it 👀

I really hope you enjoy what I wrote 💖 and if you ever come back to my inbox if you want you can choose an emoji so I can identify you ☺️

Now I wish you a good read!

•Daeron who is not interested in marriage but does his duty and marries you because he knows that having an alliance with your house is important to the greens.

•Daeron, despite not being enthusiastic about a hasty wedding with war looming, is enthralled when he sees you in your wedding dress.

•Daeron who recites his wedding vows while looking into your eyes and intends to be a better husband than Viserys was to his mother even if the two of you are only together for a short time.

•Daeron who on your wedding night is patient and sweet with you. He takes his time so that your first time isn't so painful. First, he distracts you by kissing you over and over again. Then he surprises you not by fucking you directly but by pleasuring you with his mouth, making you cum again and again with his tongue until you forget about your nerves. And when the time comes for him to go inside you, he intertwines his hand with yours. He waits for you to assure him that you're fine before he starts moving and it doesn't take long for the room to fill with your moans again as you feel his cock find your sweet spot.

•Daeron who you manage to impress when you meet Tessarion for the first time and don't show even the slightest bit of fear.

•Daeron having to stop himself from kissing you during their first fight because he's touched that you want to accompany him during the war instead of going back to your house.

“I can be useful. I am sure that the maester will value my help when he cannot afford so many wounded. I also know how to sew and...

“It's not about whether you're useful or not. It's about the fact that it's dangerous and I don't want you to end up hurt," he interrupted you with obvious frustration because you continued to insist on the topic of accompanying him during his war camp.

“I am your wife and my place is at your side!” you say stubbornly.

“And my duty as your husband is to protect you, not put you in danger!”

•In the end you end up joining the camp but it was not because Daeron wanted to but because the news of Jaehaerys' murder arrives and his uncle Ormund and your father think that Daeron and you need to have a child as soon as possible in case Aegon loses his other heir.

•That same night Daeron lets you see him vulnerable while he crying the death of his nephew hugging your hip. You accompany him in his grief and try to comfort him as best as possible while you hug him.

•Daeron was always protective of his family and now that you are part of it he will not allow anyone to disrespect you. A lord once mocked you for voicing your opinion during the war council and you and Ormund had to intervene so that Daeron doesn't end up doing the lord major harm.

•Daeron only relaxes once the two of you are alone in his tent. He lets you take off his armor and feels a moment of peace as you massage his shoulders and kiss his back.

•Daeron who prays that the war ends soon so that he can reunite with his family soon and above all because he wants to have a quiet life with you. Every night he asks the gods to protect you and not let anything bad happen to you.

•Daeron who, before going to fight, asks you to give him your favor and the two say goodbye with a kiss, earning mockery from Lyonel.

•Daeron who returns victorious from his first battle and feels his heart race as he watches you run towards him with a smile and he smiles when you scream in surprise when he lifts you into the air before kissing you fiercely, forgetting about the exhibitions and allowing himself to feel hopeful for the future.

Taglist: @stillalive-notdead @jasminecosmic99 @cloveradora @ghostingdaily @stareatch @accidentpronedork @universemagicreading

@cosmitton @momoko-world @descon0cidacl @fadingbatmuffindonkey @bryandechartisasmolbean

@arainbowteddybear @your-favorite-god @vicelis

@muramiko @strawberrrymomo @r4ndomgirlblog

@bringfhghghhggg @fifilynn16 @annie-panda

@mega-girl-xoxo @rovakiap @edenvvsblog @ryuuisthecutest @hebeth

hotd masterlist

#daeron targaryen x reader #daeron x reader #daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #hotd daeron #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #ormund hightower #lyonel hightower #fire and blood #thanks for the request!

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starkeymeow · 2 months ago

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❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rest of the night narration, rafe and reader slowly getting along.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

cassaline dabs her lips with a napkin the color of crushed rose petals, sitting with a straight back and the posture of someone who’s never known discomfort.

“i know it’s all overwhelming, darlings,” she coos, pouring herself a bit more wine. “but if the tribute parade was any sign, you’ve both taken to the capitol beautifully. i mean, truly, the presence . . . you’ve got people talking. my inbox is glowing.”

you glance at her from across the table, chewing slowly. “good,” you say, voice even.

rafe doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. not a smile. not really. just something close.

enobaria sets her fork down with careful precision, then lifts her glass. “she’s not exaggerating,” she says, her voice lower. “we heard from two different sponsors tonight. both asking when your training sessions start. they want to come watch.”

that catches your attention. you raise a brow. “already?”

“mhm.” she sips once, then adds, “and one of them’s on the gamemaker board. just so you know.”

rafe glances at you briefly, then shifts in his chair, letting one arm rest lazily across the table. “so we’ve got fans,” he mutters.

“you’ve got interest,” brutus says gruffly, standing up from his seat. he leaves half a steak on his plate and barely touched the glass of whatever cassaline poured for him. his arms are crossed, “but you need allies.”

you sit straighter at that. rafe’s already watching him, brow twitching.

“you’ll meet with district one tomorrow during training,” brutus continues. “maybe four, too. we’re working on the timing. you’ll make the call if you want the alliance.”

cassaline gives a soft nod, her earrings sparkling with the motion. “nothing is final, of course. but we’ve spoken to both teams. they’re open. interested.”

“they always are,” enobaria says smoothly. “no one wants to start a bloodbath between the careers on day one.”

you know what brutus means, though. alliances are useful, if they’re balanced. but three districts joining together? that’s six tributes, a quarter of the arena’s bloodthirstiest kids, all in one pack. and if it goes that way this year, it’ll be hard to break.

rafe seems to be thinking the same thing. “big group,” he mutters. “harder to manage. harder to trust.”

“harder to kill,” brutus adds, one eyebrow raised. “unless you’re ready to start with a war.”

you breathe in once through your nose and look at enobaria, who meets your eyes like she’s sizing you up all over again. “what would you do?”

she shrugs one shoulder, “i’d meet them, feel them out. see which ones have tempers, which ones like to follow. then i’d keep the ones who do what they’re told, and gut the ones who don’t.”

cassaline gasps, almost delighted. “enobaria! manners!”

enobaria smirks. “i used my fork.”

you don’t laugh, but you do look down at your empty plate and think about how different tomorrow will be. training. watching. reading every step, every hand, every flinch from the other tributes. you and rafe may have caught attention tonight, but now comes the real work: deciding who to trust before you're forced to kill them.

brutus gets up and steps away without another word, already done with his part—the advice and the meal. you hear the heavy thud of the door closing behind him, leaving only the soft clink of cutlery and cassaline’s gentle humming as she sets down her goblet.

“sleep well tonight,” she tells you both, smiling brightly. “you’ve made a lovely impression. tomorrow’s about making it last.”

you push your chair back slowly, rising from the table. you catch rafe doing the same across from you, both of you moving like something’s already shifted.

you glance at enobaria. she just nods once. you nod back. and then, looking at cassaline, you speak, “wake me up if someone dies.”

you walk out before anyone can reply.

the bedroom was way too big for one person. that’s your first thought when you finally get to be alone in it. there’s no cassaline talking your ear off, no brutus brooding in a corner, no rafe’s unreadable expressions across the table. just this room and you.

you’re not sure if his looks the same. rafe’s, that is. it’s across the hall, same size probably, but you didn’t peek when you had the chance. didn’t want to look too interested. you’re curious, though. you always are.

the floor in your room is marble, smooth and cold beneath your bare feet, a color you can’t quite name. there’s a vanity near the far wall, lined with bottles and brushes and jars of products you don’t recognize, probably don’t need, but the capitol put them there anyway. just in case.

the bed sits like a throne in the middle of the room, covered in too many pillows, too many layers. it’s clean, quiet, still.

the bathroom is attached, tucked away behind a set of sliding frosted glass doors that seal silently. it’s just as ridiculous as the bedroom. the kind of space you’ve only ever seen on capitol tv.

the showers have more buttons than a control panel. there are shelves full of body creams, hair masks, oils, facial rollers, scented salts. toothbrushes that buzz when you hold them, rows of toothpaste in different flavors. moisturizers labeled by time of day, skin type, weather conditions. you barely touch any of it.

you just rinse off the sweat from the day, scrub your face, change into the soft nightwear folded neatly on your bed. it’s nothing like home, but it’ll do.

when you’re done, you dive straight into the mattress like you’ve been waiting for it all day. it swallows you instantly.

you lie there for a while, staring at the wall of a window across from you. the capitol glows beyond it with impossibly tall buildings. it’s dizzying, a little nauseating. you’ve seen it on a screen before, back home. but this is different. real. loud. blinding. it doesn’t look like it ever sleeps.

you won’t, either, not with that glow crawling across the floor of your room.

you push off the bed with a groan, walking over to see if there’s a curtain or anything you can tug shut. but there’s nothing. it’s just smooth wall, smooth glass. no handles. no switches. you pause, then glance behind you, remembering the remote you saw earlier on your nightstand.

you pick it up and look at the buttons. a few have symbols, like mountain peaks, a sun, maybe a wave, but most of them are blank. figures. you try one, and for a moment, nothing happens.

and then the wall shifts.

it’s not like a regular projection. it’s too immersive. no glare, no distortion. just a seamless image stretching across the full height and width of the glass, and suddenly, your room is filled with the soft orange and dusty gold light of a wide, open canyon.

the wind doesn’t blow through the walls, but you swear you can feel it. it looks like somewhere people lived before cities were even a thought.

you lower the remote and sit back on the bed again, cross-legged this time. the colors soak into the walls. into your skin. it’s not quite comforting, but it’s distracting enough. that’s all you need.

your hand finds the small bowl of iced cookies on the nightstand. they look sugary, almost fake, like they were made of pastel chalk. you take one anyway, bite into it. it crunches, then melts, like snow under sunlight.

you heard that apparently, capitol treats don’t go bad. they can sit out for weeks and still taste fresh.

great for you. great for the ghosts who’ll live in this room after you.

you lean back slightly on your palms, chewing quietly, watching the canyon stretch on forever. just breathing. just listening to the silence, for now.

but now it’s been hours since you first laid down.

you’ve changed the wall at least four times. from canyon to forest to snow-covered field to soft ocean waves, each one more soothing than the last, but none of them work. you can’t sleep.

you’re curled under the covers now, still wide awake, staring at the window wall. it should be peaceful. quiet. you picked it because it reminded you of something still. something far. but your eyes won’t close for long. every time they do, something pulls them open again.

it’s too hot. too cold. too bright. too dark. the blanket doesn’t sit right on your shoulders. the air shifts strangely in the room. even your skin feels off, and you’re too aware of the sound of your own breathing. and every time you try to fix it, you reach for the remote to adjust the lights, toggle the air temp, you wake yourself up all over again.

you’re frustrated. angry in the quietest, smallest way.

tomorrow is training. the start of it. you don’t even know what time they’ll wake you, just that someone will. cassaline had told you and rafe you wouldn’t need an alarm. “an avox will be there at some point,” she’d said lightly, “if not one of us.”

and wasn’t that funny? not funny-ha-ha, but funny like a punchline delivered too early. the capitol cuts their tongues out, calls it justice, and then expects them to silently rouse tributes from their beds.

you’d seen them earlier. avoxes. a few stood near the corners of the main living space, close enough to act quickly, far enough to not draw attention, watching, waiting for the mentors or stylists or prep team to be done so they could sweep through and clean what’s left.

it wasn’t creepy exactly, but you hadn’t approached them. hadn’t really looked them in the eye. you weren’t supposed to talk to them anyway. weren’t supposed to acknowledge too much of anything.

your head falls into your hands, fingers dragging through your hair. you sigh.

“you have training tomorrow, go to sleep.” it echoes in your mind, soft and strict and familiar. probably your mom’s voice. or your dad’s. either one.

you almost laugh, because for a second, you really do wish one of them were here. just to scold you. just to be loud enough to snap you out of this feeling. maybe then you’d sleep.

but they’re not. they’ll never be in this building.

and so, after a moment, you rip the blanket off your body and swing your legs off the bed, planting your feet on the freezing floor. your teeth almost clack together at the cold. you groan under your breath, stepping to the dresser and tugging open a drawer, pulling on the first pair of socks you find. then, quietly, carefully, you push open the bedroom door and slip into the hallway.

it’s dim out here. not pitch-black, but close. the kind of darkness that has no intention of being inviting. your arms wrap around yourself on instinct. it’s colder than your room. empty, too. no footsteps. no soft laughter. just silence and carpet.

you walk slowly, tiptoeing across the hall, and into the living area.

everyone’s gone. probably asleep.

you glance at the dining room as you pass it. it’s spotless, like the chaos from earlier never happened. no wine stains, no crumbs, no twisted napkins left behind. you remember cassaline spilling onto herself, brushing it off with a soft laugh, enobaria amused. it’s as if it never happened. the table gleams like it’s brand new.

you move on, walking deeper into the living room, where the massive couch takes up more space than any normal family could need. a fireplace sleeps beneath a blank screen, both waiting for someone to wake them.

maybe, if you were normal, if this were a regular night in a regular place, you’d sit here and watch something. let yourself fall asleep to the soft flicker of warmth and white noise.

but then you notice it.

the balcony doors are slightly open. just enough for a thin, pale glow to slip through the curtains.

your brows furrow. it’s late. too late for anyone to be out there. close the door, that’s why it’s so cold out here.

you step closer, slow and quiet, fingers brushing the curtain aside, and through the narrow crack in the door, you see him.

rafe.

you stand there, staring at him through the crack in the door, and it’s just—why the fuck is he out here?

he’s just standing there, leaning against the railing, elbows propped on the edge, hands laced together. he doesn’t move. doesn’t notice you. he just stares out over the capitol. the city looks different at this time at night. not quieter. just lonelier. maybe you were wrong before.

you hover behind the door for a second, the cold draft brushing your face. he’s out there, just like you’re in here, sleepless, restless, waiting for something that won’t come.

you eventually push the balcony door open and step outside, the wind enveloping you immediately. as soon as you go to close it behind you, the thing lets out the loudest, most god-awful creaking sound you’ve ever heard.

it seals with a heavy clunk and you freeze, wide-eyed like you just got caught sneaking out.

rafe’s already spun around, shoulders tense, like he’s ready to lunge at whoever decided to sneak up behind him. but when he sees it’s you, his posture shifts. he’s less defensive, more irritated. he looks at you like you’re ridiculous for that. like really?

“that’s why i didn’t close it,” he says, turning his back on you again. his forearms settle on the railing, crossed casually like this is his personal hideout. this is night one, buddy.

you shoot him a flat look as you walk over, glancing behind you once at the door like it betrayed you. “how was i supposed to know that?”

he doesn’t even look at you. just shrugs. “and how did i know the door would sound like that?”

you blink. “yeah, actually.”

rafe exhales through his nose, amused in that dry way only he knows how to pull off. “my dad’s a high-ranking peacekeeper back home,” he says finally. “brought me here one time when i was a kid. to the capitol.”

you look at him, a little confused. “here here?”

“yeah.” he shifts slightly, letting his forearms relax. “i met some of the tributes that year. he showed me around the tribute center like it was a museum. made a whole point to bring me to the floor for district two.” his jaw flexes. “like he knew i’d end up here someday. or hoped.”

you watch him for a second, your hands coming up to rest against the top of the railing beside him.

“that, and the couches in the living room fold out into beds,” he adds, offhand. “just in case someone can’t sleep in their actual room.”

your eyebrows twitch up just a little, impressed despite yourself.

“huh,” you murmur, gaze slipping away from him and onto the city below.

but you stand there, quiet, next to rafe.

you eventually steal a glance at him again. he hasn’t said anything in a bit. his face is cut from stone, but his eyes look distant. like he’s not even here. at least not on the balcony, not in the capitol. maybe not even in his own body. you wonder where his head goes when he goes quiet like that. probably somewhere ugly.

you shift a little, toe nudging the cool floor. “so . . . was that your dad’s thing? training you early?”

he doesn’t move. not even a twitch. for a second you think he won’t answer at all, but then his thumb brushes absently along the railing. “his thing was control.”

you nod, slowly. your eyes flick back to the city.

“and your parents?” he asks, softer now, almost cautious.

you let out a breath. it fogs slightly in front of you, the night colder than you realized. “they’re not like that. they’re just . . .” you think about it, really think. “they’re quiet. good people. never wanted this for me.”

rafe finally turns his head just enough to look at you. “but you volunteered.”

you nod once. “i did.”

he waits. doesn’t push, but waits.

you chew on your lip for a second, then say, “there was this kid in our district. younger. maybe thirteen? untrained, like it was obvious her parents took care of everything for her and never needed her to train at the academy like we did. but she would’ve been dead by the first hour.” you pause. “figured if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the silence that follows is thicker than before. it settles into your skin, makes your shoulders feel heavier.

“you?” you ask, voice lower now. “you’ve probably been raised for this since birth, right?”

rafe lets out a short breath. maybe it’s a laugh. maybe it’s not, “pretty much.” your brows knit, your grip on the railing tightening slightly. “i used to think getting reaped would be the worst thing that could happen to me,” he says, voice steadier now. “but being trained for something your whole life . . . only to be scared of it anyway?” he turns his head a little toward you. “that’s worse.”

you watch him. not saying anything. not really sure what to say.

there’s a pause before you mumble, “well i haven’t slept either.”

he shifts, slightly. “figured.”

you glance at him. “yeah?”

“i heard you pacing earlier. you walk loud.”

a huff of a laugh leaves you before you can stop it. then you lean a little more into the railing, your hair falling into your face. “think they’ll wake us with some kind of trumpet in the morning? or like, cannons to get us ready for the real thing?”

“nah,” he says. “probably just an avox, like cassaline said. just starin’ at you until you open your eyes.”

you laugh again, quieter now. “creepy, but possible.”

you fall into silence after that. the wind pulls through the balcony and you shiver slightly, shifting your arms closer to your body. you notice rafe glance at you, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

your voice drops to a whisper. “i hate this place.”

he’s quiet again. and for a second, you wonder if you said too much. but then—“me too.”

you look at him, and he’s looking right back. his eyes aren’t cold like they were earlier in the day. they’re tired. like yours.

you both look away at the same time, gazes falling back to the skyline. it’s a strange thing, sharing this moment. a quiet sort of closeness, made from exhaustion and fear and the knowledge that in a few days, one or both of you might be dead.

“so . . . you cold?” he asks, not looking at you.

“a little.”

he shrugs off the light jacket he’s wearing and holds it out. doesn’t say anything. just waits for you to take it.

you hesitate for a second, then reach for it slowly. “thanks.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he says, but his voice is softer than before.

you smile. barely. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you slip the jacket on, sleeves a little long on you, and return to your place beside him.

you don’t say anything else for a while. you just stand there together, watching the city, letting the quiet stretch between you again. but it’s different now. less heavy. less lonely.

maybe, just maybe, the night will pass a little easier now.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae

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cloudraker · 9 months ago

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What would the tfp autobots (your pick) reactions would be if their neutral NB cybertonian ally goes, "Oh? You didn't know? I have a Conjux now :)" and brings the motherfucker predaking.

But hey! Atleast the predacon is a green flag. The man would do anything for the reader, respects them, and is utterly smitten. At that point the autobots wouldn't have to worry about him anymore since reader is their ally

This has been rotting in my inbox for so long,, anon if you see this thank you for your patience

TFP Preadaking with a Neutral S/O

Under the cut :)

Setting this after the war/the return to Cybertron

Assuming you didn't fight in the war, you're probably the most normal person he knows. You're probably the most normal person on Cybertron at this point. The others don't think much of it when you start spending more and more time out by yourself- there's a lot to take in now that the war is over and cybertron is so different

Your little adventures start at a few hours, then it's half a day, and before long you're gone for days at at time. That's when they start asking questions

Where have you been going? What could possibly be so important that you go missing for days at a time when there is- what do you mean you met somebody?

Having to explain that yes you met somebody and yes they're on Cybertron and well you don't know if it's a good idea if they all met him. It's all very "he goes to a different school you don't know him"

They eventually get you to agree and when you actually bring him around the Autobots are.. well they sure are there and that sure is a guy you've brought home

Predakind, to his credit, is on his best behavior. He's standing behind you (a respectable distance away from them) as you talk the others out of shooting him then and there

He doesn't stay long, much to your disappointment. A few conversations with both sides reveals their past history, leaving you caught in the middle.

The overall consensus on the Autobot side is "you're an adult, we can't stop you but it's also a really bad idea-"

Ratchet would be the most understanding- which isn't saying much. He's upset but he also knows you don't have the same feelings towards Predaking as he and the other Autobots do- to you, he's just some guy you met. While he makes his many grievances known, he also makes it clear that if anything happens you'll still have people supporting you

Magnus is.. conflicted. On one hand, part of him is glad that there's some sense of normalcy for somebody- a hope that things will be okay. On the other hand, he doesn't have an other hand

He doesn't count as an Autobot but Knockout would warn you against the predacon, calling him things like dangerous and a brute while also trying to dig any gossip out of you. Will begrudgingly make sure you're polished and shiny before you go out if you ask him for help. Very "you're going out dress like that?"

Once they get more familiar with the idea, Predaking starts making the occasional appearance

At first it's just flying by overhead, letting you know he's still around even if you haven't been able to see each other much lately. Then it's coming to meet you when you've got plans and then he's making very awkward small talk with Bulkhead while he waits for you to come out

Everybody starts to relax a bit when they see just how good he is to you. This hulking beast of a robot, built for fighting and dragged into a time not meant for him, bending to take your hand and kiss your knuckles whenever he sees you. How you never come back with a so much as a scratch on your pain and only with good things to say

He gets some serious side-eye when he enters the base for the first time, and everybody is a bit tense, but it (thankfully) all goes well

He's eventually asked to help with some repairs or some mundane task and- while somewhat reluctant- he complies. For you, of course, in an attempt to make life just a little bit easier

It's a very, very slow journey to having both your partner and the Autobots start to build even a semblance of trust, but you're willing to put in the work and Predaking is willing to put in the work for you

#cloud writes #maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp x reader #transformers x reader #transformers headcanon #transformers headcanons #predaking #tfp predaking #predaking x reader

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velarisdusk · 11 months ago

Text

Current Event: 1k Follower Celebration! Upcoming Event: N/A In the Works! (as of 06/23/25)

all of the following are in the order that they were posted (series take precedence, then one shots), most recent at the top. sort by: word count | character | genre

hi!! i'm lyss, 22, from the US. i mostly write acotar reader inserts—usually smutty, often emotional, occasionally unhinged. soft spot for enemies to lovers, and a penchant for turning two-sentence requests into 20k-word fics with their own sets of lore. i write whatever my brain decides to plague my thoughts with for the week. always feel free to drop by my inbox to chat about my writing or literally anything else i love that shit lets talk requests are case-by-case. DMs are open. pls be normal (or fun weird) not weird weird

Wings of Illyria — ongoing AU Azriel x Reader | Smut | 13,332 words

tags: personal favorite, band au, modern au, rhys cass and az are in your favorite band. gee, i wonder what i’ll write about y/n and az (not featured yet but I Have Ideas: feysand, nessian, elucien)

Velvet Whispers, Midnight Truths — incomplete series, temporarily shelved Azriel x Reader, Eris x Reader | Smut | 14,918 words

tags: y/n does who she wants when she wants

Breaking the Ice — complete series Multicharacter x Reader | Smut | 70,439

tags: hockey au, modern au, established relationship (with cassian), homie-hopping, infidelity, big argument

Where the Smoke Settled Eris x Reader | Smut | 8,132 words read here or on AO3

You live alone at the edge of the woods, content with your herbs and your quiet. Then you cross paths with Eris Vanserra in the forest—and something long-buried starts to stir. tags: hidden feelings, misunderstandings, 1k Celebration fic

Before the Thorns Tamlin x Reader | Fluff | 11,111 words read here or on AO3

You met Tamlin when you were five, and every summer after that was his. Years later, you return to Spring and find that he's grown into someone you almost recognize. Almost. But the way he smiles at you? That hasn't changed a bit. tags: friends to lovers, childhood friends, honestly just you and tam having a good time fr, 1k Celebration fic

Meant to Stand Cassian x Reader | Smut | 15,717 words read here or on AO3

Rhysand has one request: restore a half-collapsed cabin into something fit for veteran Illyrians. The catch? You'll be doing it with Cassian—and the two of you haven't truly spoken since that mission four years ago. tags: personal favorite, enemies to lovers, only one bed, 1k Celebration fic

This Tempest, Ours Rhysand x Reader | Smut | 11,712 words read here or on AO3

On a rare night alone in the House of Wind, the worst storm in decades strikes. It wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t make you so uneasy. Luckily, the House isn’t as empty as you thought. tags: friends to lovers, comfort, consensual use of daemati, one bed trope but it’s a sleeping bag, 1k Celebration fic

Drunk on You Azriel x Reader | Smut | 11,237 words read here or on AO3

You and Azriel were just friends. Then came the dancing. The kiss. The night you stopped pretending. tags: personal favorite, friends to lovers, drunken clubbing with the IC (shenanigans ensue), 1k Celebration fic

A Study in Power Lucien x Reader | Smut | 3,503 words read here or on AO3

You're in the Spring Court, playing the dutiful emissary while navigating its fractured politics. But when your mentor's gaze lingers too long, when his touch strays past propriety, resisting him becomes a far more dangerous game. tags: forbidden romance, power dynamics, lucien is HOT (duh), 1k Celebration fic

Signed, Sealed, Unspoken Rhysand x Reader | Smut | 21,478 words read here or on AO3

Following a long and brutal war, the Dusk Court has finally reclaimed the lands seized by the Night Court generations ago. Yet its new capital, Velaris, remains tangled in the Night Court's intricate trade agreements. Now, negotiations are underway. tags: personal favorite, enemies to lovers, letter-writing, 1k Celebration fic

Ashes Beneath the Sky Azriel x Reader | Hurt / Comfort | 4,783 words read here or on AO3

Rhysand and Feyre call for a mission to ambush the Autumn Court's reinforcements, a dangerous strike in the midst of war. Despite Azriel's insistence that you stay behind, you can't resist sneaking along. tags: enemies to lovers, miscommunications/misunderstandings, big argument, 1k Celebration fic

Something Precious Azriel x Reader | Fluff | 2,095 words read here or on AO3

Azriel has always been steady, unwavering—but the way you look at him makes something shift. Small moments, fleeting words, a tension neither of you acknowledge… until it’s impossible for him to ignore. tags: established relationship, y/n has crippling insecurity

No Room for Error Azriel x Reader | Smut | 1,490 words read here or on AO3

Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. tags: azriel + y/n mission, enemies (no lovers but...)

The Hand That Holds Azriel x Reader | Smut | 4,938 words read here or on AO3

You and Azriel visit a bakery in Velaris, but tension rises when your ex-boyfriend tries to provoke him. tags: established relationship, y/n's ex is a jackass, azriel is Not

Cursed Flame Eris x Reader | Smut | 8,008 words read here or on AO3

When Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, stumbles into a healer's shop under a mysterious curse, it sets off a chain of events neither could have anticipated. As the skilled healer works to unravel the dark magic threatening his life, tension and attraction crackle between them. tags: healer!y/n, arrogant eris (so just eris)

Shadows at Twilight Nesta & Azriel | Angst | 2,275 words read here or on AO3

Azriel and Nesta's Thursday night smoke sessions become a lifeline. As tensions rise, the fragile balance they've been trying to maintain begins to falter. tags: personal favorite, modern au, stoners!nesta+azriel, anotherdrug!nesta, big argument, not reader-insert, not slash

Beneath the Vines Lucien x Reader | Smut | 6,717 words read here or on AO3

Seeking refuge from court politics in a secluded part of the forest, Lucien meets a female from the Summer Court searching for a hidden spring. He offers to guide her, but their journey takes an unexpected turn when he comes into contact with a mysterious pollen... tags: sex pollen, outdoor sex, gentle (but frenzied make no mistake)

Night Watch Azriel x Reader | Fluff | 384 words read here or on AO3

Your baby is crying in the middle of the night (as they tend to do), but with Azriel, there's no need to stress. tags: az cares for your baby in the night (pls refer to this post i beg you)

Moonlit Waltz Rhysand x Reader | Fluff | 418 words read here or on AO3

Amidst the festivities of the city, you and Rhysand share a quiet dance in the moonlight, surrounded by the magic of the night and the warmth of each other’s gaze. tags: dancing with the stars but the star is rhys and also it's not a show you're just dancing with rhys

Held by a Whisper Tamlin x Reader | Angst | 942 words read here or on AO3

In his final moments, Tamlin grapples with pain and regret as you desperately try to save him. He faces the inevitable with a heart full of unspoken words. tags: personal favorite, war (kinda sucks, death (this sucks too), too little too late yall

Rushing or Dragging Azriel | Angst | 300 words read here or on AO3

Consumed by self-doubt, a driven Azriel pushes himself to the brink in a relentless pursuit of perfection, trapped in an endless cycle of practice and pain. tags: not reader-insert, inspired by whiplash (2014), just seemed like the self-destructive shit az would do tbh

Current Event: 1k Follower Celebration! Upcoming Event: N/A

Completed Events: Kinktober 2024 SJM x Reader Week 2025!

#acotar masterlist #acotar fics #acotar fanfics #masterlist

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 17 days ago

Note

*pulls out chair and sits* okay but listen to me:

no doubt!jakeyn trying to kill a cockroach and then it starts flying.

IM CRYINGGGG i literally laughed out loud when i saw this in my inbox...and then again when i was imagining them while writing this..pls im pretty sure they would both faint at the same time . or jake would act all high & mighty bc he'll do anything for yn but....

this is just literal jakeyn crack for those of you who love their slices of life <3

──── NOT THAT BIG 🪳 💭 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

"It's literally not that big."

"Okay, see—" Jake squints at you. "—you say that, but you're also the one currently crouched on the kitchen counter asking me to kill it for you."

You narrow your eyes at your boyfriend like he personally betrayed you—until you catch your reflection in the microwave. Your hunched-up, shaking reflection.

Yeah, okay. He's not wrong.

But also—

You hate bugs. You despise bugs. Let alone cockroaches the size of a mini croissant.

Jake, on the other hand, tiptoes across the kitchen floor, armed with one of your precious sneakers in hand as a weapon.

His stance is wide.

His eyes narrowed.

He's trying to be brave for you.

He is failing.

"I don't even know where it went," he mutters, turning slowly with the shoe raised, ready for combat. "I swear it must have crawled into a vent and like, vanished or something."

Your grip tightens around yourself, "That's what it wants you to think, Jake. It's plotting. It's gonna lay eggs. Did you know German cockroaches lay up to fifty eggs?! Do you want FIFTY baby cockroaches in our apartment, Jake?!"

Jake freezes.

Gives you a look.

Lowers the shoe.

"Okay. You need to stop watching those weird nature documentaries before bed."

"AND YOU NEED TO KILL THE COCKROACH BEFORE IT LAYS FIFTY EGGS."

Jake flinches at your tone but nods determinedly, immediately locking in—because unfortunately, he's in love with you and would follow you off a cliff.

And then, right as he turns back around—

A massive, brown blur whizzes past the two of you from behind the fridge.

You scream.

Jake screams.

Limbs go flailing.

Eyes go wide.

The shoe clatters to the floor as the both of you immediately go sprinting out the kitchen and to the other room.

"IT'S FLYING—JAKE, IT'S FLYING—"

Jake dives onto the couch face-first.

You drop under your shared dining table, arms covering your head as if that protects you more.

"THEY FLY?! SINCE WHEN DO THEY FLY?!" Jake yells from the couch, his voice muffled, as he refuses to look up from the throw pillow his face is buried into.

"I TOLD YOU THIS. THIS IS WHY WE WATCH THOSE DOCUMENTARIES, JAKE."

The roach suddenly appears again, buzzing across the room.

You scream again.

Jake screams louder.

He hurls the pillow at it.

He misses. He hits the TV.

"I can't do it, Jake, I can't," you gasp as you curl into yourself under the table. "I think I'm going into shock."

"Babe. We need to get a grip," Jake pants, now from under the couch blanket he's rolled himself into. "We're adults. We can do this."

"Okay, then get the shoe."

"No."

"Jake."

A beat of silence.

Both your eyes lock together from across the war zone of your living room.

You nod.

Jake nods.

And then, in perfect, wordless understanding—

You both book it.

Jake throws off the blanket.

You roll out from under the table.

Both of you sprint down the hall, yelling at each other to GO, GO, GO, arms flailing at one another, grabbing the other while escaping the hostage situation.

And then—

Jake slams the bedroom door behind you two. Both of you collapse against the wood, breathless. Sweaty. And emotionally scarred.

"Baby?" Jake whispers.

"Yeah?"

He looks at you with wide, broken eyes, "You know I love you, right?"

You don't let him finish.

"Yeah," you say, already taking your phone out. "I'm calling Jungwon."

no doubt m. list

tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

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allisluv · 4 months ago

Text

saved by the bell.

summary: finnick helps reader during a sensory overload (based off a request i can't find in my inbox </3)

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: post-rebellion, implied neurodivergent!reader, sensory overload + overstimulation, mention of finnick's mutt attack and as a result finnicks scars, reader has hair long enough to tie back, reader accidentally snaps at finnick but it isnt intentional and she does apologise and finnick forgives, fluff, mention of noise-cancelling headphones, comfort, teasing, fluff, not edited (what a surprise)

a/n: been a while since i posted on here, life was hectic i'm sorry! this is based off my own experience during a sensory overload, but not all are the same!

To mark the one year anniversary of the war ending and to commemerate the lives lost during the rebellion, you and Finnick send out invites asking all of the surviving victors to visit District Four for a small get-together. Its nothing fancy, just finger food and conversation. A celebration of life, Finnick calls it.

Everyone RSVP’s to let the two of you know that they will be attending, and it doesnt take long for Finnick to start planning activites and dragging you along for weekly trips to the farmer’s market to buy supplies for the party.

On the morning of the party, you realise that it’s going to be rough from the get go. Finnick is up with the sun, as he so usually is, and you wake not long after him. The bed is empty without your husband by your side, and it makes your heart ache with loneliness.

You turn onto your side and wince when a stream of sunlight drifts in through a gap in the curtain. Your head feels like it’s going to explode at the brightness, and you’re quick to bury your face into Finnicks pillow. You breathe in his scent in an effort to ground yourself, but all it does it send your senses into overdrive.

A sad, pitiful whine gets caught in the back of your throat as you roll onto your back, glaring at the specks of paint on the ceiling. “Why today?” You grumble, burying your face in your hands as you will yourself to hold it together, if not for yourself, for Finnick and the others.

It takes a while, but eventually, you gather the courage to stand. The floorboards feel cool beneath your feet, and it is such a stark contrast from the sweat pouring out of your pores that all it does it make you want to rip your skin clean off your body.

Sucking in a deep breath, you shuffle towards your closet and begin rooting through it in search of something light to wear. Finnick and you had went shopping for new outfits specifically for today, but the prospect of wearing that particular fabric right now makes you want to claw your eyes out of their sockets, so you settle on a sundress that you have previously deemed as safe to wear when you’re in the midst of a sensory overload.

Once you’re dressed, you tie your hair back out of your face so it doesn’t stick to the back of your neck. Your skin is clammy and damp, and realistically, you really should have taken a shower, but even thinking about it makes your frame hum with irritation.

You flap your hands in an effort to rid yourself of the nervous energy that has taken refuge in your body. When it does little to soothe your weary mind, you plant your hands on your hips and let out a frustrated huff.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by your husband’s voice calling you from the kitchen. “I’m coming!” You call, smoothing out the creases in your sundress before steeling yourself for today, and slipping out of your bedroom. You’re still in your bare feet when you stomp down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Finnick is balancing on a kitchen chair by the entranceway, a roll of triangular-shaped bunting in one hand and a box of thumb tacks in the other. He arches an eyebrow at your foul mood, and your stomping. “Everything okay, angel?”

You brush him off with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’m fine. What did you need?”

Finnick doesn’t miss the edge to your voice, but he decides not to push it. “Could you hold these thumb tacks and hand them to me when I need them? Or were you busy?” He asks, giving you an out if you need it.

“No, I can help,” You insist, already moving to stand beside him. “Just be careful on that chair. Its decades old.” You warn as you take the thumb tacks. Finnick starts stringing the bunting up along the wall of the archway, and you let out a sigh. “Why do we need bunting, anyway? Dont you think it’s somewhat over the top?”

“Look, I didn’t survive those mutts not to celebrate today.” He teases. “After all those god-damn physio sessions, I deserve bunting if I want bunting.” He pauses. “And Jo’s gonna ask the question you just asked, so you better have my back when she does.”

You roll your eyes fondly and relent. “Alright, alright. If you want bunting, we can have bunting.” You hand him a thumb tack and roll your shoulders back uncomfortably. Chicken curry is stewing in the slow-cooker, and it’s making the kitchen stuffy with heat.

Finnick’s always been observant, and he catches the small movement of your shoulders almost instantly. “Are you sure you’re okay, angel?”

“Mhm.” You shrug non-comitedly and pass him one more thumb tack.

He doesn’t seem convinced, and the second the bunting is secured, he hops off the chair and has a hand on your shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Come on, angel. Talk to me.”

As if on cue, the doorbell goes and you let out a relieved sigh— you would have likely cracked and admitted the truth if he kept pushing.

Saved by the bell.

“I’ll get it,” You say, pecking his cheek and moving quickly to answer the front door with Finnick hot on your heels.

The door swings open and Johanna struts inside, shooting a smug look over her shoulder at Annie and Katniss. “See? Told you it would be open.” She brushes past both of you into the kitchen. “Oo. Something smells nice.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, and Peeta nudges her in the ribcage, prompting her to say hello. Haymitch, Annie and Enobraia all exchange greetings with the two of you as you usher them inside.

“You know, you should really keep that door locked,” Beetee says as he envelopes you in his arms. “Did you know there are approximately three thousand burgarlies a day? Thats two every minute. And I bet you more than half of them are due to people leaving their doors unlocked.” He explains nonchalantly as he follows the others into the kitchen.

You rub the back of your neck anxiously, feeling your skin crawl at all of the physical contact you had just endured in the last thirty seconds.

Finnicks eyes land on you and he inches closer to you, but doesn’t touch. “What’s going on with you, angel?” He asks gently. You open your mouth to brush him off but he cuts you off. “And don’t feed me another lie about you being fine. I’m able to read you like an open book. Just tell me whats going on in that pretty little head of yours, okay?”

You grit your teeth in an effort to stay calm. You’re not angry at him, you’re just overwhelmed. Its all too much; the noise from the kitchen, the lights, the heat, Johanna calling out into the hallway about the bunting, the smells of the different food. Which is why you don’t mean to snap, but you do. “Just get off my back, alright? I said I was fine.” You snap, brushing past him into the eye of the storm— the kitchen.

Finnick blinks, momentarily stunned by your outburst, until it dawns on him and he follows after you. He pulls you to one side from where you’re pretending to listen to Enobaria. “Excuse me. We need to talk.”

“What—”

“Now.” Finnick says firmly, but not unkindly, as he steers you by the elbow back into your shared bedroom. He closes the door once you’re both inside, and leads you to sit down on the edge of the bed. He crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on his knees, and asks, “Are you having a sensory overload?” You avert your gaze and that’s all the answer he needs. “Do you need space or do you want me to hold you?”

Your bottom lip trembles and you clamp your teeth into it to stop it from wobbling. “Can you hold me?”

Thats all the confirmation your husband needs. He sits cross legged on the floor and tugs you into his lap. “Loosely or tightly?” He murmurs into your hairline.

“Tightly.” You answer. “Please.”

Finnick tightens his hold on you and presses a kiss to your forehead as your breathing starts to even out and you begin to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble.

“For what?” Finnick asks, kissing your temple once more.

“For snapping at you. It wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Finnick agrees. “But you were overwhelmed, and you were stressed. I forgive you. No hard feelings, alright?”

“I love you.”

“Do you want to come back outside? We can get you your noise cancelling headphones, that way it might be easier to deal with the noise. How does that sound, hm?”

You hesitate. “Johanna’ll make fun of me.”

“Johanna makes fun of everyone,” Finnick points out.

“Fair point, well made.”

“But if she says anything, I’ll fight her.” He cradles your face in his scarred hands and giving your nose a playful tap.

“Will you win, though?” You tease.

“You know it, angel.”

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serumandsteel · 2 months ago

Text

The Shape of Silence | pt 3

series masterlist

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after Walker blows the op, the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. But the real damage hits later. when you finally realise that years of running from Bucky didn’t erase the feelings, only buried them deeper. now, forced into close quarters and out of excuses, you have to face him… and everything you tried to forget. that one night in Wakanda. the night that changed everything finally comes crashing back. And this time, it just might break you.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: emotional trauma, ANGSTYY, unresolved tension, swearing... light themes of SMUTT 18+

a/n: ahhhh last chapter for my mini series! thankyouu for reading... also first time writing smut so go easy on me :) taking requests for inspo for thunderbolts bucky... im feeling I want to continue to explore this little world I have made. also would love a nickname for this reader in this series...so inbox is open!

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next, the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Sam emerged through the dust, breath ragged, gun lowered at his side.

But Bucky didn’t look away. Not when Sam stopped. Not when the cold wind bit through the warehouse’s broken walls. Not when reality finally caught up to both of you.

He looked older, lines carved deeper across his brow, stubble clinging to his jaw like rest hadn’t touched him in days. But his eyes were the same.

God, those eyes.

Still impossibly blue. Still heavy with the weight of too many lives. But now you could see the years behind them, the grief, the healing. The hurt.

And it hit you all over again.

They were the first thing you remembered clearly from the night it all changed. The night you stopped seeing him as Bucky Barnes and started seeing him as James. Just James. Not a mission. Not a ghost. Not Steve’s responsibility.

But a person.

Three years gone. Three years of silence, of hiding and now, here you were, standing in front of the one person you tried so hard to stay away from.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did. Too much.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam’s voice snapped both you and Bucky out of the thoughts that had locked you in place. His eyes swept the room, landing on Walker first, who was casually brushing dirt off his shoulders like he hadn’t nearly blown the entire operation.

“You’re late,” Walker muttered.

Sam stalked closer, voice sharp. “And you’re lucky you’re still upright.”

Walker scoffed. “I took initiative. There was a window. I made a call.”

“You made a mess,” Sam snapped. “You went in loud. No backup, no coordination. You compromised the mission and almost got the rest of us killed.”

“I handled it.”

You let out a dry laugh, wiping a smear of dried blood off your hand. “Handled it? You mean the part where you charged in without a plan and I had to clean it up?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed, like he’d only just remembered you existed. “Right. Her.”

He looked you up and down like you didn’t belong. Like you were just some stray who wandered into the wrong war zone.

“Still not sure who the hell you even are,” he said. “Some off-book tagalong Sam picked up? You were real quiet until you decided to play hero.”

You stepped forward, not aggressive. Just unflinching. “Just because you call yourself Captain America doesn’t mean you are him.”

Walker stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice cool. Controlled. “Steve earned that title. You bought it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky flinched slightly at the name, but his eyes stayed locked on Walker.

Walker took a step toward you, jaw tight. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not giving any. I’m just cleaning up the wreckage.”

Sam stepped in then, placing a hand on Walker’s chest. “Back off.”

But Walker didn’t. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Walks in like she knows everything. What—everyone’s just following her lead now? Because she’s good with a gun and knows how to give orders?”

His mouth curled. “Or is it something else?”

You didn’t say a word. But Bucky did.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Shut your mouth.”

Walker turned toward him. “Or what?”

But the look in Bucky’s eyes wasn’t something Walker could hold. Wounded. Restrained. On the verge of something worse.

“Walk away,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Before you say something you can’t come back from.”

Walker’s mouth twisted into something smug. “Touchy.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared Walker down for one long, agonising beat. Then turned and walked away, fast and stiff, like he was barely holding himself together.

Sam watched him go, exhaling hard. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Goddamn.”

You didn’t follow. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you stood in the rubble of a blown mission and an even more fucked-up reunion, your pulse still hammering, hands still shaking.

Walker huffed, rolled his eyes. “I’ll find my own transport.”

“Do that,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

The car rumbled steadily along the broken road. Trees blurred past. Faded signage. Empty intersections. You didn’t see any of it.

You weren’t in the car. Not really.

You were floating somewhere above it, your body moving through the motions while your mind spun off into nothing. Not out of fear. Not even shock. Just… self-preservation.

You’d seen Bucky’s face. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t looked away and it had carved something open inside you that you weren’t ready to name.

So you let the world blur. Let the silence settle around your shoulders like smoke. You stayed in that space until—

“Hey.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog like a sharp edge. You blinked. Looked over. His eyes flicked back at you in the rearview mirror, concerned but casual.

“You good?” he asked. Not pushy. Just present.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He didn’t buy it, not really. But he let it slide. For now.

A few more miles passed in silence before he spoke again. Lighter this time.

“So… you gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been, or do I gotta guess?”

You smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. “Greece. Mexico. Indonesia for a hot minute. Then some nowhere town in Canada. Mostly off-grid. Nothing stable. Just... running. Always moving.”

“Running from who?” Sam asked, one brow lifting.

Your gaze shifted to meet his in the rearview mirror. “From myself, I guess. The past. The present. I don’t even know anymore.”

You hesitated, the truth dragging itself up from somewhere raw. “I just… I can’t seem to stop. Can’t settle.” The confession sat heavy in the air.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You keeping tabs on us all that time?” You shrugged. “Some. Enough.”

Sam nodded, casting a glance toward Bucky beside him, then back at you. “You know he was looking for you.” His head tilted subtly in Bucky’s direction.

That landed like a punch to the chest. You didn’t answer.

Sam exhaled quietly. “Just sayin’. He never stopped.”

More silence. Then:

“I thought it’d be easier,” you said, almost to yourself. “Staying away. Keeping the mess contained. But turns out ghosts follow you no matter how far you run.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. We’ve all got ghosts. Some louder than others.”

You offered a quiet smile. “Yours still nagging you?”

“Only when I try to get five minutes of peace,” he muttered. “And when Torres messes with my Spotify playlist.”

That earned a small laugh from you. Genuine.

From the passenger seat, Bucky stirred slightly - just a shift of his shoulders, a flicker of something like familiarity in his profile. Then, quietly, without turning around “Still listening to that god-awful Marvin Gaye remix?”

Your head snapped up. Bucky’s tone was dry. Flat. But there was a spark there, something wry and a little too familiar. Like it slipped out before he could stop it. Sam groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re not doing this again.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “You still hate that album?” Bucky finally looked over his shoulder at you, just for a second. “Wasn’t music. It was noise.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was funk. There's a difference.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, just slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not really. But it was close. The air didn’t feel quite so heavy after that. Still tense. Still charged. But no longer choking.

And for the first time since the dust had settled in that warehouse, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe this wasn’t unsalvageable after all.

The car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, unassuming house nestled at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined road. It was a far cry from the last safe house Sam had tucked you away in - this actually seemed to have a functioning heating system. This place was modern, updated. It would suffice for the night.

Sam was the first to speak, his tone low as he hauled his gear from the trunk. “We’ve all got rooms. One night. Wheels up at six.”

You didn’t respond. Just nodded and shouldered your duffel, every bone in your body aching as you followed them up the steps.

Inside, the house felt too clean. Too still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. Soft lighting. Hardwood floors. Real furniture. Like a home built for someone who didn’t wake up from nightmares or run away from their problems.

You moved through the space like a ghost. Detached. Weightless.

Sam mumbled something about grabbing a shower and disappeared down the hall. Bucky lingered. He always did.

He stood there in the low light, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him, but still keeping his distance.

“We should talk,” he said, voice quiet.

You turned halfway. Exhaustion bled through your features. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Please, Bucky,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched you walk away. Again.

You felt the weight of his stare on your back all the way down the hall.

You knew you owed him a conversation. Hell, you owed him a thousand of them. But not like this. Not with your heart still in your throat and your thoughts scrambled beyond recognition.

You needed to get your head straight. You needed a goddamn shower. And you needed that pounding behind your eyes to ease up before you said something you couldn’t take back.

Seeing him again today had cracked something open in you.

It wasn’t just shock. It was grief. Guilt. Longing. And something else, something heavier. The slow, dawning realisation that maybe you were the one who broke what could’ve been fixed.

You hadn’t just left. You’d disappeared. Cut the cord and never looked back, or at least tried to convince yourself you hadn’t.

And now here he was. Looking at you like you were still the same. Like maybe, if you reached back, he’d still be there.

But you weren’t sure you deserved that anymore.

You weren’t sure you could even handle the fallout of what he’d say once you finally let him speak.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed. Your pulse still hadn’t calmed.

You fucked up.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to fix it.

Sleep never came easy anymore. But tonight, exhaustion didn’t just claim you, it dragged you under like a riptide, pulling you fast and deep into memory.

Back to Wakanda. Back to that night. The first and last night with him. The night before everything went to hell.

The night you let yourself forget. Forget the war looming at your doorstep. Forget what you’d both done. Forget the versions of yourselves that didn’t deserve this kind of softness.

You let it all fall away — and for once, you let yourself feel.

Years of tension, of glances and near-misses, of guilt and yearning, came crashing down to that single night. The one you never talk about. The one you can’t forget.

And he was there. Bucky.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a thin white shirt clinging to him from the heat of the day. His hair was loose around his shoulders, wild and soft. And his eyes — God, those eyes fixed on you like you were something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

You knew this night.

You’d relived it a hundred times in your mind. Only now, in the pull of sleep, you were living it again. You’d been dancing around this for weeks. Months. Years, really.

And now you were close. Too close. Inches. Breaths. The space between you vibrated with tension, years of it, unspoken and coiled like a spring. His hand hovered near your jaw, hesitant, reverent — like touching you might make you vanish.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a sad, crooked smile. “You already have. So have I.”

Then he touched you. Rough, warm, grounding. You leaned into his palm like your body had been waiting for this. Like you were starving and this was the first real thing you’d tasted in months.

You didn’t remember who kissed who first. Only that it felt like falling. Like drowning.

It was desperate and aching — mouths crashing together, breaths stolen between kisses. Like you both knew it wouldn’t last. Like you’d already made peace with the fallout.

But for now, in this sliver of stolen time, you let yourselves fall.

His hands cupped your face, fingers slipping into your hair. The kiss deepened, messy and gasping, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to consume you. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skating over the scars across his chest, and he shuddered at the contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lower lip. There was fear in his voice. Like this was hope, and hope was dangerous.

“I do,” you whispered, the words falling from your mouth like truth. “I fucking do.”

That was all it took.

He stripped you down like a man on the edge — quick, trembling hands pulling fabric from skin. You yanked him close by the belt loops of his pants, grounding yourself in the hard lines of his body. You needed more. Needed him like air.

The bed creaked as your back hit the mattress, and he followed, crawling over you like gravity had its own pull.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and something in him broke.

He kissed you harder, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, the cold press of vibranium anchoring you to the now. When he pushed inside, it was slow, deliberate. Thick and stretching, almost too much after the ache of waiting.

You gasped, body arching. He stilled instantly.

“You okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, voice so tender it burned.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “Move. Please.”

He obeyed, hips rolling, pace steady, deep. Every thrust was weighted, like he was memorizing the shape of you from the inside. You held onto him, arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist like you could keep him there if you just held on hard enough.

Every movement felt like goodbye. Every kiss like a memory in the making. Like you were both pretending this didn’t have to end.

“God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your neck. His metal fingers slipped between your legs, circling your clit with practiced, focused pressure.

Your hips jerked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he swore, voice tight with restraint. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart for me.”

And you did. With a cry torn from your throat, you shattered, body clenching around him, mind blank with pleasure. You came hard, every nerve lit up, and he followed with a broken sound, hips stuttering as he spilled into you.

Then he held you. Just held you.

His breath was ragged against your neck. Your fingers threaded into his hair. His weight was solid over you, grounding, safe.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

And then, it slipped away.

The heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The sound of his breath.

Gone.

You woke with a jolt, breath catching, chest heaving like you’d just been yanked from underwater.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The room was still dark, pre-dawn light barely filtering through the safehouse blinds. Your heart was pounding.

Too far. You’d let it go too far.

That dream, no, that memory — it wasn’t supposed to last that long. You always woke up before that part. Before the way he touched you made it impossible to lie to yourself. Before the sound of his voice made your ribs ache. Before your body reminded you how much it still wanted him. Before you remembered what it felt like to love him.

Because that’s what it was. That’s what it always was. Love.

And it broke you open like it was new.

You sat up fast, pressing the heel of your hand to your chest like you could shove the feeling back down. Like you could contain it this time. Like it wouldn’t ruin everything.

But it was already too late. Three years of running. Three years of silence. And still, you’d dreamt of him.

You had to get out. Now.

You were up and moving before your thoughts could catch up, shoving gear into your bag, hands shaking. No time for a plan. No message for Sam. You couldn’t stay. Not after this. Not when the truth was so loud it hurt.

You didn’t even notice the door open.

“Where are you going?” The voice behind you froze you mid-step.

Bucky.

You turned slowly, like your limbs were moving through sand. He was in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark and tired. He’d clearly just woken up, but one look at your face and he was wide awake.

“I—” you started, but the words got stuck.

He took a step forward. “You were leaving.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

He let out a short, bitter breath and nodded. “Of course you were.”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t do that. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” His voice cracked on the edges. “Because I’ve been trying to for three fucking years.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “That night… I’ve tried so hard to forget it. I thought if I stayed away long enough, if I buried it deep enough, I’d stop feeling this way.”

“And did it work?” he asked, voice quieter now. Broken.

You met his eyes. “No. It didn’t.”

He took another step, like he was afraid you might bolt. “I looked for you. I thought maybe you were dead. Or that I’d imagined it all. I thought… maybe it hadn’t meant as much to you.”

“It meant too much,” you whispered. “That’s why I ran.”

“Then stop running.” His voice dropped, soft but certain. “I’m not asking for all of it. Not right now. I just want a chance. A real one. We can start over, slow, careful. However you need.”

Your lip trembled. You shook your head once, then twice, then stopped. He stepped closer. Close enough to touch. “I still want you,” he said. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be with you and not fall apart.” His hand hovered at your side, not touching, but close enough to feel. “Then fall apart. I’ll be here when you do.”

You closed the distance.

Not with a kiss. Not with words. Just a lean. A small tilt of your body into his, like a truce. Like surrender.

His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter. He held you like you might slip away again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But you didn’t move. And you didn’t run.

That would have to be enough, for now.

a/n: requests are open!! hope y'all enjoyed the absolute depression of a fic I wrote xx

Tag list: @inf4ntdeath @starfly-nicole @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #thunderbolts #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes smut

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playstation-dreamcast · 4 months ago

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i love ur hcs and ur wesker snowman fic to the point it probably became one of my all time favorites! you seem to get wesker so well esp when it comes to how he’d deal with his own feelings if he realized he had feelings for reader. and that’s why im here today because i want to ask the best wesker understander a specific thing!

how would (thinking about s.t.a.r.s scenario) wesker react to reader bringing to work an extra lunchbox for him? like, reader noticed he’s always working and never leaving his office to the point he mostly skips all of his meals and he refuses every invitation from others to go grab a bite during lunch bc he’s busy so reader starts bringing to work 2 lunchboxes: one for them and one for wesker. reader would definitely ask wesker beforehand why he doesn’t eat lunch and when his reply is the same “i’m too busy” everyday, they knew they had to do something about it and take care of their Captain!! and you better believe reader would bring a variety of different home cooked meals everyday: pasta, another time salmon and rice, lasagna, sandwich, wrap, broccoli and chicken salad…

Everyone in the s.t.a.r.s team is jealous and picking (jokingly) on wesker getting a delicious home made meal for free by the rookie (whom they know they have excellent culinary skills) along with other treats because reader not only brings him a lunchbox, but every morning when reader comes to work, they always bring a coffee and a little pastry that they drop at his office which is something they have been doing since they started working there

Oh, so what, ya think you can just rock up into my inbox and start singing my praises and I'm just gonna write whatever you want for you? Cause you're right, I will, that's exactly how it works around here thank you /playful

Couple: S.T.A.R.S era Wesker X GN! S.T.A.R.S Reader

Summary: If Wesker refuses to take his lunch breaks, then you have no other choice than to take matters into your own hands

Tags: Domestic fluff

“Are you sure?” You asked, concern dripping from your lips as you cocked your head at him.

Wesker barely looked up from the paperwork in his hand. “Positive,” He muttered, looking at the next page in his hand, “Someone has to work around here.”

You didn’t like the tone of his voice, or how dismissive he was at the very notion of going to lunch with his coworkers. “You can’t work if you starve to death, you know.” you reminded him.

“I won’t starve,” He snorted, before pointedly looking up at you, “I had a danish this morning.” and then he went right back to what he was doing. You’d never told him directly, but Wesker was far from a stupid man. He knew that the coffee and warm pastry he found on his desk every morning was from the S.T.A.R.S team's very own culinary savant.

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not good to skip meals you know.”

“I’ll live, I assure you.”

“Why don’t you just come with us?”

He waved you off this time. “I’m busy Rookie, end of discussion. Now go get lunch before the others leave you behind. You sighed, before leaving and joining the other S.T.A.R.S members, piling into Barry's.

You sat next to Chris. “Let me guess, he said no?”

You sighed, running your hand down your face. “He said he was busy.”

Chris was really really bad at hiding when he felt smug. “I told you, Rookie. Wesker’s been at war with lunch for as long as any of us have known him.”

It was a conversation you’d had in some shape or form with your Captain every day. You had noticed not long into your new position as Alpha team’s medic that Wesker never left his desk, and never brought a lunch. Ever. And you’d never seen him come into work with a quick breakfast like you had the others either, not even a granola bar. You started to wonder if he skipped all of his meals. It was troubling, not just because Wesker was clearly a guy with pretty high caloric needs just judging by his build alone- but because you were a firm believer that no one should ever go hungry, no matter the circumstances.

So you started bringing him breakfast.

You’d always been a fan of baking and cooking. Even using it as a side hustle while you were getting your Doctorate degree. You were good at it, and you loved doing it so it only made sense to put your skills to work. You started waking up early Monday mornings and making various different breakfast pastries, leaving them along with a fresh coffee on Wesker’s desk every morning.

He questioned it at first, but didn’t think too much about it. Honestly, he assumed he was about to discover one of you guys had fucked up big time and were trying to suck up before he found out. But, after two weeks of it going on, baked goods on his desk every morning and not one mistake in sight, he had to admit someone was just bringing him breakfast. He automatically assumed it was you.

But, now you were starting to think it wasn’t enough. One baked good isn’t enough to run off of for an entire day. You decided, once again, if Wesker wasn’t going to take care of himself, you would just have to take care of him yourself.

The next day you came into work with two lunch boxes. And at twelve P.M. on the dot, you waltzed into Wesker office and placed one of them on his desk.

He actually looked away from his computer monitor to look at it. “What is this?” He asked.

“It’s lunch!” You smiled, “Made it myself.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “And it’s on my desk for what reason?”

“Because it’s yours. I brought my own, it’s in the break room.” You explained

He blinked at it twice. “And why did you bring me lunch?”

Your grin only grew. “Because it’s already at your desk. You don’t have to leave or take a break. You have no excuse not to eat.”

He almost smirked at you. “You’re good.”

You shrugged coyly, “I’ve played the game once or twice before.”

He gave in, finally reaching for the box and opening it. You saw the shock flash across his face for half a second before he looked up at you. “What is this?”

You tilted your head. “It’s lunch? It’s grilled salmon with wild rice. There should be a side salad there too.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I see that, where did you find the time to make this?”

You simply shrugged. “A magician never reveals their secrets, Captain.”

He simply sighed, not wanting your hard work to go to waste. Maybe he didn’t have to work through lunch today. “Well, thank you Doctor.”

You now had contextual evidence that it works. And as such, it became your daily routine. You'd sneak into his office to leave him breakfast in the morning, and deliver his lunch in the afternoon. Never the same thing twice in a row, and always incredible. While medicine and helping people has always been your number one passion, the culinary arts was a very close second.

At some point, you’d taken to joining Wesker in his office for lunch, slowly coaxing him into taking an actual break as opposed to just multitasking: eating and working. Naturally, the others took notice. And predictably, Chris was the first one to say something.

“Man, I’ve heard of work spouses, but I didn’t know they came with home cooked meals. I thought you had to put a ring on a finger to get that kinda treatment,” He quipped as he saw you deliver yet another lunchbox to Wesker. You’d manage to convince him to actually eat in the break room today. You shot Chris a very pointed look, hoping he didn’t scare the captain away.

“What?” He asked.

“You don’t need to marry someone to get a home cooked lunch,” Wesker said flatly, “You just have to be charming. Something I know you struggle with.”

“What about me?” Brad asked, somehow worse at hiding his jealousy than Chris was, “How do I get one?”

Wesker scoffed, “Refer to the previous point about being charming.”

You rolled your eyes, “Guys come on. The captain wouldn’t eat lunch if it wasn’t brought to him.”

“So it’s the incompetence that gets you lunch?” Jill asked.

That caught his attention. If looks could kill, the look Wesker gave her would have been a hydrogen bomb. “Watch yourself Valentine.”

Jill lazily put her hands up in defence before turning back to you. “Don’t worry Doctor, I’m not after your lunches. I’m after the home cooked pastries in the morning.”

“Yes!” Chris agreed, excitedly pointing at Jill, “You should make those for the whole team, it would boost team morale.”

You chuckled softly, honestly a little flustered by the whole display. “Maybe on Fridays.”

“I’ll take it!” Chris laughed, happy to accept the non committal answer. The five of you continued to joke around and enjoy your meal together. Wesker ignored how comfortable it was to be around the team. Or, he tried to at least. He’d refused to take lunches with everyone for so long because he knew the connections sharing meals together can form. He wanted to avoid it.

But, it was too late for that now. He was already in too deep. He had accepted his fate. He’d cut you all out of his heart later, disconnect from it all and do what needed to be done. For now though, he might as well indulge himself in this new feeling.

As the others filed out of the break room, Wesker stopped you. You looked up at him confused, worried that maybe you’d done something wrong. “Captain?” You asked.

He cleared his throat, and stood up a little straighter. “I’ve greatly appreciated the care you’ve shown me, Doctor. And I’d like to repay you. Can I take you to lunch this weekend?”

You smiled, warm and bright. You mom was right, the way to a man's heart really was through his stomach. “I’d like that Captain.”

Wesker gave you a soft smile. “Great. It’s a date.”

#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader fluff #albert wesker fluff #domestic flufff #Call In Request

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