#pls don’t mind me i’m sort of warming up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elikajinnie · 22 days ago

Note

Heyy, could you do 5 and 14 with Jake pls?

Love you work btw!!!

P: Roommate!Jake X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+)

Warnings: Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Emotional Tension, Possessive Behavior, Unspoken Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Teasing, Sexual Tension, Dom/Sub, Wall Sex (kinda?), Touch-Starved!Jake, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks,) Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Degrading, Needy!Reader, Dom!Jake, Rough Sex, Munch!Jake, Oral Sex (Fem!Receiving,) Dirty Talk.

Synopsis: The tension with Jake has been building for months. You try to ignore it, to play it safe. But when another ruined date ends in a heated confrontation, the truth slips out and so do his hands. One kiss, and suddenly, pretending you don’t want him isn’t an option anymore.

5. "You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?" 14. "Just one kiss? Or are you planning to leave me wanting more?"

a/n: surpriseee! I’m actually posting smut instead of letting it rot in my docs this time.. I’ve always been a little unsure about sharing smut here, especially with all the mixed opinions on enhablr… but honestly? Fuck it. I wrote it, I liked it, and maybe you will too. so yeah. enjoy! Reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

You weren’t expecting much from your first year of university, maybe some decent lectures, too many all-nighters, and a shoebox-sized dorm that smelled vaguely of instant noodles and poor life choices. What you definitely weren’t expecting was being assigned a roommate like Jake.

And, well... you didn’t mind it.

He was cute—like, actually cute. Tall, warm smile, hair that flopped into his eyes when he laughed, and a voice just raspy enough in the mornings to make brushing your teeth in silence feel slightly inappropriate. But more importantly, Jake was easy. Easy to talk to. Easy to live with.

He made dangerously good ramen at 2 a.m., always added an egg like a chef or something, and somehow never minded sharing. He watched movies with you on quiet nights, quoting dumb lines or laughing at scenes he clearly knew by heart. And he never, ever interrupted you while studying, just quietly slid a granola bar or bottle of water onto your desk when you were too deep into your work to notice how late it had gotten.

You’d look up and catch his retreating back, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair messy from his own unfinished assignment. And maybe your heart would thump once. Maybe twice.

But it was fine. Really. He was your roommate. And you were lucky to have one who didn’t suck.

Right?

Yeah, well—he sucked when it came to the topic of boys. Or more specifically, your hopeful hookups.

It was honestly kind of ridiculous how he always seemed to know.

You weren’t careless. You had his schedule memorized—well, sort of. You both kept a shared calendar on the wall, filled with messy scribbles and color-coded classes, so it wasn’t like you were stalking him. You just... planned accordingly. You knew when he’d be gone for hours, off to some late lab or a campus event, and you took those precious windows of alone time to invite over whatever cute guy had caught your attention that week.

The pattern was always the same: drinks, music low, a little harmless flirting on your tiny couch. Maybe things would get close, hands on knees, mouths hovering, but before anything remotely good could happen, you'd hear it.

The jingle of keys. The unmistakable sound of the door unlocking.

Cue the door swinging open and Jake stepping inside, always with the same casually surprised expression. “Oh,” he’d say, as if he wasn’t ruining your entire night. “Didn’t think you’d be home.”

Your date would tense. You’d force a tight smile. And within minutes, they’d be grabbing their jacket, muttering something about having an early morning. You’d stand there, still a little breathless, lips just barely swollen with possibility, watching Jake toss his bag onto the floor like it was any other night.

And when the door shut behind your date?

You’d turn to him, crossing your arms, annoyed but trying not to show it. “Weren’t you supposed to be out until, like, ten?”

Jake would blink at you, all innocent. “Yeah. But the event got canceled.” Or, “Lab ended early.” Or, “Wasn’t really feeling it.”

Every. Damn. Time.

At first, you thought it was just bad luck. Coincidence. But after the fifth time—maybe sixth—you started wondering if it really was just that. Because Jake never seemed all that sorry. In fact, sometimes you could’ve sworn he looked almost... pleased.

So after the seventh fucking time it happened, you kind of gave up.

No more cute guys in your apartment. No more risky almosts on the couch or stealing kisses in the kitchen while Jake was supposedly gone. You adapted—started meeting people off campus or agreeing to go to their places instead.

It wasn’t ideal, but at least you would not hear the sound of Jake’s damn keys in the lock, his perfectly timed entrances sending everything crashing down.

But even then... it never stuck.

Because the guys you met? They never lasted. Maybe a few dates, maybe one night if you were lucky, but nothing ever felt solid. And it wasn’t just you being picky—it was Jake.

Somehow, without fail, they all brought him up.

“Your roommate’s kind of intense, huh?” “He stared at me the whole time like I’d killed his dog.” “Is he always that... territorial?”

Territorial.

That one stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

You always laughed it off. Said Jake was just protective, or weirdly good at making people uncomfortable without trying. But deep down, there was this annoying little voice in your head whispering things you didn’t want to hear.

Because yeah, Jake was protective. He made you ramen at 3 a.m. He knew your class schedule better than you did. He always walked on the outside of the sidewalk and handed you a jacket when you forgot yours. He never touched you in a way that crossed a line, but his presence was always there, just close enough to feel it. And now, without meaning to, you’d started adjusting your life around him.

You didn’t bring guys over anymore. Not because you didn’t want to. But because they never stood a chance. Because Jake was… someone else entirely.

Sweet in a way that wasn’t performative, he didn’t flirt with you for fun or toss compliments around just to get a reaction. He just was. Always thoughtful, always present. The kind of guy who remembered how you took your coffee without asking, who stayed up to watch your favorite comfort movie just because you’d had a bad day. He was cuddly, too, the kind of casually affectionate that ruined you. Throwing an arm around your shoulder on the couch, falling asleep too close during movie nights, letting his legs tangle with yours like it meant nothing. Like you were just that comfortable.

He was smart, too. Unfairly so. He didn’t even have to try—acing tests, explaining things to you with that patient tone that made you feel less stupid and more seen.

And, yeah. He was hot. So hot.

Stupidly hot, if you were being honest. Shirt half-ridden up while stretching, messy hair post-nap, low voice in the morning kind of hot. You used to think the attraction was harmless, just a surface-level thing. A little eye candy to make your living situation more bearable.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being funny.

Because unfortunately, Jake had managed to set your standards sky-high without even trying. The bar? Ruined. Crushed under the weight of every time he handed you a snack wordlessly, every lazy smile he threw your way, every casual brush of his fingers against yours that shouldn’t have made you feel anything—but did.

You tried to cheat around it. Tried going for guys who reminded you of him. Guys who were tall and kind and maybe wore the same kind of rings or had a similar laugh. But none of them made your heart skip the way Jake did. None of them made your skin flush just by saying your name. And eventually, you had to face the truth.

Somewhere in the mess of shared ramen, missed hookups, and one too many movie nights that ended with you biting your lip and pretending not to stare at his stupidly perfect jawline—

You’d developed a crush on Jake.

And worse? You didn’t know what to do about it.

It was supposed to be nothing. No strings, no messy feelings. Just a roommate. Just a guy.

Just a stupidly… hot guy.... Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You were mid-spiral, head buried in your laptop under the pretense of studying, when you blinked up—and instantly regretted it.

Jake had come back from his shower at some point without you noticing. Steam still clung faintly to his skin, hair wet and dripping as he towel-dried it lazily with one hand. His grey sweatpants hung loose and low around his hips, the waistband dipping just enough to make your brain short-circuit. The plain black T-shirt clung a little too well to his chest, still damp in spots, and seriously, who gave him the right?

Your mouth went dry. And the worst part? You weren’t even being dramatic. You could feel the heat bloom across your cheeks, creeping lower, settling somewhere in your stomach and spreading.

Dripping. That was the only word your brain could hold onto.

His hair was dripping.

You were dripping.

Fuck.

Jake looked up just then, catching your gaze before you could look away, and smirked faintly, like he knew exactly what was going through your head. He tossed the towel over his shoulder and crossed the room toward the kitchen, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t out here looking like a walking wet dream. “Want anything?” he asked, voice rough from the heat of the shower. “Gonna make tea.”

You blinked at him, nodded way too fast, and muttered something that vaguely resembled “Sure.”

You watched his back as he moved, broad and unfair, and tried very hard not to melt into your chair. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were not attracted to your roommate. Not at all.

Right?

…right?

You buried your face back in your textbook the moment Jake turned away, determined to focus—actually focus—on something other than the image of him shirtless and dripping wet.

Studying. You're studying. Not thirsting over your roommate.

You recited that to yourself like a mantra, highlighting a sentence you didn’t even read and pretending the words weren’t blurring on the page. You could hear him in the kitchen, casually rummaging around. The clink of a mug. The quiet hum he made when he found what he was looking for. It was so domestic it made your heart ache.

A few minutes later, you caught the familiar scent of chamomile and cinnamon before you even heard him approach.

“Here,” Jake murmured, placing a steaming mug on the desk beside you.

You looked up—and nearly forgot how to breathe.

He was close. Way too close.

One hand settled on the back of your chair, warm and solid behind your neck. The other landed on the desk right beside your arm, making the muscles in his forearm flex slightly, veins standing out beneath skin that was still flushed from the shower. His shirt stretched tight across his chest from the angle, and his damp hair hung just barely in his eyes, water still dripping occasionally onto his collarbone.

You could smell him. Clean soap, a hint of mint, and something unmistakably Jake. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he leaned in closer, voice dipping near your ear.

“What are you reading?”

You froze.

His breath brushed against your skin, hot and barely-there, and it sent a shiver straight down your spine. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry, fingers tightening slightly around your highlighter like it could anchor you to reality. “I—uh…” you started, blinking down at your page like you’d never seen words before. “Psych… something. Case study. Doesn’t matter.”

Jake hummed, low and lazy, like he was amused by your sudden brain short-circuit. He didn’t move away right away. Just lingered, casually caging you in without touching you, like he had no idea what he was doing to you. Or worse... like he did.

You refused to look at him. If you did, you weren’t sure you'd survive it.

“Your tea,” he said, finally pulling back, but not without letting his fingers brush your shoulder lightly. “Just how you like it.” And with that, he strolled back to the couch like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just turned your bones to jelly with one breath and a flex of his arm.

You stared down at your textbook, heat crawling up your neck, and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust from pure, helpless want.

This… was getting dangerous.

You were starting to think you were losing your mind.

Because lately, something had shifted. You didn’t know how or why, but Jake… Jake had started testing you. Not in obvious ways, he wasn’t throwing out dirty pickup lines or cornering you in the hallway like some walking cliché. No. That would’ve been too easy. Too manageable.

Instead, he was teasing you. Flirting—more than usual. And not the playful, harmless kind you were used to. This was different. Suggestive. Low voice, drawn-out words, that smug smile he wore when he caught you staring too long at his hands, his mouth, him.

And he knew.

You could see it in the way his eyes flicked to your lips mid-conversation, or how he leaned just a little too close when reaching for something behind you. He’d started using your name more, saying it like a secret, like it tasted good in his mouth. It sent a weird, warm shiver down your spine every single time.

What was worse? He was getting touchier, too.

At first, it was subtle—his thigh brushing yours on the couch and staying there. His hand finding the small of your back when you passed in the narrow hallway. Then it escalated. Light fingers trailing along your arm when he walked by. Pulling you into his side during movie nights like it was second nature. Fixing the hem of your shirt when it rode up, his knuckles grazing your stomach like it meant nothing.

You’d lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact tone of his voice when he whispered something stupidly innocent that somehow left your entire body buzzing.

And the he never acknowledged it. Never pushed past the edge. Never made a move that gave you permission to call it what it was. So you were stuck—trapped in this torturous middle ground where everything he did made your heart race and your thighs clench, but none of it could be labeled. You couldn’t confront him. Couldn’t risk misreading it and ruining everything.

But still... you couldn’t help but wonder:

Was he playing with you?

Or were you already too far gone to tell the difference? All you knew was that Jake kept leaving you high and dry.

Every time.

A brush of his hand here, a whispered comment there, lips inches from your skin, that stupid smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing to you—and then? Nothing. He’d walk off like it hadn’t happened. Like your pulse wasn’t still hammering in your throat and your thighs weren’t pressed tightly together under the desk.

It was maddening.

Your body would buzz for hours after. Skin hot. Mind racing. You’d sit in the quiet of your room, staring at the wall like it owed you an explanation, still breathless from nothing and everything.

So, naturally, you tried to smother the need. Drown it in distraction. You started saying yes to the flirty DMs, to late-night invites, to lingering touches from boys who looked nothing like Jake but felt safe—distant. You let them take you out, let them kiss you, sometimes more. You told yourself it helped. That maybe if someone else could make your heart race again, Jake would stop invading your head.

But they didn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, it was always the same. Their hands didn’t feel like his. Their voices didn’t curl around your name the same way. No one ever looked at you the way Jake did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You’d leave their rooms unsatisfied, unsaid, untouched in the way that mattered. Worse—sometimes, you’d come home and find Jake sprawled across the couch in nothing but sweats and a shirt, hair messy, eyes tired, and mouth tilted into that crooked, lazy smile. He’d glance up and say, “Have fun?” like it didn’t matter at all. Like he wasn’t watching you come home flushed and frustrated and wishing he was the one undoing your buttons instead.

It felt like punishment.

Or maybe a game.

Either way, you were losing.

And Jake? He was still sitting there—unbothered, untouchable—and somehow still everywhere, all at once.

You weren’t proud of it.

You hadn’t planned to let it go that far, not in the library of all places, but the guy was cute, persistent, and more importantly, a distraction. His lips were soft, eager, and his hands were already roaming beneath your sweater as he backed you into the far corner of the third floor—dead quiet, barely anyone around. Just shelves, soft fluorescent light, and the illusion of privacy.

You let yourself melt into it. Let him kiss down your jaw, hands sliding along your waist, fingers pressing just a little too high under your shirt. You closed your eyes and tried to pretend.

Tried to pretend it was someone else.

You barely heard the cough over the blood rushing in your ears.

You both froze.

And then—his hands still on your waist—you looked up to see Jake standing just a few feet away. Expression unreadable. Lips pressed together. One brow slightly raised. His eyes flicked from you to the guy—and then, calmly, to a shelf just over your shoulder. “Sorry,” Jake said coolly. “Need that book behind you.”

The silence was deafening.

Your mouth opened—no words came out. The guy stepped back quickly, awkwardly wiping his mouth like a kid caught red-handed. You were still leaning against the shelf, heat crawling up your neck, heart pounding in your chest as Jake casually stepped forward, reached around you—around you—and pulled a book from the shelf like he hadn’t just caught you mid-makeout.

He didn’t even look at you. Just nodded once, muttered, “Enjoy your study session,” and turned on his heel.

Gone.

Just like that.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, lips still tingling and whole body suddenly ice-cold, while the guy awkwardly asked if you wanted to keep going. You didn’t.

You mumbled some excuse and left a minute later, heart racing, Jake’s voice echoing in your ears. Enjoy your study session.

He hadn’t even sounded mad. But somehow, that made it worse, because something in his voice—low, clipped, polite—felt like punishment.

Like the slow tightening of a string that was about to snap.

And after that day in the library… Jake changed.

Not toward you, exactly. He still brought you tea. Still shared his ramen. Still dropped his hoodies in your lap when you complained about being cold. But something in him had gone quiet. Tense. Sharp around the edges.

It wasn’t until the next time you tried to talk to someone, just a casual conversation with a guy from your elective that you really noticed it. You were sitting on the quad, sunlight warm on your legs, smiling at something the guy had said, when Jake appeared behind you like a shadow. He didn’t say anything at first. Just hovered, arms crossed, eyes locked on the guy like he was measuring how fast he could take him down.

You introduced Jake, voice light, a little unsure. The guy offered his hand. Jake didn’t shake it. Just gave him that same polite, empty smile and said, “Didn’t know we were doing office hours out here.”

The guy left two minutes later with an awkward laugh and a mumbled excuse.

You turned to Jake, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

He just shrugged, all innocent. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You laughed it off at the time, even though it sat heavy in your chest.

But then it kept happening.

Every time a guy so much as stood too close, Jake would show up—leaning into your space, slipping an arm around your shoulder like it was second nature, voice a little too casual as he interrupted. If someone tried texting you and he happened to see it on your screen, he'd make some offhand comment like “Another one already?” with a tilt of his head and a tone that made your stomach twist.

He was never mean. Not directly. He didn’t need to be. His presence alone was enough to drive everyone else away. And you couldn’t decide what scared you more—the fact that Jake was acting like that… Or the fact that part of you liked it.

Did that make you a bad person?

No. You didn’t think so. Not after that day.

You’d been walking back from class, a little distracted, earbuds in and sun warm on your shoulders. You hadn’t even noticed the guy trailing a few steps behind you, some rando you vaguely recognized from a party weeks ago—until he caught up and said something under his breath.

At first, you didn’t catch it. Then he said it again, louder this time.

“You dress like that and expect people not to look? Come on. You’re clearly asking for attention.”

You froze, spine going rigid. Not out of fear—just disbelief. Because you were so tired of this shit. Of people thinking they could say whatever they wanted, get in your space, chip away at your confidence like it didn’t matter.

And then, like some twisted act of fate—Jake appeared.

He’d just been walking by, hands in his pockets, probably heading somewhere casual. But the second he picked up on the guy’s tone, his whole posture changed. His jaw tightened. His stride slowed, and before you could say anything, Jake was there, stepping between you and the guy with his body angled like a shield.

“The fuck did you just say?” he asked, voice calm but sharp enough to cut steel.

The guy blinked, stammered something that sounded like a backpedal. Jake didn’t flinch. Just stared him down, low and steady, as if daring him to try again. “I don’t know what kind of response you were hoping for,” Jake continued, voice dangerously smooth, “but here’s mine: don’t talk to her like that. Don’t talk to anyone like that.”

And that was it.

The guy didn’t fight back. Just scoffed, mumbled something bitter under his breath, and walked off with his pride dragging behind him.

You stood there, frozen in place, heart pounding as Jake turned back to you, the anger in his expression softening instantly. “You okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

He looked at you for a second longer before exhaling. “Don’t listen to assholes like him,” he said, voice gentler now. “Wear whatever makes you feel good. Confident. You look—” he hesitated, his gaze flickering downward for a second too long, before dragging back up to your eyes. “—you look great.”

You didn’t call him out on it.

Didn’t say a word about the way his eyes dipped again, this time lingering a little too low, lingering like maybe he wasn’t just being protective. And you definitely didn’t mention the way you liked it. Because that would make this too real. And you were still clinging to the lie that Jake was just your roommate. Just a guy. Just someone who looked out for you.

Even if everything he did lately said otherwise.

Spring came fast.

One day it was hoodies and oversized jackets, and the next, the sun was out, the windows were open, and your tiny university apartment started feeling like a sauna by midday. Naturally, your wardrobe adjusted accordingly. Shorts. Tank tops. Loose-fitting tees that barely grazed the tops of your thighs.

Nothing dramatic—just comfortable.

But you noticed it.

The shift.

At first, it was in the way his conversations got shorter. Not cold—just distracted. He’d pause mid-sentence on a call with a friend when you walked into the room, eyes flickering over your legs before snapping back up to your face like he hadn’t just looked. Like he wasn’t still thinking about it.

He started pulling at the collar of his shirt more often, mumbling something about how hot it was. You caught him watching you from across the room, the tip of his tongue resting against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

He never said anything. Not really. But his eyes lingered now. Traced over your bare thighs, the curve of your waist, your chest. His jaw would tighten. His grip on his coffee mug would shift. Sometimes, he’d be mid-sentence and suddenly forget what he was saying.

And you noticed.

God, did you notice.

The silence would stretch just a little too long. His tongue would dart out to wet his lips when you bent over to grab something from the fridge. The air in the apartment felt heavier, like the tension had weight. Like every brush of your arm against his, every moment you shared the couch, every laugh that ended too close was leading somewhere neither of you wanted to name.

One night, you walked into the living room wearing a cropped tank and boyshorts, ready to call it a night, only to find Jake sprawled on the couch in just a pair of loose gym shorts, damp from a late workout. His skin glistened slightly under the dim light, and his hair stuck to his forehead.

He looked up at you—slowly. Quietly.

Didn’t say a word for a beat too long.

“You trying to kill me?”

You blinked. “What?”

Jake smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back, arms stretching behind his head, the motion making his muscles flex and his abs pull taut. “You can’t just walk around looking like that and expect me to concentrate.”

Your heart did a full somersault.

“I live here,” you said, trying to sound unbothered, even though your voice had gone slightly breathless. “I’m comfortable.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your legs, then dragging back up, slower this time. “I can see that.” He turned back to the TV like he hadn’t just sent a shockwave through your entire nervous system.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight as you lowered yourself onto the far end of the couch—far, like that would somehow help. It didn’t. Not when the heat from his body practically reached you. Not when the soft sounds from the movie blurred into white noise, your attention caught on the way his chest rose and fell, the light sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

You were hyper-aware of everything. The way your thighs stuck slightly to the couch’s faux leather. The way the fabric of your shorts rode up when you crossed your legs. The way Jake’s eyes flicked over to you every few minutes, barely noticeable—except that it was every few minutes.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But then his foot brushed against yours.

It could’ve been accidental. Could’ve—if it didn’t linger just a second too long before pulling away.

You glanced at him.

He was still watching the screen. Calm. Blank-faced.

You leaned back, pretending to adjust your position, stretching your legs out until they rested next to his. You felt, more than saw, the way his jaw clenched.

Another scene passed. Quiet. Tense.

Then you felt it—his fingers, just the lightest brush, trailing over your ankle. Slow. Testing.

You looked at him again, and this time he was already looking at you, eyes darker, that playful glint nowhere to be found.

“You sure this is comfortable?” he asked, voice low. Rough around the edges.

You nodded. Slowly. “Yeah.”

Jake’s hand slid a little higher, up your shin, warm and deliberate. “Cause you’ve been squirming since you sat down.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you hated how obvious it must’ve looked. But Jake didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. He just shifted closer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him now, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and something so Jake it made your head spin.

“You always wear stuff like this to bed?” he asked, fingers ghosting over the hem of your shorts.

“Only when it’s hot,” you whispered, not trusting your voice any louder.

He hummed, eyes dropping to your legs again, but slower now. Lazier. He reached over, fingers brushing your bare thigh—light, barely-there, but so charged it made your breath hitch. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, half to himself.

Your heart was pounding now, wild and loud in your chest. And when you didn’t pull away, didn’t say stop, Jake leaned in—his palm resting against your thigh, thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles against your skin. “Say something,” he said quietly, voice at your ear. “Or I’m gonna keep touching you like this.”

You didn’t say a word. You just leaned into it. And his hand slid higher.

You didn’t remember what movie was playing anymore. Whatever it was, it faded completely into the background, muted voices and shifting colors on the screen, all irrelevant now compared to the slow, heavy thrum of heat building between you.

Jake’s hand stayed on your thigh, fingers moving in lazy, circling strokes. Teasing. Testing. He didn’t look at you when he spoke again, like the words weren’t really meant for you, just thoughts slipping from his lips.

“You know,” he said, thumb brushing just under the hem of your shorts, “it’s kind of unfair.”

You tilted your head, pulse racing. “What is?”

“That you walk around here looking like that and expect me to sit through a whole movie without getting distracted.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a soft, amused hum, your legs shifting slightly beneath his hand, as if inviting him closer.

And he took the invitation.

Slowly, Jake leaned in, his body turning toward you until your knees bumped, his palm trailed further up your thigh, warm and sure, until he was cupping the curve just above your knee, thumb dragging across bare skin in rhythm with the pounding in your chest.

His other hand lifted and pushed a strand of hair away from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek as his eyes met yours—intense, unblinking, like he was trying to read you.

Still, you didn’t speak. You didn’t really need to. Your silence said enough. The way your breathing picked up. The way your fingers curled slightly against the couch cushion. The way your legs opened, just a little more, letting him settle between them.

Jake’s gaze dipped lower, and then he was moving again—leaning down, slower this time, the kind of slow that made your skin prickle in anticipation. His face hovered just above your chest, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath through your thin top.

“Comfortable still?” he murmured, lips ghosting the curve of your collarbone.

You swallowed, throat tight. “Mm-hm.”

Jake smiled against your skin, a slow, wicked thing. His hand slid higher up your thigh, palm firm now, possessive in a way that made your stomach flip. “You keep humming like that,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, “I might start thinking you like this.”

You didn’t break his gaze.You just let out another soft hum, sweet and quiet, but so full of meaning it made his eyes darken.

The room felt too hot. The air thick. Your body buzzing.

And still, neither of you moved to finish it.

It was a slow unraveling, like pulling at a thread, knowing eventually everything would come undone.

And you were letting it happen. Maybe even hoping for it.

Jake’s breath against your skin, the weight of his hand on your thigh, the way his eyes watched you like he was waiting for a green light, it was all so heavy, so close, you could barely think. His lips were just about to brush lower, his fingers tightening slightly, when—

Rrring. Rrring.

The shrill sound of your phone sliced through the tension like a knife.

You both froze.

Your body went rigid, Jake’s hand still warm against your skin, his face hovering so close to your chest you could feel the air shift as he let out a quiet, sharp breath.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, straightening up with a frustrated exhale as you reached for your phone with trembling fingers. You didn’t even check the name before answering, still breathless, your voice cracking slightly. “Hello?”

“WHERE ARE YOU?” your friend’s voice practically screamed through the speaker, making you wince. “You promised! We’re literally outside the club—do not bail on me again!”

You blinked, trying to reorient yourself. “Wait—what?”

“The club?” she repeated. “Short dress? Bad decisions? You swore you'd come tonight. Don’t make me come drag you out myself.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear for a second, glancing at the time—and then it hit you.

You had promised her.

The plan had been made days ago. A night out. Something about dancing off stress, drinking too much, maybe making out with a stranger in a dark corner, back when you were still desperately trying to exorcise your Jake problem. You glanced up, and Jake was already watching you, leaned back now, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking as he waited.

Your friend shouted your name through the phone again, snapping your attention back. “Okay, okay—I’m coming,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead, your skin still tingling from where Jake had touched it. “Give me twenty.”

“Ten!” she demanded. “You better be wearing something hot!” The call ended before you could respond.

Silence settled between you and Jake again, heavier this time. He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at you, shoulders a little tense now, his hands clasped loosely between his knees.

You shifted, suddenly too aware of your barely-there clothes, your flushed skin, and how close you’d come to letting everything snap. “I, uh…” you stood slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I forgot I made plans.”

Jake’s gaze dragged over you—slow, unreadable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I figured.” But his voice didn’t carry the same heat as before. It was quiet. Cool. Like something had shut behind his eyes. Like maybe he hated the reminder that you still had other places to be. Other people to see. Other guys who weren’t him.

You didn’t give Jake a chance to say anything.

Didn’t let yourself look at him for more than a second, because if he so much as breathed the wrong way, you already knew what would happen. You’d fold. Stay. Crawl right back onto that couch and into the dangerous gravity of his hands, his mouth, his everything.

So you bolted for your room, muttering a rushed “I’ll be quick,” before shutting the door behind you.

You moved fast. Thank God you’d already showered. No time to overthink. No time to wonder if he was still sitting on the couch with that same unreadable expression, or if he’d gotten up, pacing the room like he always did when he was trying not to say something.

You yanked open your dresser and grabbed the black dress you’d shoved in the back last week—short, slinky, barely-there. Something your friend had convinced you to buy during a “hot girl summer” phase you were now very thankful for. You slipped it on, the material hugging your skin like a second layer. It left your shoulders bare, dipped a little too low at the back, and hit mid-thigh like it had no business pretending to be modest. Next, you pulled on your comfiest heels—chunky, easy to dance in—and moved to the mirror. You did your foundation, brows, a little concealer. The rest could wait for the club bathroom. You were already running late.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you applied gloss to your lips, and not from nerves about going out. Because through the cracked door, you could feel it.

Jake’s gaze.

Heavy. Lingering. Burning into you with every shift of fabric, every bend of your body, every subtle adjustment of your dress. You didn’t even have to look to know he was still there. You could feel the tension in the air like static, the way it clung to your skin and made the hair on your arms stand up. And for a second, just a second, you almost slowed down. Almost turned around and walked back into the living room, let him pull you into his lap and finish what you’d started. But instead, you slipped in your earrings, grabbed your tiny bag, and pushed open the bedroom door like your heart wasn’t pounding in your chest.

Jake was standing by the kitchen now, hands braced against the counter, jaw tight. His eyes found you instantly.

And fuck.

He didn’t say anything, instead his gaze dragged over you like a physical touch, slow and anything but innocent. From the curve of your thighs to the way the dress clung to your waist, to the dip of your collarbone where the gloss on your lips caught the light.

You swallowed hard.

“Well?” you asked, keeping your voice light, like you weren’t moments away from completely combusting. “Do I pass the vibe check?”

Jake’s eyes didn’t move from you. “You look…” He paused, voice low and rough. “Yeah. You look dangerous.”

And God help you, you liked how that sounded coming from him way too much.

The word clung to your skin like heat, sitting heavy in your chest as Jake’s gaze burned through every layer of pretense you tried to wear with that dress. You couldn’t tell if he meant it as a compliment or a warning.

You didn’t ask, instead, you gave him a tight smile. “Don’t wait up.”

And then you were gone. Out the door, heels clicking down the hallway, pulse racing with every step like you’d just escaped something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

The air outside hit you like a shock, cooler than you expected, but it didn’t settle the warmth still simmering beneath your skin. Your phone buzzed as your friend texted again: “Hurry up, the line’s insane. I’m losing my mind.”

You typed back a quick “2 mins” and kept walking, trying to shake the feeling of Jake’s stare still clinging to your back, your hips, your thighs. You could still feel itm like his eyes had left fingerprints on your skin.

And God, how you wanted them there.

The club was loud, packed, the music pulsing through the floor and straight into your bloodstream. You were instantly swallowed by the energy of it all—colored lights flashing, bodies pressed together, the smell of sweat and perfume thick in the air.

Your friend dragged you to the dance floor with no time for drinks or second thoughts. She was glowing, already half-tipsy, and the kind of reckless that made her infectious. You let her spin you, pull you into the crowd, and for a moment, you let yourself forget.

But it didn’t last long.

Because every time someone put their hands on your waist, tried to dance close behind you, your mind flashed back to him. To Jake’s hands on your thigh. Jake’s voice in your ear. Jake’s breath against your chest.

You laughed it off. Danced harder. Drank faster.

But it was no use.

Every guy you danced with? They weren’t him.

And no amount of bass or neon lights or sweaty touches could replace the fire he left behind.

Back at the apartment, Jake hadn’t moved much.

He was still in the kitchen, still leaning against the counter, the room quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge. He hadn’t turned the movie back on. Hadn’t started his usual late-night routine.

He just stood there. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on the door you’d walked out of. Every part of him tense, coiled. Because the image of you in that dress was burned into his brain now. Seared. He could still see the way the fabric clung to your hips. Could still hear your voice when you said Don’t wait up—like that wasn’t the cruelest thing you could’ve said with your lips still wet from lip gloss. He didn’t know what he was more pissed about—that you looked that good, or that someone else was probably touching you by now.

Ugh. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the possessiveness curling in his gut. It didn’t stop his hands from clenching at the thought of you dancing for someone else. Letting someone else pull you close. Letting someone else taste what he hadn’t even dared ask for yet.

Not because he didn’t want to.

God, how he wanted to.

He just hadn’t let himself have you. Not fully. There was a line—an invisible one he drew the night you became his roommate, when you dropped your bags at the door and smiled at him like you didn’t have any idea what you were doing to him.

But now?

Now that line was starting to blur.

Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore. It wasn’t just stolen glances and casual touches and teasing flirtation that ended with him fisting the sheets in silence, replaying the sound of your laugh, the shape of your mouth.

No, now it was need.

And it hit harder than he expected. Hard enough that he was still pacing the kitchen floor an hour later, shirt discarded, drink untouched on the counter, your last words echoing in his head like a taunt.

Don’t wait up.

Like hell he wouldn’t.

His phone buzzed once—then again. A message from a friend about a party, another about a group meetup. He ignored them both. His attention was fixed on the clock, every minute ticking by like a warning.

Was it stupid to be this wound up? Probably. But that didn’t change the way his blood ran hotter every time he imagined someone else’s hands on your hips. Some guy’s mouth pressed against your neck, your back arching into a touch that didn’t belong to him.

You weren’t his. He knew that.

But if tonight proved anything… it was that he wanted you to be.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.

The night air was warm, sticky against your skin as you made your way back to the apartment, heels clicking quietly on the pavement. You were tipsy, just enough for your limbs to feel light and your brain pleasantly fuzzy. The club had been fine. The drinks strong. The dancing easy. But your heart hadn’t been in it.

You’d spent the night smiling too politely at hands that wandered, swaying half-heartedly to songs you normally loved. Your mind had been miles away—here, in this apartment. With him.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked the door, fumbling with the keys before finally twisting the knob and pushing inside. The lights were dim. Just the glow of the kitchen light spilling into the living room. And there he was. Jake. Sitting on the couch. Waiting.

One arm draped along the back of the couch, the other lazily holding a half-full glass of water. His hair was a little messy, his expression unreadablem but his eyes locked on you the second the door clicked shut.

You blinked, slightly startled. “You’re still up?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. His gaze dragged over you slowly, taking in the way your dress clung to your body, the way your makeup had smudged slightly, the faint sheen of sweat at your collarbone from dancing. His jaw tensed. “Wasn’t tired,” he said finally, voice low and smooth. Controlled. Too controlled.

You stepped further into the apartment, setting your keys down with a soft clink, suddenly all too aware of how quiet it was.

“How was the club?” he asked, voice still casual, but there was something in the way he asked it. A tension that didn’t quite match the words.

You shrugged, slipping off your shoes with a sigh. “Loud. Crowded.”

“Fun?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

His eyes didn’t leave you. Not once.

“Not really.”

He nodded once, slow. Took a sip of his water. Then, quietly: “Did you dance with anyone?”

Why did that question feel loaded?

“A few people,” you said carefully, watching him for a reaction.

Jake hummed. “Anyone worth remembering?” His tone was light. Teasing, almost. But his grip on the glass had tightened just enough for you to notice.

You let out a soft breath, walking toward him slowly, arms crossed under your chest, partly because you were cold, partly because your heart was beating too fast now. “Why?” you asked. “Gonna take notes?”

Jake’s eyes flicked up to meet yours again. “No,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “Just wondering if I need to remind you what it feels like when someone actually knows how to touch you.”

Your breath hitched.

The room went quiet.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.

And you—still tipsy, still buzzing from the way his voice dipped so low felt the air shift.

He set the glass down on the coffee table slowly, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, gaze still locked on you like you were something he’d been starving for.

“Come here.”

Just two words.

But they hit like a match to gasoline.

You didn’t move at first. Just stood there in the soft light, your heels discarded by the door, skin warm with heat and sweat.

Jake didn’t repeat himself. He just watched you, elbows on his knees, jaw tense, like he was holding something in his mouth he didn’t dare say.

And maybe it was the drinks, or the way your body still buzzed from the club, or the fact that his voice wrapped around your spine like a hand. But you walked over. Slowly, each step louder than it should’ve been. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his bare chest.

He looked up at you like he wanted to say something. Or maybe do something. But he didn’t. His hands stayed on his knees, fingers twitching slightly like he was holding them back. “Had fun teasing me all week?” he asked softly, head tilting a little. His eyes dragged over your bare thighs, up to your collarbone, slow and purposeful. “Walking around in little shorts. Tight tops. Laughing like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

Your breath caught. “I wasn’t teasing.”

He raised a brow. “No?”

You shook your head. “You’re the one who started it.”

Jake let out a quiet breath—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. His eyes dropped to your mouth for just a second, then back up. And then his hand lifted slowly, barely brushing the side of your thigh with the backs of his fingers. So light, it was more suggestion than touch.

It sent a ripple through you all the same.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours again, searching. “You going to bed?”

You licked your lips. Nodded once. “Yeah.”

Jake’s hand dropped back to his knee, just like that. His face unreadable now, voice quiet when he spoke again. “Sleep well.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.

You didn’t trust yourself to respond, so you turned and walked away, pulse racing with every step back to your room.

You didn’t look back.

And neither of you said what you were really thinking.

Okay, you were so over everything.

The tension between you and Jake had gotten unbearable—so bad that you’d started avoiding your own reflection at night, because even you could see how strung out you looked. How restless. How badly you needed something that you couldn’t have.

Nights were the worst.

You’d lay in bed, your skin flushed and hot, your body aching in ways that had nothing to do with the weather. Sheets tangled between your legs, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hand slipped beneath your waistband again, trying to quiet the frustration clawing at your chest.

It never helped.

You’d close your eyes and see him. Jake, shirtless in the kitchen. Jake, sweat-slicked and grinning post-run. Jake’s hands on your thigh, mouth ghosting against your skin, saying your name in that low, unreadable voice.

It drove you mad.

More than once, your fingers would still, your breath catching as you stared at your closed bedroom door—tempted. So tempted to just throw off the covers, march across the hall, and crawl into his bed to put an end to this sick little game once and for all.

But you didn’t.

And now it was harder than ever. Because Jake was busy. His schedule had shifted—more classes, more shifts, later nights. You barely saw him anymore. Passing each other like strangers in the hallway, awkward silences over takeout, faint smiles and tired eyes that said I’m thinking about it too, but neither of you said a damn word.

The heat between you hadn’t disappeared, it had just been buried under new routines, overbooked calendars, exhaustion. But it simmered. Lurking just under the surface, waiting for a moment alone. Waiting for one of you to finally break.

You hated how much you missed him. How often your eyes flicked to the door when you heard keys in the lock. How your heart jumped when he said your name, even casually, even half-asleep.

You were over it. Over the tension. Over the silence. Over pretending like you didn’t want to rip this thing wide open and find out what the hell it would feel like to have Jake finally touch you like you knew he wanted to.

But if Jake wasn’t going to start anything, then fine.

You’d just have to get creative.

You were done waiting. Done pacing your room like some love-struck idiot, breathless over fleeting glances and unfinished touches. So you went back to base one—teasing him.

You started small again. Soft shorts. Tank tops without a bra underneath. Bare legs propped up on the coffee table, shirts that slipped off your shoulder just right. Sometimes you’d walk past him fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, water glistening on your skin.

And you’d catch it.

The way his jaw clenched. How his eyes lingered a moment too long. How his hand would flex around whatever he was holding—his phone, a coffee mug, a pen—like he had to physically restrain himself.

There were moments, real ones, when you swore he was about to break.

Like the time he paused behind you at the sink, his breath brushing your neck as he reached around you to grab a glass. Or when you’d dropped your phone and bent over a little too slowly, feeling his eyes drag down your spine and lower.

You would’ve bet anything on it—he wanted you just as bad.

But he never made a move. Just smirked. Threw out a teasing comment. Something harmless and loaded all at once, like, “Careful. Keep walking around like that and you’ll drive someone crazy.”

And he would say it like he wasn’t already losing his mind.

So. Fine.

If he wasn’t going to crack, you’d push harder.

Jake had been home less and less lately. Long days, late nights, crashing in bed before you even got the chance to properly torment him. The apartment felt emptier—colder, despite the heat that still lingered in the walls.

And if Jake wasn’t around to see you, to touch you, to do something about the fire he started—

Then maybe someone else would.

So the next part of your plan was simple.

You started inviting guys over again. Not the sweet, awkward ones like before. No, these ones were confident. Forward. They didn’t hesitate to flirt, to touch your knee under the table, to compliment your lips or your dress or how good you looked that night.

You didn’t do much—at first.

A drink. A few laughs. A few almosts on the couch, just enough to remind yourself what it felt like to be wanted out loud. But with every guy who leaned in too close, every hand on your waist, every whispered compliment into your ear, there was always one thought in the back of your mind: This isn’t Jake.

And no matter how much you smiled, no matter how close you let them get... It was never enough. Because they weren’t him.

Their hands didn’t make your skin tingle. Their voices didn’t sink into your bones the way Jake’s did. You let them touch, let them talk, let them get close, but it was always a performance. A game you were playing for someone else, even if he wasn’t in the room.

Until one night, he was.

You were in the living room, low music playing from your speaker, the soft hum of city noise leaking in from the cracked window. The guy was cute—tall, smooth-talking, a little too confident for his own good, but he served his purpose. He made you laugh just enough. Said the right things. Touched your knee like he wanted more.

And at some point, you ended up straddling his lap on the couch. His hands resting on your thighs. Your arms lazily looped around his neck. His lips hovering just a breath from yours.

You weren’t even really listening to what he was saying. You were too focused on the phantom thrum beneath your skin. That part of you screaming that this wasn’t right. That it was too soft. Too staged.

That it wasn’t Jake.

And then—

Click.

The sound of the front door unlocking.

Your heart stopped.

The guy didn’t notice it at first, not until your body went a little too still in his lap, your fingers pausing mid-movement on his shoulder.

The door opened slowly. Jake stepped inside and froze.

His eyes landed on you in an instant. Then dropped to the guy’s hands on your thighs. The way your dress was bunched slightly around your hips. The angle of your body pressed against someone else’s. And for a second—just one second—he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. But his eyes… his eyes burned.

The guy beneath you tensed, sensing the shift in the air. “Uh… hey, man,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Jake didn’t respond. He just closed the door behind him, and then he turned his eyes to you. Not angry. Not confused. Just controlled—so tightly wound it sent a jolt straight through your chest. “Didn’t know we were having company,” he said, voice flat.

You swallowed. “You’re home early.”

Jake’s jaw flexed. “Clearly.” And then, without another word, he walked past you. Not a glance back. Not even a pause. But the air he left in his wake? Suffocating.

The guy under you cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… should I go?”

You didn’t answer right away, you just stared at the hallway Jake disappeared into, every nerve in your body lit like a fuse.

You couldn’t sleep—not that you really tried. Your thoughts were too loud, looping around the same moment again and again: Jake’s face when he walked in. The tension in his shoulders. The way he hadn’t even looked at you when he passed.

You sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, a bag of chips crinkled between your hands and a random video playing quietly on your phone. Something dumb. Pointless. Background noise to drown out the silence.

The light above the stove cast a soft yellow glow across the room, just enough to keep you grounded.

You were wearing nothing but a big, oversized t-shirt—Jake’s, actually. One you’d stolen weeks ago and never gave back. It hung just long enough to cover your thighs, but not by much.

And you didn’t hear him coming. Not until he was right there.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

You looked up, startled, and there he was standing in the doorway, barefoot, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray sweatpants that hung just a little too low on his hips. His hair was messy, his voice hoarse with sleep, and there was something heavy in his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t turn my brain off.”

Jake nodded once, his eyes dragging over you slowly, the way the shirt barely covered your legs, the familiarsight of his own shirt stretched across your chest. His jaw tensed.

“Didn’t hear you come out,” you added, trying to sound normal. Trying to pretend like your body wasn’t humming just from the sight of him in low light, all muscle and shadows and tension.

“I saw the light.” He leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossing over his chest. “Didn’t expect to see you still up.”

You gave a weak smile. “Guess I’m a little wound up.”

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “That why you had someone over earlier? To help you unwind?”

The words hit sharp and fast. Not loud. But laced with something bitter underneath. “Jake…”

He pushed off the counter slowly, stepping forward. “You can spare me the explanation,” he said, voice low, calm. “You don’t owe me one.”

“Then why bring it up?” you asked softly.

Jake stopped in front of you, close enough that your knees could brush if you shifted. His gaze dipped to your thighs, bare against the counter’s edge, then back up to your face. “Because,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you keep playing games.”

“I’m not,” you said, but it came out too fast. Too defensive.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, eyes locked on yours. “You walk around in barely anything. You touch me. You look at me like you’re begging me to do something about it—and then you invite some guy over and climb into his lap like none of it meant anything?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Jake stepped even closer, between your legs now, hands braced on either side of the counter beside your thighs. His body heat pressed into you, and suddenly you couldn’t hear your video anymore. Couldn’t feel anything except him.

He let out a short, breathless laugh, like he couldn’t believe any of this, like he was shocked at his own breaking point. His voice was rough, low, edged with something dangerous as he looked down at you. “You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll stop pretending like I don’t want it too.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his eyes boring into yours like he already knew the answer. But he wouldn’t move. Not until you said it.

You stared at him, heart thudding hard against your ribs, mouth dry.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

“I didn’t…” Your voice faltered. “I didn’t bring him over because I wanted him.”

Jake didn’t move, but his jaw flexed like he was forcing himself to stay still.

You exhaled shakily. “I—I thought maybe if I let someone else touch me, I’d stop thinking about you every time I was alone.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. His fingers curled against the counter.

You shifted slightly, knees brushing his thighs, and he stepped in closer like it was instinct, like he needed that space filled just as much as you did. You parted your legs without thinking, making room for him to stand between them.

The second he did, your breath caught.

He was so close now you could smell the warmth of his skin. See the tension in his shoulders. His hands stayed put, but his whole body was strung tight, like he was one word away from losing control.

You swallowed hard and pushed yourself to keep going. “I couldn’t sleep tonight because… I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to his chest before dragging back up to meet his gaze. “About how you look at me. About how you don’t touch me, even when I want you to.”

Jake leaned in just a little, breath brushing your cheek, his voice low and rough. “Then say it.”

You blinked up at him. “Say what?”

“What you want.” His stare never wavered. Unblinking. Unmoving. Like you were the only thing he could see in the world right now.

And you were trembling now—just slightly—but not from fear. From finally letting it crack. “I want you,” you breathed. “I want it to be you. It’s only ever been you.”

Jake exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for months. His hand lifted, slow, and brushed a thumb over your cheek, like he still wasn’t sure this was real. His other hand hovered at your thigh, not touching yet, but so close it made your whole body ache. “Say that again,” he whispered, like he needed to hear it.

You met his eyes—wild and dark and so full of something that made your knees weak. “It’s only ever been you, Jake.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. And then he moved. No hesitation this time. No teasing, no pulling back. Just heat—pure, crashing heat—as Jake surged forward and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate, full of months of pent-up want and frustration and all the words neither of you had said. His mouth crashed against yours, open, greedy, like he’d been dying to do it and finally stopped giving a damn about holding back.

You gasped into it, breath catching as his hands gripped your hips—firm, grounding, possessive. He pulled you forward on the counter, bringing you flush against him, like he needed to feel all of you to believe this was happening.

Your arms flew up around his neck, hands diving into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. His lips parted yours deeper, tongue brushing yours, slow and hot, tasting you like he’d dreamed about this a thousand times.

You kissed him like you’d been starving. Because you had.

His thumbs dug into the sides of your hips as your legs wrapped loosely around him, dragging him impossibly closer, and his body slotted perfectly between yours like it was meant to be there.

The kiss didn’t slow. It just burned. Over and over again, like you were trying to memorize each other through touch alone. Like he didn’t know where to start.

Your breath stuttered as you pulled back just a fraction, foreheads touching, your lips still brushing against his, swollen and warm. “You’ve been driving me insane,” you whispered.

Jake laughed softly, breathless. “Yeah? Good.” And then he kissed you again.

Deeper this time. Slower. Like now that he had you, he was going to take his time.

He kissed you slower now, but no less deep. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted, the way you sighed when his tongue slid over yours, the way you melted against him without hesitation.

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer until your hips were pressed to his, the friction making your whole body thrum. He groaned into your mouth, fingers flexing against your skin before they slipped beneath the hem of his shirt you wore—his shirt—and pushed it up inch by inch.

“Take this off,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, raw.

You nodded, dazed, and raised your arms.

He pulled the fabric over your head in one swift motion, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes dropped, lingering on your bare skin, the soft curve of your chest, the way you sat open for him on the counter, already breathless and flushed. “Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself, brushing his thumb gently along your ribcage. “You’re so…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

You reached for him again, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers brushing the skin just above it, and his breath hitched in response. His hands found your thighs again, sliding up, gripping tighter now, leaving heat in their wake, as he leaned in, kissing your jaw, then down your neck—slow, hot, dragging his mouth across your skin like he was trying to brand you.

You gasped when his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, one hand slipping up to cup your breast, thumb circling over your nipple until you arched into him. “Jake…” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you then, eyes dark, wild, so full of something you’d never seen in him before—need, adoration, hunger. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, his voice nothing more than a rasp. “I wanted you since the first night you walked out of your room in one of my shirts.”

You smiled, soft and shy despite everything, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then take me.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in another deep, aching kiss—this one rougher, messier, full of tension. His hands were everywhere, sliding over your bare back, gripping your thighs as your legs locked tighter around his hips, when he suddenly pressed you back against the counter, mouth trailing down your throat as his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you just enough to reposition you—right at the edge, legs parted around his waist. The cool counter beneath you clashed deliciously with the heat spreading through your skin.

Jake kissed down the slope of your chest, slow and lingering, and you gasped when his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue flicking just enough to make your back arch. His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as you rocked against him, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to hide how needy you’d become.

“You have no idea,” he muttered against your skin, “how many times I’ve imagined this. Right here. Just like this.”

You whimpered, fingers tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Then stop imagining.”

that was all it took for Jake to pin you against the kitchen counter, his body pressing firmly against yours, the cool marble at your back a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. His hands roamed possessively over your curves, tracing the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips. You could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, against your thigh.

Jake's hands grew more urgent, his touch becoming almost desperate as he explored your body, his fingers digging into your flesh. He ground against you, his hard length pressing into your thigh, the thin fabric of his sweatpants doing little to hide his need. You could feel the heat of him, the throb of his arousal, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

His mouth crashed down on yours again, his lips hungry and demanding. You parted your lips for him, your tongue meeting his in a desperate dance. Jake moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, sending waves of desire crashing over you. You gripped his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his flesh, holding him close, urging him on.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck, I need you," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "I need to feel you, taste you, be inside you." His hands roamed lower, cupping your ass, squeezing and kneading, pulling you harder against him. You could feel his cock, hot and hard, pressing against your core, the friction of his movements sending sparks of pleasure through you. You rocked your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, your body aching with need.

Pulling back slightly, his eyes met yours, dark with desire that made your heart race. In that moment, you caught a glimpse of the wet spot on his sweatpants, a testament to his arousal, and it sent a thrill of anticipation through you.

Before you could even gasp, Jake's hands were on your waist, pulling you down from the kitchen counter with a swift, fluid motion. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your bodies pressing tightly together as he kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervor that left you dizzy.

He guided you out of the kitchen, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body possessively. You could feel the heat of his desire, the urgency in his touch, and it matched your own need, your own desperation for him.

The journey to the bedroom was cut short when Jake suddenly slammed you against the wall of the hallway, his body pressing firmly against yours. His kiss deepened, becoming more desperate. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. When he pulled back, a thin string of saliva stretched between your lips. "Fuck, I need to taste you now," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire.

Before you could even form a question, Jake dropped to his knees, his hands hooking into the waistband of your panties. With a swift, fluid motion, he pulled them down, the fabric tearing slightly in his haste. He threw the panties over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.

He then propped your leg over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. And then, without hesitation, he dove in, his mouth finding your most intimate place, his tongue exploring, licking, devouring you like a man starved.

You cried out, your back arching, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him to you. Jake's tongue swirled and flicked, his movements urgent, desperate, as if he were trying to memorize every inch of you. He groaned against you, the vibration sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, your body trembling.

Jake's tongue kept swirling and licking, exploring every inch of you with a fervor that left you gasping for breath. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, each lick, each suck, each nip pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Jake!" you cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Oh god, Jake, I'm coming!" Your body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your inner muscles clenching and releasing. Jake groaned against you, the sound muffled but intense, as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening with your juices, a sight that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you.

You wobbled slightly, your legs trembling from the intensity of your release, but Jake was there, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. He guided you into his bedroom, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body possessively.

As he laid you down on his bed, you could feel the cool sheets against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Jake crawled between your legs, his eyes dark with lust, his breath ragged with desire.

"Jake," you started, your voice breathless, "I need a minute—"

But he cut you off, his hands spreading your thighs wide, holding you open for him. "Sorry baby... I need another taste," he moaned, his voice hoarse with need.

And with that, he dove back in without hesitation, his nose bumping against your clit, his tongue exploring, licking, devouring you once more.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets. Jake's tongue was relentless, his movements urgent, desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of you. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending fresh waves of pleasure through your body, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Jake," you moaned, your voice breathless, your body trembling.

After a while, Jake added another finger, his movements slow and deliberate, opening you up, preparing you for more. You cried out, your body tensing, your nails digging into his scalp, your hips bucking against his hand, his mouth.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "I'm so close... I'm so close..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust, his mouth glistening with your wetness. "Come for me," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. "Let me feel you come all over my fingers, my tongue."

With that, he dove back in, his tongue finding your clit, rubbing and circling, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot, pushing you over the edge.

"Jake!" you screamed, your body convulsing, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers, your juices gushing out, coating his hand, his mouth.

He groaned into you, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, drawing out your orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.

When you finally came down from your high, your body still trembling, gasps tumbling out of your mouth, Jake pulled back, his chin and fingers glistening with your juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I could eat you out all day."

You lay there, your body slack and sated, your breath slowly returning to normal, your eyes locked on Jake's as he crawled up your body, his hands roaming over your curves, his mouth finding yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, and it only served to heighten your arousal, to push you further into the abyss of pleasure.

Jake slowly pulled off his sweatpants, revealing his hard cock, red and angry, precum dripping and soaking it. He gave himself a few jerks, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and husky, his hand still moving slowly up and down his shaft. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking wet for me. You know, none of the other men you've been with could ever compete with me. I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, who can make you come this hard."

You whimpered, your body responding to his words, your inner muscles clenching with need. Jake leaned down, his mouth finding your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm going to fill you up so nicely, baby," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I'm going to stretch you out, shape your pussy to my cock. You're going to think about me every time you move, every time you sit down." With that, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock rubbing against your lips, spreading your wetness, teasing you, driving you wild. You could feel the heat of him, the throb of his arousal. "Please," you whispered, your voice breathless, your body aching with need. "Please, Jake. I need you inside me. I need you to fill me up."

Jake paused, his cock poised at your entrance, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and something more intense. "I'm not fully convinced," he murmured, his voice low. "You've been acting like such a slut, going around with other guys, letting them touch you, fuck you. How do I know you're not just using me for my cock?"

His words stung, bringing tears to your eyes, but they also sent a thrill of dark pleasure through you. "Jake," you begged, your voice hoarse with emotion. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I need you. Only you. I love you. Please, fuck me. Show me I'm yours. Show me I'm yours alone."

Something in your words, in your tears, in your desperate plea, seemed to snap something in him. With a low groan, Jake thrust into you, filling you completely, stretching you out, shaping you to him. You cried out, your back arching, your nails scraping along his naked back, holding him close, urging him deeper.

He stayed inside you for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his presence, his heat. You could feel every inch of him, the throb of his arousal, the power of his body, and it sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. Slowly, you began to clench around him, your inner muscles milking him, drawing him deeper.

Jake choked, a low gutteral sound that vibrated through you, his body tensing, his grip on your waist tightening. You did it again, clenching and releasing, squeezing him, and he pulled back slightly, his hips thrusting forward, filling you once more.

You gasped, your back arching, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Again," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, Jake. Do it again."

With a low moan, Jake complied, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, each thrust driving you higher and higher. Slowly, his pace picked up, his movements becoming rougher, more urgent, more desperate. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks, claiming you, marking you as his. The wet sounds of your connection filled the room, the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of your juices, the low moans, groans, and whines of pleasure.

Jake leaned down, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You know, I had to hold myself back so many times," he grunted. "I wanted to bend you over right there in front of your dates, show them who you really belong to. I wanted to fuck you so hard, so deep, that you'd never forget who owns this pussy."

You whimpered, your body responding to his words, clenching around him, drawing him deeper. Jake's pace quickened, his hips thrusting in a steady, relentless rhythm, each stroke driving you higher and higher.

"Remember that time I walked in on you kissing that guy in the campus library?" he continued, his voice a low rumble. "I wanted to punish you so badly. I wanted to throw you over that table, hike up your skirt, and fuck you right there, make you scream my name so loud everyone in the library would hear. Wanted to make you beg... make you forget every other man but me."

You were too far gone to respond, overstimulated and hot, your body trembling with each thrust, each stroke. You looked up at Jake, your eyes glazed with pleasure, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Jake chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Aww, baby, already cock drunk?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. "You can't even form words, can you? You're so far gone, so lost in pleasure."

With that, he reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing and circling, pushing you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing, clenching around him as you came, coating his his cock and his fingers.

You twitched slightly as he stilled, stopping his thrusts, instead opting to grind against you, his hips rolling, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, sending aftershocks of pleasure crashing over you.

You whimpered, your body oversensitive, your mind a haze of pleasure and need. Jake only shushed you, his voice low and soothing, his hands gentle on your skin. "Shh, baby, I've got you." With that, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty, your body aching with need. Before you could protest, he flipped you over, his hands grabbing your hips, positioning you on your hands and knees, your ass up, your pussy exposed and glistening.

The sudden feeling of Jake's mouth on your pussy again made you cry out, your body tensing with need. You tried to get out of his grip, your body too sensitive, your mind too far gone, but Jake only slapped your ass hard, the sound echoing in the room, the sting sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. "Jake," you moaned, your voice breathless, your eyes glazed with desire. "Oh god, Jake, please."

But Jake only continued, his mouth driving you wild. You didn't know if you were coming anymore, the pleasure and pain mashed together in a beautiful, chaotic mess. Your body was his to command, his to use, his to devour, and you were powerless to stop him, not that you wanted to.

When you tried to pull away, your body too sensitive, your mind too far gone, Jake only whined, and pulled you back to his mouth, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he feasted. "Fuck... Jake, I can't take anymore. It's too much. It's too intense."

As if in response to your plea, Jake's mouth suddenly shifted, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue flicking and swirling. With one big suck, he pulled your clit into his mouth, and you exploded. Your body shook violently, a scream tearing from your throat, as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and boneless, collapsing onto the bed, your body trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your mind a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. For a long moment, you lay there, your chest heaving, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

Eventually, you opened your eyes, your gaze drifting down to where Jake still sat and your eyes widened as you took in the sight of him. His eyes were fully focused on your pussy, his gaze hazy and hypnotized, as if he were in a trance, completely entranced by the sight and taste of you. His jaw, chin, and chest were dripping wet with your juices, glistening in the low light of the room. The realization hit you belatedly, and you gasped, your eyes widening in surprise. Jake had come, untouched, just from eating you out.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling. "Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion, your eyes locked on his. "Oh my god, Jake. You... you came?"

Jake looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more intense, as a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and husky, a note of pride in his tone. "You taste so fucking good, baby. I couldn't help myself. You made me lose control." With that, Jake flipped you over onto your back again, his movements swift and sure. He spread your legs, his cock already hardening again, ready for more. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and lingering desire, your body still tingling from your previous orgasms.

"Think you can you give me one more, baby?"

You shook your head, your voice breathless and hoarse. "I don't think I have any more, Jake. I'm spent..."

Jake only smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Then I'll have to take one more, won't I?" he said, his voice a low rumble, a promise of pleasure and possession.

Before you could respond, Jake thrust into you, filling you completely, his body covering yours, his weight a welcome pressure. You gasped, your back arching. "Jake!" you cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Oh god, it's too much!"

But Jake only growled, his hips moving in a fast rhythm, each stroke driving you higher and higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more. "You can take it, baby," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "You're so strong. You're so fucking perfect. Give me one more. Give me everything." As he spoke, Jake's mouth trailed down your neck, his lips and tongue leaving a path of fire in their wake. He sucked and nipped at your collarbone, marking you, claiming you, his teeth grazing your skin, his tongue soothing the sting, leaving dark marks.

You were only grabbing on, your hands fisting in the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric, your moans filling the room.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, his words slurred with lust and need. "So tight. So wet. So fucking perfect. I never want to leave your pussy. I want to fuck you every moment of every day. I'll never be satiated. I'll always be here when you want someone to fuck. I'll block every guy on your phone so I'll be the only one. The only one who can make you feel this good. The only one who can make you come this hard."

You whined, your body oversensitive, your mind a haze of pleasure and need, your voice a breathless, hoarse whisper. "Jake," you moaned, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise.

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes locked on yours, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "Let me feel you come all over my cock. Let me feel you milk me dry."

With a final, powerful thrust, Jake pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing weakly, your inner muscles clenching around him in a spasmodic, exhausted release. You cried out, your voice hoarse with pleasure, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm, but it was a weak, spent release, your body too far gone to give more.

Jake, luckily followed you over the edge, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing inside you as he found his own release. He moaned and whimpered, his eyes rolling up, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. You could feel him filling you up, his hot seed spilling deep inside you, marking you, claiming you.

For a long moment, you laid there, your bodies entwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal, the sounds of your pleasure still echoing in the room. Jake collapsed against you, his breath hot on your neck, his heart pounding in time with yours.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his pleasure. "So beautiful. So mine."

a/n: yeah.. so if this goes good, ill write more smut.

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bueckersleftbraid · 3 months ago

Text

”— Not For Real

WC: just abt 4.0k (trust it’s good even tho it’s short)

paring: pazzi ofc 🤗

warnings: ummm fluff, fake dating, rom com ass moments, paige lowkey being stupid

authors notes —> hi!! here is this. I sort of love it so I hope you do too! I wrote this quick so my apologies for how short it is but it’s very cutesy

THE PITCH

The coffee shop was nearly empty except for a few students buried in their laptops and an older couple sharing a newspaper by the window. Paige slid into the booth, her cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a takeout cup in one hand and skepticism written all over her face.

Azzi was already there, lounging like she owned the place, one leg crossed over the other and an unread book open in front of her like a decoy. Her sunglasses were perched unnecessarily on top of her head, her dark curls pulled back in a loose bun. She didn’t look frantic or upset — not the way her text had sounded— “Emergency. Meet me at Haven. Bring caffeine.”

“Alright,” Paige said, plunking her drink down. “I came. I caffeinated. What’s the ‘emergency’?”

Azzi gave her a look, one brow quirked, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was holding back a grin. Paige didn’t trust that expression. Azzi was rarely panicked. Calculated? Yes. Hyper-competitive? Definitely. But desperate?

Something was up.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

Paige blinked. “You—what?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “Just for a few weeks.”

Paige sat back, stunned. “This is a joke.”

“I’m completely serious.”

There was a silence between them, the kind that stretched and pulled like taffy. Paige stared, trying to figure out if Azzi had finally lost it.

Azzi’s tone was matter-of-fact. “My sister’s wedding is in three weeks. My parents are hosting half the extended family. And last year—because I was being cornered by four aunties asking why I was single—I might’ve said I was dating someone. Someone serious.”

“Oh my God.”

“I didn’t say it was you,” Azzi added quickly. “But now they want to meet her. And I panicked. And I may have shown them a photo from our joint charity game last summer. You looked good.”

“You—what?”

“I didn’t think they’d remember! But now they’re asking if you’re coming. And since I hate lying—”

“You’re literally lying right now,” Paige interrupted.

“—I figured it’s less lying if it’s you,” Azzi said, flashing a smile that could only be described as weaponized charm.

Paige stared at her like she’d grown another head.

She and Azzi had never been friends, not exactly. Their relationship existed in a gray area between reluctant allies and rivals. They knew each other’s weak spots. They pushed each other during games, sparred during interviews, and occasionally made nice at league events. There had always been tension there — a kind that hovered just on the edge of something else.

But this?

“Why me?” Paige asked finally.

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. Her expression turned serious — sincere in a way that Paige rarely saw from her.

“Because you can handle it,” she said. “My family can be… intense. They’ll ask questions. They’ll pry. I need someone who’s smart, quick, and can improvise. You’re the only person I trust not to crack.”

Paige felt a strange flicker of pride at that, which she quickly smothered. She hated how Azzi’s approval always stirred something in her.

“I don’t know,” Paige said, eyeing her warily. “What’s in it for me?”

Azzi smiled, like she’d been expecting that.

“I’ll owe you. Big time. I’ll even owe you publicly, if you want. You name the favor. I’ll make it happen.”

Paige took a slow sip of her latte, weighing her options. She could walk away. Tell Azzi she was out of her mind and let her deal with the fallout.

But instead, she said, “I want your warm-up playlist.”

Azzi went still.

“…You’re not serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” Paige replied. “The one you play with the wireless earbuds. The one you turn off the second someone gets too close. You give me that playlist, and I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Azzi looked betrayed. “That’s like—sacred. That’s mine.”

Paige smirked. “Then maybe you should’ve asked someone else to fake date you.”

Azzi muttered something under her breath and stared down at her coffee like it had betrayed her too. Then she sighed, reached into her bag, and pulled out her phone.

She scrolled, tapped, and then held it out. “You’re the worst.”

“I try,” Paige said, gleefully accepting the transfer.

There was a strange beat of silence after that, as if both of them realized this was no longer hypothetical. Azzi sat back, a little too calm again.

“So,” Paige said cautiously, “how exactly does this work?”

Azzi raised a brow. “We ease into it. Coffee shops, casual photos, a couple of public run-ins. We soft-launch the relationship by next weekend. Then the wedding. A few smiling family photos. Some lingering looks. Maybe even a dance. Two weeks after that, we stage a quiet breakup. Friendly. Mutual. Devastatingly mature.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You’ve thought this through.”

Azzi gave her a crooked grin. “You have no idea.”

THE ACT

Fake dating, Paige quickly realized, required a surprising amount of coordination.

There were rules, schedules, contingencies. Texts needed timestamps. Stories had to match. They spent an entire afternoon building a believable relationship history — from their “first coffee after a preseason scrimmage” to their “accidental slow dance at a teammate’s birthday party.” Paige had never spent so much time with Azzi without the sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood in the background.

And somehow, being around her without the structure of basketball— just sitting close on a couch, laptops open, occasionally stealing each other’s fries— felt more intimate than anything else they’d ever done.

It was during brunch on the first Saturday of the plan that things started to feel…off.

Not bad off. Just different.

Their table was tucked into the corner of a sunlit café that Paige didn’t usually frequent— the kind of place with overpriced avocado toast and artisanal jam in tiny glass jars. She kept checking the window, half-expecting someone to recognize them.

Azzi, meanwhile, looked utterly unbothered.

She was dressed in a soft brown sweater that brought out the warm undertones in her skin, her hair loose for once, curls brushing her shoulders. She’d insisted on sitting next to Paige instead of across from her — “Couples sit side-by-side. Optics.” — and now, her knee kept brushing Paige’s beneath the table like it was nothing.

It was not nothing.

Paige was hyper-aware of every point of contact: the press of Azzi’s shoulder, the occasional light touch on her wrist when Azzi laughed at something she said. And then there was the moment— the one Paige didn’t know how to explain— when Azzi reached across the table and gently, casually, brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

“Missed a spot,” she said, voice low, like it was just for her.

Paige stared, momentarily frozen. She barely managed a sarcastic “Thanks, Mom,” just to defuse the tension in her own chest.

Azzi only smirked.

Then— in full view of the table across from them— she reached down and laced her fingers through Paige’s.

Paige’s pulse jumped.

“What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath.

Azzi tilted her head. “Handholding. Basic public display. You want this to be convincing, right?”

“This is—” Paige trailed off, unable to find a word that didn’t sound like denial. Her fingers stayed tangled in Azzi’s for a beat longer than necessary before she forced herself to look away.

Convincing. Right. This was just for show.

But it felt like something else.

____

Later that evening, they found themselves scrolling through Instagram together on Azzi’s couch, reviewing what Azzi referred to as “launch content.” It had been Paige’s idea to soft-launch their relationship through stories and casual posts — enough to stir curiosity without a hard announcement. “Let the public fill in the blanks,” she’d said. “It’ll feel more real if people think they caught it happening.”

Azzi had been disturbingly into that idea.

“Okay,” Paige said, reviewing a photo Azzi had taken earlier — the two of them walking away from the café, arms looped together. It was slightly blurry, clearly taken from behind. “This one looks stolen. Paparazzi vibe.”

“Good,” Azzi said. “Tag it or leave it?”

Paige sighed. “Leave it. Keep them guessing.”

Azzi grinned, but her voice was quieter when she added, “You’re good at this.”

Paige didn’t look up. “At lying to the world?”

“At making it believable,” Azzi said. “Too believable, maybe.”

There was a silence between them.

Paige felt it stretch again — like the space between words you want to say but don’t know how to. The room was warm, too warm, and she suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were sitting closer than strictly necessary.

She risked a glance over.

Azzi was already looking at her.

Paige swallowed hard. “You’re kind of good at this, too.”

Azzi arched a brow. “Kind of?”

Paige shook her head, eyes flicking away.“Unfairly good.”

A smirk tugged at Azzi’s lips, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nudged Paige’s knee lightly with her own. “Don’t overthink it, Bueckers. Just follow my lead.”

That sentence echoed in Paige’s head for the rest of the night.

____

The first real test came the following weekend— a casual dinner with some of Azzi’s extended family visiting early for the wedding.

Paige had told herself she was prepared. She’d practiced their story, remembered names, even rehearsed a few go-to anecdotes. But nothing prepared her for the way Azzi introduced her:

“This is Paige,” Azzi had said, voice softening at the edges. “She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

It shouldn’t have hit Paige in the chest the way it did. But the pride in Azzi’s voice, the way she slipped an arm around her waist like it was second nature, it all felt too natural.

Too easy.

“You’re even prettier in person,” Azzi’s aunt said with a warm smile, making Paige blush hard enough to want to hide under the table.

“She is, isn’t she?” Azzi replied, grinning, and Paige gave her a warning glance that Azzi absolutely ignored.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation, wine, and shared glances that lingered a little too long. At one point, someone brought up future plans — careers, cities, and timelines — and Paige heard herself say something about “we’re figuring things out,” and Azzi didn’t correct her.

She just nodded. Like it was true.

Like it could be.

That night, after the guests had gone and they were back on the couch, Paige kicked off her heels and flopped backward with a groan. “I deserve an Oscar.”

Azzi collapsed next to her, eyes half-lidded from wine and exhaustion. “They love you already.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“You were perfect,” Azzi said quietly, not teasing for once. “Natural.”

Paige turned her head to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Sometimes I forget we’re faking it.”

Paige’s breath caught.

For a moment, the room felt too still. The words hung between them like something fragile — something dangerous.

“Don’t,” Paige said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t what?” Azzi asked.

“Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it.”

Azzi looked at her. Really looked. Then — just as softly — said, “Maybe I do.”

Paige didn’t answer.

She didn’t move.

She just let the words sit there, tucked between them on the couch, daring her to pick a side.

THE SHIFT

Paige had faced playoff pressure before. She’d stood at the free throw line with a championship on the line, heard arenas scream her name, stared down defenders with everything at stake.

And still, nothing made her feel quite as unsteady as walking into Azzi’s childhood home.

The place was beautiful — all warm wood and framed memories, the scent of something sweet in the air — but it wasn’t the house itself that threw her.

It was the fact that everyone knew who she was.

“Oh my god, the girlfriend!”

“You’re even cuter than the photos!”

“I heard she plays just as well as Azzi — is that true?”

“Do you want to see baby pictures?!”

Azzi watched it all unfold with thinly veiled amusement, her arm a steady presence at Paige’s back. She was too calm. Too smooth. Like she’d always known Paige would say yes. Like she’d planned for this exact moment.

Paige leaned toward her as soon as they had a sliver of privacy in the hallway. “Your family’s intense.”

“I warned you,” Azzi said with a smirk, then added, “You’re handling it like a pro.”

“I’m dying inside.”

Azzi bumped her shoulder. “You look great while doing it.”

The rehearsal dinner was the first real blow.

Paige had worn a soft cream dress that Azzi couldn’t seem to stop staring at — not that she ever said anything outright, just a glance too long when Paige wasn’t looking, or a compliment murmured so low it felt like a secret.

They sat together at the head table, posing for casual couple photos, telling rehearsed stories about “how we met” and “our first date,” laughing too easily, leaning in like magnets.

But it was during the toasts— when the groom’s brother started talking about soulmates— that Paige glanced over and caught Azzi watching her.

Not with amusement. Not with performance.

But with something soft. Bare. Real.

It was the kind of look no one gives unless they mean it.

Paige looked away, heart thudding in her chest, guilt bubbling like carbonation in her ribs. This was fake. This was supposed to stay fake.

But suddenly, she didn’t know if Azzi had ever drawn the line. And worse — she didn’t know if she had either.

____

That night, in the guest room down the hall, Paige lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.

She thought of how Azzi had casually brushed her hair over her shoulder earlier. Of the way she’d poured her wine without asking. Of how she’d reached for Paige’s hand in the dark when no one was watching.

This was the most dangerous part of the lie: the moments that didn’t serve the story. The things that weren’t for anyone else.

And then came the knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

She sat up. “Yeah?”

Azzi peeked through the door. She wasn’t in her dress anymore— just a pair of shorts and an old tee, her curls pulled back loosely, her expression unreadable. “You decent?”

“Depends on your definition,” Paige said, forcing a weak smile.

Azzi stepped in and leaned against the doorframe. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Paige watched her carefully. “Me either.”

There was a long pause.

Azzi broke it, quietly. “Can I tell you something?”

Paige nodded.

“I didn’t think this would get to me.” Azzi looked down, fiddling with a ring on her finger. “It was supposed to be simple. Clean. Controlled.”

“But it’s not.”

“No,” Azzi said. “It’s not.”

Paige felt her heart tug, just a little. “You’re not the only one.”

Azzi looked up at that— eyes locking onto hers, something raw flickering behind them. “When I look at you, Paige…” She stopped. Swallowed. “I forget we’re faking it.”

Paige didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

She just sat there, frozen, every nerve in her body firing at once.

Azzi crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough that Paige could see the tension in her shoulders. “You can tell me to stop. You can tell me it’s just a role. But I need you to know I’m not pretending anymore.”

Silence.

A long one.

Then, quietly— like a truth Paige had been holding in for days— she said, “I don’t want to pretend either.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers. “You mean that?”

Paige nodded, voice shaking. “Yeah. I do.”

____

The next day was chaos. Wedding prep. Final fittings. Tears and champagne and frantic flower girls. But somehow, through it all, Paige and Azzi found pockets of stillness.

A touch on the back as they passed each other.

A whispered joke during a photo session.

A look— held too long— when no one else was looking.

By the time the dance floor opened and Azzi reached for her hand, Paige didn’t hesitate.

They danced slow. Intimate. Their arms wrapped around each other like second nature.

“Everyone’s watching,” Paige murmured, her cheek brushing Azzi’s.

Azzi’s hand tightened at her waist. “Let them.”

“I feel like we’re supposed to kiss or something.”

Azzi paused. “Do you want to?”

Paige pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Not because we’re supposed to. Only if it’s real.”

Azzi looked at her like she’d already made that choice.

And then, quietly, deliberately— she kissed her.

Soft at first. Like a question. Then with more certainty, like she already knew the answer.

When they pulled apart, Paige didn’t look away.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” she whispered.

Azzi smiled. “Good.”

____

The kiss didn’t shatter anything.

It settled something. Quiet and unforced, it slipped between them like a puzzle piece finally falling into place. Not a performance, not a statement— just Paige and Azzi, wrapped in music and low light, eyes closed to the world and open only to each other.

And then, slowly, the moment passed.

They pulled apart, breath brushing between them, eyes locked. Paige blinked first.

Someone behind them cheered— not for them, for the newlyweds— and the real world came rushing back.

But nothing about them felt fake anymore.

They didn’t talk about the kiss right away.

Paige needed space to think. She slipped away from the reception after midnight, half-drunk on champagne and adrenaline, and found herself sitting on the venue’s back steps, heels dangling from her hand.

She was running her thumb over the lip of a glass when Azzi found her.

“You always disappear after the good parts,” Azzi said, voice soft as she stepped into the night.

Paige didn’t look over. “Wasn’t sure if it was a good part.”

Azzi sat beside her. Close, but not touching. “It was for me.”

That quiet admission settled in Paige’s chest like warmth in cold hands.

She exhaled. “I don’t know where the line is anymore.”

Azzi didn’t speak for a moment. Then, “I think it’s gone.”

Paige finally turned to look at her.

Azzi’s hair was wind-tousled, cheeks flushed from dancing. Her eyes, though, were steady. “This stopped being fake a while ago. We just didn’t want to be the first to say it.”

Paige bit her lip. “And now?”

“Now I want to know what it looks like when it’s not a performance.”

There was no crowd to play to here. No family. No cameras. Just moonlight, soft music from inside, and two people trying to find their footing.

“I’m scared it’s not different enough,” Paige admitted. “That it’ll feel the same, and somehow that’ll make it less real.”

Azzi reached for her hand. “Then we make it different.”

“How?”

“Let’s start with this.” Azzi’s voice was calm but certain. “Tomorrow— no stories. No setups. We go on a real date. Just you and me.”

“No pretending?”

“No pretending.”

Paige nodded slowly, almost like a dare to herself. “Okay.”

Azzi smiled. “Okay.”

____

They danced again before the night ended.

Not for show, not for pictures. Just the two of them, alone near the edge of the floor, slow-swaying to a song no one else was paying attention to. Azzi’s arms were loose around her waist, and Paige let her forehead rest against Azzi’s collarbone.

No eyes on them.

No script.

No lie.

Just a beginning — unspoken, but undeniably real.

THE RAIN

The wedding glow didn’t last.

Maybe it was the travel. Or the shift back to real life. Or the fact that what had started as a joke— a fake relationship to get through a weekend— had suddenly become something far too delicate to joke about.

Whatever it was, by the time they were back home, something between them had changed.

Paige pulled away first.

Not in a dramatic, obvious way. It was subtle— fewer texts, fewer “just because” calls, excuses about being tired, busy, overwhelmed. She showed up late to dinner one night and didn’t lean in when Azzi brushed her hand.

Azzi noticed every beat of it. Every flinch. Every pause.

But she didn’t push.

Not yet.

____

“You good?” Azzi asked one night, when they were sitting side by side on Paige’s couch, a game on the TV, untouched.

Paige didn’t look over. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Paige let out a short breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“With me?”

“With any of this.”

Azzi paused. “You want out?”

“No. Yes.” Paige rubbed her face, eyes burning. “I don’t know.”

Azzi didn’t say anything.

Because what could she say, when Paige was already slipping through her fingers?

____

The next few days were worse.

Paige stopped answering. Not just texts — calls, too. She skipped their usual Sunday shootaround. She didn’t invite Azzi to the fundraiser dinner they’d planned to go to together. She didn’t say anything was wrong.

She just stopped showing up.

____

It was raining when Azzi finally found her.

Not a soft drizzle— a downpour, the kind that soaked through clothes in seconds, that made the whole world feel like it was breaking open.

Azzi didn’t care.

She stood outside Paige’s building, coat already heavy with rain, hair clinging to her face, and poundedon the buzzer until someone let her in.

She didn’t call first.

She didn’t text.

She just knocked on Paige’s door, hard, until it opened.

Paige stared at her, stunned. She was barefoot in a hoodie, face pale and tired, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything.

Azzi didn’t wait.

“You don’t get to ghost me,” she said, soaked and furious. “Not after all of that.”

Paige swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“No. You were. And I let you. Because I thought maybe you needed space, but now I’m standing here in a storm, and I’m not leaving until you say whatever it is you’re afraid to say.”

Paige’s voice cracked. “This isn’t going to work.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“This thing. Us.” Paige stepped back like she couldn’t bear her own words. “It was supposed to be fake. We were never meant to be real. It’s too much. It’s too fast. And I’m going to mess it up.”

Azzi took a step inside. “You’re not messing it up. You’re running from it.”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just scared.”

Paige’s eyes welled up, but she held her ground. “I’ve never had anything like this before, Azzi. Not with anyone. I don’t know what it looks like to let it be real.”

Azzi stood there, soaked to the skin, heart wide open. “You want to know what it looks like?”

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi closed the space between them. “It looks like me, right now, standing here completely drenched, because I love you so much I couldn’t not come. It looks like two people terrified out of their minds choosing each other anyway.”

Paige froze.

Azzi’s voice dropped. “I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then Paige stepped forward— one shaky, breathless step— and kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Like a dam breaking.

And in the middle of it, she whispered, “I love you too.”

____

Later, they lay tangled on the couch, wrapped in towels and each other, the storm still whispering against the windows.

Neither of them spoke for a while. There was nothing to explain.

Because for the first time, nothing was pretend.

And neither of them was running.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #wlw fiction #uconn huskies #pazzi crumbs

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mimiheartsheros · 3 months ago

Text

a song already written

din djarin x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k

summary ⋆·˚ ༘ *: you live a simple life on the planet lah’mu, working as a farmer (& occasional mechanic). your life had routine and was undisturbed, until one day a man, clad in beskar armour walked onto your farm and asked for a place to stay— as the weeks roll by, you become closer to the masked man and his small green companion.

(rogue one is mentioned like once, reader was previously a spy in the rebellion, lah’mu is the planet at the beginning of rogue one for those who don’t know, readers family comes from mandalore, reader WAS a mandalorian but not apart of ‘the watch’— only mentioned a few times, sometime between s1 & 2, no use of y/n, reader speaks mando'a (I provided translations)).

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of injury, nudity, sexual content/themes(?), alcohol consumption, fluff, angst(??),reader & din are lonely & touch starved lmao, extreme overuse of the words 'pang' and 'twinge', awkward first encounters, over usage of “—“ and commas, explicit content, the helmet stays ON. correct capitalisation not used, terrible writing overall tbh so bare with me pls :( — lmk if I missed anything :)) !!not entirely proofread!!

the weather on lah’mu was unpredictable. most of the time it was some sort of foggy overcast, which you didn’t mind— helped with your moisture farming. it helped keep your crops healthy, and that in turn helped you earn credits.

there was the occasional cold snap— the ground would frost over, the lakes, the cattle would die. you couldn’t count on both your hands how many times one of your orbak’s had died in the cold overnight. then the summer would roll around, more sunshine, less damp, happier cattle. simple.

that was until about 3 days ago.

you’d been out harvesting vegetables from your crops not far from your home, when you’d met him. you heard his footsteps against the damp ground before you actually saw him. you dropped what crops were in your hands into a crate and hovered your dominant hand over your blaster holstered at your side.

he was tall, broad, and incredibly metallic. he broke the silence first— “hello.” he had said. a crackle running through the modulator in his helmet. you recognised the composition of his armour, beskar no doubt, and it was clear he was a mandalorian. what is he doing out here? you wondered.

“can i help you?” you replied. water droplets rolled down your outer coat and your cold, flushed cheeks.

“i’m looking for shelter. my ship is in need of repair and as far as i can tell the nearest town is at least a days journey from here.” his voice is clear, confident.

“you’d be right. there’s a few outposts— trading, medical, what not. you’re not gonna find someone to fix it there.” you rambled, picking up the crate that lay next to your feet and taking a few steps closer to him.

“i might be able to help. i know a thing or two about mechanics.” you continued.

his helmet tilted in relief (you had assumed). “great.” he said. “i’m willing to pay in exchange for your assistance.”

“you any good at gathering, forging and harvesting?” you asked. you did need help getting the rest of your crops ready and its produce out to the surrounding inhabitants.

he nodded in silent reply.

“good. come on in and i can get you settled.” you turned back towards the house, carrying the crate with vegetables on your hip.

the door opened with a soft hiss, the warmth from inside contrasting the cold breeze from outside. there was a warm glow inside your home. no large overhead lights, but lots of smaller lamps. mando took note of the way your coat hang over a bucket to collect the rainwater that still was clung to its fabric. your home was spacious, but cozy. you walked toward the kitchen area and placed the crate into the sink, then back towards him.

“i have a spare room, it’s not large but it should keep you comfortable.” your gaze fell behind him. a small metal cradle followed his every step.

he followed your eye-line, slightly tensing. the cradle opened to reveal the child. small, asleep, and peaceful. you turned your face back to the mandalorian and smiled. “i wasn’t expecting a baby as well.”

“he’s older than me.” he informs. you chuckle and lead him to the room at the end of the hall. the door opens with another soft hiss, and mando is pleasantly surprised. the room has a large bed, dresser, mirror and sink, and a small window closer towards the ceiling. there’s a small lamp beside the bed that is giving off a warm orange hue. he steps inside and looks over the room in more detail. it’s much nicer than the hostels he's accustomed to and winds up in most nights when the razor crest is having some sort of repairs done. it feels like a home.

"bathroom is down the hall, next to my room. you're welcome to use anything you need, so is the little guy."

"well, that's bound to happen." he chuckles softly. "thank you." he holds out his hand for you to shake. you willingly accept with a warm smile.

"why don't you show me your ship, and i can start to get my head around what needs looking at?" you turn your body towards the 'common area' of your home. there's a curved couch off to the side, surrounded by several crates used for storage and some others with crops, tools, and one with just blankets, etc. you step back toward the door and pick up your tool box on the way out, reaching up for your coat on the hook.

"sure. sooner you start, the sooner I'll be out of your way." he follows behind you closely. the cradle stays stationary in his the room.

you nod. he leads you a little ways away from your fields to where the razor crest sits upon the black soil. it's not the most glamorous ship you've ever seen, but your breath is still taken away by it. it's old, like most of the ships you see in and out of the outposts regularly. a thin coat of dust from the soil coats the bottom of the ship, while the rain drips slowly off of the top. he walks ahead of you again and the ramp descends. the first thing that catches your attention in the cargo hold of his ship is the several bodies that hang, frozen in carbonite. a bounty hunter, you think to yourself- making a mental note. as you take in more of the ship, there's various metal chests and crates, a small armoury, and a cot off to the side. considerably smaller than the bed you've provided for him.

"what seems to be acting up?" you ask as you continue to walk further into the ship.

"my stabilisers gave out on entry, the hyperdrive also has been having some hiccups. I can't fly in realspace, it's too dangerous." his voice laced in frustration. understandable.

you hum in reply. "bounty hunter, I assume?" you question simply. his helmet tilts towards you. "yeah" he nods & says after a pause, "that a problem?" he presses.

"no." you smile slightly. he nods again. "good." his voice is flat. he leads you to the hyperdrive, and you kneel down to get a closer look. it's steaming and giving off heat. you mentally curse. it's not going to be a particularly easy job, AND the stabilisers need work too. you didn't realise you had actually sighed until the mandalorian shifts his weight behind you and finally sighs out, "how bad is it?"

you take a moment to do the mental math, "it could take a few weeks, at least.. the hyperdrive is too hot right now to do anything to it- but giving off steam isn't a good sign. the only comfort I get from looking at it is that it's still bright, if the light was dimmed or flickering then that would be symptom of a bigger problem. what's up with the stabilisers again?" you rise up to his level again, not realising how close your bodies are until he speaks again.

"they gave out, mostly the rear ones. makes it pretty hard to see how to land since the nose rises. it's choppy but not unbearable." he shifts again.

you nod. more mental math going on in your head. "when are you hoping to get off planet?— soon, with the bounties, I assume you have a time period?" you question, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"I don't have to be back to deliver for a while. my employer knows I have the bounties in carbonite. not like they're going anywhere." his voice is steady. he tilts his head down slightly to see your face fully. you're suddenly aware of the proximity of your bodies. you can almost hear his steady breaths from underneath the helmet.

you nod again, squeezing past him and back into the cargo hold. "I can get started straight away, if you want. a few hours of daylight left. I prefer not to work in the dark."

"okay." he moves past you and down the ramp. you watch as he disappears around the corner of the ship and out of sight before you place your tool box down and crack it open, gathering what tools you'll need. you strip yourself of your raincoat and lay it on the ramp, not wanting to get any rain water on the floors. you get to work quickly on the stabilisers, locating the door panel for the side door and opening it in hopes that it'll help the hyperdrive cool down quicker. you start compiling a inventory of spare parts you may need- but ultimately decide to come back to that when you start on the hyperdrive. the stabilisers are an easy fix. a lot of the time they start to act up because they're out of alignment, easily done if you’re regularly getting yourself into dogfights, hard landings, and climbing too quickly from initial takeoff— the stabilisers get confused because of the speed of climb combined with your low altitude. you make easy work of it, tightening a few bolts and carefully aligning the pieces back together. the rain starts up again, the soft pitter patter being heard from the rain hitting the top of the ship. you easily swing into work, completely focused.

as the daylight starts to slowly fade into evening dark, you gather your tools again and walk back to the hyperdrive to check on the temperature. it's cooling down, slowly but surely. you decide to pick that job back up in the morning. you close the side door before making your way down the back ramp. tool box in hand, you make your way back to the house.

the clang of your tool box being dropped a little too carelessly startles the mandalorian, he turns towards the door with the cradle now next to him as he sits on the couch.

"stabilisers are fixed, the hyperdrive is still too hot to do anything. hopefully the rain will cool down the ship and the hyperdrive and I'll pick it up tomorrow." you ramble, taking off your boots and raincoat, leaving them in their designated places by the door.

"thank you." he says. the cradle is empty, and you spot the small green creature sat on the other side of the couch with a small metal ball in his hands. you smile.

"you hungry?" you pace to the kitchen.

"sure. the little one needs to eat, too." he pushes the cradle away and stands.

"I've got pog soup. just needs to reheat." you pull the large pot onto your stove, setting the heat to low so it simmers.

the mandalorian perks up. he can't remember the last time he had something so traditional. a common meal on mandalore.

you walk back past the couch and towards the fresher. "I'm gonna freshen up, heat is on low so if it start's bubbling over, just turn it off." he nods and follows your frame. once you disappear into the fresher and the door locks, he looks around the room. various lamps start to turn on the darker it gets outside, a soft warm hue all over. there's several crates scattered over the room. harvested crops sitting on the counter next to the sink, some books next to the couch on a small side table, nothing he recognised. he slowly steps around the room, he spots the rifle holster next to the door, pristine condition. either hardly used or just magnificently well looked after. there is a small wardrobe in the corner of the room, a light on the panel to it occasionally blinking. his curiosity peaks and he walks over, pressing the button to it. the door slides upwards into the ceiling and reveals a set of mandalorian armour kept neatly inside.

his heart rate picks up. where did you get it? why do you have it? these reel through his head, his trail of thought interrupted by the child cooing next to his feet. he closes the wardrobe and picks him up. "I'm not sure about this one, kid." the child tilts his head and coos again. mando sighs out slowly. the sound of the fresher door opening makes him raise his head again, hand on his holster.

you walk out from the hall way, hair damp from the shower. "the food should be hot enough now." you say as you reach the kitchen, pulling three bowls out from a cupboard.

"where'd you get the armour?" he questions. you place the bowls on the counter slowly. "did you kill someone for it?" he accuses in a flat tone.

"no." you reply.

"how do you have it?" he presses further.

"it's been in my family for a few generations. my parents come from mandalore, I was raised as one." you confess.

"you remove your helmet?" he's puzzled. that's when you realise he's a child of 'the watch'.

your muscles relax. "are you apart of 'the watch'?"

"yes. we follow the way." he stays still.

"'the watch' follows the ancient interpretation of The Way. more spiritual too." you continue, serving some of the soup into each bowl.

"you don't follow it?" he steps forward.

"no. my family followed the more modern practices." you push a bowl across the counter towards him. he relaxes a bit, stepping in front of the counter and setting the child down on top of it. he coo's at his own bowl and sits down.

"Gaa'tayl yourself" help yourself, you say.

"gar jorhaa'ir mando'a?" you speak mando'a?, he replies.

"yeah." you pick up your own bowl and sip on your soup. "my mother taught me."

he hums, his own bowl closer. he lifts his helmet just high enough so he can drink from it. "you're a devout follower of the way?" you inquire, leaning against the counter with your hip. he slips his helmet back on fully, "yes." without elaborating. the child burps after finishing his bowl and you chuckle. a light laugh comes through mando's modulator. it makes you smile. a reminder of his humanity beneath the thick and heavy beskar that is adorned across his body.

after the child finished about 4 more bowls of pog soup, he crashed on the couch and was softly snoring. you sat outside under the cover of your porch, listening to the rain and thunder. the mandalorian stood in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed. there was comfortable silence between you two, only being interrupted by the crashes of thunder. mando occasionally turned his gaze to you, taking in your frame from where you sat, in your rocking chair. the soft creak of the wood falling into a soothing rhythm. you decide to break the silence first, "I'll try to work quickly on the hyperdrive, I might need to go to one of the outposts if I don't have the parts I need." you turn your head slightly towards him, awaiting a reply, and he does. "I can give you the credits for the parts." he offers.

"don't worry, I'll see what I have in my inventory first." turning your head back towards the vast fields that stretch for miles, the mountains in the distance being illuminated by the lightning.

"so you're a farmer?" mando asks, tiredness creeping into his voice. "yes, not where I thought I'd end up but, I'm happy." you inform.

"what did you do before?" he asks. you contemplate telling him your whole life story or a summarised version, settling on the latter.

"after the purge on mandalore, my father brought me to Tatooine. my mother died during the purge, and my father soon after. he had a bounty out on him from the empire. I managed to hide. he left me my mother's armour before he gave himself up. he was wanted dead, so I assume that's how he ended up after he was taken." you pause. the mandalorian shifts his weight on his feet, taking in everything.

"I started to do jobs here and there," you continue. "fixing speeders, handling market stalls while the owners went to do other business, helping out on moisture farms, running errands, things like that. I had finally managed to save up enough credits to get off of Tatooine and made my way to Alderaan. I enrolled in their education programme— I studied linguistics for a while, then mechanics, and eventually politics. my teachers then realised I had no valid or real identity documents, so I was expelled. started doing more jobs here and there until they released the same." you continue to ramble. mando listens intently.

"what did you do then?" he presses.

"whatever I had to. I started to steal things here and there. then I moved on to stealing bigger things— cargo shipments, things like that. then by accident I ended up stealing valuable information off of a rebel informant, which led the rebels to me. they recognised my talent for stealing things and offered me a position in the rebellion. steal intelligence, commit treason against the empire, that sort of thing. I eventually got partnered up with other rebel spies. a man named cassian andor was my longest standing partner. the others thought I was too reckless and had me reassigned after a few weeks. not cassian, though. he lead the assault team on scarif, while I fought off the aerial assault, to steal the Death Star plans. I never saw him or the rest of his squad again. after the Death Star was destroyed, I bailed out. thought that was the end of it, clearly not." you chuckle sadly.

mando steps closer, still listening silently.

"decided it wasn't for me after that. maybe I'll go back."

"you still believe in the cause?" he speaks up finally. "of course." you turn your face to him. "I of all people understand the importance of bringing the empire to its knees, like it does to so many people." you finish. he nods.

"then I came to lah'mu. an older woman needed help on her farm since she was slowing down with her old age, I offered myself willingly. she left everything to me after she died. she had no family, so now it's mine. I take care of the harvest each season and the small amount of cattle too. mostly orbak's to help with gathering." you add.

"orbak's aren't native to this planet, must be expensive?" he inquires more. "well, I had more. the old lady had bought them with some sort of pension money. a few have died in the cold snaps we had over the past few winter cycles. I'm trying to build them a hut outside, but, building materials are sparse right now." you finished your rambling. "I'm gonna turn in, the door will lock itself. Just put in the code I told you earlier if you get locked out." you stand from your chair and step past him into the house. "goodnight."

"night" he nods. the door slides closed after you disappear inside. Mando decides to check on the ship before turning in himself, walking out into the rain and past the fields.

when he walks onto the ship, he's taken aback by how tidy you left everything. he’s used to other mechanics making a mess of his cargo while they work and not leaving it how they found it. he inspects the stabilisers and is pleased with them. he checks the hyperdrive before returning to the house and it's cooling down nicely.

before mando sleeps, he picks grogu up from the couch and places him in his cradle, closing it as he stations it in the corner of his room. he waits until he can't hear any movement from your room to strip himself of his beskar and helmet, walking to the fresher in the dark. when he comes back to his room he puts his flight suit back on and his helmet, before succumbing to sleep. the bed cradles his own body, moulding to him.

weeks had passed, and you were still working on the razor crests hyperdrive. it had proved to be a harder job than you had anticipated. you had profusely apologised to mando for the hold up, and he had repeatedly told you to stop apologising. over the last couple of weeks you had grown closer together. you started to occasionally have conversations in mando'a— his was rusty, so you helped tutor him on it. he had told you about grogu and how he came to become his 'guardian' of sorts. you learned after a few too many osskorn stout's, that his name was din. it rolled off the tongue nicely. you had told him your name too, and it's mandalorian origins. you had become friends.

it was nice to have someone around. since there wasn't many large settlements on lah'mu, you had gotten used to only seeing the same 10-15 people at the various outposts that you frequented. you wouldn't say you were friends with any of the surrounding farmers and traders, but you were friendly. you'd trade things among yourselves, crops or vegetables for scrap parts and scrap building materials, meals for clothing, etc. during din's stay he had helped you build a hut for the orbak's, just like you wanted.

you both had grown accustomed to falling into a routine with one another. he'd help you with the farm, you'd help with the crest, with grogu, and so on. you made it a habit to sit out on the porch of an evening and watch the world pass by— sometimes in silence, and sometimes you'd talk for hours. you'd covered about every conversation topic possible by week 5.

you'd also started to become frustrated with one another, as well. you'd bicker like an old married couple on occasion, over small insignificant things. you told yourself it was only because you'd both been alone for so long that you weren't used to the constant company. whenever you'd get in a real snit, din would go for a walk to cool off. you'd wash what vegetables you'd gathered that day and cook something with them, and play with grogu to self regulate your emotions. din would always come back, his demeanour calmer. you'd place a bowl in front of him with some sort of meal, and he'd always apologise first. it was sweet really. you'd never admit it to him, but you'd started to procrastinate your progress on the crest because you didn't really want him to leave. you started to feel a pang in your chest whenever you would get close to him, and he felt a twinge in his— but neither of you paid too much attention to it or at least tried not to.

one morning you'd both quested to ride out to one of the further outposts, the two closer ones didn't have what you needed. grogu sat in a satchel on the side of the orbak that din rode, cooing at the birds that flew above. you didn't usually venture out this far until the summer, when the weather was more predictable and forgiving, but this was a trip of necessity. bandits were known to roam those areas, so you tended to steer clear of it as a single woman, but you felt safer with din. your rifle strap had started to dig into your shoulder and neck by hour 2, and you still had a handful of miles to go until you reached the outpost. while you were passing through one of the mountain valleys, the orbak's had gotten spooked by something. "easy! easy..." you tried to calm them, but to no avail. soon enough, it was revealed what had spooked them.

bandits. about 5 of them. you cursed internally. you knew this wasn't a good route to take. din immediately went into bounty hunter mode, pulling his rifle closer to him and ready for anything. your hand was over your own blaster. you knew better than to come this way, you thought.

the bandits had their own blasters and rifles raised as they made their way closer towards the two of you, your orbak's still unsettled. "what do you want?" you interrogated. one of them spoke in an alien language you didn't really understand, but you got the gist of it. they wanted whatever cargo you had with you, and din's armour.

"you'd have to take this armour off of my cold dead body." din replied immediately.

one of the bandits cursed and raised his rifle higher. you started to map out an escape route in your mind. from the looks of it, they were all on foot— probably camping out until some unfortunate souls, like you and din, had come through the valley. you reckoned that you two could out run them on the orbak's. you turned your head towards din and nodded. then you unholstered your blaster and shot the one closest to din and your orbak's bolted. the other bandits immediately started to fire on you, one hitting your orbak's leg. it tumbled over and took you with it. you scrambled to your feet and started firing back at them, ducking behind a rock. din quickly dismounted his own orbak and fired back at them as well.

"so what's your plan of getting out of here??" he yelled over. "my plane was flee, but clearly that didn't work!" you yelled back.

"you think?" he fired at them again. you were outnumbered, any regular traveller would be signing their own death warrant in this situation, but you and din were mandalorians, trained from infancy and early childhood. battle coordination was second nature to you both. you decided to push up further towards them, and din gave you cover fire. you had to admit your aim wasn't as good as it used to be— out of practice, you told yourself.

while you weren't paying attention, you got a blaster bolt to your upper shoulder and your side. rookie mistake. din called out your name, and pressed forward. you managed to pull yourself behind another rock while blaster fire still rained. din pressed various buttons on his vambrace, and several mini rockets shot out of the other one— taking down the rest of them.

"couldn't you have done that earlier?" you said, dripping in sarcasm. when you went to laugh, the pain in your ribs was too powerful. you winced and clutched your side, pulling away to see blood. not too much, but enough to make you worry. din shuffled over to you quickly and knelt by your side, his eyes scanning over your body for any other injuries. as far as he could tell, it was just your shoulder and side that got hit. thank the maker, he thought to himself. one hand came to your side, the other to cup your cheek. pang. "you okay??" his voice more panicked than before.

"never better." you managed a smile. he shook his head and chuckled. "always gotta be a smarts.." he added. he helped you rise to your feet while you still clutched your side, picking your blaster up from the floor and holstering it for you. you limped towards his orbak, your own still on the floor. it's leg was hurt badly. there was no way that you could get it back to the farm, or to the outpost, to help it. you sighed in defeat. "he's not gonna make it back.." you nodded towards it, lying on the ground, struggling to stand back up.

din walked you over to his orbak and you held onto the saddle to balance after he let go. he walked over to the other orbak and took his pistol in his hand and shot the animal in the back of the head. quick and painless. you felt relief come over you, and then the pain started— your adrenaline wearing off now. you winced again, clutching tighter onto the saddle next to you.

din strutted over to you, "how far is the outpost? do they have medical supplies there?" he rushingly asks. "it's still about 30 miles. we won't get there until dark, and by now there's probably more bandits in the area." you clutched your side tighter to try and ease the pain that was overstimulating your senses.

"how far back home?" he helps you balance by holding you up by your forearm. that familiar pang in your chest. "about 15. if the orbak gallops we can get back in an hour." you reply between winces. din nods. his hands fall to your waist and he lifts you onto the back of the orbak like you weigh nothing. another pang in your chest. his hands linger at your waist longer than they needed to. din hoists himself up on the saddle behind you after, taking the reigns of the orbak and turning him around, setting a steady speed back towards home.

you steadied yourself by grabbing the handle at the front of the saddle, the occasional coo's of grogu helping you distract yourself from the lingering ache and burning sensation that was tearing into the left side of your body. eventually, exhaustion over took your body and you somehow managed to lull to sleep, your head resting against din's shoulder. he had tried to keep you awake, distract you by asking various questions about the crest. 'how do you align the stabilisers?', 'whats the most common type of hyperdrive circuit arrangement for pre-new republic ships?', etc.

as soon as you reached the house your eyes snapped open to the sudden halt of movement. you pulled yourself forward so that din could slide down, before he took you by the waist again to get you down. he grabbed the satchel with grogu inside and helped you slowly hobble into the house. he set you down on the couch gently, along with the satchel. grogu crawled out and wobbled towards you, putting his small hand on your arm.

"medkit?" din asks. you silently point to a metal cupboard by the wardrobe. din paces over to it quickly, taking out all it's contents. bacta, he thought, perfect.

"I hope you're not scared of needles." he said before injecting the bacta syringe into your thigh, not giving you time to respond. your pain immediately started to subside. you thanked the maker. din peeled off your raincoat slowly, careful not to pull your arm too much to keep the pain in your shoulder to a minimum. your head fell back against the top of the sofa, your breathing becoming a little less rapid as the bacta targeted your wounds. the blaster bolt had gone completely though your coat and shirt. go figure. din had a mental dilemma with himself. he had to remove your shirt to properly treat your injuries. dank farrik.

"I... need to take this off." he said flatly, almost shy— like he was excepting you to say 'get fucked'. but you didn't, you just nodded. he carefully and agonisingly slowly lifted your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a bra. a twinge in his chest. a pang in yours.

"gota'la" maker, you said with a string of curses afterwards. din cracked open the medkit and pulled out what he needed. some sort of burn ointment, an antibacterial spray, and some gauze along with bandaging tape. he took his gloves off to be more effective, revealing warm, tanned skin. such a contrast to his cold leather gloves that he always wore. pang.

he started by spraying the antibac on your skin, and suddenly the bacta didn't seem as effective as it was before. you hissed and clamped your teeth together, your head lulling forward, grabbing onto din's forearm. a twinge in his chest. "I gotcha.." he reassured you softly. your head rested back on the couch as din continued to nurse you. the burn ointment helping to cool the skin, the sting starting to wear off again. your grip on his arm relaxed. he started to piece you back together, protecting the wounds with gauze, and taping it in place securely. you sighed with relief once he was finished, your hand slipping from his arm to his hand. another twinge.

"better?" he asked. "better." you repeated back to him. a sigh of relief coming through his modulator. grogu coo'd happily, shuffling away to his cradle and climbing in. you raised your head to look at din. his eyes searched for any discomfort in your face from under his helmet, behind the visor. another twinge.

"thank you." you sighed quietly. "I don't know why I took us that way, I know better than to go through that valley."

"hey. we made it out alive, that's the important part. maybe with one less orbak, but we made it back home." he soothed you, his hand coming to cup your cheek. pang. twinge.

butterflies.

both of your breathing steadied, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. you leaned into his touch shamelessly. pang, twinge.

you both stay there for a moment, you splayed against the couch, and din crouched between your knees. you hadn't realised the compromising position you were until now, and neither did he.

pang, twinge.

"you better not take advantage of me while I'm vulnerable, mando." you teased.

"din." he corrected you. "din" you echoed.

"I wouldn't dream of it." he confessed. "liar." you teased further.

"shot twice and you're still a little shit." he chuckled. pang.

you smiled. twinge. your hand squeezing his. pang, twinge.

din had helped you into your bed that night after you ate something to help with your strength, still stiff and sore. he tucked you in and stroked your hair out of your face as you laid against your pillow. as he pulled away, you grasped his hand. he stilled. twinge. you very quickly gave into exhaustion, dropping his hand as you slept. he lingered. watching the soft rise and fall of your chest. he left the door to your room open, and retired to his own room. his door open too, so he could listen out if you needed anything.

you had slept right through to early afternoon the next day. you cursed to yourself when you realised the time. you had crops to gather, chores to do, and a hyperdrive to procrastinate about. din wasn't there when you woke up. and an orbak was missing. he had left a note on the front door— "went to the outpost early this morning. will be back before dark. soup on the stove."

another pang in your chest. it felt domesticated, the note, the taking care of you last night, the lingering touches. you decided to go down to the lake near one of the crop fields and throw some nets in, hoping to catch some sort of fish. after no luck, you brought the nets back in. you suddenly realised you were in need of a shower, but laziness would tell you to just bathe in the lake. din wouldn't be back for another hour or two. you could be in and out before he was back.

you stripped yourself of your boots and pants, slowly lifting your shirt over your head. the cold breeze starting to nip at your skin. you peeled the bandaging away from your wounds slowly, and they were healing nicely. they were going to scar, but you didn't mind that much. you shed yourself of the last of your underwear, and into the lake you went. the cold water initially shot through your body, but subsided once you started to move around. you dipped your head under the water and rubbed your face. unbeknownst to you, din was closer to home than you had realised. he was walking along side the orbak, supplies he'd gotten at the outpost taking his place on the saddle, along with grogu's cradle following closely. he had seen something in the distance as he approached the house, his senses peaking. then, you raised up out of the water slightly. your hair, soaked, trailing down your back. he froze. he didn't want to watch you, it would be disrespectful and against his creed. but he couldn't look away.

he soaked in the sight of you, your curves, your bare skin, and the way your hair was cascading down your back. grogu coo'd and suddenly he was brought back to the present. he turned his back and took the orbak to the hut, unloading the cargo from it and it's saddle.

you had heard grogu's distant coo's and decided that was your queue to get out and make yourself decent. you rushed out of the lake and into the side door of the house, jogging to your room with your clothes cradled in your arms. you grabbed a towel and squeezed dry your hair, putting on a larger tunic and shorts. you could hear din's boots against the floor of the house, announcing his presence.

you walked down the hallway and out of your room to see din unpacking the supplies from the outpost, grogu sat on the counter watching.

you could get used to this kind of view. pang. you suddenly thought of the hyperdrive again, and you felt guilty for keeping din here longer than you actually needed to. you knew he'd tell you to stop apologising. deep down he didn't actually mind, and he was dreading having to leave. he'd gotten to used to the routine of seeing you when he woke up, rambling about something to grogu while you cradled him in your arms, too used to helping you around the farm, doing some of your chores with you, seeing you working hard on the crest to "repair' the hyperdrive. he'd gotten too used to you, and he didn't know if he could break that routine now. even if it weren't here, on lah'mu, on the farm, if he just had you with him— that would be enough.

he hears your soft footsteps and raises his head. twinge. he's all of a sudden aware of your lack of clothing on your bottom half. twinge.

"hey, feeling better?" he pushed the crate aside, giving you his full attention. pang. "yeah. you went to the outpost?" you stepped closer.

"yeah. I got what you needed." he leans against the doorframe to the kitchen. pang.

as you got closer, you're realising all over again how big he is. he's broad, he's got a strong frame, and he's slightly taller too. you think back to how he carried metal beams over to where you wanted the hut for the orbak's, how he didn't even break a sweat, and how he so effortlessly carried your body. pang. you step closer again. twinge.

"I'm gonna try get back to working on your hyperdrive, I promise." you lean against the counter. "don't worry about it." he chuckles, instead of ripping into you about apologising. "I don't mind being held up." he confesses. pang. twinge. he tilts his helmet to get a better look at you, his eyes scanning you up and down. thank the maker the visor of his helmet hides his shameless gawking at you and your body. his eyes trail up your bare legs— he thinks back to the lake. mapping out the rest of your body underneath the large dusty blue tunic that hides it. twinge. you can read him easily, you can almost sense his wandering eyes from beneath the beskar. pang.

"I don't want you to leave." your voice barely above a whisper. he shifts his weight and stand straight, stepping closer to you. you swallow, looking up at him slightly. his hand comes up to rest on your good shoulder, the other on your forearm of your bad side. pang. twinge.

"I know." his modulator crackles slightly. you stand up straight and mirror his posture, your hand comes up top rest on his forearm. pang, twinge. you wish you could see his eyes. even though you don't follow the creed, you respect it. you know he won't take his helmet off, even for you, you think.

he moves his hand from your shoulder to cup your face. "I don't think I can go across the galaxy without you." he quietly mutters your name and brushes his thumb across your cheekbone softly. pang, twinge.

"then don't leave"— your internal dialogue coming out before you have time to stop it. pang, twinge, butterflies. he's staring at you more intently now, and you can't help the warm sensation that pools in your abdomen. "you'd want to keep me around?" he questions. you nod. pang, twinge.

he tilts his helmet to rest against your forehead. a kov'nyn. a mandalorian kiss. pang, twinge, butterflies. silent admission.

"this is the way." his voice is shy and quiet. "ibic cuyir te ara." you echo, in mando'a.

he steps closer, engulfing your frame in his broad one. your hands come to his helmet, stroking the sides of it gently. "I'm yours." you sigh airily. that's all it takes for him to switch. he grabs at your body, moving you towards your bedroom with hast. the back of your legs hit the bed and you sit, he kneels down and tugs at the bottom of your tunic— looking for permission. you pull the tunic over your head, your bare breasts on display for him. he soaks in every detail. he pulls his gloves odd before he touches you, wanting to feel the warmth of your skin with his own hands. he palms gently at the soft tissue, a quiet whimper escaping your lips.

"so perfect" he breaks the silence, moving his hands up and down your torso, inching closer to the waist band of your shorts. you lift yourself up so that he can pull them down, and they're discarded somewhere to the side. you don't care enough to notice, just focusing on him.

he moves his hands over your waist and hips, squeezing the soft flesh there gently. he moves lower, towards your thighs, then the back of your knees, pulling them apart. cold breeze tingles lightly at your core. you're already soaked, and he knows it. he chuckles. "all this for me, cyar'ika?" he teases, moving his hands agonisingly closer to where you need him most.

"stop teasing." you pant, sounding more needy than you wanted to.

"I'm just taking my time, savouring every moment..." he replies breathily. he moves his hands to the inside of your thighs, stroking up and down them slowly. you move your hands to prop you up, anticipating his next move. he takes one finger and pulls it up through your slit slowly, watching your face twist in relief. a soft gasp leaves your mouth. he adds another finger, paying more attention to your clit this time. pang, pang, pang. he circles it softly and gently, then he pinches it— you wince with pleasure and tilt your head to the side. 'din, please..." you beg pathetically.

"easy, cyar'ika..." he says lowly, circling your clit faster this time. you can feel the coil in your belly getting tighter. then suddenly, he slips a finger into your entrance, while his other hand palms at your thigh. you moan— shamelessly. then he adds another. his thick fingers pumping in and out slowly, methodically. you throw your head back and cling onto his forearm that lays on your thigh.

"din— please— fuck.." you breathe rapidly. he watches as your breasts bounce slightly from the rise and fall of your laboured breathes. he likes this. the making you wait, watching you fall apart.. all just from a couple of his fingers. he smiles drunkly under the helmet. the pressure in your belly is getting tighter, and your breathe is picking up pace— almost in synchronisation with his fingers speeding up.

he moves this hand from your thigh to play with your clit using his thumb, pressing and swirling around. your moans are getting more high pitched, and your propping yourself up with your elbows now. your head lulls back as you moan again. din's pants start to feel tighter and tighter with each sound you make, his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

"let go for me." he says, spend up more. you almost don't hear him until he says your name and repeats himself. you move your head to look at him, and where his fingers are squelching in and out of your pussy.

"fuck— din.. I'm gonna come..." you rasp out. "I know.. let go." and that's all it takes. your back falls against your bed as white fills your vision. your breathing starts to regulate again, and din removes his fingers from you. he stares at the shine that coats his fingers, proud.

you muster up enough strength to sit up again slowly, taking his hand and moving his fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

"fuck.." it comes out quietly from his modulator. twinge, twinge, twinge. he moves his free hand to brush your hair away from your face, looking at the glow that adorns your face.

"I need you." you whine, hands moving to his belt and feverishly unbuckling it, dropping his belt to the side. he strips himself from his armour and flight suit, leaving him in only his boxers and helmet.

you soak in the sight. it was even better than what you had imagined at night while you touched yourself quietly, that started after week 4. he's tanned, with a thin layer of hair splaying across his chest. he's muscular too, which explains his impeccable strength. you move further up the bed, and he follows. he palms at your sides while you get comfortable amongst the pillows.

your hands trail down his chest, lower, and lower. both of your breathing is picking up again, his helmet inches from your face. he presses it against your forehead, "please.." it's his turn to beg now. you take your hand to his crotch and palm him through the fabric of his pants. he moans quietly, and lowly while you do. after a few moments, he moves your hand away and pins it next to your head. "I can't wait any longer, been waiting too long for this, fuck..."

you lick your lips in anticipation, and spread wider for him. remnants of your previous orgasm coating your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below. din pulls his boxers down and tosses them away, then he takes himself in his hand. he's thick. thicker than you had imagined. you're almost afraid he won't fit. "I'll take this slow, okay?" he assures you, brushing your hair back once more. you nod.

"I want you to tell me if you want me to stop." he continues. you nod again— "say it." he almost demands. "I'll tell you if I want you to stop." you confirm, resting your hands on his biceps and squeezing slightly to reassure him.

he nods before lining himself up with your entrance, and pushing in slowly. you both moan in unison. the burn makes your eyes water, but once he bottoms out, you moan again. he stills, waiting for you to ebb him on. you adjust your posture to take him better and squeeze his bicep again. a silent you can move. he starts slowly, pulling out carefully, before sinking back into your warm, tight cunt. he moans again as he bottoms out for a second time.

"I want to kiss you." you breathe out. you don't know what he'll say, you're afraid he'll pull out and leave.

he leans across to the lamp next to your bed, and dims it. his other hand still holding yours. you can barely see him, just a side profile. you hear the click of his helmet coming off, and the bed dipping down next to you where he's placed his helmet. you can feel his breath, warm and strong, as he inches closer. you raise your hand from his bicep to his face, cupping his cheek like he did to you so many times before. then, he kisses you. pang, twinge, butterflies.

it's soft and slow, he parts your lips with his tongue, and you happily oblige. his tongue swirls around yours, and he makes sure to remember every detail. the warmth, the way you suck in breath through your nose so sharply. he deepens it with a newfound urgency, and thrusts deep into you, much faster this time. you moan into him and return the deepening of the kiss.

he pulls out, then thrusts fast and deep. again, and again, and again. your back arches off of the bed, pulling him in closer. your chests touching with the rise and fall of your breathing. he bites your lip, and you swear you can feel him smile. he moves his mouth from yours to your cheek, then your ear, your jaw, your neck, and finally your collarbone. nipping and sucking at the skin there— and it sets your skin on fire. every sensation is heightened.

thrust, thrust, thrust. he's picking up his pace now, and the coil in your belly is pulling tighter again. you moan, and your free hand finds his hair, soft and slightly curly, tugging and pulling at it. he moans into the skin of your neck, releasing your hand from his and moving it to your clit, circling it with a needy pace. your moans are more frequent, more whiney. your breasts bounce back and forth softly with each of his thrusts. he takes his other hand and grabs at anything he can. your waist, hip, thigh, ass, tits. he lets them linger there, taking your nipple between his fingers and twisting and pinching at it.

his hand trails further up your body, and he palms at your upper chest— your collarbones, pushing into them gently. then further up, until he meets your neck, and he wraps his hand loosely around it, squeezing gently.

you swear you could've come right then and there. your moans are becoming pornographic, in time with his thrusts. his are lower, more like a grunt. he takes his hand away from your neck and hikes your leg up higher, over his shoulder, hitting that spongy spot inside you, over, and over again.

your head thrashes back into the pillows and you let out a low, guttural moan, cursing and chanting his name, along with a string of 'yes, yes, yes,' and 'just like that— oh fuck..". your own name falling out of his mouth like a hymn against your skin, right next to your ear. his moans are loud and clear now, and it only pushes you further over the edge.

he takes your other leg and tosses it over his shoulder, quickening his pace. the sounds that fill the room are sinful, the squelching of him pistoning in and out of you, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass, all coming together in a sweet symphony. he memorises it. every breath, every whine, every moan, every time you squeeze his cock. twinge, twinge, twinge.

"fuck— I'm, close, din" you whine, one hand coming to your clit as you circle it at a violent pace, the other back too his hair. pulling and tugging to ebb him on, and oh does he obey. pushing your legs back against your chest, flush with your breasts, and he fucks into you hard, fast, and deep.

"fuck, fuck, fuck... maker. your little cunt is just made for me, cyar'ika.." he moans and whimpers. he actually whimpers. you swear then and there that you will never forget that sound, carved into your memory. his pace is feverish now, rocking your body back and forth, knocking the air out of your lungs almost. the band inside you is about to snap, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"cmon baby, come all over this dick.." he encourages. and that's all it takes, again. you're a moaning, withering mess beneath his large body. he doesn't stop, fucking you through your orgasm at the same pace. tears roll down the sides of your face from the overstimulation, and all of a sudden you have a newfound strength inside of you.

you flip through two of you over, and now he's under you. his back flush with the bed, and his arms clawing at your hips. "fuck—" he grunts out. the dim glow from the lamp illuminates you perfectly. the glow of your slick, sweat covered skin, the way your hair reflects the light. your hands come to his chest so you can brace yourself. "your turn." you breathe, and he let's you. he let's you take over. then— he stops you. "wait. I have an idea."

you stop your movements, him still buried to the hilt inside of you. he picks up his helmet next to him and sets it to the blackout setting on the visor, and then puts it on you. it smells like him, you think to yourself. your senses are almost heightened from him taking away your sight, and you feel him move beneath you as he turns the light back up. "I wanna see you put on a show, cyar'ika." he rubs his hands up and down your sides encouragingly. from his view, he swears he could die like this and not have any complaints.

he can see your body fully now. beautiful and full atop of him. he palms at your ass again. you take that as a hint to move.

you rock back and forth against him slowly, your clit bumping into your pelvis with each movement. your moans are free in the air now (or rather through the modulator of the helmet. his helmet), and you start to slowly raise yourself off of his cock, before slamming back down against him. his moans are praise enough for your efforts. you do it again, and again, and again, until you've got a nice pace set. his hands frantically move up and down your body. your sides, your ass, your thighs, he cups your breasts and watches them bounce up and down with each rise and fall on his cock. yeah, he can die happy now.

you take hold of his wrist, and guide him to your neck. he wraps his large, warm hand around it gently, and then squeezes the sides. you moan, and he swears it's the loudest, most satisfied noise he's ever heard in his life. he moves his hands to play with your breasts again, squeezing and grabbing at them sloppily. he pulls you closer so that he can take them in his mouth, and your hands tangle in his hair again.

you yank his head back, and he whimpers again.

"fuck— yes, yes, yes.." you chant. you tilt your frame back now, bracing your hands on his thighs behind you as you plunge up and down with a blinding speed now. he palms at your thighs, and the moans and whimpers are falling endlessly past his lips now. you throw your head back, picking up the pace as much as humanly possible. "just like that baby— just like that." he praises, his own head falling heavy into the pillows beneath him.

he twitches inside of you, and you can tell he's close— you are too. just a few more thrusts, and you're there.

"shit, where do you want it?" he suddenly rasps. your pace doesn't falter. "inside. want you to spill into me." you breathe. he moans immediately, and twitches again. pang, pang, pang. twinge, twinge, twinge.

you bring yourself forward again and your hands are on his chest, he holds one of your elbows, and the other hand occupies your hip. then it happens. he comes, fast and hard, and deep. you follow soon after, still sloppily and slowly rocking back and forth against him.

din swears that's the closest he's felt to heaven. "shit—" he gasps. you collapse into his chest as the initial high comes down. he reaches back over to the lamp and dims in, before removing his helmet from your head. he brushes the hairs stuck to your skin with sweat away from your face, and he pulls your face towards his for another deep, rough kiss. you moan into him, hands finding his soft curls once again. he finally pulls away for breath, and you can feel the air between you being sucked in and breathed out, sharing oxygen.

you drop your head to rest next to his, still on top of him, him still buried to the hilt inside of you. you can feel his cock still pumping thick, warm come inside of you— coating every inch. it drips down out of your cunt and onto his pelvis, and your thigh. completely and utterly spent.

he gently strokes you, tracing shapes on the small of your back. the rhythm of his chest calming you.

"ni kar'tayl darasuum gar" I love you, you breath against his jaw and kiss him there. "this is the way", he replies. "I love you too." he kisses your temple, breathing in your scent. din pulls the covers over you, turning you both onto your sides, still comfortably buried in you. the shadow from your own face covers his, but you can see the colour of his eye that is illuminated. by the lamp. warm and brown. now your favourite colour in the galaxy. you memorise it, you don't know when you'll see it again.— your hands tracing every dip and curve of his face. he smiles against you and pulls you closer. you shift your leg up to trap him beneath it, and the movement makes him grunt again.

"keep doing that, and I might come again." he chuckles. you mirror him.

"we have plenty of time." you rub your nose against his, and the press your forehead to his.

you have no plans on fixing that hyperdrive anytime soon.

this was my first time writing smut, so I hope it was alright. lmk your thoughts in the notes!! like and reblog too maybe ;)))) — may write a pt2 if this does well??? 👀👀

#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader smut #din djarin x you smut #din djarin x female reader

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pboogerswbb · 2 months ago

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SO IT GOES - chapter 19

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst, sexual (straight) content and language Wordcount: 9.7K A/C: did you miss me? ;) pls send me reactions, i poured my HEART into this chapter (also special ty to my babies @sierrale8ne and @thaatdigitaldiary who got to read this first and gave me some feedback ily)

London

This is a Jubilee line train to Stratford. The next station is Canary Wharf. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.

I get up from the seat and brush myself off, trying to rid my coat of the thousands of commuters who’d sat in this same seat before me. I grab hold of the handle by the door as the tube slows down and finally jerks and comes to a halt. The doors slide open, and I leap onto the platform while men in suits wait for me to get out, before stuffing themselves into the carriage.

Canary Wharf is filled with skyscrapers and important people in smart clothing carrying briefcases, hurrying from one meeting to another. It’s a far stretch from the warm, friendly faces of Dallas, nevermind the weather. I pull out my jet black umbrella, allowing it to catch the droplets falling from the rainclouds that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Sorry,” I mumble politely as I push through a group of people - undoubtedly tourists - standing in the middle of the walkway. Glancing at the pier along the river I see a group of pigeons fighting over a piece of bread amongst orange leaves spread out on the wood as a sign of autumn. I smooth over my beige trench coat and a chill runs down my back - maybe from the October breeze or maybe from the notification flashing onto my phone screen.

Paige Bueckers named Rookie of The Year

It’s immediate, the way my eyes begin to burn. No Izara, no tears. How lucky am I to have felt something so deep, so real that I could still feel it in my bones. Most people don’t get that in a lifetime.

I take faster steps, gliding along the streets amongst the tall buildings, beams of sunlight reflecting off the glass. I take down my umbrella, hanging it off my wrist as I push sunglasses onto my face. Even after my entire life in London, I never knew what type of weather the city might throw at me.

Pushing through the tall, glass doors, I’m immediately greeted.

“Good morning Miss Chopra,” the assistant smiles. Sarah, I believe, though I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her in nearly a year. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

I chuckle at her dry joke, taking my hair down from the clip and letting it flow free. “Yes, for approximately 10 minutes until it starts to rain again.”

She laughs softly, before returning to her computer. “Are you here to see…”

“Yes,” I answer before she can finish.

“He should be down in a moment.” The curly haired girl leans forward, smiling knowingly. “I heard you went to Dallas.”

“I did,” I say. Though it felt like some sort of a particularly cruel and confusing fever dream.

”How was it?”

It was horrible and at the same time the best summer of my life. I still let my mind wander as I drift asleep, pretending I’m in the Dallas heat. Pretending she’s right beside me. The city was beautiful, filled with laughter and heartache and late humid nights and adventures - and her.

”It was pretty cool,” I smile politely.

Sarah chuckles. ”You even sound like an American now.”

Rookie of the Year. Paige Bueckers. Should I text her? Congratulate her? Does she even want me to? My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door opening, and a tall man with golden curls and killer dimples walks out with long strides, flashing a charming smile at Sarah and then finally me.

”Good afternoon Mr. Hughes,” she greets beyond the desk.

”It is a good afternoon, isn’t it,” he grins lopsidedly without breaking eye contact with me. ”Hello my darling.”

I wrap an arm around his torso, stroking the navy blue sweater and kiss each of his cheeks to greet him. He does the same, arm remaining around my waist as we pull back.

”It’s good to see you,” he gleams, his grey eyes locked in mine. Bashful under his gaze I nod, letting go as he fetches his coat from the assistant.

”Is it raining?” He asks, throwing on the black trench.

”Lord knows,” I joke, already holding the umbrella in my hands.

With a quick goodbye, the man guides me towards the exit by my lower back, just like he had a million times before.

”I’m ready for a beer,” he murmurs as we step onto the pavement, the wind making its way around the towering buildings and finding its way to my straightened hair.

”Me too Jasper,” I smile, wrapping my arm around his. ”Badly.”

The Ship Tavern is buzzing with exhausted Londoners looking for some after-work downtime, spread out all over the low ceiling, dimly lit pub. The warmth emanating off the walls and people is a welcomed contrast to the windy October evening outside, making people cling onto their coats as they walk by. I sit by the window seat, watching them one by one, clutched bags, hair flowing in the wind, hats held down.

I wonder what the weather in Dallas was like. I wonder if Paige was even in Dallas anymore now that the season was over. It would be easy to figure out of course, just to type 13 letters in the search bar and find a fan obsessed with tracking her down. I won’t do it though. Maybe soon, in a few more months when it didn’t hurt as much. But not yet.

“So I spoke to Dan,” Jasper snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m reminded of the apple cider and the man sitting opposite of me, sipping a beer.

“What did he say?” I ask almost fearfully.

Ever since Dallas I had been scrambling for a communications job. It felt impossible, even with the experience I had. No one wanted to hire a person who suddenly left her job to run away to another country. Linda might have thought it meant I had guts, here people found me a flight risk.

The curly haired man places the pint down and sighs, looking up at me. “I’m sorry love, there’s no positions open with our firm.”

Groaning, I throw my head onto the wooden pub table making Jasper chuckle, and reach over to pat me on the head.

“He said he'd let me know if he heard about anything,” he adds. “Don’t worry Zari, you’ll find something.”

“But what if I don’t,” I pout, lifting my gaze.

“Well don’t whine for starters,” he jokes and it irks me, but instead of opening my mouth I sip onto the apple cider, letting it warm me up. “What about All Bar-”

“If you say All Bar One I’ll throw this apple cider at you,” I groan. Jasper laughs, shaking his head.

“Alright, don’t fuss,” he says, not taking my threat seriously despite me actually contemplating it. “I mean it wouldn’t be forever, just until you get back on your feet.”

Sighing, I chew on my lower lip. I felt terrified with no plan, nothing to look forward to, nothing left to do but feel sorry for myself. The only constant in my life seemed to be Jasper. Which is exactly why I had reached out to him a few weeks back.

“Don’t do that,” he scolds, but not rudely, in the worrying kind of way he always did, reaching over and brushing his thumb across my lower lip trapped between my teeth so hard it nearly bled. Embarrassed, I smile and grab a hold of his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. Nothing, I felt nothing.

“Give it time,” my mother said when I told her I wasn’t sure if being back together was the right call. “You were both hurt, now heal together.”

She didn’t know. I wasn’t the same, and it had become increasingly harder to be the perfect, no hair out of place Izara once again. But I was trying, because that Izara didn’t move to strange countries on a whim, or get fired from jobs, or fall in love recklessly. That Izara always had a plan - I needed her now. And I knew that Izara was responsible for the call I made to Jasper in August, desperately wanting to salvage what we had.

“It’s not a bad plan if you want to get out of your parents’ house anytime soon,” he says in a sweet tone. “I mean, I’d ask you to come back home but…”

I had been the one to suggest we take it slow - something Jasper resented. But it was that or nothing, and I could tell he was desperate to have me back.

“I know,” I hum, finishing my apple cider and pulling my hands to my lap. “I’ll call my old boss.”

Jasper studies me, leaning back in his chair and brushing his hands through his hair, the expensive watch on his wrist illuminated in the warm lighting as night begins to fall outside.

“I must admit, it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?” I ask confused.

“You,” he admits. “Leaving everything you ever dreamed of behind for a job in America, just to come back home with your tail between your legs.”

“Don’t push me Jas,” I warn him. I’m aware of his tone and the lightheartedness behind it. But what bothered me was that there was some truth to his words. I did give up, I did fail - though I hadn’t admitted the real reason I returned to anyone.

“I’m just saying, the Izara I knew wouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, maybe you never knew me that well,” I push back frustrated. It surprises Jasper. I was never one to argue. But I had changed. I wouldn’t let what happened to me happen again.

“Perhaps,” he mumbles, looking down at his lap. “But I want to this time.”

He looks sad, regretful even. Sighing deeply, I take his hands into mine, squeezing comfortingly.

“It just can’t be like it was the last time around Jas,” I say as quietly as I can make myself heard over the crowd in the pub.

He nods, the dimple on his chin quivering with emotion. “I know Zari, I won’t let it happen again.”

I look at him suspiciously, but his grey eyes disarm me like they do every damn time. My thumb smooths over his rough, big hands.

“I came back because… Well, I hated Dallas.” It’s not true. But it’s my best excuse, and he buys it easily. I know Paige wouldn’t have.

“Of course you did, my sweet London girl.”

We walk hand in hand along my home street, the cherry trees that blossomed pink in the spring now bare and naked, orange and yellow leaves dancing with the wind along the driveway. Despite being only a 15 minute tube-ride away, the contrast between central London and my street was as if night and day, the silence refreshing but bothersome. I didn’t know what to say to Jasper. I have become quiet nowadays, too stuck in my own head. In the memories of past summer. Of Paige.

My therapist said it was better to face my emotions and thoughts head on, instead of shoving them into a dark desolate corner deep inside my brain and never revisiting them as I usually did. And I tried to do that, but surprisingly I had found it to be extremely hard. Which is why I had run back to Jasper - not only was he a distraction, but something familiar and known when everything else felt dreadful. It was the mature thing to do, to accept him back into my life. To soon carry that wedding band and his last name and birth him beautiful children. Because even if all else fails at least I’ll have achieved something to make my parents proud.

“You better not come in,” I chuckle as we reach the gate of the semi-attached, three-story house of my parents. “My mother will never let you leave.”

Jasper laughs, glancing at the white front door. “You’re right. As usual.”

I shrug easily, my eyes flickering up at his before leaning over to press my lips against him. WIth a soft smack we kiss, and nothing. With time Izara, with time.

“I’ll pick you up for tennis on Saturday at 9AM,” he grins. I nod. I hated tennis.

“Sure,” I force a smile. “Goodnight, Jas.”

Hurrying inside, I find my mother standing right behind the front door, nose pressed into the frosted class. She is clearly snooping.

“Mum!” I groan, but she couldn’t care less. She’s beaming, reaching over and giving my cheek a fat kiss.

“Oh I’m so happy,” she beams, squeezing me tight. “Might I expect a summer wedding for next year?”

“Calm down,” I chuckle, my gut anxiously twisting at the idea of a summer wedding - or wedding at all. I hurry into the kitchen for a glass of water to rid me of my nausea.

“Oh you’re always so dramatic,” she jokes. I hate when she calls me that. “He’s just a wonderful man, you must lock him down before he finds someone else.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes as I face away. I wanted to tell my mom about Paige, about how my heart ached every night as I laid in bed wide awake thinking about her. Sandalwood, blue eyes, soft hands.

”We’re taking it slow mum,” I tell her. ”Don’t get too excited.”

”Okay Izzie-Roo, but he won’t wait forever,” she hums like she knows something I don’t, rubbing my back lovingly. ”But I must say that me and your father are so proud of you. For coming back to your senses and coming home.”

I place the plate I’m drying down onto the counter, gripping onto it. My mother hadn’t missed any opportunity to show her disappointment in my decisions. Everyday it was ”oh I wish I had grandbabies already,” and ”You’d be a married woman if you hadn’t left”. All cruel reminders of what life could be - Now I’m starting from scratch. Well, almost. Which is exactly why I was so quick to beg Jasper for forgiveness. I didn’t want to do it again. At least with him I knew what I’d be getting. But I didn’t need my mother reminding me every moment what I let go.

”I’m going to bed,” I simply grunt, turning to leave.

”Without tea?” She asks, turning the kettle on. ”Wow, America really changed you.”

It’s all I could think of as I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom. Perhaps she was right, I just hoped she wasn’t. Because if it was indeed true I wasn’t sure this changed Izara would like the choices I was making right now.

”Good morning babe,” gentle kisses land on my cheek, making their way to my neck and finally ear. Chills run up and down my spine as result, a sleepy groan spilling from my lips. A hand brushes through my blonde hair, long nails scratching down my back. Heaven.

”Mm, Iz,” I whisper into the pillow, burying my face into it.

”What was that?” A voice hums into my ear. It’s not Izzie. Not at all.

My eyes flutter open and I’m met with brown eyes. Not hers.

”Mm huh?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. My mind was still slow and groggy, somewhere between reality and my dreams. Where I met her almost every night.

”I said good morning honey,” Savannah giggles, nuzzling her nose into mine. It grounds me, bringing me back to the now.

”Mm, morning babe,” I murmur, pressing a gentle kiss onto her lips. They’re soft and taste like butterscotch. It’s nice enough.

”You were talking in your sleep, y’know,” the dark haired girl laughs, kissing along my neck and shoulder. I could tell she was trying to turn me on with the way she nibbled and sucked. But I was too tired.

”I was?” I ask bashfully, praying to God it wasn’t anything that might have revealed what I actually dreamt of. Each night. In my restless sleep.

”You’re so cute,” she smiles, placing her lips onto mine. ”You ready for tonight?”

I furrow my brows, sitting up abruptly. ”Ready for what?”

”Paige,” Savannah groans, standing up from the bed. She was already fully dressed, ready to leave for work. I had gotten in the habit of sleeping in after the season ended.

”We’ve been planning on going for weeks!” She’s mad. I can tell. She got mad at me a lot - and I couldn’t really blame her. I was only giving her fragments of me. Truthfully, I didn’t feel whole yet. I don’t know if I ever would.

I roam my mind for anything I might’ve forgotten. Over and over. There was nothing. My dream still had me in a haze. So I merely shrug, looking around. Her gaze is piercing and demanding just like Izara’s. Except it didn’t make me feel the same.

”Don’t shrug at me Paige Bueckers cause I’m not the one,” she snaps cuttingly.

”I’m sorry, I just woke up babe,” I complain, hands still rubbing my tired eyes. ”Just tell me, Sav, please.”

The woman sighs, rolling her eyes but then folds - my blue eyes always enough to get her to calm down.

”The hallo-”

”The halloween party! Nah I knew that!” I exclaim, my mood getting better instantly. Savannah doesn’t like this though, shaking her head and walking out of the bedroom. I follow after the woman. It was too early for her antics right now.

“Sav c’mon, said I’m sorry,” I plead, pulling up black sweatpants with a struggle, almost tripping over my feet.

“Do you even wanna go?” She asks with a huff, finally meeting my gaze.

“Yes.” Not particularly. “Real bad okay?” I force a nod, hoping it’ll pass for excitement.

She looks straight at me and I can tell she doesn’t believe a word I say. I don’t know if I believe myself either. But Savannah, ever so graceful, decides to let it go. Just to make sure, I grab her hand decorated with rings and fine line tattoos, kissing it softly. Her shoulders soften.

“I gotta go to work,” the girl sighs, grabbing her large gym bag. Savannah danced for the Mavericks during the NBA season, though right now she was teaching at a dance studio nearby. What a cliche, huh? The basketball player and the dancer. Of course.

“Have you thought about the costume?”

I bite on my lower lip - anything not to groan out loud. I must have refused a thousand times but she persisted.

“I’m just not a costume typa person, you feel me?” I say as gently as I can. Savannah had wanted to wear a matching costume. I on the other hand thought our relationship wasn’t even nearly that serious.

The woman is disappointed, throwing on a cropped hoodie over her sports bra.

“Not even for me?” She asks, about to head out.

No. “I’m sorry Sav, maybe next year.”

And without a kiss goodbye, she leaves.

I walk back to bed, crashing onto my stomach and burying my face into the pillow. I swear for a moment I can smell Izzie - lavender and pear. But it disappears as fast as it hits me, suddenly gone. Like she was.

I didn’t think about her this much all the time - or at least I wasn’t this aware of it. Me and Savannah made a good couple. We first met the night that I and Izara kissed on the balcony of Arike’s and Lala’s apartment, but she never stood out to me. Not until Satou brought her around to a team hang-out and she sat next to me, doing everything in her power to keep me engaged and talking. At that point I had been devastated for weeks - not sleeping or eating. Barely surviving. Izara took a lot with her when she left. I still felt the loss, some days less and some days more. But Sav kept me focused and distracted. And I did truly care for her.

Like I said, we’re a good match on paper. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. She knows hoops. Gets along with my friends. Doesn’t ask too many questions. She’s kind and gentle. Let’s me be independent. Laughs at my jokes. But sometimes when she grabbed my hand, or kissed my cheek I had to remind myself not to flinch. Not because it wasn’t right, or even nice - but it just wasn’t the same. It was never meant to go past the sheets. But very quickly I realised that wouldn’t be enough for Savannah. And I didn’t wanna lose her. She was the closest I could get to Izara.

”Omg that’s so fun,” Savannah, who’s clapping along to the music, giggles. The pub is buzzing with people dressed in a range of costumes, me sticking out amongst the playboy bunnies and firefighter gear like a sore thumb in my sweats and t-shirt, nursing a dirty Shirley. Sav is clinging onto me, her hip pressing into mine, bare legs on show in her skimpy cat outfit.

“Let’s go dance,” she says brightly, yanking at my arm.

“I’m good,” I give her the smile she wants, my Shirley a good excuse not to go. At least to me.

She doesn’t fight it, but I can tell she’s not happy. Sav had learned quickly enough that pleading and begging didn’t work with me. If I said something I stood on it. It was only a rare few I ever changed my mind for.

Savannah drags Lala to the floor with her instead, grinning at me. I smirk back, watching her dance for a while, until I grow bored of the repeating movements and turn to Arike.

“You good?” She asks, finishing her drink and hissing with the burn of the booze.

“Yea,” I murmur into my drink. “Why?” It wasn’t a question I was used to from Arike.

“Because you been quiet all night,” she chuckles “And Lala gonna kill me if I don’t ask.” The woman puts her hands up defensively, a teasing look in her eye. “But my bad if I’m wrong.”

I glance back at Savannah and Lala, now joined by Satou as well. They’re still busy dancing. Far enough.

“I’m fine I just,” I start, suddenly feeling like I need a big gulp of air. “I had a weird dream I guess.”

Arike turns to me. I had her full attention now.

“About Za-”

“Yeah.” I interrupt. I can’t bear to hear her name.

There’s a pause, just music and voices filling the space we don’t. I can tell she’s trying to find something to say, something I can handle. The topic of Izara had been a sensitive one, and had caused me to walk out of many rooms ever since she left. I can’t believe she just left me. Like I was nothing.

“How are things with Savannah?” She asks, cutting through the silence.

“Fine, I mean,” I mumble, looking for anything to say. I opt for finishing my drink instead. “She’s good. No complaints.”

“She your girlfriend or?”

“Nah, I’m just feeling her out,” I admit. Truthfully she had asked me the same question a week before. I didn’t have a very clear answer to offer.

“You been feeling her out for like three months tho,” Arike points out. And she’s right. Had it really been that long? “You were obsessed with Zari in like a week.”

Her name cuts through me like a knife, undoing a wound I’d been spending months healing and tending to. A sudden ache overwhelms my chest forcing me to rub circles on it, just like Izzie used to when she got overwhelmed. I try to cover it all up with a single laugh.

“Well, that was her. Y’know?”

“Yea,” Arike nods. Silence again. “You heard of her at all? After, y’know?”

I shake my head, nails digging into my palms. I decide to bite on my cuticles instead. ”Not after she texted.”

The day after I was named Rookie of The Year I had received a text from Izzie.

Congratulations Paige, you deserve it.

It threw me into a downward spiral, and made me nearly inconsolable for a week. I had no choice but to stay with Lala and Arike. Thankfully they always welcomed me with open arms. I just felt bad dragging other people into my own drama.

”You?” I ask innocently enough, though I was starving for any sign of her, for any news at all.

”No not really,” Rike murmurs, barely audible over the music. ”But her and Lala call sometimes.”

I’m leaning in. This is the most engaged I’ve been in any conversation all night. Arike can tell, noticing my wide eyes and the focused furrow of my brows.

”Yeah, she’s good. She’s working at a bar right now. Hard to find PR work I guess.”

My heart aches. I know that’s not what she wants and I can only imagine how bad she’s beating herself up over that. I screwed that up for her. If it wasn’t for me she could’ve made it work. But I was selfish. I had to have her. Fuck I miss her.

Suddenly my eyes burn, and the need for fresh air is overbearing.

”I’ma be back,” I tell Arike, completely forgetting about Savannah as I rush out of the bar. Rike doesn’t say a word to stop me, she knows better than that.

Dallas is still warm at the end of October, but the nights are cool enough to make me pull my jacket over my shoulders. People in halloween costumes walk by along the streets, tipsy and giggling. Not a care in the world. Like it didn’t matter that she was gone. Like it didn’t end their worlds like it did mine.

I lean against the wall of the building, pulling my hood up and tightening the strings. I wasn’t in the mood to be recognised. The alcohol had made me nostalgic and forlorn. Or maybe it was the dream - or both.

Hands fumbling for my phone, I unlock the screen and scroll to the messages I had read over and over again.

Iz? Pls answer the phone What tf is this note Ur joking Tell me ur not serious Izzie I can’t do this

I just landed Paige. I’m sorry it has to be like this. Everything I have to say is in the letter. I think it’s best if we don't talk for a while.

It’s the only way I can do this

What about me? Izara please I love you I can’t lose you

I’m sorry

A warm tear runs down the cool skin of my cheek, my lower lip quivering. I do what I always do when I felt like this - when I missed her so bad I could barely breathe. I close my eyes and imagine.

She’s here with me. Her long black hair in those waves I loved so much, long nails scratching along my forearms and the sound of her laughter - God what I’d do to hear it one more time. To hear the pearls of her giggles carry all the way from the opposite side of the room. To find her in a crowd and see her green eyes land in mine.

I miss you

I type, finger hovering over the send button. I don’t know what I want it to lead to. I don’t even know if she would reply - or what she would say. I don’t care. I just want her to know. I need her to know.

So I press send.

”Hey, there you are honey!” Savannah stumbles out of the bar, giggling and gleaming. I push my phone into my pocket, meeting her smile best I can.

”Hey pretty girl,” I sigh, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her in. She melts into me quickly, pulling my hand down her back to her ass. I can tell what kinda mood she’s in.

”Mmh, can we go home baby?” She whines, batting her big brown eyes at me. I chuckle, kissing the top of her head.

I force myself to shift gears. I’ve gotten good at that. ”Let’s go,” I answer, calling down a cab.

”Oh you lucky girl,” Lucy, my coworker groans, looking at the people lining along the bar as I pack my bag to leave. I chuckle, throwing on a cream coloured cashmere sweater over my top.

”The tourists must be around early, I don’t know,” I answer. It had been a particularly busy day, and more people seemed to be piling into the bar. It wasn’t even December yet - tourist season was only getting started.

”Anyway, I’m going home,” I beam, wrapping my beige trench coat around me. ”Got a family dinner waiting.”

”Enjoy your weekend,” Lucy smiles enviously as I head out of the bar. The streets of central London are swarming with people, tourists walking in hives along Oxford street. I follow them, my heels causing my feet to ache.

The clock is only 7 in the evening, but it’s already dark. The Christmas lights twinkle above the buildings, shaped like angels guarding over the crowd. There’s a chill in the air. I should’ve worn my gloves.

I knew I shouldn’t have taken this route when I get to the end of the road. Piccadilly Circus is packed. I let out a frustrated sigh. I should’ve walked to another station - I just wanted to see the Christmas lights.

No matter how I felt inside, Piccadilly Circus feels alive - Like London’s pulsing neon heart. The smell of churros and powdered sugar lingers in the air, fleeting visitors of the city posing for pictures here and there, the residents groaning and rolling their eyes, inconvenienced by the tourists.

Everything’s fighting for your attention, the large billboard bursting with different colours. My gaze lifts on instinct, drawn to the biggest screen. Then I see her. Paige, ten feet tall, smiling under the Nike swoosh like she never left.

I stumble, nearly crashing into the man in front of me. It forces my eyes to glance down at my feet.

”I’m sorry,” I say, looking back up at the billboard. She’s still there with that lopsided grin. A sudden tightness takes over my chest. I have to get out of there.

”More roast Jasper?” My mother offers, handing a piece to the man beside me.

Jasper smiles in that familiar charming manner, rubbing his stomach.

”How could I resist? Your roast was always the best in all of England,” he offers his plate. My mom eats it up, like she always did with him, and piles more food onto it.

”Oh, you’re just trying to flatter me,” my mum giggles.

”Well, I have to find my way back to the family groupchat somehow.”

”I don’t think that’s necessary,” Kiran mumbles under his breath, barely audible. I kick his leg under the table. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Jasper. Matter of fact he didn’t speak to me for a week after I told him I was seeing Jas again.

“I’m sure when we see that ring on her finger again we will consider it,” my father jokes. I immediately put down my fork and knife, too nauseated to eat.

“You can blame your daughter for that,” Jasper points a fork at my parents. His tone is lighthearted, but I can tell there’s truth to the words. It frustrates me.

“Jasper,” I complain, finishing my wine in a moment of anger. Everyone except Kiran looks at me disappointedly.

“It’s only a joke Zari, no need to get fussy,” Jasper says, causing my parents to laugh. Kiran’s and my eyes meet. The old Izara would’ve just brushed it off. But for some reason I was having a really hard time.

With everything he had done there was good in him too. Of course there was, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. I just really hated the facade he put on for my parents - and hated it worse when it worked this well. He could be so charming, and so not the next. I just wish he stopped pretending and was himself. I couldn’t help but feel that the only reason my parents tolerated my “mistake” of moving to Dallas was because of how much they adored Jasper. My mom would remind me every day how lucky I was for a man like him. And it’s true. But I wish I was enough on my own.

“More wine please?” I ask with a deep exhale.

“You sure?” Both Jasper and my mum question. Thankfully Kiran grabs the bottle, filling both our glasses.

“May I be excused?” I ask, grabbing the wine. “Long day at work.”

“Sure darling,” My father smiles and as soon as the words leave his mouth I stand up and leave the table.

Sitting in front of the firepit on a pillow, I watch the flames dance gently, crackling and painting my face in a warm hue. I let the wine calm my running mind, still haunted by the shadow of Paige over me.

“You alright?” Kiran’s voice interrupts the image of her face overwhelmingly clear in my head still.

“Yeah,” I mumble, making space on the pillow. He sits beside me, sipping his wine.

“Where’s Jas?”

“Helping mum and dad tidy,” he groans, rolling his eyes and lying back on the expensive persian rug that was my mother’s dearest possession.

“Quit,” I tell him, sick of his attitude. Yes, he disapproved. He has made that clear. It will not change anything. “It’s nice of him.”

“Yeah he’s just great,” Kiran complains dryly. I swat at his leg, finishing my wine.

A comfortable silence settles between us, the crackling fire and the distant clanking of dishes the only sounds in the living room.

“So I saw that Nike ad the other day,” he starts from behind me, awkwardly interrupting the quiet moment. “With Paige, you seen it?”

Her name cuts like a knife, leaving me bleeding and wounded. I can still see her image over me, flashing on the billboards. Those eyes that I saw every night I closed my eyes. She was so far away, yet she was everywhere.

“Yeah, I saw,” I answer. “Pretty cool.”

Kiran sits back up, his hazel eyes filled with curiosity and some hesitation. I had avoided every conversation about Paige since I came back.

“How is she?” He asks. I simply shrug.

“We don’t really talk anymore,” I admit.

He offers me the rest of his wine. I take it. “What happened with you two?”

“Oh nothing,” I lie. “She was a good friend, but I’m not in Dallas anymore.”

Kiran huffs, shaking his head.

“What?” I ask, now my turn to be curious.

He meets my gaze. “I know Iz.”

“Know what?”

“About you and her,” he admits.

My stomach drops, the taste of wine lingering in my mouth bitter and tangy. I put the glass down. To my knowledge he had been oblivious to everything that happened.

“I figured it out in America,” Kiran explains. “And I asked Paige. We agreed you shouldn’t know that I know.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure what to say. And I don’t have to figure it out - Because Jasper walks in and interrupts us with the creaking of the door.

“Shall we head out, love?” He asks, reaching down to pick me up. He had convinced me to come and stay the night with him and quite honestly I wanted to. I needed an excuse not to think of Paige.

“Let’s go babe,” I smile. My brother makes a face of him gagging that only I can see.

“I packed some leftovers,” my mum runs after us to the door as we pack up. “Izara, you stay as long as you’d like.”

“Yes mom I’m 26 if you haven’t noticed.” I laugh, feeling a little tipsy from the wine. The joke makes my dad chuckle, both of my parents waving as we pack into Jasper’s car.

Jasper still lives in the same townhouse, with the same furniture and the same artwork on the walls - all picked out by me. It’s like he knew I’d come back some day. But walking around feels strange, like the shell of what was once a home. It had lost its warmth, something had changed. No, I had.

“You could just leave your things here y’know,” Jasper huffs as he heaves my bag up the staircase, to what once was our master bedroom. “Half of the closet is still free. I can dust it too.”

But I’m in my own world, fingertips running along the expensive sheets on the bed. My bed. I was different back then. Before Paige. She had left a mark that would change me forever.

“Love?” Jasper asks, his hands wrapping around me behind my waist. I’m brought back to earth.

“Mmh?” I ask, his lips beginning to kiss along my neck. I knew what he wanted. It was always the same motions in the same order.

“Will you clean up and meet me in bed?” He asks, hands gently feeling my breasts. I don’t feel much, but the wine has made me more relaxed and willing. So I do as he says.

After taking my time doing my skincare and brushing through my hair, I walk out in the robe I used to wear every night just a year ago. It still fit me like a glove, the satin smooth against my body - sheer but leaving some things for the imagination.

“Wow,” Jasper gasps, sitting up in bed the moment he sees me. He’s turned off the lights. I guess I used to like that. Paige never wanted to. She wanted to see all of me, always.

Feeling bold from the wine, I pull on the tie letting it fall open, all of me bare in front of him.

“I-Izara,” he nearly chuckles at my actions, so shocked by them. It’s a far cry from the girl I was a year ago.

Wordlessly, I walk over to the bed and straddle him leaving the robe scattered on the floor. Completely naked, I begin to kiss his neck. Jasper sighs loudly, gently rolling me to my back to cover us both with the duvet. The routine is familiar. Predictable. Performed.

It’s quiet, the only sounds the kisses between us and the heavy breathing. Jasper runs his coarse hands all over my body. It’s nice to feel someone like this, to have a distraction. Except it doesn’t distract me at all. With every touch, lick, kiss I can only think of her. I try not to compare, but how can I not when the only way I can get wet at all is to close my eyes and hope he stays quiet so I can imagine it’s her.

“Oh,” I whimper, reminiscing of sandalwood and her sure hands that knew exactly what to do. The ones that felt like heaven. And for a moment it feels like I’m far away, the image of her face clear and crisp. I imagine it’s her on top of me, making love to me.

I don’t open my eyes till Jasper is done, and rolls over to his back, trying to catch his breath.

“I love you,” he pants. Without much thought I answer.

“I love you too.”

We lie there for a moment staring at the ceiling and the shadows created by the passing cars. I feel lightheaded and nauseous. Must be the wine.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” I mumble, carefully sitting up and tiptoeing to the bathroom in a t-shirt. I lock the door behind me, but it takes me an entire minute to turn the lights on. Mindlessly, I clean up and wash myself off until I feel too nauseated to stand.

With trembling hands I grip onto the sink and hop to the countertop. Why I felt like this I wasn’t sure. We’d had sex before with Jasper before and it was fine so why was it all of a sudden making me sick to my stomach.

It was that damn ad. It had to be. I couldn’t take my mind off of her. Of course I thought about her constantly, all the time in fact. But it was bearable. At least it used to be.

My phone buzzes against the marble of the counter, pulling me back from the fog. The screen is lit up with a pointless text from Kiran, but I ignore it by swiping up and getting on Instagram. I had completely stopped using TikTok, the edits and speculation of mine and Paige’s relationship was too agonizing.

I want to see her, just for a moment. It’s what I convince myself of as I’m about to tap the search bar. But instead my eyes surge to the suggested post of a gorgeous girl next to Paige, kissing her cheek.

My number 5 <3

I immediately cover my mouth, feeling like I actually might be sick. Kneeling down next to the toilet I take deep breaths to ground myself. In and out. The bathroom tiles feel warm underneath my bare legs. I would rather sleep here than out there.

I had no right to feel like this, yet I did. I look at the picture again. The girl is stunning. I’m just surprised she moved on so fast - but then again so had I. Except I hadn’t really moved on. I don’t know if I ever truly could.

I miss you

I look at the text I received from Paige a month ago, left unresponded. I thought it would be best just to ignore it, likely just a drunken mistake. But right now it was impossible to pretend it wasn’t there.

So I tell her, from the bathroom floor.

I miss you too

The gym smells like rubber mats and metal, holiday music playing faintly in the background. I barely hear, blasting Drake through my airpods and chewing the peppermint gum in my mouth. In the early morning I’m the only one here, tiring out my arms and back one last time before I would take a break for Christmas.

Actually my break was supposed to start yesterday. But I couldn’t stand sitting around in my dad’s house, decorating the tree and baking. I couldn’t have been further from feeling jolly or whatever. I just felt bad because it was hard pretending to be excited. But I tried my best for Drew’s sake.

I stare at my own reflection in the mirror, eyes locked on the movement as I do some lateral raises, focusing hard to target the muscles in my shoulders. Four more, I think to myself, face red and huffing.

From the corner of my eye I see dark wavy hair pushed back, as a woman turns the corner and disappears from my line of vision. The weights nearly drop from my hands.

“Iz?” I murmur to myself, opting out for placing them down gently and processing what I saw. It makes no sense. It’s ridiculous, she’s miles away. I knew that. But God, what if it is her. She even had the baby pink gym set.

Heart pounding in my chest, I walk around the gym trying to find this girl just for the slim chance it is Izzie. I circled the gym three times, blue eyes darting from one corner to another. It has to be her.

I hurry into the women’s locker room, my gym bag and water bottle abandoned by the weights. In a haze I search it too - but there’s no one there. I feel dizzy. I sit down, noticing my heart beating what felt like a million miles an hour. With shaky hands, I tighten my ponytail.

Pulling out my phone, I search her Instagram profile just to prove myself false. And there it is, a picture on her story, undeniably from London. Great. After everything I also seemed to be losing my mind.

The day is spent Christmas baking with Drew and my stepmom, and helping my dad tidy the garage. Everyone seems to be in a good mood about the approaching holidays, but I was somewhere else. Lost in the memories of her. My visions of Izara had left me in a worse state than before. I couldn’t pretend much more.

“And this box needs to go on that shelf. Would you? My back’s been killin’ since…” my dad’s words fade into the background as I stare at the sign on the wall: Let go and let God

It had been there for years, but I had never really seen it till now. Something about it was drawing me in.

“Paige?”

I’m pulled back, my dad’s voice snapping me out of it.

“Yeah?” I ask, turning to face him. He points at a newly packed box.

“Could you? My back,” my dad complains.

“Sure, yeah,” I answer, heaving the box onto the shelf with ease. Despite cleaning for hours, some dust flies off with the impact, illuminated in the setting sun. My dad chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well I guess I’m officially old, got my daughter lifting things for me,” he laughs. “But I guess not everyone’s daughter is a professional athlete.”

“Guess not,” I murmur absentmindedly. My dad looks at me for a moment, studying. It was easy to tell something wasn’t quite right. I wasn’t good at hiding it.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How’s Savannah?”

He’s digging. I can tell.

“Oh, that’s over,” I answer, picking at my cuticles. Nothing could push Izzie away from my mind.

“What happened?” My dad asks, shocked. I merely raise my shoulders.

“Just didn’t work,” I say lazily. I didn’t really care to talk about it. She clearly liked me more than I ever did her, and the public post of us was the final straw.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he mumbles.

“Have you uh, heard from Izara since she moved back?”

It's entirely the wrong and yet the right question to ask. I open my mouth but not a word comes out. I don’t know what there is to say. Because just saying no was painful enough.

So I burst into tears.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” my dad is quick to wrap me into his arms, rubbing my back up and down as he comforts me. I cry into his shoulder, tears drenching his shirt but he doesn’t seem to care about anything except making it all okay for me.

“Shh, Paige, you’re okay,” she murmurs. I pull back to wipe my eyes. Concern is written all over my dad’s face.

“What’s going on with you?” He asks.

I hesitate, but I’m too exhausted to keep up the lie. “I miss her,” I whisper, lower lip trembling. I can’t meet my dad’s eye.

“Iz?”

I nod.

“I thought I saw her today at the gym,” I admit. “Feel like I’m goin’ crazy.”

My dad listens intently, nodding with my words.

“I could tell it hit you hard when she left,” he says, rubbing my forearm. His familiar touch grounds me. “I just didn’t know it was still on your mind.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get over her.”

He thinks for a while, the garage filled with my sniffling. “Maybe you’re not supposed to,” he says. “Maybe that’s God’s way of telling you there’s something there still.”

I want to laugh. What a ridiculous thing to frame my obsessive personality as a sign. Though if someone would, it would be my dad. Maybe he has a point. Why wouldn’t God allow me to move on? Why was she haunting me everywhere I went?

“Maybe,” I answer thoughtfully, kicking the small rocks on the concrete.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” My dad asks. I lift my gaze back to him.

“She’s in your head, in your heart - you just gonna mope around about it?” He continues. “Doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”

“I’m not moping,” I defend myself. It’s a lie. I definitely am. “Anyway, there’s nothin’ to do. She’s in London.”

“So?” My dad shrugs. “What’s stopping you from going over there?”

I blink at him, stunned by the question. What was stopping me? Pride? Fear? The fact that it might be too late?

I’m not sure, but I know God wouldn’t be sending me these signs unless it meant something. I just didn’t know what yet.

“I don’t know,” I admit - but something in my head clicks.

It’s already dark when my dad drives me to the airport, the stars twinkling in the sky and guiding me. I wish he would speed a little, not that it would make the plane leave any faster. All this time the distance felt infinite, the ocean felt impossible to cross. Like we lived in different worlds. I never realised only an eight hour flight would take me to her.

I tap the armrest all night, jittery with butterflies. I’m only able to sleep in small spurts here and there, far too giddy for any real rest. The idea of seeing her face both terrified and excited me. I had no idea how I might react. Let alone how she will.

It is right before 3 pm local time when I wake up from my sleep to an announcement by the pilot with a British accent, immediately making me think of Izara.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent for London Heathrow Airport. The weather is cloudy with gusts of wind, the temperature around 6 degrees Celsius - that’s around 42 fahrenheit for any Americans aboard. Now, if you look through the right side windows, you might be able to get a good view of the city. I wish you all a Happy Christmas.”

My eyes immediately dart to the window, watching the views below as the plane curves above London. The pilot is right. I might not be an expert on the city but even I can identify Big Ben and the London Eye all the way from up here. A soft smile spreads to my face and I let out a sigh of relief. She’s right there somewhere. And it’s like my body can tell.

With a suitcase and a duffel bag I read through the signs of the airport. Underground that way. I consider it, but realise what a stupid idea it would be to navigate my way through a strange city using strange public transport when I didn’t even know where to go.

So I opt out for a black cab, climbing into the backseat.

“Where are we heading, Miss?” The driver asks with a heavy English accent. It’s different from Izara’s. I remember her telling me the accents changed a lot throughout the country.

“Uhh,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head. “A hotel. But I’m not sure where.”

“You have no reservation?” He asks, glancing at my reflection in the front mirror. His tone made me feel scolded.

“No sir,” I admit. “But any hotel is fine.”

“Well it is Christmas. The hotels are quite costly and overbooked.”

“I’m not on a budget,” I answer awkwardly. “Any price is okay.”

“Hmm,” the man sighs and I know he’s imposing my disorganised behaviour onto all Americans right now. “Zone 1 or Zone 2?”

I have no idea what that means. He can definitely tell. “Both are okay.”

We begin to drive and it only hits me then and there that I had no plan. No address, no idea where to find her. I was scared to text her, I wasn’t sure she’d want to see me. But I had to start somewhere, and finding a place to stay is the first step.

After a shower and getting dressed, the sun is already setting. Apparently it gets dark early in London. I’m glad I brought my Nike puffer vest though, it was much colder than I expected. My hands tingle as I blow hot air onto them, rubbing them together, looking for a metro station - or I guess underground is what they called it here.

I scroll through Izara’s Instagram feed for any hints for where she might be. But there’s nothing. I feel hopeless, frustrated and stupid. What am I doing? This is insane. I almost turn back to the hotel.

It's then I remember my conversation with Arike and what Izzie had told Lala. About her job at the bar. She talked about that bar all the time - But I couldn’t remember the name for the life of me. Something bar something? Shit. She used to say there was a Christmas market right outside in December.

“Hey, my bad- Are you from here?” I stop a British looking lady on the street. She’s taken back but nods.

“Great well, this is kinda weird but. I’m looking for a bar close to a Christmas Market, do you know any?”

She furrows her brows at me, and for a moment I think she’s about to walk off.

“Well it could be any bar honestly,” she chuckles dryly. “But that sounds like Covent Garden to me.”

The lady can tell I’m confused by my expression. “Okay, so you take the Elizabeth Line to Tottenham Court Road and it’s a short walk from there.”

I forget the words as soon as she says them. Why did all the places in London have to sound so ridiculous? Couldn’t they just be normal.

“Darling, are you following?” She asks. The nickname immediately reminds me of Izzie.

“Not really, I’m sorry,” I admit, a flush from embarrassment and the breeze settling onto my cheeks. The lady laughs, and begins to dig for something in her bag. She pulls out a pocket sized map titled Tube map.

“You’ll learn to use it,” she smiles, suddenly much warmer and friendlier. Perhaps that’s how pitiful I looked - at least it’s how I felt. The lady writes down the station and the words Covent Garden onto the back and hands it to me.

“Take it, I hope you find it darling,” she smiles and leaves me standing with the map.

London is magical on Christmas. There’s faint holiday music playing around every corner, Michael Buble soundtracking the scenery of glimmering lights and red and gold decorations. A group of people are letting out giggles and shouts of glee as they blow faux snow down a roof in Covent Garden, painting a picture of a real winter wonderland. But I can’t enjoy any of it, or even stop for the roasted hazelnuts or mulled wine they sell from carts. I’m too focused on my destination.

I circle the entire market multiple times, with no signs of Izara until I decide this isn’t the right place. The joy of everyone around me, the families laughing, the couples kissing, feels like a cruel joke. Maybe it was time to call Izzie. To let her know I was here.

“I was thinking we should go to All Bar One in Leicester Sq-” The two girls beside me debate their next move, the familiar name of the bar snapping me out of my pity party.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, interrupting them. The girls look up at me - they must be around my age. “Is All Bar One next to like a Christmas Market?”

They blink up at me before one of them answers. “Well the one in Leicester Square is.”

That has to be it. Please God let it be it.

“Is it far?” I ask.

“No, not at all.” They all chuckle in unison. “It’s like a five minute walk.”

“Forreal?” I can’t fight the grin on my face.

“Yeah,” one of the girls smiles. “I can show on maps.”

Perhaps I’m too trusting, letting the girl set up a route for me on my phone. But right now I don't care about anything but getting to Izara.

“Thank you so much,” I beam, grabbing my phone back. Five minute walk indeed.

“You’re welcome,” she smiles. “Sorry if this is weird, but are you Paige Bueckers?”

Shit.

“Errr, yeah,” I murmur. “But I’m not supposed to be here. So let’s keep it hush.”

The girls all laugh but nod. “Don’t worry. Good luck finding it!”

I swear I’ve never taken such long steps as I nearly jog towards Leicester Square, doing my best not to bump into the crowds of people walking like a herd along the streets of London. The five minute walk only takes me half the time, until my eyes land on a Christmas market in the middle of the square - filled with little stalls selling food and trinkets. But I walk right past until I see it. In big golden letters on the pale building. All Bar One.

The butterflies rush to my stomach, and instinctively I pull my beanie off to pat down my hair. A breeze causes goosebumps all around my body but I don’t even notice the cold. I squint trying to see through the tall windows into the bar, but the twinkling lights of the market opposite make it impossible. I better do it now before I get cold feet.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door and open it. It’s surprisingly heavy, and I let it close behind me. What hits me first is the warmth of the space, mood lighting flickering against the people and painted walls. It smells like red wine, cinnamon and nutmeg. The faint sound of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas carries over the chatter even though it’s packed. The waitresses and bartenders walk around with bright smiles and a pep in their step that tells me it’s a busy evening. But I’m only looking for one.

And there she is. Meticulously rubbing a wine glass clean of fingerprints, dark brows in a deep furrow and face scrunched in concentration. For a moment I think it’s a dream. I don’t dare to move. I feel frozen, standing there and watching her. And it seems she can feel my presence - because for no reason at all Izara lifts her gaze and her eyes land on mine, softening as they do. And I know it was worth it to come, even just for that.

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wh1msic4lwasab1 · 10 months ago

Text

⋆⁺₊❅. “Give you...whatever you need!"⋆⁺₊❅.

synopsis: being the captains assistant ;)

tags: lots of possessiveness, manipulation (?), power dynamics, dom capitano, vulgar, explicit, fingering, facefucking, begging, degradation, penetration, creampie, you get the gist

wrd cnt: 2.5k

a/n: doja cat pls release generous ( lyrics from the song as title) and my life is YOURS… also partly inspired by the azeru audio….

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Droplets of a custom blend of his favorite drink, warm and slightly sweet hit the bottom of a porcelain cup.

It was just something you did, something you knew The Captain liked and as his assistant, routinely did.

This particular evening it was as if everyone in the nation needed you. A task, an errand, or just had to stop you in your tracks to his quarters for some idle chat.

It must have been several minutes longer than when he was expecting you, which was far too long to keep the Captain waiting; occupied against your will.

His tea was cold by now.

Finally, you ran over to his door. The runway-like carpet ending and small tiles lining the entryway to his office, guarded and sealed.

But you were a regular.

The guard knocked on the door, “Sir, your assistant has returned” he announced, waiting for an answer.

It took a few seconds, but you could hear a faint “Let her in”.

You sigh deeply and watch the giant doors open and shut behind you as you walk into the dimly lit room, only candles and small lamps lit across the table and crackling fireplace that remained behind The Captain’s seated body.

“Over and Over. I must have called you a thousand times? More or less.” He spoke, his voice clear even through the steel mask that adorned his face.

“I’m so sorry-“ You quickly respond, placing the cup on the edge of his desk and folding your hands together. “I got caught up with some others- a few harbingers as well needed my assistance.”

He straightened his legs, now standing in front of you, making you back up just slightly due to his large frame.

“It’s as if you’ve forgotten who you serve.” He said, the point of his gauntlet nail scratching the edge of your jaw and trailing down to your chin.

“Who kept you so long?” He asked, quickly adding “Never mind. Don’t tell me, I’d rather not know.”

You have trouble knowing where to look. Not wanting to cause any more trouble for yourself.

“Now that you’re here…maybe we should get started. You’ll probably need to stay overnight.” He mentioned.

You nod, agreeably to not seem like you’re eager to leave.

You sorted out all the intel Capitano had been collecting. There were piles of data, equipment, maps, and so much more. You were the only person he’d let touch them. It was common for you to stay late, as work never seems to dry out. It was also common for you to be whatever he wanted you to be. Errand runner, liaison…or his toy to let out his frustrations.

Everyone sees The Captain for what he puts on. Respectable and professional.

Most of the fatui honestly confess to enjoying working for him, as he has been much kinder than the others.

He can be, but he has his limits.

How can he be so kind to you when you’re late? You dared to keep him waiting.

“This is unlike you.” He says, noticing you yawn as you flip through the pages.

You blink your eyes a second too long, “Oh- I’m sorry I haven’t gotten much sleep, but I can keep working! Please don’t worry”. You assure.

“ I’m not worried, not for myself anyway.” He adds, kicking his feet up on the edge of the desk.

“Come here.” He urges you, forcing you to get off your small little table in the corner to his desk.

He flicks just one finger and you follow, taunting you to his lap.

“Yes- Captain?” You feel your throat get dry as you sit on his thigh, big enough to count as a seat.

“Is there anything…you need from me?” You ask, insinuating a more personal form of assistance.

He hikes his foot up higher on the table, creating a steep slope of his legs that drags you down and forces you into the crook of your lap, hands instinctively hitting his chest for balance.

“This isn’t for me. I think we need to wake you up.”

You felt a small shiver run up your spine when his hands landed on your hips, “How else will you finish all your work?” He adds.

You let out a small sigh as you felt his steel-clad fingers wrapping around your sides as if your ribs were now armored.

He slowly dragged them down your stomach, small points sliding down the sides of your thighs making you arch your back and grind onto his lap, earning a chuckle from him.

With swift motion, he grabs your throat; dropping his mask on the floor and letting it roll off somewhere.

Your body tenses, and you can see the most faint glimpses of his face; still hidden under the darkness of the room.

Deep and rich, he speaks to you, “Take off your clothes.”

Almost as if he’d conditioned your mind, you do so with no complaints.

He even helps, tugging up your shirt with the finger tip of his gauntlets as you pull it off. As your shirt falls to the floor, you stand before him in just your bra and skirt, your heart pounding in your chest. He doesn't waste any time, his hands moving to your back, deftly unhooking your bra with practiced ease. The straps slide down your arms, and your breasts spill free, bouncing lightly as they are finally released. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, exposed and vulnerable.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. "Now the rest."

You slip your skirt down, letting it pool at your feet, and step out of it.

You stand there, naked and vulnerable, your breath hitching as Capitano's fingers trace the curve of your hips. His touch is firm yet deliberate, each movement sending shivers down your spine. Shadows play across his muscular frame, making him appear even more imposing as he pulls you back onto his lap, each leg now dangling off his sides.

"Spread your legs," he commands, his voice low and gravelly. The steel in his tone leaves no room for disobedience.

You hesitate for a brief moment, but the intensity in his dark blue eyes compels you to comply. You part your thighs, positioning yourself in his lap. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable, a stark contrast to the cool air brushing against your exposed skin. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your folds, another hand squeezing your breasts between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp, arching into his touch, your body betraying how much you crave his attention.

"Please..." you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you.

He leans forward, his mouth closing around your nipple, suckling hard enough to make you cry out.

His teeth graze the tender flesh, sending waves of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the tough material of his armor, as he moves to your other breast, repeating the process. Each pull of his lips, each scrape of his teeth, makes you shudder, your body responding eagerly to his rough ministrations.

"Captain..." you moan, your voice breaking as he continues his assault on your senses and his gentle strokes around your inner thigh, purposefully ignoring your sensitive pearl.

He pulls back, leaving you panting and desperate for more. His eyes glint with satisfaction as he watches you struggle to catch your breath. "Turn around," he orders, his voice firm and commanding.

You obey, swinging your leg over and turning your back to him…well, it’s more of him picking up your entire weight and shifting you into position.

As you automatically reach for the edge of the desk to steady yourself, he lifts himself off his seat, stepping close to your body, his presence looming behind you, his heat radiating against your bare skin. You feel his hands on your ass, squeezing the globes roughly, spreading them apart to expose your most intimate parts. Your breath hitches as you anticipate what's coming next.

"Look at you," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for me." He adds, flicking his arm down to release his hand from the gauntlet, thudding on the floor just as his last piece of equipment.

“Is this what you were thinking about in that little corner of yours?” He teases.

His fingers trail down, skin grazing the crease where your thighs meet your ass, dipping lower until they brush against your wet folds. You gasp, your knees buckling slightly as he slips one finger inside you, probing deeply. You clench around him, your muscles instinctively tightening, drawing him deeper.

"You're so, so wet," he murmurs, his finger sliding in and out of you, slowly building up speed. "Such a good girl."

Your head falls forward, your forehead resting on the cool surface of the desk as you ride out the sensations he's unleashing on your body. His cold finger flicks against your clit, making you jerk and whimper, your hips swaying involuntarily as you try to get more friction. "Beg for it," he demands, removing his finger and resting it on your hips.

"Please... Captain, please," you beg, your voice shaking with need. "I want more... I need you..."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Not yet," he says, "But soon."

You whine in protest, your body aching for release, but he grabs your hips.

"On your knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You drop to your knees, your hands trembling as you reach for his belt, unbuckling it quickly. You undo his pants, pushing them down to reveal his hardened length, already glistening with pre-cum.

You lick your lips, your mouth watering at the sight of him.

"Take me in your mouth," he orders, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "Show me how much you want it."

You obey, wrapping your lips around his throbbing cock, sucking gently as you take him deep into your throat. He groans, his hands tightening in your hair as you bob your head up and down, your tongue swirling around him with each pass. You can feel him twitching in your mouth, his hips thrusting gently to meet your movements.

"Fuck... yes," he mutters, his voice strained with effort. "Suck it like you mean it."

You redouble your efforts, taking him deeper, your throat convulsing around him as you gag slightly.

He tastes amazing, salt and iron, the essence of his power and dominance filling your senses. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you stroke the base of his shaft with your hand, listening to the sounds of his grunts and moans above you.

"That's it," he praises, his fingers digging into your scalp. "Just like that... almost there...you’re working so hard"

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breathing heavy and labored. You know he's close, can feel the tension building in him, and you work harder, your jaw aching from the effort.

Suddenly, he lets out a low growl, his fingers yanking your head back as he comes, his hot seed flooding your mouth.

You swallow dutifully, licking him clean as he pulls out of your mouth, his chest heaving with exertion.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust, and smirks. "Up," he commands, his voice still hoarse from his orgasm.

You do as told, standing up and facing him, your legs shaky from being on your knees for so long. He grabs your wrist, yanking you towards the desk, and pushes you onto it, your chest pressing against the cool wood. You gasp, your nipples rubbing against the rough surface, sending jolts of sensation through your body.

He kneels behind you, his hands roaming over your ass, squeezing and caressing the flesh before diving between your legs once more. His fingers find your drenched entrance, slipping inside with ease, pumping in and out with increasing speed.

You moan, your head falling back as his other hand circles your clit, rubbing it furiously.

"That’s it…keep making those sounds," he whispers, "So fucking wet for me. You need more, don’t you?”

You nod, unable to form words, your body consumed by the pleasure he's giving you. His rough hands continue to pleasure you, painting your ass red with just a single slap.

“Answer me.” He says, waiting for your begging voice before pressing his hard length into your ass.

“Yes- please….please Capitano.” You whimper.

You can almost feel the smirk that’s plastered on his face behind you. He lines himself up, his tip teasing your entrance, dipping just enough to coat himself in your slick arousal. You shiver at the contact, your body tensing in anticipation. Then, without warning, he presses forward, his cock sliding partway into your tight channel before pausing.

"Relax," he commands, his voice firm. "Give yourself to me completely."

You try to relax, breathing deeply, but the stretch is overwhelming. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he begins to push deeper, filling you inch by agonizing inch. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, your muscles clenching around him as he forces his way inside.

"That's it," he whispers, his voice strained. "Take it all, my little slut."

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he's buried deep inside you, his balls pressed against your ass. You gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the fullness, by the sheer dominance of his presence within you. It's almost too much, but somehow, it's exactly what you need.

Capitano doesn't wait for you to adjust. With a low growl, he pulls back until only his tip remains, then thrusts forward again, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force. You cry out, your hands clutching at the desk for support as he claims you over and over again. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your head spin and your vision blur.

"Fuck, you feel good," he grunts, his voice rough with exertion. "So tight, so perfect."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. He fucks into your at a monstrous pace, your body going limp. He picks you up, holding your neck firm from behind.

“Arch your fucking back.” He growls, roughly handling you into position. You can feel the tension building in him, the same tension that's coiling inside you, tightening with every thrust, every caress. You're close, so close, but he's not done with you yet.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your ear. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low rumble.

You obey, turning your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are wild, filled with lust and possession. He looks at you as if you're his world, his everything, and in this moment, you believe it.

"You're mine," he whispers, “Anytime another person- another damn harbinger calls for you- shit” He groans, “…tell them to fuck off. Captain’s order?” his voice thick with emotion. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I will-!" you breathe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

His hand slides down to your clit again, his fingers rubbing in fast, desperate circles. The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you scream his name as you come undone, your body convulsing around his cock. He follows right behind you, his release crashing over him like a tidal wave, filling you with his warmth.

You’ve never served Capitano with a cold cup of tea again.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #capitano #the captain #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #genshin capitano #genshin capitano smut #capitano smut #smut

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gojoidyll · 10 months ago

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There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 8 | An Aeon

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

want to be a part of the taglist? then pls go to taglist ^-^

Previous | Fic Masterlist | Next

When you wake up, your mind feels kind of fuzzy. Almost as if you were missing something.

“Something the matter?”

You felt your soul leave your body at the sudden voice causing him to laugh. Snapping your head to the side, you noticed it was the man from before. The one who erased your death- wait, your death? And that was when it hit you. You couldn’t remember how you died or the pain that you felt. It was like-

“It never even happened?”

You gave him a weary look, causing him to chuckle softly at both your expression and how you were acting.

“There is no need to fret, you know? I am not going to hurt you.”

“What- what are you doing here?”

You ended up ignoring his lighthearted words and gestured to the library. You were still on the couch, and the book you were holding had fallen to the floor.

The man mused to himself, his smile light and warm.

“I suppose it was quite rude of me to task you finding my name.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because my name hasn’t existed in the sense that you know of.”

“…I don’t understand.”

Sunday turned a little and patted his lap. Despite not remembering your death, you did remember how you met him. So you crawled to him, moving some of the cushions in your way and laid sideways, your head nuzzled comfortably in his lap which allowed him to run his fingers through your hair once again.

“My name is Sunday, and I existed not too long ago. However, my reign was short lived thanks to that Emperor. And to worsen my pride, he went and erased my very existence by taking out everything that had any relevance to me.”

“Sunday…?”

You let his name roll off your tongue. The name wasn’t familiar.

“So you fought and lost against the Emperor?”

“I did. I suppose I wanted to see if I still existed somewhere. Anywhere. Though, if I don’t even exist in the Emperor’s library, well, then my name wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“Why did you fight against him?”

“For my own beliefs. Much like everyone else.”

“What exactly are you anyway?”

“I’m just Sunday. An older brother. A friend. A leader of sorts. And someone who failed in the end.”

“How are you here now then?”

Your voice was soft as you spoke and when Sunday looked down at you, you wondered how someone so angelic could look so sad but still have that soft smile on his face.

“I guess you could say I got lucky with how supposedly died… if shorter terms, I became an aeon.”

“An aeon…huh? And what was that kiss you placed on my forehead? Ever since you did it, I have been having trouble remembering some things.”

“A kiss on the forehead erases pain and misery, so I kiss your forehead, however, a kiss on the forehead can also erase memory. I suppose…, I just didn’t want you to remember the pain you felt when you died.”

“Why?”

Sunday smiled at your question, “because I wanted to, do I need any other reason?”

You hummed at his answer, your eyes glancing back to the library door. You don’t remember closing, maybe Blade did?

“So now that I know your name, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Well,” Sunday started, “you still want to go home, don’t you? Find a way to do that.”

“But how? I kind of died the last time I tried.”

Sunday shook his head as he tried to keep himself from laughing, “don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find a way. And don’t worry about the rest. If you do die again, I’ll simply erase everything all over again.”

You nodded to his words, but yawned once more, despite sleeping for so long, you were still so impossibly tired which was when Sunday gently bent down to kiss both of your eyelids.

“A kiss to your eyelids, to erase your tiredness.”

And it was true, the sleep that was beckoning gradually left and just as you were about to say something to him, he was already gone. Your head was no longer on his lap and instead rested on a bunch of cushions, and just as you were about to sit up, the library door opened.

“You’re still lying down,” Blade said, an obvious hint of annoyance rested within his tone causing you to frown at him as you sat up.

“I was getting up,” you argued which caused Blade to roll his eyes.

“Whatever…, are you planning to stay here all day princess?”

Huffing at his attitude, you stood up while completely forgetting about the book you had been reading, “I get it, ok? I’m leaving right now.”

Stomping your way out of the library, Blade followed not so quietly after you.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the couch, did we?”

“Oh shut it you…,” your voice trailed off when your stomping slowly slowed to a stop as you looked out to the field where there were a few people riding horses.

A new idea soon forming in your mind.

“Blade.”

“What?”

“I want to go horseback riding.”

taglist pt 1

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbun @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

#hsr #honkai star rail #There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair #emperor jing yuan x reader #emperor jing yuan x princess reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan #emperor jing yuan #hsr jing yuan

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bots-and-cons · 9 months ago

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Could you do a reader who has low iron? Platonic pls(characters are up to you) thank you for reading this your blog gives me life

A/N: Thank you, I’m so happy to hear you like my blog. I picked our two medics since this is a medical thing

~Ratchet~

•He��s noticed you’ve been growing more and more pale as the weeks go by, he isn’t even really sure how that’s possible, because you already looked very pale to begin with

•Ratchet is of course worried by this development, and he asks you about it

•You’re like “Nah, I’ve just got low iron”

•Ratchet is a bit confused at first, because to his knowledge, humans are not made of any sort of metal

•You have to explain the whole “iron deficiency” thing to him, and he at least mostly gets what you’re talking about

•He of course starts reading up on the subject, since he wants to make sure he knows if anything alarming starts to occur

•You can get quite lightheaded sometimes, which can be a bit dangerous if you’re sitting on Ratchet’s shoulder, because you might fall from getting too dizzy

•Which is why Ratchet doesn’t really like letting you sit there, because he knows his reflexes aren’t what they used to be

•You try to assure him that it’s okay and that you’ll tell him if you’re feeling too lightheaded and feel like you might fall

•He agrees to let you sit on his shoulder, but only if you let him scan your vitals and whatnot first so he can be sure you’re feeling well

~Knockout~

•Knockout pays a lot of attention to how others look, so when you start looking more pale than usual, he notices pretty quickly

•He asks why that is and you tell him about your iron deficiency problem

•Knockout is pretty ignorant to how humans work, so he doesn’t really get it and asks why you don’t just eat some iron then? “Something like nails should do, right?”

•This makes you basically roar with laughter, because all you can think about is him trying to offer you some iron nails

•When you calm down, you explain to him that no, you can’t just eat something made of iron, and that eating nails would probably kill you

•You tell him you need iron supplements and that you recently ran out and haven’t been able to buy more yet, hence the paleness

•Knockout is, yet again, a bit weirded out by how human bodies work and asks you if there’s anything he can do

•You tell him not to worry about it, but if he could let you sit on his shoulder for a while, that would be nice, because compared to a human he’s much warmer

•Your hands and feet are constantly cold, so if you kick your shoes of and sit on his shoulder with your hands and feet touching him, it feels nice since he’s so warm

•He doesn’t mind, so he lets you warm yourself up as much as you want to

•Knockout asks if this iron deficiency problem has any other effects than cold extremities and paleness

•You give him quite a lengthy list of what it can cause and he wonders how you humans even function sometimes

•Isn’t it a pain to have to make sure you get all the vitamins and minerals and all that? He only needs energon and that’s that, so easy, but you need like a hundred different things just to survive

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #autobots #decepticons #ratchet #knockout #tfp headcanons #reader insert #platonic transformers x reader

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babbymochiiii · 1 year ago

Text

🔞BIRTHDAY SURPRISE: JOHNNY SUH

↪︎pairing: idol! Johnny x afab! reader

↪︎genre: smut, fluff, romance

↪︎warnings: established relationship, johnny getting blind folded, oral (m), unprotected sex (y’all wrap it up pls), dick riding, dom johnny, sub reader, daddy count (1), dirty talk, Johnny coming inside of reader, pet names; hers: angel, baby; his: baby

↪︎synopsis: you give Johnny a birthday surprise 🎁

↪︎word count: 1.7k

note ✨: Happy birthday to Johnny!!! 🥳 decided to write this fic that’s been brewing in my mind for a bit just because 🤷🏼 and besides it’s straight to the point 😂🫶🏼

requests are open! 🤎

divider credit @chaefilm 🖤

“You’re blind folding me?” Johnny lets out with a chuckle as he goes along with whatever you have planned.

“It’s part of your birthday surprise.” You giggled as you finished off tying the red silk ribbon around his head as you straddled his lap.

“And what could that birthday surprise be?” Johnny hummed sensually as he placed his hands on your hips.

“You just gotta wait and find out.” you whispered in his ear as you gave him a small kiss at the shell of his ear.

Goosebumps formed around the base of Johnny’s neck down to his arm as his grip on your hips tightened. “You’re teasing...” he realized.

“Of course, I am... I gotta build the tension while I have you blinded folded.” you said as you slowly climbed off his lap and towards his hardened length that happily sits high against the air leaking beads of pre cum, waiting for attention of its own.

You came face to face with Johnny’s tip. A strangled moan leaves his lips as he felt your warm breathing hit his shaft causing for a shiver to run through his body. Before he could protest to you, you started to kitten lick his tip, causing him to throw his head back in ecstasy at the feeling.

You continued to kitten lick, enjoying the look of pleasure and torment that started to wrap around Johnny’s facial expression. Johnny bucked his hips up trying to gain some sort of other type of stimulation as he knew that he didn’t like you teasing him with such small licks.

“Tsk, you’re getting needy.” you retorted as you started to fist his shaft.

With a groan, Johnny bucked up at the sensation. “Watch your tone angel. I may be blind folded but that doesn’t mean you have the reigns completely.” he said between teeth as he felt you take as much of his length into your mouth.

“Mmm, you’re always more talk than action anyways baby.” you mumbled as you gasped up for air before going back down and bobbing your head just the way Johnny likes it.

Johnny sat up as much as he could without hurting both you and him and wrapped his fingers in your hair pulling you off of him. “Don’t tempt me angel, you know I’ll make you regret it.”

“Regret it? More like make me love it.” you said as you gave him a somewhat fucked out smile.

“Tsk, you’re a brat, you knew that?” johnny sneered as he blindly guided you back to what you were doing.

Happily going back to business, you started to deep throat Johnny, causing you to gag around his length as you tried to control your breathing.

Johnny felt the way you swallowed around him causing him to groan and tighten his grip on your hair. Making your eyes tear up even more as you continued to push down on him before pulling away, causing strings of saliva to connect from the tip to your mouth.

“I didn’t say you could stop.” Johnny said as he pushed your head back down on his shaft and started to face fuck you, not showing you any sort of mercy.

“Fuck angel your throat is so tight.” Johnny moaned out as he held you down to where the tip of your nose touched the base of his shaft.

You tapped Johnny’s thigh, signaling to him to need to breath, to which he lets you up and lets you catch your breath. As you tried to go back down on him, Johnny pulled your head back.

“I’m not cumming like this. Ride me.” he ordered, not leaving any room for discussion.

You bit your lip as you tried to suppress the smile on your face. “Yes, daddy.” you said as you straddled his lap once again.

Once situated, you take hold of his shaft and align him to your entrance. You slowly sink down, making the two of you moan out at the sensation of your joining.

“Soaking wet as always.” Johnny comments as he felt your slick trinkle down from between your folds to his base.

A moan leaves your lips as his words as you slowly started to fuck yourself.

You held onto his shoulders to level yourself as you started to pick up speed just as the pleasure started to become deliciously intense. Not being able to hold back anymore, Johnny takes hold of your hips as slams you down. This causes you to arch your back and moan out in pleasure at the sensation.

He held you in place as he started to fuck up into you, completely getting lost in the pleasure. You couldn’t complain as this was exactly what you wanted from him. “F-fuck angel you feel so fucking good.” He moans as he bit his bottom lip.

With how intense he was fucking you, the blind fold started to fall down from its original position. Not like either of you cared that it came off, just the intense eye contact that was happening could cause goose bumps to form on your skin.

When the blind fold came off, Johnny could see the pleasure written all over your face as you looked at him. He saw the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you threw your head back as strings of moans leave your lips.

Johnny took hold of your waist and flipped both of you over to where he was on top of you, not once coming out of you. He continued his brutal pace inside of you making you see stars.

“So beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous my angel.” Johnny moaned out as he started to see how fucked out you were becoming.

“Mmhm, y-yes…” you trailed off as you moaned.

“Dumb on my cock already angel?” Johnny teased as he started to tweet with your harden nipples.

“Y-yes — “a moan coming from you cut you off as Johnny’s hand trails down to your clit, squeezing it between his fingers.

“Hmmm, just how I like to see you.” Johnny mumbled to himself as he watched the way you react to his touch.

Johnny’s eyes trail down from your face to where you both join together. Seeing the way, you sucked him inside of you had him going feral inside. He pulled out of you, causing you to whimper at the lost feeling of being full.

“Just for a moment baby, I need you to turn for me, okay?” Johnny said as he helped you turn onto your stomach.

Automatically, you arched your ass up off of the bed giving Johnny a full show of your pussy, slick coming out of it for how good he was fucking you.

“Fuck angel, look at the way you’re dripping.” Johnny says as he takes hold of your ass cheeks and spreads them apart so he could get a better view of your wet entrance.

“J-Johnny please…” you whine as you pushed yourself against him.

A slap landed right on your ass, causing you to jolt forward with a moan. “Patience.”

You whimpered as you looked over your shoulder to see Johnny completely mesmerized by the sight before him.

Johnny delivered a couple more slaps before kneading the tender flesh in his hands. He leaned down and placed kisses along your ass cheeks before he bit into one, making you moan loudly.

Aligning himself with your entrance, Johnny thrusted himself into you in one go delivering the fullness you’ve been trying to regain back.

Johnny continued the brutal pace from before, chasing the high within both of you that he knew was around the corner.

“I-I’m…” you trailed off as you stuffed your head between the pillows below you as the pleasure was too much to bear with.

“Fuck yourself on my cock angel.” A hiss escapes through his lips as you start to move yourself along his shaft, chasing the height that’s building up tightly.

With a twitch from your walls and one last thrust on Johnny’s cock, you found your legs shaking in pleasure causing them to give out.

Johnny followed your movement. He pressed himself deeper inside of you due to the position of you laying down completely on the bed. He continued thrusting into you hastily helping you through your orgasm, causing some overstimulation, as he chased after his own high.

You felt like you were on cloud nine as Johnny brought you into overstimulation. Small, whiny moans leave your lips as he continued.

You felt Johnny’s cock twitch inside of you, signaling that he’s about to release his load.

“Angel, fuck I’m so close.” Johnny groaned out as he continued.

“Inside.” You mumbled into the pillows.

Johnny took hold of your hair and pulled your head back. “What was that angel?” He whispered into your ear.

Chills run down your back as goosebumps rise onto your skin. “I-inside of me baby please.” You cried as you felt you were close to a second orgasm.

“Fuck baby…you drive me crazy.” Johnny said as he brought his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue inside of your mouth to dominate the kiss.

Lost in the kiss, you felt the sensation in your stomach tighten once again causing you to clench around Johnny.

“Mmgh, fuck!” Johnny moaned out of the kiss as he started to release his load.

As you felt the hot strands of his cum inside of you, you came around his cock for the second time tonight.

Johnny put his weight on his arms so he wouldn’t fully collapse on you. Slowly, Johnny moved to the side, careful not to hurt you as he was still inside of you. He brought the two of you to your sides where he pushed the hair that clung onto your sweat damp forehead away from your face.

Johnny softly caressed your arm; this causes you to stir slightly at the gentle sensation. Groggily, you opened your eyes and looked over your shoulder to see Johnny smiling down at you with a gentle smile.

“Happy birthday baby.” you said softly as you took hold of his hand.

“Thank you for the birthday surprise angel.” Johnny said as he placed a tender kiss on your shoulder.

With one last shared kiss, the two of you drifted off into sleep content with another successful birthday surprise.

ummm thANK YOU TO MY 100+ FOLLOWERS!? ☹️🖤 honestly to see that so many of you like what I write is enough but to see that many of you following me makes me cry in joy 😭🫶🏼 thank you thank you thank youuuuu you guys encourage me 🖤

But I hope you guys enjoyed this fic! Had to give Johnny something for his birthday (ofc he ain’t seeing this cause— well 💀)

So much love from me to you MWAH MWAH 😚🖤

— mochi 🕷️

#happy birthday johnny #johnny suh #nct johnny #johnny x y/n #johnny x reader #nct #nct smut #smut #nct 127 #kpop #kpop imagines #kpopidol #romance #birthday #birthday sex #wish granted #100 followers

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siolixz · 9 months ago

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ღ Of Love and Loyaltyღ

+18

Part 2

Pairings: Oz "The Penguin" Cobb x Reader

Reader takes Victor's place in this story. She and Oz have developed a relationship of sorts and she changed based on everything around her.

Reader is a young girl infatuated with a man decades older than her- who is also very dangerous and powerful (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 pls take everything with a grain of salt. Oz's mom is actually dead in this story. I will write a third and final part to this after the last episode. Everyone in this story is 18+ and consenting 100%.

Enjoy, give some feedback if you want. (>‿◠)✌

Warnings: violence, age-gap relationship, smut(¬‿¬)

You finally made something of yourself. Sure it was all blood money, but you did- you did what you had to do to survive and not only that, to thrive.

Before leaving he told you to get in the car while he talked to Sofia outside, when you got back he was on his knees- a gun pointed at his face. You acted on impulse and drove the car into one of the guys there; best thing you could’ve done at the moment he told you.

You would think that planning to escape would distance you from him but it did the opposite- even after wrecking his car, that poor gorgeous car; you’ve never been in one as fancy before- let alone drive it.

“I’m so-sorry about your car.” you said as you stared at it in flames.

“Yeah- what're ya gonna do 'bout it- only the good die young.” he came closer to you and grabbed the back of your head- forcing you to look at him. “Don’t be sad about it- you’re worth a thousand more to me.”

He told you that you two were “really in it now”- and he couldn’t have been more right about that.

He got the Bliss operation back from the Maroni family by burning the mother and the heir apparent to their family- together. His brutality frightened you but If he wanted to rule the mob- he had to be brutal and unwavering in his choices, at least that’s what you told yourself to justify what he had done. Now not only Sofia Gigante was after you, but also Sal Maroni.

In the weeks following you had your own operation- underground, in a sewer system that connected you to all of Gotham, you became Oz’s eyes and ears above ground, traveling on your motorcycle- giving him news about the world above and delivering his money directly in his hands. He had given you your own gun—"just in case someone messes with you"—though you never ended up using it.

Oz trusted you, even after your attempt at an escape- he moved you two to an apartment on the East Side, one that reminded you of your old one; without electricity but it did its job. In the apartment you got very close to him, you got to know him much better and you changed too in the meantime, you were more confident- more sure of yourself next to him.

He was all you had, the one person who made you feel like you were the center of his world. One night- he came "home" late, as he often did. You were already in bed, curled up and trying to stay warm when you felt the familiar weight of his body sinking into the mattress. He slid under the covers and pulled you close, and you sighed, finally feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

"The people in charge really don’t give a fuck about us," you murmured, exhaustion lacing your voice. It was a tired frustration—being cold at work and now being cold at home. Winter was coming, and your mind drifted to families with children who needed warmth.

He took a deep breath. The long days weighed heavily on him; managing his people and the constant stress left him drained. Most nights, he would grab a bite, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, cold or not, he’d fall into a deep sleep. You’d take advantage of those moments, cuddling close and pulling his heavy arm over you. Oswald slept like a rock.

"I’ll do something about it," he said, his deep voice vibrating through you. In the weeks you’d been together, you’d learned how to speak to him, how to make him feel powerful—your man, your only one. He was the only man who had ever made you feel this way, and you couldn’t deny the rush you felt watching him command respect when he barked out orders to his men, a cigar perched between his lips. God, he was handsome. Your stomach would flutter every time you caught a glimpse of him, even if only for a second.

He was a towering presence, terrifying when he loomed over you, and seeing him angry was enough to scare you senseless. But it also sets your heart racing for other reasons too.

Before the club, his gaze never strayed from you; now, it was his hands that constantly sought you. He couldn't help himself when you were close, sometimes grabbing you in public like an eager kid in a candy shop. You learned that when he called you into his "office," it meant he was either seething with anger or burning with desire—either way, you knew he’d end up taking it out on you.

He’d told you more than once that he hadn’t felt this alive in years, and you could sense the shift in everything he did—from the way he spoke to the intensity in the way he fucked you. He had changed.

You told him about Squid- about how he came up to you today- asking you where you got your clothes- “what shit you got cooking” - Oz asked you if it was going to be a problem, you told him no; he could count on you- you won’t let him down.

“You know, I think you’re the only thing keeping me good, doll.” he traced circles on your arm. If you were keeping him good, what was Oz like when bad? The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt his hands traveling under the blanket and beneath the sweater and t-shirt you had on and you proceeded to hiss once they made contact with your skin “your hands are so cold” you said and he chuckled.

The next day, you made true to your promise and met up with Squid- you had a plan, of course you did, you would give him some money and hope he would leave you alone.

Of course the dumb bastard declined the money- of course he tried to intimidate you to “bring him to the big man” or else he was gonna go to the Maronis or Falcones- maybe they would help him; the fuck was he thinking? That a small-time asshole like him could make a deal with Oz?

So many thoughts were running through your head, what if you did bring him to Oz? You didn’t want to bother him, he had enough stuff he had to worry about- plus the things Oz would do to him were too graphic to think about. What if you ran? No, he would catch you- probably beat the shit out of you too. Shit.

“Ok, I’ll take you to him.” you said as you were going down the steps, him following. Fuck-fuck you had to shoot him, this motherfucker was going to ruin whatever you had going on.

You had to shoot him, no other time better than now- your pistol was in the front of your jeans. Do it now. You grabbed your gun from your pants and before you knew it, you turned around and pulled the trigger.

When you opened your eyes, Squid was gripping his throat- blood was coming out in buckets- he stared at you and your shocked face. Neither of you believing what you just did. Your breathing was becoming heavier and heavier- almost gasping for breath- you just shot someone- he was going to die.

Oh god, he was dying. You watched as the light drained from his eyes and you didn’t want to stick around to see him pass so you ran- you ran to your motorcycle and then you drove above the speed limit, probably breaking a few laws too until you got underground.

He was probably dead by now- you just killed him. You never realized that you were crying as well; you ran to his office and thanked the lord that no one was around to see you.

You opened the door and there he was, wearing a well tailored shirt and a vest- writing something down- money next to him. He quickly looked up as he heard you come in and then dropped his head down to continue what he was writting “Well look who decided to pay me a visit”, he muttered with a smirk; you tried to control your sobs and when he heard the shallow breath you took to steady yourself- he looked up again “The fuck happened?” he immediately got up and went towards you.

You told him what happened between sobs as he held you on his lap, seated in his chair. You told him everything; about Squid- how he threatened to go to the Falcones or the Maronis- how you knew you had no choice and while leaning back he told you that it will get easier, this isn’t the end of the world.

“You wanna know something?” He grabbed your face and made you look at him “You did what was right, you protected yourself, what you have. No one can take that from you- I’m proud of you.” Your sad demeanor was gone by now and replaced with the familiar warmth you had whenever he said something like this.

He kissed you and brought your body and embraced you “You’ve grown so much in these weeks, you’re no longer the kid that used to sneak around buildings-” you kissed him, bringing his lower lip between your lips. You wanted to forget- forget what happened and what you did- he always made you forget all your worries, you only ever thought about him when you were in his presence. He put his arm beneath both of your legs as you were sitting and you almost yelped when he got you on his desk.

“Oz-” Ok, maybe getting him started wasn’t the best idea, whenever you got him going he would forget about the windows in his office or the fact that someone might hear you.

You tried to bring one of your legs between the two of you, trying to stop him “-Oz, when we are home” you tried to reason with the man, even if getting fucked in his office would turn you on in the worst ways and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t getting wet already.

He loved the power he would hold over you- whenever he would manhandle you in any position he would like or whenever he would order you to do something- you couldn’t lie, you liked it too; sometimes he would have you suck his cock as he solved the men's pay, sometimes he would have you on all fours on his bed- Oz was a man that loved to be in control, to be number one- the best. You knew that.

He was already getting your jacket off, “Oz-” he grabbed the money from the table and placed it away from you two, before getting back to kissing and groping you.

He grabbed hold of your clothed pussy and from the feeling of his hand there- you raised your butt slightly up and pushed back into him.

This relationship that you two had, it made you feel like a woman- it was so different than the one you had with Robert, where it was just light touches on your face and small kisses- Oswald was a man, whenever he wanted you, he would have you and it made you feel as if you were wanted and desired- it made you feel alive.

He stopped and you knew someone was probably at the door. Shit- this is so embarrassing, you looked down and without making eye contact, went into the small room connecting to his office- he had a bed there, a small one; not big enough for two people to sleep comfortably but it was something. It was also way more warm in here than outside where everyone else was working.

You took your sweater off and sat on the bed, while listening to what he was saying to the guy that came in, something about the meeting he had and a surprise. You had to ask him about that, but after he was done with you.

Your heart was beating out of your ches- the door opened.

He looked at you and made small steps towards the bed, you were smiling while scooting back- with butterflies dancing in your stomach; wondering what he was gonna do next when he grabbed both of your legs and placed them on either side of him before joining you on the bed- on top of you.

One of his hands immediately went to your ass, giving him easier access to rubbing himself over you and the other one was supporting him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as your lips met his. Despite the darkness and heaviness of the moment, he still radiated a magnetic presence—full of charisma as ever, his scent enveloping you in a way that made everything else fade. From the sharpness of his aftershave to the depth of his cologne, he had it all. He started pushing himself even harder against you, where it was almost painful; you moaned in his mouth and against his tongue.

He raised himself on his knees on the bed, casting a shadow over you and ordered you to take your jeans off and get on all fours while he was taking his vest off and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Your hands were shaking a little bit as you unbuttoned your pants and took them off.

After you obeyed him and raised your butt in the air, he grabbed hold of it- to angle you how he wanted; excitement so palpable you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, almost laughing. You felt him slowly enter you, giving you a few small moments to adjust to his size- you closed your eyes and moaned, you don’t think you’re ever gonna get enough of this man; all of him.

“Oh baby-” he was always so vocal during sex.

The feeling of him stretching you out and the feeling of him pushing himself in you in and out- whenever he would press himself back in, he brushed up against your g-spot- the sound of his body when it connected to yours was so loud- it made your cheeks burn- you were so wet and he didn’t even touch you all that much, like that night at the club. He had a gun under your chin and you were so wet, who even were you anymore?

You arched your back, consciously making yourself as pleasing as possible for him. The act itself sent a thrill through you, but it also made your cheeks flush with a mix of desire and shy uncertainty- the usual girlhood embarrassment that flushed your cheeks overtaking your body whenever he had you like this.

When he found his rhythm- while grabbing your waist and pushing you back into him, he’d shower you with praise. “You take me so well… you’re such a good girl—my good girl.” He knew exactly how to make your stomach flip with words like that—this old dog.

He pulled you back against him time and time again before you felt like it was almost painful, your moans of pleasure mixing with those of pain.

He pulled himself out and got on his back next to you, ”Come ‘ere” you giggled in excitement- he loved whenever you rode him.

You squatted over him- your legs on either side of his body and with one of your hands- you brought his cock between your legs and you watched closely as his stupid grin was wiped from his face when you lowered down on him, mouth open- you gave him a quick peck on his lips. Your legs were almost shaking and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead.

From this position you could feel him so deep inside- you started to grind yourself on him- it felt so good; you almost started crying again.

Oz grabbed your tits from underneath your shirt and was slowly pushing himself deeper in you “You’re my girl- I’m so proud-” he groaned as he said that, this mountain of a man- beneath you, between your thighs; you felt like you held the power “-I’m so proud of you.”

From this position you could feel him brushing against your clit, the feeling only making you go faster, the thrill of reaching your peak on him taking over “easy…easy” he repeated- obviously, you didn't listen.

You shifted the tempo, lifting yourself up before sliding back down, causing him to grimace. Without missing a beat, he pulled your upper body down, pressing you flush against him- you pressed your face against his shoulder and he grabbed it- holding it there; the cold feeling of his rings compared to how hot your face was giving you goosebumps.

You felt him adjust his legs and from this position he started to fuck you how he wanted to. He thrived on being in charge, practically reveled in the power it gave him. God, your throat was dry- you were sure you would be sore down there after you two were done.

You knew anyone walking by could 100% hear you at this point, you tried to be quiet but to no avail with this man. Oz seemed to like whenever people would stare at the two of you and it excited him to think anyone would be listening in.

You brought your face up when he slowed down and kissed him, putting your tongue in his mouth. This felt so amazing but you knew he probably had places he had to be. “Do I make you feel good baby?” you nodded, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the right side of his face, right on the thick scar that ran from his mouth to his cheekbone.

He was a strikingly intimidating man, his features hardened by a life of danger. You slowly brought yourself down and up- trying to match his movements.

“You get so tight around me-” he placed his arm over you, bringing you as tight as he could on him.

One of your hands went under the pillow he had under his head and the other was gripping the side of the bed. His rhythm was becoming sloopy- switching between fucking you and kissing you, on your cheeks or on your mouth; he grabbed your ass in both of his hands, squeezing and pushing you down on him while he fucked you.

You looked in his eyes, the light from above casting a shadow over them that only added to his allure. “-I’m gonna cum” you nodded again- words escaping you “Tell me where-tell me” he closed his eyes- you knew he would start with that, the only way he finished was inside you.

Whether it was your mouth or your pussy. Oz loved when you would describe how he felt in you, how you loved when he would fuck you- how you wanted him to cum in you. It turned him on. It turned him on how embarrassed you would feel most of the time he made you say those things.

You told him you wanted it inside and It wasn’t long before he started his fast pace again and you closed your eyes, trying not to moan as loud as you would like- fuck he felt so good. It mustn't have been long before you felt him slow down and the familiar feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you. You had to drink some water- your throat was hurting. Oz hugged you close to him and while one of his hands was rubbing your back he kissed your forehead- “You feeling better?”.

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Author's note: Bro you just fucked him AGAIN?

Finished there the story because I KNEW i would start writing a lot and I wanna finish part 2 in time for the finale. I'm sososos excited for it and sad it will end ugh. Anyways hope you enjoyed and thank you to all the people that wrote nice things to me regarding my writing, I've been having some health problems lately and your messages made me feel so much better, truly. Have a nice day :))))))

#oz cobb #the penguin #the penguin tv #oswald cobb x reader #oz cobb x reader #the penguin hbo #oswald cobblepot #the penguin x reader #oz cobblepot

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