#I like to pick a band and learn Everything

[avianyuh]

Small World | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: After being ditched by your friends, your coworker Taehyung invites you to a weekend hang out at his apartment where you end up running into someone unexpected.

word count: 3k

I had avoided checking my phone all day. I knew the minute I’d inevitably skim through Instagram, I would be bombarded by pictures of my past friend group’s summer trip that I was seemingly “left out” of the planning for. Six years of friendship went to waste and I was left all throughout the month of June with nothing to do but sit on my couch, green with envy over everything I was missing out on. 

All I could do was focus on work, which was actually surprisingly easy to do since I had a few really great coworkers. One of which, going by the name of Taehyung. We both waited tables at a restaurant, which upon my move to the city after college was the only place willing to hire me as a fresh graduate with no job experience past some part time retail work in High School and university. We both bonded over feeling out of place in our twenties, banding together to “fuck our timelines” we had expected to be halfway done by our midtwenties. In reality, I learned that being an adult is harder than it looked and I look back and laugh at how diluted my version of adulthood was back when I was a teenager. 

I lived with a roommate I barely knew. Most of the conversations revolved around when the rent would be due. I was working a job that wasn’t aligned with my major and I was still single. Now, on top of everything else, it seemed like my friendships were falling apart all because I couldn’t afford the Europe summer trip, hence my friends thought I should be punished and be made to feel more broke than I already was. That’s why my growing friendship with Taehyung started to become more important. 

“I can’t believe that they would post all the highlights knowing you’re sitting at home looking at the pictures. That’s fucked up.” Taehyung shook his head in disapproval as we chatted in the break room, quickly trying to eat our meals before the dinner rush came in. “Out of all the things you’ve mentioned over the past year I’ve worked with you, this one takes the cake.” I let out a sigh of relief, hearing him agree that my friends were being inconsiderate, I felt less crazy and more validated. 

“I get that they want to post about the trip, but they didn’t even try to compromise with me when I asked them if we could pick a more budget-friendly location. They told me it was my fault I wasn’ working somewhere better by now.” I ranted, watching as Taehyung’s eyes went wide. 

“Fuck them” Taehyung said with a mouth full of sandwich. “Which friend was the one who told you to not wear green again?” I laughed, thinking back to the time I told him about a passive aggressive conversation I had with a friend from university. 

“Riley, she told me green made me look wide.” I said, with an emphasis on the word wide. 

“You want my honest opinion.” Taehyung asked, leaning in across the table. “I think you’re better off without them…they seem fake.” My eyes softened as I reached for his hand across the tiny break room table, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“Thanks Tae, that means a lot.” I said, grateful to have someone who actually understood me. Then we both stood up and tied on our work aprons before starting our shifts. 

After a few hours of enduring some nice people out to eat with friends, family or alone, and of course the nasty, cranky crowd, I was officially exhausted and ready to clock out. “Heading home?” I asked Taehyung who was standing behind me as I finished punching out. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to just wash my face and go to bed. My feet are killing me.” He complained as he also punched out. We always walked out together if we were working the same shift. Most of the staff had already left, but we tried to wait for each other most nights. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pulled out my metrocard as we both headed down the sidewalk toward the subway. “Oh by the way, I’m having a little get together on Saturday night if you’re interested?” Taehyung piped up as we neared the corner, getting closer to the landmark we’d usually go our separate ways. 

“Really? That sounds fun, I don’t think I’m doing anything that night so maybe I’ll come.” I answered, trying to rake through my mind on any prior engagements I may have already signed up for on Saturday. 

“Well, I hope you can make it. It’ll just be a few of my friends, a lot of those artsy types I keep telling you about.” I smiled, Taehyung was very into anything artistic, frequently blowing money meant for his savings on paintings from artists around the city. He always backed up the purchase by saying he needed to support other struggling people. Taehyung’s ultimate goal was to sustain himself off of his own art one day, and eventually stop waiting tables. I really wished that he’d sucker some rich guy into buying one of his pieces one day so he’d never have to work another day in his life. An ex boyfriend I had dated back in High School was also pretty artsy, but he took the musical route. I spent many nights in his room watching him play guitar, or sing to me while we were driving somewhere. We broke up right before graduation after he told me he was moving to LA with a few of his friends, in search of getting signed. I hadn’t heard from him in years and remembered feeling pretty hurt that he dumped me two days before graduation. I thought about him sometimes, even looking him up on Instagram, but he had stopped posting two years ago, so I wasn’t sure about his whereabouts anymore. 

Taehyung and I hugged and said goodbye and by the time I made it home, he had already sent me his address. Everyone’s coming at 7, but come over a little earlier if you want, he had texted. 

By Saturday I was sitting on Taehyung’s couch, music playing softly in the background as we laughed and talked. Taehyung gave me a run down of the people coming over. There was Julie, who had blue and purple ombre hair, who was working at a boutique downtown. Cami, a friend of Taehyung’s who worked at another restaurant who I had actually met a few times. Then there was Jimin, who most people viewed as charming, who worked as a choreographer. Taehyung said that Jimin might’ve been bringing a friend of his, but Taehyung didn’t know who. I loved meeting new people, and especially now considering my last text to my group had gone unanswered, I chose to ignore the pit of disappointment in my stomach and try to have fun. We’d just be sitting and talking, with some food and alcohol spread out on the coffee table in front of the couch. Taehyung had put in a lot of effort. We continued to sip out of our glasses and talk until the buzzer went off, signaling the first person to arrive. 

Cami was the first to show up, greeting both Taehyung and I with a warm smile. She had long, wavy hair and had appeared to have dyed it a honey blonde since the last time I had seen her. She plopped down on the seat next to me as I handed her a glass, catching up on our lives. Soon after Julie arrived, bringing her uninvited boyfriend with her who sat silently next to her most of the night. Taehyung gave Cami and I the side eye as Julie’s boyfriend glanced down at his phone, not even bothering to say hello. 45 minutes later, the buzzer rang again, and Taehyung stood up from his seat, “I wonder who that could be…” he questioned sarcastically. According to Julie, Jimin was always late, even when he promised to be on time. 

I stood up to stretch my legs and grab some more ice for my glass from the kitchen while Taehyung answered the door. I could hear the sound of the door opening and closing, as everyone jokingly cheered and yelled “Jimin!” I crept back in and to my seat, glancing over at Jimin, who was dressed in ripped jeans and a dark t-shirt. He was definitely attractive, which was probably what Taehyung meant when he said Jimin was a charmer. But what really caught my eye was the shadowy figure still standing in the hallway. He was more built than Jimin, and he had hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. I couldn’t see his face, but could make out the outlines of some of the tattoos that adorned his arms. I squinted, leaning forward, waiting for him to fully come into the light. “Who’s that behind you?” Taehyung asked, playfully shoving Jimin out of the way. I gasped, feeling my heart stop as I got a full view of him. There he was, my ex-boyfriend. The boy he dumped me, told me he couldn’t be with me, said he needed to travel, get out of our small town and go somewhere he could be a serious musician. 

“Hey, I’m Jungkook.” He said shyly, extending his hand for Taehyung to shake. But as he turned his attention away from Taehyung and stepped further into the apartment, removing his shoes by the front door, he must’ve gone through the same shock as me when his eyes met mine. It looked as if he had seen a ghost. Stunned, standing maybe 15 feet away from me. It felt as if no one else was in the room as our eyes locked, almost as if we were in a staring contest. Jimin nudged him, gesturing for him to follow his lead and sit down. I fidgeted nervously in my seat as Jungkook sat on the other side of the sectional, directly facing me. I took a sip of my drink, wishing the alcohol would calm my growing nerves. I tried to not look at him, instead half heartedly focused on whatever Cami was talking about with the rest of the group, but it was no use. I couldn’t pay attention knowing the guy who broke my heart was sitting on the other side of me. I leaned over, whispering in Taehyung’s ear that I was going to go use the bathroom. He patted my knee in acknowledgement, smiling at me as I got up and left the room. I tried to catch my breath as I walked down the hallway. I shut the bathroom door behind me, turning on the light and leaning over the sink. Not long after, there was a knock on the door, to which I didn’t respond. I knew who was on the other side of that door. 

“I’m coming in.” Jungkook said in a low voice. He shut the door behind him as he leaned his back against it. He didn’t say anything and neither did I, again just staring at each other. I scanned his body, taking in everything that had changed about him in the past few years. The tattoos that were displayed all over his arms and hands. The way his black hair was perfectly tousled, and his arms had become more muscular. He had always been very competitive and athletic, so I wasn’t surprised to see how fit he still was after all these years. I also took in the new addition of a lip piercing, which made him even more attractive. His eyes still gave off the sense of innocence, but they seemed a bit duller. Back when we had dated, everytime he talked about music or sang, his eyes were filled with hope, if that makes sense. Now his eyes seemed somewhat tired. I shifted against the bathroom counter, biting my lip. All you could hear was our breathing. Finally, I broke the silence. 

“I, uh, can’t believe we ran into each other.” I said in disbelief. 

“Small world, I guess.” Jungkook joked, crossing his arms over his chest. I looked around the tiny bathroom, thinking about what he was going to say. “I didn’t know you moved to New York City? I guess that explains why I haven’t seen you around when I go to visit my parents back home.” He said, his gaze focusing back on me. 

“Yeah, I don’t really go back home that often, it’s hard to get time off, my manager gives me a hard time.” I explained, to which he nodded in understanding. 

“Where do you work?” Jungkook questioned curiously. 

“At a restaurant, that’s how I met Taehyung.” Jungkook swallowed hard, shifting his weight, and standing up straight.

“So, is he your boyfriend?” He asked, pointing his thumb behind him outside of the bathroom. I was surprised that he would ask, assuming he wouldn’t care if I was dating Taehyung or not. But I could sense a kind of desperation in his eyes as he anxiously awaited my answer. His breathing became more shallow and he nervously tapped his pointer finger against his chin, a nervous habit he had back when I had known him years ago. 

“No, just a friend.” I shook my head. I could hear him let out a deep breath, which for some reason made me feel good. Knowing after all this time, there was still something there. I inched toward him, trying to make it seem like I was just moving in place. Maybe I shouldn’t step closer to him? I wondered in my head. “I thought you were living in LA?” I asked, looking up at him. 

“LA fell through two years ago, and I got a job playing in a band up here. I had a record deal but it fell through back in LA so I just figured it was time to move.” He shrugged, moving his hands into his pockets. 

“I kept up with you online for a few years. I really wanted everything to work out for you…” I said quietly. 

“I’m sorry about the way I ended things.” Jungkook said, moving closer towards me. “I was a stupid kid and believe me, not even trying to make it work with you has been one of my biggest regrets.” He whispered, standing right in front of me. His eyes were filled with remorse and I subconsciously found myself reaching for the free hand he had taken out of his pocket. I ran my thumb over his as I pursed my lips together. 

“Jungkook…I’ve missed you.” I murmured, “I never thought I’d see you again.” Our bodies were now firmly pressed up against each other. He scooped me up and lifted me onto the edge of the bathroom counter. I could feel his muscles tense, his skin was soft. He cupped my face, his nose against my own. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, letting his thumb rub against my cheek. 

“Mhm”, I interjected before his lips crashed against mine. His lip piercing was cold upon contact. It felt as if we were 18 again, as his hands abandoned my face and crept under my shirt. His tongue entered my mouth, The only sound heard came from our kisses and the moans that left my throat. I’m sure he could taste the alcohol on my lips. My hands slip down his toned chest, resting on his belt buckle. He pulled away for a second, looking into my eyes, now with a new sort of intensity before begging to trail kisses down my neck. I tried to stifle the moans fighting to come out of me as I closed my eyes, focused on the air hitting the wet kisses he was leaving on my body. My fingers slipped through the belt, started to tug at it. 

“Y/n, I don’t think it’s appropriate to have sex in your friend’s bathroom.” He joked in between kisses. I opened my eyes and laughed as he lifted his head back up. I pressed my forehead against his own before pressing a soft kiss to his full lips. 

“You know everyone out there wondering why we’re in the bathroom together right?” I stated, trying to distract myself from the heat growing between my legs. I needed him, but I knew now wasn’t the right place. 

“Fuck em’. Let’s just leave and we can explain it tomorrow.” Jungkook said, a smile forming on his lips. 

“And what exactly am I supposed to tell Taehyung? That I left his apartment early to go have sex with my ex-boyfriend?” As I said it, I felt myself start to sober up as I started to think about my current predicament. If we had sex? What would happen after? Does that mean we’re back together? Will he want to keep in touch? I suddenly became angry at myself. How could I be so stupid, sleeping with a guy I hadn’t spoken to in years. It’s true that I frequently thought of him and I checked his accounts to see if he had posted or had moved on. But realistically, how easy would it be to pick up from where we left off years ago? Maybe I was drunk and in my feelings over my friends that I had unintentionally thrown away my better judgment. 

Jungkook kept his arms around my waist, but stepped back a bit so he could get a better view of my face. “Y/n, what do you want to tell him? What are we doing here?” He asked, which took me by surprise. I wanted to be honest with him. Being able to see him again and feeling that same chemistry after all that time apart, I knew what I wanted to say to him. 

“Jungkook, I want to try this again.” I answered, to which he moved closer again. His hand caressed my cheek as his lips molded against mine again. 

“I do too.” He said after pulling away. 

-

{A/N: OMG, guys I feel so bad, I disappeared again. Truthfully, I was suffering from a mix of writers block, finals and a shitty personal life. But this story idea popped into my mind and I knew I had to write this shit down right away and I absolutely love this story and I hope you do too! Jungkook is just one of those guys where I can see him fitting into so many different scenarios/tropes and reconnecting with a guy from your past is my favorite and something I'm manifesting for myself lol. But seriously, I hope you enjoyed this. JK is my favorite to write about besides Yuta, stories with him as a character seem to come pretty natural idk why. Also, this story will be posted on my AO3 page for those who like to read on there. As for a writing schedule, I DO plan on writing this summer, but I'm not sure if it was be posts every two weeks like I'm used to, I'm trying to not burn out, but just know I'm always trying to come up with new story ideas. As always, I love you all so so much, thank you for continuing to read my work while I've been inactive. I'm always here! Have a great day/night and mwahhhh💋💋💋💋💋💋}

[sunshinereddie]

literally stealing inspiration for this hc from my other acc because i haven't been able to stop thinking about this au for days BUTTTTTT losers club band au is like,,,,, kind everything to me guys,,,,,,,,, im imagining them being like 15 and just goofing off in richie's garage, playing around with richie's guitar he bought at a thrift store and a makeshift drum set they built out of buckets, somebody's got a harmonica, and their music sounds like shit but they're having a lot of fun and that's all that matters. one day mike brings his camera and bev brings over some clothes she's sewn together and they dress up in them and film a silly little music video.

fast forward to when they're in college, richie randomly decides to pick up the guitar again and try re-learning it (well, not that he ever really learned how to play it in the first place- he kinda just pressed and strung the strings at random until it sounded decent). once he learns some chords and how to play some simple melodies, he thinks about ben, who used to come up with little poems and song lyrics when they were kids but never did anything with it. he remembers how eddie used to go crazyyy on their diy drum set, he remembers that bev had quite a nice voice when she wasn't goofing around...

his friends think he's joking when he first brings up the idea of getting their old band back together because, well, they were never really a band in the first place- it was all just for fun. but, richie pushes them all to just give it a shot- after all, how else is he supposed to achieve his dream of being the first rock and roll star from derry?

[asurrogateblog]

How would you divide percentagewise your interest in pink floyd and beatles right now?

it varies day-to-day but overall I would genuinely say it’s 50/50. I think for me it’s like…if I only ever ate my favorite food for every single meal, I’d get tired of the flavor eventually, but if I have two of my favorite foods, then I can switch between them and not get bored so easily with either. I need that variety and I would hate to have to choose one over the other. also, my brain functions like a compare/contrast essay and because pink floyd and the beatles are so different in a lot ways yet strangely similar in others, it really fuels that fire for me to have both

[elizabro]

the main problem is there are too many great books, movies, video games, comics, TV shows, music, sports, languages, musical instruments, crafts, and various hobbies that I could get into and I want to get into all of them. the human lifespan is only about 80 years unfortunately AND I'm prone to both accidents and lapses in resolve

[angrythingstarlight]

Can see this being roommate!Bucky

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRcGCfkW/

Tell me why I saw a comment that said: I've watched my husband down a whole team just cause they downed me first. He definitely got the gak gak that night. 😂😂

-gif/idea anon

Roommate Bucky is always ready to defend you. And you—you're about to learn firsthand why gamers are notorious for being good with their fingers.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

WC: 2K

CW: Size kink, Beefy Bucky being absolutely massive, praise, degradation, choking, hand kink, fingering, overstimulation, hint of voyeurism, video game violence.

AN: Written on my phone, unbetad. This isn't based on any game in particular. It's just an excuse to write a little bit o' smut.

“No. No. Nonononono.” 

YOU’RE DEAD flashes across the screen mocking you as your avatar’s bullet-riddled body fades into the abyss. You slump in the oversized gaming chair, tossing your controller on the desk. Jeers ring in your headset and you rip it off, throwing it next to the controller. She was so pretty. It took you ages to find one you liked and could pair with the cute outfit you picked.

The guys on your team didn’t even give you a chance. Who takes out one of their own? These jackasses apparently.

"You okay?" Heavy footsteps resound behind you. Glancing up, you see your roommate strolling into the living room. Your heart races at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. No one should look this good.

Deep blue eyes framed by long lashes. Beard neatly trimmed, enhancing his jaw. He's wearing a pair of loose grey sweats that cling to his muscular thighs, long brunet locks, damp from the shower, curl around his nape. No shirt of course.

Your eyes follow a bead of water that rolls down his massive chest and goes into the valley of his ridged abs. It hits the band of his navy blue boxers peeking out from his pants and your mouth goes dry imagining what's hidden under those layers of cotton.

While you’re busy ogling him, he notices the mess you left on his desk and the start over screen on his gaming computer. “What happened, bunny?” 

The reminder of that stupid game has your frustation and anger returning in droves and it overtakes your burgeoning lust. You explain how the guys, his gaming buddies, decided to fuck with you by taking you out in a flurry of friendly fire when they realized Bucky wasn’t in the room. The longer you speak, detailing all the nasty things they said to you, the more his features harden, a muscle ticking away in his clenched jaw.  

“Huh,” he mutters under his breath. Bucky ambles over to the chair and lifts you out of it like you weigh nothing to him, considering what he benches for fun, you know you don’t. He sits down and arranges you over his thick thighs, your back resting against his warm, bare chest. He leans forward, picking up the controller and headset.

 It's not the first time, you've sat on his lap during one of his gaming marathons, Bucky says you help him play better.

“What are you doing?” You ask, canting your head back, his body wash, fresh cedar and vanilla, wafts over you and it takes everything in you not to drop your face into his chest and just inhale him. 

The corner of his lip lifts into a smirk. “You’ll see.” 

Adjusting the headset, he takes the controller in both hands, his corded biceps that are bigger than your head brush against the sides of your breasts.

If he feels the shiver that wracks down your body, he doesn’t comment on it. He never does.

The controller looks so small in his large hands, your gaze follows the veins lining the back of them as his fingers nimbly manipulate the buttons. A rush of heat spreads through you when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

You try to clench your thighs to quell the ache beating between them, but your legs are dangling over his and you can’t.

“I—I’m not.” The lie is obvious even to your ears. He hums noncommittally, but you feel his arms press closer to your body, pushing your tits together. 

You shift on his lap, freezing in place when you feel his chest rise and fall against your back, his deep, knowing laugh rolls across your skin. He teaaes, “don’t tell me you're needy already, bunny?” 

Sometimes you can't tell if he's teasing or not. You asked once and he just grinned like tie answer should be obvious.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky casually retorts after a man appears on the screen. His guy is more menacing than your avatar, tall and flanked in dark green camouflage, face concealed by a skull mask. Weapons rotate next to him, eventually stopping on a machine gun. Static crackles through his headset and he’s dropped onto a rooftop. “I’m back fuckers.” 

Various greetings trickle through, only to be cut short when it becomes apparent that Bucky is going on a rampage. He storms across the building. Player after player goes down. Some you don’t even see until they fall to their death. 

“Aw c’mon.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Seriously, what the fuck Barnes–” 

He’s ruthless. Headshots. Stabbing. More headshots. Your already damp panties are drenched when you point out the one that shot you first, and Bucky’s guy stomps the fuck out of Walker6969 before snapping his neck. A slightly undignified giggle slips past your lips when you hear his obnoxious complaint about Bucky not playing fair. Oh. Fucking. Well. More curses filter through his headset as he absolutely decimates the field. 

Bucky tilts his face towards you with a blithe smirk, taking out another player without missing a beat. “I warned you shitstains that you better be nice to my girl.” 

It’s not long before there’s no one left. Bucky tosses the control down, and wraps his arm around your belly, and leans back, taking you with him. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah,” you reply sincerely, both impressed at his skill and pleased that he was so willing to defend you. “Thank you.” 

“You really want to thank me, Bunny?” he whispers in your ear, nipping the lobe with a soft bite. 

Your breath hitches. His hands curve under your knees, placing your legs over the armrests. “I asked you a question,” Bucky states, his tone domineering and dark. 

You struggle to find any answer, but you can’t think with your roommate’s warm hand sliding down your shorts and cupping pussy and all you can do is whimper.

“You’re soaked,” he teases, tracing a finger down the middle of your clothed cunt. His touch is light, so light, but it sends a zap through your clit. “Could feel this hot little pussy throbbing on me. Practically begging for my cock,” Heat fans up the back of your neck and spreads to your face. He could feel that? Before you can drown in embarrassment, he’s kissing his way across your shoulder. ”Need me to get rid of this ache, don’t you?”

You want your roommates hands on you more than anything in this world. You’ve thought about this so many times, you can’t believe it’s happening. His touch feels better than you dreamed. His other hand travels a leisurely, gradual path up your shirt, moving your bra out of the way so he can roll your sensitive nipple between his rough fingers. 

Another slow sweep over your pussy, just skimming your pulsating, swollen clit. It’s not enough. “Please,” you whine out, grinding down over his growing bulge. He’s getting bigger and bigger under you. 

“Please what? Hmm, bunny, please what?” He cruelly taunts, pinching your nipple until your back arches off his chest. “Use your words.” 

You cry out, the spark of pain fades into a heady, warm pleasure. “Touch me.” 

You feel his lips curve into a smile, his teeth scrape over your throat. His thumb presses down your clit and goes still. “I am touching you.” 

This is unbearable.

You’ve never been so wet in your life and he hasn’t done anything. You need him so badly it hurts.

Your pussy clenches down on nothing, you feel so empty.

“Bucky, I need you, need your fingers inside me, please fuck me,” you babble, willing to say anything to get more of him. 

He doesn’t make you wait long. Without warning, he pushes your panties aside and a thick, calloused finger slides inside you. 

“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” he remarks, adding another. Bucky used to everything being small compared to him. You are no exception. He doesn’t give you time to get used to the stretch before he starts scissoring you open, working your hot, wet cunt until he can give you one more finger. Bucky crooks his fingers, and he finds that elusive spot, the one you swore didn’t exist until now. He finds it again. And again. And again. White-hot sensations make you curl in yourself, your thighs trembling. The rough pads of his thick fingers languidly working that sensitive spot as he moves to your other nipple, plucking it into a hard peak.

“That’s your spot huh?” He asks with a cocky rasp. He knows. You told him by the way your moans went all breathy and softy and you started grinding on his cock like a greedy slut being to be filled. Judging by the way he can barely fit three fingers inside you, he knows his cock is going to split you in two. He can’t wait.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, clawing deep marks in the leather under your hands.

The wet schlick schlick schlick of your pussy with every knuckle-deep thrust of his fingers is pornographic.

Right around the second or third time, you clench down around him; he decides he’s going to film you, put your pretty pussy front and center on his flatscreen across from his bed, and make you watch as he fucks you the same way you’re fucking yourself on his fingers, your hips rolling back and forth, grinding your ass over his throbbing cock. Gonna make you watch as you struggle to keep every inch inside you, make you watch him fuck you stupid. 

“Look at you making a mess all over me. Should make you clean it when you’re done. Gonna have you keep my cock warm while I finish the game.” The debauched image of you sitting on his cock while he plays flashes through your mind and a desperate moan builds in your throat, spilling out of your parted lips. “Yeah, you’re going to let me use this sweet cunt any time I want, gonna turn you into my personal fuckdoll.” 

His thumb swipes over your clit, once, twice. Sensations burn through your veins, your body feels so hot and tight, like you’re on the edge of imploding. His hand leaves your nipple and grabs your throat, the sudden pressure makes your head feel light. “Oh god." Right there, fuck he just has to keep doing that, you’re so close, he just has to stay right there. 

It’s like he can read your mind because he does, going harder and harder, giving you everything you need. “C’mon bunny, let me have it, give it to me.” 

“Fuck yesyesyes, don’t stop please don’t–” you sob, the start of your orgasm sparks inside you. 

“Not gonna tell you again, cum for me right the fuck now,” he rasps in your ear, squeezing tightly as he slams into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit faster and faster. His fingers catch your spot again, the pressure so good and so right that it sends you over the edge. Your orgasm barreling over you, wringing pleasure from every nerve in your body, and you gush around him.

“There it is, that’s my girl,” he praises, his words lost over the steady roar in your ears. He fucks you through it, drawing it out, only stopping after your vision blurs and you let out a pathetic noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, but you feel too good to care how you sound.

You’re a mess—limbs trembling and weak, still so lightheaded, you can't lift your head, letting it loll lazily over his broad shoulder. He gently takes his fingers out of your pulsating cunt and holds it up, the evidence of your release dripping down to his wrist. He brings his long index finger to his mouth, sucking it dry with a grin. “Damn, you taste good.”

"I–fuck Bucky that was amazing." You grab the armrests and push yourself up.

“Where ya goin’? I didn’t say I was done with you,” Bucky says, his hand loose around your throat as he brings you back down. "I was jus' getting you warmed up."

Oh.

He grinds against your ass, his heavy cock digging into you. He's so big. Despite the fact that you're still on an orgasmic high, you want more. You want Bucky.

“You still gonna thank me Bunny?"

And I—

Roommate!Bucky has returned!

[emptymasks]

They're done! I really want to try and make prints again as it's been years and I've never felt like I was very good at making whole posters. Dipping my toe back in with these silly chibis of each Papa with every Ghoul they've had. Perhaps they can also work as a guide for those wanting to learn all the characters? I added in a fair amount of little references with the Ghoul's poses so it'll be interesting to see what you guys figure out and notice!

The prints are on pre-order and won't ship out until November. I've put up 25 of each to start with but if they get low on stock I'll keep adding more until I have them printed and then it'll be a set amount in stock.

Also a reminder about the stickers of every Ghost Papa and Ghoul that I made earlier this year that are also available as customisable badges! Thank you so much to everyone who already bought them and got Etsy to list them as a 'bestseller' for a while. They're still up and in stock.

EDIT: someone informed me Delta was not in Secondo's era so sorry little water ghoul but he got edited out of that drawing.

Characters featured on the prints and are also available on stickers and badges: Papa Emeritus I / Primo, Papa Emeritus II / Secondo, Papa Emerirus III / Terzo, Papa Emeritus IV / Cardinal Copia, Aether, Air, Alpha / Fire, Aurora, Chain / Water, Cirrus, Cowbell, Cumulus, Delta, Dewdrop / Sodo, Earth, Ifrit, Ivy, Lake, Mist, Mountain, Omega / Quintessence, Pebble, Phantom, Phil / Special Ghoul, Rain, Sunshine, Swiss, Zephy.

I can’t link to my Etsy without risking Tumblr hiding the post from tag search results, but the link is in my pinned post, my carrd, I’m emptymasks on Etsy. Reblogs help support artists more than likes ❤️

[ID: Four landscape drawings, one for each of Ghost's Papas and the Ghouls that were in the band with them while they were the lead singer. Each Papa is in the center with each of their ghouls standings to their sides. Every character has their name written above or below them, on brightly coloured backgrounds for each Papa's robe colour. Also, individual pixel art chibi drawings of 69 characters from various European musicals (listed above) that are available as stickers. These drawings are also available as badges where they are placed inside circles to show what they will look like as physical button badges, some of them with plain colour backgrounds and some with 1-3 different pride flags as examples of how you can customise the backgrounds.]

For those who want to know what the little references in the prints are and don't want to guess, they're under the cut:

Omega can be a stompy boy when he's playing guitar, Alpha likes to throw up peace signs, Air is very found of the rock horns hand symbol, there's one close-up photo of Lake out there where you can clearly see his black sclera contacts and he's doing double 'horns' hand symbol, Mountain infamously takes his shoes off when playing the drums and leaves them on the stage at the site of his drumkit, Dewdrop likes to like.. most things including his guitar and his picks and sometimes his own hand, Pebble liked to hand out his drumsticks at the end of shows by dropkicking them into the crowd, Omega wore a flower tucked into his guitar strap during one show and Terzo constantly flirts with him more than other ghouls, Delta is suspected to be the ghoul that attempted to kick an audience member off stage when they climbed onstage and attempted to kiss Terzo, Zephyr was the only band member and only keyboardist who sat down while playing, the special ghoul played by Tobias wore a nametag 'Phil' in an interview, Swiss constantly is showing all his teethies with his smiles and always wiggling and moving around, Aether and Dewdrop often interact with Dew teasing/bothering Aether, Dew and Rain also often interact with Dew constantly reaching to grab his neck and attempt to kiss him, aaaand I think that's everything I intentionally included other than just generally tried to get the poses and expressions to match the personality we've seen from each ghoul.

[lilianne-tarot]

Pick-A-Card: If They Could Speak to you, This Is What They’d Say…‎✧˚₊‧

I know many of you are carrying unanswered questions from someone who disappeared, whether they ghosted, blocked, or drifted away. Just because they’re silent doesn’t mean they don’t feel something. This reading will reveal what they feel now, what they wish they could say, and the truth behind their silence. If you’ve been searching for closure, this might be exactly what your heart needs. This is a timeless reading.

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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My Masterlist🫶🏻

જ⁀➴PILE I

Cards pulled: 10 of wands, the chariot, knight of pentacles, 9 of wands, 5 of cups.

Omg, lovely, I can already feel the weight of this situation. Your person is literally carrying the weight of regret on their back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they go about their day pretending everything is fine, but the moment they’re alone? Boom. The reality of what happened between you two slams them like a truck. This disconnection is heavy for them. There’s guilt, sadness, and this exhausting feeling of, “Did I seriously let this go? Did I mess this up beyond repair?” They’re haunted by what went down, but instead of dealing with it, they’re burying themselves in responsibilities, work, distractions, ANYTHING to avoid facing their own emotions.

And can we talk about the 9 of Wands real quick? Because this is telling me that even though they feel all this, they are STUBBORN AF about actually doing something about it. Like, they’re standing behind this emotional wall, peeking out every now and then like, “Should I reach out? Should I say something?” And then immediately retreating like, “Nah, can’t risk getting hurt again.” It’s this push-and-pull energy where they miss you like hell but are too scared to face what reconnecting would mean. It’s frustrating because I can FEEL their emotions bubbling under the surface, but their pride, fear, or past pain is making them act like they don’t care. They care. A LOT.

Are They Still Thinking About You? Oh, 1000%. This person might be hyper-fixating on work, hobbies, or even other people as a way to convince themselves they’re “over it,” but the gag is… they are NOT. This was a lesson in emotional growth, resilience, and learning to let go of what isn’t serving you. This wasn’t just a random breakup or separation, this was divinely orchestrated to push you BOTH into a new phase of life. Whether that’s healing, self-worth, or realizing that love isn’t meant to be this exhausting, this situation was meant to wake you up. The universe was like, “Okay, I’m gonna rip this band-aid off because y’all clearly aren’t doing it yourselves.” For them, this disconnection was supposed to teach them how to actually process emotions instead of avoiding them. For you? This was a test in knowing your own worth and not waiting around for someone to figure out theirs. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already outgrown this situation in some ways. Like, you’re looking back and realizing that this person’s emotional immaturity, avoidance, or inability to take action was something you deserved better than.

Because right now, you’re The Chariot. You’re the one being pushed forward by the universe, stepping into your power, and realizing that you don’t have to keep carrying the emotional weight for someone who won’t even acknowledge theirs. I feel like if there’s a reconciliation, it’ll be one of those moments where they show up out of nowhere, suddenly ready to talk, but you’re already at peace with how things played out.

At the end of the day, bestie, the choice is yours. Do you want to wait and see if they finally grow up emotionally? Or do you want to fully step into your Chariot era and say, “If they wanted to, they would.” Whatever you choose, just know you are NOT the one who lost here. they are. The universe didn’t remove this person from your life to punish you, it did it because you deserve someone who isn’t emotionally constipated. Whether this person ever steps up or not, you’re already on the path to something bigger and better. Don’t let their slowness keep you stuck when you’re meant to soar. Period. 

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જ⁀➴PILE II

Cards pulled: 2 of cups, empress, 4 of cups, 3 of wands, 8 of wands

Let’s start with the 2 of Cups + 4 of Cups because, this is a whole messy situationship in their heart. On one hand, they KNOW what you two had was special. Like, deep down, this person still feels so connected to you, there’s love, attraction, and this magnetic pull they can’t explain. BUT, instead of embracing it, they’re in a situation which is like, “Ugh, I don’t know what to do with these feelings, so I’ll just pretend I don’t have them.” Make it make sense. This person is giving emotional avoidance at its finest. They’re sitting there thinking about you CONSTANTLY, yet they’re also refusing to act on it. Why? Pride? Fear? Stubbornness? Check, check, and check. This person is SO in their feelings, but they’d rather stare at their phone in silent suffering than send that “I miss you” text.

If you ever doubted your impact on this person, let me tell you right now—you are THE standard. The Empress energy is giving “no one else compares”, and trust me, they feel that. You weren’t just another person in their life; you were a whole universe, comfort, love, beauty, growth. They looked up to you, even if they never said it. And now? Now they’re sitting in that misery like, “Wait… did I actually fumble them? Did I just ruin the best thing I ever had?” And babe, the answer? Yes. Yes, they did. Instead of owning their feelings and reaching out like a normal person, they’re watching from the sidelines probably lurking your social media, let’s be real. It’s like they’re waiting for you to make the move, but at the same time, their ego is screaming, “No, don’t do it! Stay mysterious and suffer in silence!” The duality is strong.

Do they still think about you? LOL. the cards said said, “Let me be so serious right now.” YES, bestie, they think about you ALL THE TIME.

The 3 of Wands tells me they’re waiting, but for what?? A sign? Divine intervention? A carrier pigeon with your message? SERIOUSLY, this person has a very princess energy ( i mean it sarcastically🫠)  It’s like they’re standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out into the distance, wondering if you’ll come back, BUT THEY WON’T MAKE THE MOVE. They’re definitely thinking about reaching out, but they’re terrified of rejection, of things not going how they want, of you realizing you deserve better (which you do, btw). This person is itching to talk to you. Like, the urge to break the silence is REAL, but their fear of vulnerability is holding them hostage. They want that fast, passionate, “let’s fix this” conversation, but at the same time, they don’t know how to start it. So instead, they overthink, procrastinate,

For you, this was about realizing your worth, stepping into your Empress energy and knowing that you don’t have to chase love or beg for emotional availability. You’re learning that if someone isn’t showing up fully and completely, they aren’t worth your energy. For them? This was a harsh lesson in what happens when you take something beautiful for granted. They had the 2 of Cups connection in their hands, and instead of nurturing it, they let their own fears, ego, and hesitation sabotage it. Now, they’re left staring at their phone, wondering why it feels like something’s missing. (Spoiler: It’s you.)

It depends on them. The 8 of Wands is the biggest clue here, IF they find the courage to reach out, this could move FAST. Like, once the dam breaks, expect texts, calls, maybe even some dramatic love confession energy. BUT, and this is a huge but, are they actually ready to show up for you the way you deserve? Because if they come back with the same inconsistent, emotionally avoidant energy, then babe… NEXT. 

The universe didn’t make you go through this pain just for you to settle for half-assed love. If they step up, if they come back genuinely ready to make this work, then cool. But if they’re just coming back because they’re lonely and miss your warmth? You already know the answer.

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જ⁀➴PILE III .

Cards pulled: temperance, queen of swords, 3 of swords, death, lovers

Omg, buckle up, bestie, because this reading is major. Three out of five cards are Major Arcana? Yeah, this isn’t some casual, “Oh, we drifted apart” situation. And I’m already getting chills.

First off, yes, this person still thinks about you. Like, a lot. But here’s the twist: their thoughts are a mix of regret, self-defense, and straight-up emotional exhaustion. I’m seeing someone who’s torn between wanting to reach out and knowing that doing so might just reopen wounds they aren’t ready to face. This is giving heavy "I messed up but I don’t know how to fix it" energy, mixed with a sprinkle of "but also, am I even ready to?" vibes.

Let’s talk about the situation here, because ouch. This was not a simple falling-out. This was heartbreak in its purest form. Whether it was betrayal, a painful truth, or just the gut-wrenching realization that you two couldn’t continue as you were, this was an ending that HURT. The kind that still lingers, even if you try to act like it doesn’t. And the thing is? This connection had to break apart. The universe literally forced this transformation on both of you. Death isn’t just about loss, it’s about endings that lead to major rebirth. Whether you wanted to or not, this separation changed you both. This person sees you as someone who’s balanced, mature, and, dare I say it, lowkey intimidating. Like, you’re in your healed era (or at least you seem like you are), and they don’t even know how to approach you anymore. There’s a sense of, “Would they even give me the time of day?” but also, “I know I need to be on my best behavior if I even think about coming back.” It’s like they know they can’t play the same games or bring the same energy they did before.

And The Lovers? Whew. This is deep. On a soul level, this connection was REAL. Like, cosmic contract, past-life, meant-to-be-a-lesson kind of real. Whether that means “meant to be together” or “meant to change each other’s lives” is another question, but the bond? Unbreakable. Even in separation, you two are still energetically linked.

So, what’s the truth they’re not saying? I’m getting that they regret something big, possibly a choice they made, something they said, or maybe just how they handled the situation as a whole. But their pride (or fear) is stopping them from admitting it. There’s also a level of stubbornness here. Like, they don’t want to come back unless they’re sure they’ll be received well. They don’t want to be vulnerable unless they know it’s safe. Why did this happen from a higher perspective? Because, bestie, you needed to step into your power. The Queen of Swords isn’t here by accident. This situation forced you to set boundaries, demand better, and step into your own clarity. You’re wiser now, sharper, and honestly? You won’t tolerate the same nonsense anymore. The universe was like, “Let me remove this person so you can actually step into the next version of yourself.” And whether they realize it or not, they were also meant to learn something from you. They may not have grown as much as you (yet), but your impact on them? Unforgettable.

So… reconciliation? Here’s the thing: It’s possible, but it wouldn’t be the same. If they were to come back, they’d have to be a whole new version of themselves, and honestly? You might not even want them anymore once you fully step into your power. This isn’t about waiting around for them, it’s about knowing that you’re on a completely new path, and if they can’t meet you at your level? That’s their loss.

Final advice? Trust this transformation. Even if it hurts, even if you miss them, know that this ending was a divine redirection towards something so much better. Whether that means a renewed version of this relationship or a completely new chapter, either way, you’re leveling up, and that’s the real takeaway here.

Sending you all the love, bestie. And remember, you’re THAT person. Don’t let anyone make you forget it. ✨

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[lavenderangeltarot]

𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈' 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓃𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 🪞🪷✩ // pick a card!

hey angels! 👼🏼 this will be a general pick a card reading on what people find enchanting about your appearance/how people view your appearance (physically & generally- usually these things naturally overlap). It's of course, not healthy to fixate on these things, however I think it can be uplifting to hear the nice things people might've thought of us. It's natural to be a bit curious! Pick the image you're most drawn to, proceed to your reading & take what resonates! If you're interested in a personal reading from me, check out my Etsy Store :) // https://www.etsy.com/shop/LavenderAngelTarot

#1 #2 #3

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#1 - the Moon, Page of Swords & Knight of Wands 🌙

With the Moon card coming out first, I see people being heavily captivated by a sense of mystery surrounding you- you come across as introverted or at least, initially reserved. In your presence people are not so sure what you are thinking, but your demeanour remains peaceful and possibly very feminine. Dreamy & vaguely moody too, but with the Moon card it's like everything is a little concealed. I think for some of you, people can sense you're going through something heavy right now too since the Moon relates to psychological turmoil in some cases, but you hold yourself very gracefully. Physically I feel like you have very immediately pleasant features, people might find there's this 'beautiful darkness' to you- maybe some of you dress in a sort of gothic inspired aesthetic, or perhaps it's this mysterious/contemplative look in your eye.

With the Page of Swords (especially combined with the Moon) people immediately see you as intelligent. Very sharp minded and skilled at communicating (even if you're not a big talker, your speech or vocabulary is clear). Since in this reading we're focusing on appearance, despite the softness illustrated with the Moon card, you may also have some features that are slightly sharper. Like for example, having a very soft, rounded face but a sharp/edgy haircut, or piercings. Pages are also associated with youth, so people may see you as youthful in your appearance. A lot of you who picked this pile are very young too I'm getting- not sure if it's the reading, or just me talking but I have this urge to remind you guys to be safe online!

Finally, the Knight of wands to me shows that people see you as healthy, athletic or just generally physically capable & attractive! You may look strong or agile- I'm getting some of you are dancers (or you look like you would dance, especially ballet!). Despite your calm, intellectual energy, you come across like you live a very active and adventurous lifestyle in some way. I also see that while you might not lead with it when you meet people (initially people noticing that mysterious, intellectual, perhaps shy aspect of you)- you have a very spontaneous and passionate nature that people reallyy love :)

2# - 3 of Pentacles, The Star, 9 of Wands 🌿

Immediately, this group is really emanating 'it girl' energy to me.

With the 3 of Pentacles, I see people being quite in awe of you and viewing you as a very hardworking, competent person. You inspire others in some way, people feel they have something to learn from you. Since the 3 of Pentacles is traditionally related to collaboration & learning, you could be someone who's always around other people, or maybe are a positive representation of your school/work out in public (like for example, often being out and about in your uniform, or being seen as part of a collective like a band or a certain friend group). Appearance wise, to me the 3 of Pentacles feels as though there is something artistic & skillful about your appearance- maybe you're really skilled at makeup, or your clothing is very beautiful and well coordinated.

The Star card speaks for itself! You stand out appearance-wise and garner attention whether you realise it or not! The Star card to me, especially combined with the 3 of Pentacles tells me that you inspire people a lot with your appearance alone but also in other ways. People feel there is something aspirational and 'untouchable' about you- it's sort of Gossip Girl 'Serena Van Der Woodsen' adjacent lol. Again, it could be that there's something about the way you dress that's very skillful and others are in awe of, it could also be that you're very popular or seem as though you would be from the way you carry yourself. A lot of you are very talented or just 'different' in some way and people notice that. (I wish I could specify a bit more but since it's a general reading it could be a variety of reasons people view you this way, follow your gut) :)

The 9 of Wands to me shows that you come across brave and ready for anything, very resilient. Maybe slightly wary or mistrusting too. It also shows that people can tell you're tired/exhausted- not necessarily in a bad way but it's like people can sense in the way you carry yourself that you're trying to keep strong despite struggles you are facing. Maybe you're not getting as much sleep as you need, or just work super hard. For some of you, it's as though people can sense in your expressions/posture/etc that despite being this abundant, inspiring person; you're not totally happy right now and there's something or many things getting to you. I see for some, what's going on is that you have a lot of expectations on you to be this 'perfect', skilled, hardworking, 'golden girl/boy' aspirational person and it is wearing you out deep down. I definitely do see things getting smoother for you with time 🤍

#3 - King of Cups, The Chariot, The Hierophant 🌊

The King of Cups as the first card tells me that you appear to people as somebody who is very in touch with their feelings & emotionally authentic. I don't see an obnoxious person who is always bawling their eyes out (lol), but I see someone who is very warm, welcoming and jovial. When you laugh, you laugh for real. When you smile, it is genuine and sweet. You may not always feel relaxed, but overall you do come across as a very relaxed and mature person and it's really attractive to people. The way you move could be very flow-y and sensual, you might prefer to wear flowing fabrics/styles rather than stiff or sharp ones. Whatever your age or gender is, I see you also come across very parental in the sense that people immediately feel they can trust you, like you're the person a little kid would want to come up to for help if they were lost 🥹

The Chariot tells me that something about the way you appear has a very positive and change-agent energy about it. It could be that you dress very bohemian, or wear very bright colours, or perhaps you do something different with your hair that really subverts expectations and inspires positivity in others. It's as though you stand for something- a certain cause or mentality that shines through in your demeanour. You come across very confident in your style, who you are and what you stand for- you're not afraid to look unique or be 'over the top' and that really makes people happy to see whether you notice it or not! As though you're the one person who wears a beautiful colourful dress/shirt in a sea of people wearing black and grey + looking 'done' with life. Again I'm seeing that the way you move stands out as attractive! While many walk kinda sluggish & dispassionately, you have a bit of a spring in your step, or appear very in command and in tune with your body.

Finally, The Hierophant tells me that you appear spiritual, religious or just having a very strong moral conviction in some way to others. For some of you it could be your facial expressions & the way you react to your environment that leads people to think this. For others, it's more overt things like perhaps adorning yourself in religious or spiritual symbols. The Hierophant also speaks of traditionalism, so you could be someone who prefers slightly more traditional dress styles and values in a way- for a lot I'm seeing dressing in vintage fashion :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankyou !! 💞🔮

[itneverendshere]

I love pogue!reader and rafe sm. I’m so excited every time you post them ❤️ what if reader realizes she’s really falling for rafe and it’s getting serious so she’s tries to self sabotage and end it. She’s thinking he’s THE kook and she’s a pogue. It can’t last and she won’t survive that heartbreak. so rafe starts to panic but then realizes what’s she’s doing by ending it so he’s just like lol no nice try I’m not going anywhere

 i would follow you home - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) word count: 3.1k

hope you enjoy, i love them too 🩵

It was mid-afternoon, that lull between lunch and dinner when the regulars started to trickle in. Like clockwork, you were wiping down the bar, mindlessly watching the condensation drip from a glass of iced tea when you saw Rafe strolling in.

He always had that walk, shoulders rolled back like he owned the place, which, you guess, technically he did, or at least his dad did.

The Cameron Development Group practically built the country club.

He spotted you and the corner of his mouth lifted in that way that made your stomach flip. God, you hated how it got to you. After months of this—him swinging by the bar at the end of his golf games, lounging around the counter like it was no big deal, driving you home, saving you from the storms, letting you kiss him—your heart should’ve calmed the hell down.

But no, butterflies are still fluttering in your chest.

You tossed the rag on the counter, busying yourself with stacking glasses.

“Hey, stranger.” His voice was all smooth, he knew exactly what effect it had on you.

You were still a shitty liar and he learned that fast. 

You glanced up, trying to keep things casual. “Hey yourself.”

He settled into one of the barstools, his blue eyes locking on yours. “You off soon?”

You shrugged. “Depends. Why?”

The truth was, you knew why. You knew what he was asking.

He was wondering if you would have time after this—to sneak off to that little spot by the docks where you'd been meeting up, where things between you had been getting…a little complicated?

And that was why you needed to end this.

You'd seen it coming. You’d known for a while that whatever this thing was with Rafe, it was headed in a direction you couldn’t afford to follow. He was the poster child for Kook royalty. Born with a silver spoon and all that. Meanwhile, you were the bartender, a Pogue, barely scraping by. 

It started with quick conversations after work, long talks on the drive home, those random texts at 2 a.m. that turned into hours of you two confessing things you’d never say out loud to anyone else. You din’t know when it morphed into this—this weird gray area where everything felt more intense. Maybe when you all but kissed him when he picked you up after the storm. That had to be it.

You knew how this story ended, what happened girls like you fell for guys like Rafe Cameron.

Heartbreak.

You wouldn’t survive that.

“I’ve been thinking,” You blurted out, very aware of the way his eyes were still on you. Too aware. You reached for a clean glass, filling it with soda water to distract yourself. “Maybe we should… cool it for a bit.”

His smirk faltered. “Cool it?”

“Yeah,” You shrugged again, trying to seem nonchalant, even though your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I mean, this was fun and all, but let’s be real—”

“Be real?”

You nodded, not daring to look up from the glass you were holding.

“We’re not exactly from the same world, Rafe. It was bound to end sooner or later. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.”

Silence. He doesn’t mutter a word, you wonder if you had done it, convinced him that this wasn’t worth it, that he should’ve walked away and left you with at least a sliver of your heart intact.

Then he laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but it was still a sound you weren’t expecting. Your eyes snapped up to his face, and you saw that damn smirk was back.

“Oh, I see what this is.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

You frowned, instinctively grabbing another towel and wiping the counter again, distracting yourself from the way his eyes were making you feel seen.

“What?”

“You’re scared.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted, standing up and rounding the bar until he was too close, you could smell the cologne clinging to his skin and the fresh grass scent of the golf course. He caged you in with his body, one hand gripping the counter behind you, the other reaching up to tilt your chin so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re trying to push me away because you’re scared. But newsflash, sweetheart—I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, because damn it, he was right. He was completely, 100% right, and you hated it. You hated that he could see right through you like that, see all your fears.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

You didn’t know what to say because, deep down, you didn’t want to believe that it mattered to him. You wanted to believe that he saw you for more than just the girl behind the bar.

“Rafe, you’ll get bored,” you mumbled, barely able to get the words out. “You’ll realize this was just… a phase. I mean, we’re friends, right? We can just… go back to that.”

“Go back to that?” He repeated your words slowly, testing them out. And then he laughed—this disbelieving sound that made you grimace. “You’re trying to run.”

“Am not.”

“You are.

“There’s nothing to run from,” You snapped, though even you didn’t believe that.

He was close enough that you had to tilt your head almost all the way back to meet his stare. “Nothing, huh?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, the word coming out more like a question than a statement. The self-doubt you’d been trying to ignore bubbled up, and you hated yourself for it. 

He dropped his head closer, and you could feel his breath against your skin. “If you think there’s nothing between us, then why does it hurt so much to even think about letting it go?”

His words hit a particular spot, you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. You wanted to argue, he was wrong, you could walk away and be fine.

Okay. You weren’t fine. You weren’t even close to fine.

The whole time you’d been telling yourself this was a fling, some wild phase that would burn out eventually—because that was what made sense. You weren’t supposed to fall for the guy who came from money and lived in a mansion on the hill, while you were still sharing a room with your sister in a run-down house, after yours got destroyed, on the wrong side of the island. 

“You don’t get it. You’ve never had to worry about—about someone like me not fitting into your life. You don’t have people looking at you and thinking ‘what the hell is he doing with her?’”

Rafe’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing a light circle against your waist, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Who cares what people think? I’m not with them. I’m with you.”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him, stepping back to put some space between you.

"No. No, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to always be the one left behind. You’ll get bored, and then what? You walk away and I’m the one left picking up the pieces."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t done.

"And don't say you won’t, because everyone does! I’ve seen this before. I’ve been through it. I don’t survive guys like you." Your voice cracked, and shit, you hated how vulnerable you sounded.

It was all spilling out now, the fear you’d kept bottled up.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, there was something different in his eyes. Anger? No, frustration maybe. But not at you. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his temper in check.

“I'm not just some guy playing games. You thinnk I’m gonna wake up one day and decide you’re not worth it?”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself as if that would protect you from the way his words were hitting you.

��Isn’t that what happens?”

“No. Not with me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that!” His voice rose, you flinched a little, caught off guard by the intensity. He noticed and apologized immediately, his hand reaching for yours but stopping short. "I’m here, with you. Because I want to be. Don’t you get that?"

Your eyes fleeted away, focusing on the floor because looking at him was overwhelming.

"Just let me go," you whispered, "It’ll hurt less now."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and before you could pull back, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you in one swift move. His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his stare, no more escape from the intensity in them.

"No," he said, firmly but quiet. "I’m not letting you go. You’re not pushing me away. I’m not leaving, no matter how hard you try to sabotage this."

Your breath hitched in your throat, you tried to argue, but then his lips were on yours, cutting off whatever weak protest you had left.

Rafe was trying to make you understand something without words. 

 And damn it, you kissed him back, of course, you did.

Despite everything you said, everything you feared, you wanted this, him. But the second you felt yourself giving in, you pushed back, your hands pressed against his chest.

"Stop doing that," you snapped, breathless.

"Doing what?" He sounded just as wounded up.

"Kissing me like you can fix this. It's not gonna make me believe you."

He exhaled, keeping you close. "You don’t have to believe me now, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you, okay? Stop trying to run every time it gets hard."

"I don’t know how to do this," you admitted, hands still resting on his chest, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I’ll show you," His forehead rested against yours, your breaths mingling. "Stop pushing me away."

You let yourself be there with him, your defenses crumbling piece by piece. You didn’t know how long it would last, or if you could even survive it...He seemed worth the risk.

You couldn’t help but mutter, "You’re so stupid, you know that?"

His lips twitched into a smile. “And you’re still kissing me, again, so what does that say about you?”

You rolled your eyes, hiding how your lips betrayed you.

“Says I’m just as stupid as you,” you scoffed under your breath, fingers still gripping his polo, afraid to let go. “Do you always go around kissing the saff?” You mumbled out.

Rafe’s hands moved from your waist to your back, it was infuriating how easy it was to melt into him. He raised a brow, “Only the ones who can’t seem to stay away from me.”

You groaned, shoving him with just force to make him stumble back a step. “God, you’re insufferable.”

He caught your wrists before you could pull away completely, his grip gentle. “You seem to like insufferable.”

“Do I though?” You quipped, trying to sound indifferent, but your heartbeat was giving you away. You could feel it hammering in your chest, “I feel like this whole thing is a bad idea. You know, like ‘kiss the rich guy, ruin your life’ kind of bad idea.”

Rafe’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes faded. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” You tried to play dumb.

“Talk like this doesn’t mean something. Like I don’t mean something to you.” His voice was low, but there was a seriousness in it that made you nervous. “We’ve been doing this dance for a while now, and every time it starts to get real, you act like it’s… casual.”

Your throat tightened, “Maybe it is casual,” you said, even though the words tasted like a lie. “We're just two people having a good time, and that’s it.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that made your chest ache in a good way.

“Nah. You’re not fooling me anymore. You don’t kiss someone like you kissed me just for fun.”

“Rafe…”

“And you don’t look at me like that when I walk in unless there’s more to it.” His voice softened as his thumb traced your skin. “Stop pretending it’s nothing.”

“I should be working.”

Rafe wasn’t letting you off that easy.

“Yeah, you probably should,” he said, but his hands didn’t move, and neither did his eyes.

“So you’re gonna let me go?”

“Why’d you kiss me that day?” he asked, "I’ve been wondering.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question. He was so close, it was hard to think, let alone answer something that felt disarming .

"I don’t know," you groaned, feeling like a cornered animal. "I wasn’t thinking straight."

His fingers traced a slow line down your arm, sending shivers through you.

"You sure about that?" Rafe's voice was quiet, he already knew you were lying, knew you too well for you to hide behind that excuse. "Because it didn’t feel like some random kiss."

You scoffed, trying to laugh it off.

"It was— I don’t know, Rafe. It was just the heat of the moment, okay? The storm… everything." You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze because you knew he wasn’t buying it. "You saved me, and I guess I was—"

"Grateful?" he interrupted, his brow arching. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You winced. "I didn’t mean it like that."

“Yeah, it sure sounds like you’re trying to make it seem like it meant nothing."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond right away. That kiss had meant something—more than you were ready to admit to yourself, let alone to him.

“You can’t keep acting like you don’t care, because I know you do. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t.”

“Why do you care so much? Why does it matter?”

He frowned, like you had just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Because it matters to me.”

Your chest tightened at that, "I don’t want to get hurt, Rafe."

"I’m not gonna hurt you." His voice was serious, a promise, but you’d heard promises like that before. "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. I’m asking for a chance, one chance. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m scared."

“I know,” he murmured, “I’m scared too, okay? I want to be with you. So, please, just… give us a shot.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, your mind racing a hundred miles per hour. Your heart was telling you to stay.

 “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You opened your eyes, “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a chance. Don’t screw it up.”

Rafe’s lips curved into that stupid blinding grin, “I won’t. I promise.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead, you found yourself smiling back. 

This was crazy, maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak or....you’d really found yourself a soulmate.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

The Rush

Prompt: Free Space | Word Count: 2400 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Relationship(s): Steddie, Steve & Gareth | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Jealous Eddie, Getting Together, First Kiss, Gareth's Hand is Broken, Corroded Coffin Needs a Fill-in Drummer

"I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm not welcome here," Steve says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The pair of drumsticks clenched in his fist. 

There are four pairs of eyes staring at him, and only one could be even remotely deemed friendly.

Maybe, two. Jeff looks neutral. Steve will take neutral. 

"No, it's not that!" Eddie shouts, far too over the top. It is exactly that. 

It's not like this was his idea. He starts gathering up all his stuff. It's stupid. He didn't even want to do this, Eddie coerced him, twisted his arm, begged, and now Steve's feelings are hurt for no goddamn reason whatsoever. 

It's bullshit.

Steve was just trying to be a good friend. Eddie wanted to get back to playing at The Hideout after everything that happened. But Gareth's hand is still fucked, one of the fingers Jason Carver stepped on didn't heal right, and they had to go in and fix it surgically. 

Eddie's been antsy. The Hideout wants to give their spot away, and Steve gets that Eddie wants any sliver of normal that he can get right now. 

Unfortunately, Steve was stupid enough to think he could be the one to fix this problem for him.

He can't. He really, really can't.

"You're just not doing it right!" Gareth shouts, the one arm that isn't in a sling, flailing. 

"I haven't played drums since fourth grade!" Steve yells back. Everybody had to pick an instrument to play during fourth grade band class. All the boys wanted to play the drums. Obviously. He can keep a steady beat, can play a drum roll on the snare. Can play the fucking timpani if need be, but he's never played a full drum kit before. 

He's not a drummer. 

It's gonna take him a minute to learn, and it damn well hasn't been made any easier with Gareth hovering behind him, breathing down his neck. Sighing, and grumbling.

"We're just stressed out," Jeff says, "if we cancel one more time, Carl said we're gonna lose our Tuesday spot."

Steve nods. He gets it. But it's not his fault he can't just play like they want him to right away. He was doing them a favor, not the other way around.

"Carl's a fucking liar," Eddie pops off, "Who the fuck else is he gonna get to play in his shit hole for five drunks?" 

"Probably not a band led by a supposed murderer," Goodie says, and Steve wishes he wouldn't do that. Wouldn't bring it up. The town still looks at Eddie like he's guilty, and it sets Steve on edge. 

"Do we really want to call his bluff?" Jeff asks, and Steve watches them all volley off each other, eyes following the banter.

"And he can't wear that!" Goodie interrupts, drawing the attention back to Steve, berating him for no goddamn reason, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Steve looks down. He's just wearing a polo and jeans. What he always wears. What's wrong with his clothes? 

"We can't make him wear a costume," Eddie argues, and Steve agrees there. He can't dress like Eddie. He'd look like a dumbass.

Not that Eddie looks like a dumbass, just that he would look like one if he tried to mimic him. 

"Well, we can do better than that!" Goodie insists. 

Eddie nods, and this is really the least of their concerns. Steve doesn't know the songs. What he's wearing isn't important at this point. 

"Just. Try again," Gareth says, and Steve nods, reluctantly.

Gareth sits on the stool, hitting the kick drum repeatedly, and Steve tries to follow along, sitting next to him. Foot tapping an imaginary pedal. 

Eventually, Gareth gets up and makes Steve take over the hot seat again. 

And it's going pretty smoothly.

Until Eddie has a fit for no reason that Steve can figure out. 

Gareth is leaning over Steve's back, his hand covering Steve's, leading him through a very basic backing beat. 

"1, 2, 3, 4," Gareth counts in his ear. 

"You're harassing him!" Eddie shouts, and Steve looks up from where he was closely watching Gareth's good hand guiding his own. 

"What?" Steve asks, confused. This is the first thing they've tried that's made this even seem possible.

"Stop groping him," Eddie demands, pointing a finger at Gareth, and now they're both looking up.

"I'm not flirting with him, I'm trying to teach him the bare fucking bones of this song, Eddie, Jesus Christ! Get a goddamn grip!" Gareth yells, and Steve hates this whole experience. 

He should have never told Eddie he's ever even looked at a drum. It would have saved them all a lot of hassle. 

"Just. Back off. Let him try it by himself," Eddie demands, and Gareth takes a dramatic step back. He's been around Eddie far too long.

"How's he supposed to play it without Gareth teaching him?" Jeff asks, and it's far too reasonable of a question for Eddie.

"It'd be easier if he could read sheet music!" Gareth snaps, and Steve looks back at him.

"I can read sheet music," Steve says.

"You can what now?" Eddie asks, whipping around to look at him. 

Then, the rest of them turn to look at Steve. 

"What?" Steve asks, feeling pinned down. "I can play the piano. Don't all kids have to take piano lessons?" Steve asks, and Eddie barks out a laugh. But Goodie is sort of nodding along, begrudgingly. Steve can tell that he knows the pain of sitting next to Ms. Ruth in her old, musty living room, being forced to learn piano scales.

"You all take twenty. No. Give us an hour. Go get us a six-pack, anything," Gareth says, ushering them out of the garage, pulling the door down half-way behind the three of them. Probably so they don't suffocate in here, it's already hot enough without the door closed.

Then, Gareth turns and looks back at Steve.

"Finally. Peace and quiet. Okay. You know how piano sheet music is written with notes on a scale?" Gareth asks, rifling through the cabinet in the corner, finally comes up with a folder and a dusty music stand. 

"Yeah," Steve answers, getting up to help him unfold it, since Gareth's only got the one good hand. 

"For drum notation, the staff is instead for which part of the drum kit you should play on. Does that make sense?"

Steve thinks so. At least somewhat. 

"Executive decision. We're going easy. They'll have to deal," Gareth says, and spreads out a hand drawn notion for Back in Black. 

Then, Gareth starts explaining which part of the staff goes to which drum. 

"Notes are for drums, X's are for cymbals," Gareth says, then starts pointing at each piece of his drum set, and then back at the piece of paper where they align, "Snare, hi-hats, crash, high tom, mid tom, ride, low tom, kick. That's it. Eight pieces."

Steve nods, but he's not very sure about this. 

"It's easy. I promise," Gareth says, "You won't even need the sheet music in like ten minutes. You'll feel it."

They work up Back in Black and move to Highway to Hell. On that one, Steve comes in behind, or ahead, he's not sure. 

He hates this. 

"You've heard this song right?" Gareth asks, and it's only slightly mean.

"Of course I've heard this song," Steve snaps.

"Then just listen to it. You're rushing. You know what that guitar part sounds like and you know when the drums come in. Do it then."

If only it was that easy.

Gareth rewinds the cassette, and they start all over again. Steve attempting to play along with it, as Gareth's tapping on his shoulder, counting softly, giving him the beat he should be following. Maybe that's what they can do at The Hideout — set up a curtain, and Gareth can tap him to keep him where he should be. That's an idea. 

The song's not good. It's not bad either, which is a definite upgrade. 

Steve is sweating, and he wipes his forehead with the tail of his shirt.

"You're not so bad, Harrington," Gareth says, and Steve laughs. He's terrible.

"I'm terrible," Steve argues.

Gareth laughs, "At the drums? Yes. You, Steve Harrington, aren't so bad."

"Oh," Steve says, "Thanks, I guess."

The way Gareth is looking at him is weird.

"What?"

"Eddie's a good guy," Gareth says, "just a little high strung. He means well. He always does."

"I know," Steve says, because he does. They've become friends since spring break. He doesn't need to be sold on Eddie Munson. He's not the rest of Hawkins.

Gareth just nods, "Okay, from the top."

They are on song four, Steve reading the music, only making a few mistakes, when he catches movement and it draws his attention away from the kit.

Eddie is squatted down like some sort of weird owl, head cocked to the side, nearly upside down, spying on them from under the half-open garage door.

"We can see you, asshole," Gareth says, "just get in here. I think he has it."

"I didn't know we were an AC/DC cover band now," Goodie snarks, holding onto his bass. Steve doesn't have time to say there's a Queen song in there, too, and one he doesn't know the band name, before Gareth jumps in to defend his executive decision that they are playing easy shit. 

Songs that he could basically boil down to a repetitive pattern. Steve was on board with that. There's whining and grumbling, but Gareth was the only one that helped him learn anything at all.

"Shut up. I could have taught him Stayin' Alive," Gareth sasses.

Goodie shuts up.

"Great. And he can play Living After Midnight, so you can stop your stupid whining," Gareth says, then adds, "These are the songs he can play, and you'll damn well play them, too."

There's bitching and moaning, but they all do exactly what Gareth says, playing them together for the first time.

A week later, Steve sits on the stool in The Hideout, sweating. There's nobody in this goddamn bar, but he's still nervous. Mainly because he doesn't want to disappoint Eddie. Steve's never wanted to be in a band. Still doesn't. 

They practiced every day, and it is what it is. Gareth just needs to get that hand healed fucking soon.

Eddie looks back at him, expectantly. Gareth is standing off-stage, and he gives Steve a single thumbs up. So, Steve counts them in. Nervous and shaky-voiced.

And away they go.

It was fine. Nobody booed, nobody paid them any attention to them at all, really, and it was all over before Steve even had time to stop being nervous. 

Afterwards, they load up all the equipment in the back of the van.

"You did good," Gareth says, and Steve smiles a little, reaching out to put his hand on Gareth's shoulder.

"Thanks for teaching me," Steve says, "I had fun."

Gareth raises an eyebrow, challenging him. Sniffing out the lie immediately.

"Okay, fun might not be the exact right word," Steve laughs, thinking of what he actually feels, but he's interrupted. Eddie shoving between them, making them step apart. Forcing Steve to yank his hand from Gareth's shoulder, if he wants to keep his elbow from being dislocated.

Gareth rolls his eyes, and walks off, climbing into the van.

Steve watches as Eddie puts the last piece of the drum kit into the van, and then slams the back doors closed. Leaving them standing there in the dark back alley, just the two of them.

"Thanks for doing that for us," Eddie says, pulling his hair across his mouth, "You were good."

"I wasn't good," Steve laughs.

Eddie giggles, and it's too high pitched and weird. He's being weird. He's been weird all week. Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn't want Steve Harrington in his band, but the feeling is mutual. Honest.

He's staring at Steve, and Steve is curious why.

"Why are you being so weird?" Steve asks. He won't know unless he asks. 

And Eddie lunges forward, hand wrapping around the back of Steve's neck, tugging him into a kiss. 

Oh.

Steve yelps with surprise, and then goes with it. Kissing him back.

This is why he's been weird. He was jealous. He was flirting. 

Steve didn't realize.

In that case.

Steve takes charge, taking a big step forward, then another, forcing Eddie to walk backwards until he's pressed up against the back of the van. Steve slides his arm around Eddie's waist, and pulls him close. He can feel how much Eddie wants this, and well, Steve's not about to disappoint him. 

Pressing into him, kissing him until they need to stop to breathe. When they do, Steve pulls back and grins.

"So, drummers make you hot, huh?"

Eddie laughs, "Just you. Definitely not Gareth."

And then Eddie is staring in his eyes, "What about you? Does Gareth make you hot?"

Steve giggles, reaching out to touch Eddie's hair, and kisses him again. He's so fucking ridiculous. When they break apart again, Steve can't take his eyes off Eddie's lips. They are so kissable. He'd never noticed that before.

"No, he doesn't. My attention is all reserved for someone else in this band."

Eddie smiles so fucking wide, that Steve doesn't know how he didn't see this mutual crush they've been building on each other for months.

"Let's go dump off the guys and the gear," Steve suggests and Eddie nods, eagerly.

When Steve climbs in the back of the van, Gareth looks at him knowingly, "Did Eddie finally stop being an asshole and get what he wanted?"

Steve laughs, nodding.

"Unless you want first dibs, of course," Steve teases, and Gareth laughs as Eddie reaches around the seat, threatening them both. Jealous of nothing.

It might be fun to gang up on Eddie, though. Rile him up. The real drummer, and the shoddy replacement. A one-two punch.

Steve holds out his hand, offering a fist bump, which Gareth takes him up on.

Maybe Steve's made a new friend.

He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because they all have to hang on for dear life as Eddie wheels the van out of the alley like he stole it.

But Steve gets it. The rush. 

They have places to be. Things to do.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

[littlcdarlin]

dbf!Joel headcanons

warnings: big, though unspecified age gap, 18+ (as always)

note: Uni has been kicking my ass, so I’ve only had time for some headcanons lately. This Joel is very sweet, but I’m open to writing sleazy or dark Joel, too! If you have requests for any headcanons, I will be able to write them even during this stressful time. Full fics will take me a while longer. Enjoy reading, my loves <3 and feel free to add stuff!

He doesn’t really know how to cook well and mostly eats his faves every day but when you stay over more and more he makes an effort to learn and actually finds out he really likes it

Whatever pressure your parents put on you, he relieves it by accepting it rather than trying to fix it for you — you can just exist around him without expectation

He worries the age difference means you don’t have much to talk about, so he watches your favourite show that you mentioned and although it certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick, it lets him unwind. He likes watching something he knows you’ve watched and loved when you’re not around, it makes him feel closer to you

When he first starts looking at you differently he blue balls himself so as not to disrespect you — when he has sex with someone to relieve himself, he accidentally says your name to them

He keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and cashiers wonder why he smiles at his debit card so much

He finds it hard to stay friends with your dad, because it makes him feel weird about this dynamic with you. He distances himself from your parents after they react badly to the news of your relationship, not because of guilt or cowardice, but because he doesn’t tolerate how they treat you

He thought he would hate the gossip after the two of you go public, but when you do, he finds himself imagining knocking you up just so everyone knows what he does to you. He opts for lots of hickeys until kids might be a possibility, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending you don’t have an IUD when he finishes inside of you

He loves when you wear his clothes, but when you forget your scarf at his place he wears it and enjoys that just as much — it smells like you and he likes the idea of people being able to tell it’s somebody else’s

When he figures out how much you like him talking to you during sex, he starts using the same voice/phrases in public to get you flustered & wet for him

He keeps everything that reminds him of you, like parking tickets etc. He doesn’t do anything with those things, doesn’t put them in a box, so they linger around his house, reminding him of you the way photographs would, except more privately

He starts “putting in an effort” for you when you start dating: styling his hair & wearing clothes he thinks you would prefer, until you tell him you like nothing more than his flannels and band tees and jeans, and although he doesn’t tell you, he’s beyond relieved. He realises you like him for him

When you tell your parents, Joel asks your father to hit him because “he knows he deserves it”. With time he learns he also deserves your kisses and smiles. Those things coexist within him, he thinks both are true

Despite completely supporting you in your pursuit of a degree & career, he likes when you’re on holiday, waiting around for him in his house wearing nothing but a pair of panties he bought for you & one of his hoodies. During those lazy weeks, he fucks you morning, afternoon, and night: before he leaves, when he gets home, and right before you go to sleep

He buys you a ring during the first week of dating because you mentioned how much you like it. He doesn’t give it to you until he knows you feel certain about him — he doesn’t want to freak you out. Still, even before that, he sometimes looks at it in its little black box and envisions it on your finger

During your first couple of “public dates” (neighbourhood barbecue where your parents are present etc.) he refrains from touching you much, although everyone knows about your relationship. You have to take his hand and initiate small touches for him to feel more comfortable

It takes him a short while, but then he loves being able to touch you in front of people: a hand on your lower back, an arm across your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours, him pulling your back against his front and wrapping his arms around you. People stare sometimes (your Dad breaks one or two wine glasses in his hand), but Joel stops caring when he sees how happy it makes you

He tells you that you can change things about his home, that it should feel like your place, too and asks if you want to go shopping for “candles and stuff”, but you love being in a space that feels completely like him. It’s not how your apartment looks, but it makes you feel at ease, like you’re somehow living inside of him

Before he tells you he loves you, he whispers it in your ear when you’re sleeping, hoping your subconscious will somehow pick up on it. When he does tell you while you’re awake for the first time, it’s during breakfast. You stub your toe, and let out a string of curses you must have picked up on from him, and while he presses ice against your foot, kneeling in front of you, he smiles up and tells you: I love you.

The first time you sleep over at his house after he spent the night in your apartment, two brand new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner you use are in his shower. You thank him and jokingly ask why he didn’t buy your shower gel, too. He kisses you and tells you he likes when you smell like him.

He likes making you come more times than you thought you could — something about moving in and out of you while you tell him you can’t do it again, that you’re done, and then watching you fall apart on his cock anyway, thrills him to the bone. It makes him feel powerful, but part of it is knowing you let him fuck you without expecting an orgasm, that him being inside of you is enough for you to feel good

He doesn’t tell you, but he adds your name to his car insurance, so that you can drive it whenever you want

When you figure it out you give him road head every time the two of you drive somewhere — until he almost crashes the car and he forbids you to tempt him while he’s behind the wheel

He’s so nervous he asks Tommy for help when picking out a birthday gift for you — Tommy goes overboard and the gift turns out to be something completely ridiculous like a pair of huge earrings you would never wear. You tell Joel you don’t need a big fuss to feel loved by him. At night, he gives you a present he’s been wanting to give you for a while: he plays you a song he wrote for you on his guitar. It’s quiet and simple and so perfect you cry for half an hour

He doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around, and loves being close to you at night. If he could, he’d sleep nestled inside of you after a round of lazy midnight sex every night

As much as Tommy annoys him, it makes him happy to see how well you two get along. When you become actual friends with Tommy and hang out with him on your own, he’s more than pleased: the two people he loves the most in the world have become close

He would never ask it of you, but when you tell him you have stopped masturbating because he fucks you so often, it pleases him deeply. He likes being the only source of your pleasure. When you are apart for a while because of work/collage etc., he buys you a toy he can control from his phone

He tells Tommy he thinks he’s going to marry you during the first month of dating, which you find out about only on your wedding day during Tommy’s speech

[sillysillygoofygoose]

Hi hi! Can I request a Toji x fem! Reader who’s really quiet in bed, because of an ex (like, maybe he tells her that the sounds she makes aren’t pleasant and things like that??)

OH MY GOD??!?!? HELLOOO!!! I'M FEELING SO SPOILED TODAY 🤭🤭 yes yes yes yes yes THANK YOU ANON 💗 it's a little angsty AGAIN (don't know what's up with me tbh) but very sweet

Don't Be Shy ★

Everything feels fragile. New feelings, new headspace, new man. Thinking about it made your stomach twist and turn in complicated bows... He's so handsome. So strong. So dreamy. God, what if I fuck it all up?

It was all new... the feeling of his hips grinding up into yours as you grip onto his strong, wide shoulders, biting down into your bottom lip to stop your sounds in their tracks.

"Mm fuck baby, you feeling good?" Toji's grunts and light tap on your hip pulls you from your flurry of worries.

"Uh yeah, yeah, it's really good, Toji." You mumble, feeling your breath hitch in your chest, attempting to hold back you gasps as the pressure of Toji's bulge crashes perfectly with your clit.

"Gotta tell me bubs... I don't know this pretty body yet. Gotta help me learn." He huffs out as your hands travel under his fitted black shirt.

You simply nod, feeling your cheeks warm up as you and Toji exchange the same warm air between quick breaths.

You feel yourself loosen up the wetter you get, biting onto the back of your hand and clenching your stomach, subtly compressing your moans.

Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to at least talk.

"Okay, fuck okay, I want you inside please." Missing the way Toji smirks, you quickly get your sentence out as fast as possible before a moan can slip out, concentrating hard on keeping your voice as steady as possible.

"Alright, princess, c'mere." Toji flips you onto your back, gently tugging down your pants along with your soaked panties.

You cover your mouth as you feel Toji's hot breath on your quivering pussy, looking up at the ceiling.

Toji's good. Really good. You can tell simply by the way he operates that he's skilled. Experienced.

He's been with other girls. Seen other girls. Heard other girls. And all of a sudden, it all comes back to you.

"Uhm, you don't... you don't have to prep me or anything. We can just do it, I'll be okay." Pushing away his head when you realize he's about to taste you, you situate yourself, sitting up on your elbows.

Toji is shocked as he hovers above you, glaring in confusion.

"Are you sure? I really don't think that's a good idea bubba." Softly, he glides his middle and pointer finger along your slit, assessing if you were even close to being wet enough.

"No, no I'm sure. I'll be alright." Sitting up slightly, you paw at the waist band of his gray sweatpants, watching in delight as his cock strains against the fabric. Pulling them down, you distract him by grazing his tip with your delicate finger, making him shudder.

"Fuck~ alright babygirl..." He mumbles, laying you back down as your legs automatically spread, humping his veiny cock against your heat, getting it as wet as possible.

His sharp, commanding eyes focus on your face as he slowly pushes himself in, attempting to gage any type of reaction from you.

It burned. Really bad, it burned as he slowly stretched you out, feeling like you were being split in half at your core. You laid there quietly, softly breathing out as the pain subsided and pleasure picked up.

The physical and emotional intensity inside your chest suffocated you as Toji began thrusting into you, shallow and slow. It felt so good. He felt so good.

But you couldn't make a noise. You couldn't be ugly. You'd embarrass yourself, you'd turn him off. You'd ruin it.

"You always this quiet, doll? Makin' me nervous." Toji quirked his head to the side, less than pleased as he slid in and out of you and you just laid there, only sign of life being your blinking eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so." You mumble, praying he'd drop it. It's so humiliating. What's worse than being an ugly moaner? Your signs of pleasure are grating and unattractive... at least, that's what he said.

The last man you laid yourself out for, being totally vulnerable with, someone you thought was utterly attracted to you, no matter what. The sex was good... so good that you were moaning and whimpering under him.

God, he was so harsh. You never thought you would be so politely degraded after sex, all over the way you sound.

Tears well up in your distant eyes, and before you even feel it, Toji sees it.

"Shit! Shit, fuck are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong bub?" He pulls out of you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his shoulder.

"No, nothing, nothing it's so stupid." You shake your head, wiping your tears as Toji cradles you.

"I should've known sweets, I'm sorry. You've been off. What's on your mind, pretty girl?" You feel the stress building up around you, a warm all-encompassing feeling breaking you down from the inside out.

"Don't want you to think I'm ugly." You whisper into his shoulder.

"Huh? Baby, I'm lookin' at you right now. You're beautiful, you know that." His dark eyebrows furrow as he looks you over.

"No, no. My voice. My sounds. I don't want you to think I sound bad... My ex... he said- he um said that ummm... God this is so embarrassing. Um he said that I sound bad... that I turned him off. So I don't want to um, I don't want you to be less attracted to me, 's all." You sob out, explaining yourself as shame overtakes you, dignity leaving your body through salted tears.

"Oh. What a dumb prick. Don't think about that ass. I want to hear you, you kidding me? Let me hear you... okay?"

Slowly, you nod, detaching yourself from Toji's shoulder, laying back down.

"Okay, bub?" Toji repeats, drawing sloppy circles on your clit with his bulbous head, coaxing a genuine, surprised gasp from your throat.

"Okay... okayy." You gently speak out, a long, staggered breath freeing itself from your system.

"Therrree we go, sweetheart. Just let it out. Such a pretty little girl." Keeping his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, he slides himself back in, basking in pride as he hears the smallest moan slip from your pretty parted lips. Gotta start somewhere.

"Give it to me, baby," Was the only warning you got before Toji began hammering into your puffy little cunt, forcing gasps and moans from you. Quickly you move your hand up to your mouth to cover your embarrassment, but Toji grabs your wrist, pining it beside your ear.

"Fuck, fucckkk sounds so good baby. Pretty little moans." He praises as he kisses along your jaw, forcing himself deeper into you. He knows he hit your sweet spot when your most blissed-out noise filled the room, signaling to his brain the beginning of his orgasm, bubbling in the pit of his toned stomach.

"Keep moaning like that and I'm gonna fill you up. Fuck, gonna make me cum... you close, bubba? Come on, talk to me." His encouragement works you up even more, making you feel brave.

"Mhm yeah, 'm really close Toji. Wanna cum with you." You moan out as his thrusts increase, then completely still all at once.

Your voice. God, your voice. Just hearing it had Toji gripping onto your hips and cumming on the spot. His orgasm triggers yours, your confident moans almost making him hard again.

"So good. So beautiful. Pretty moans for a pretty girl." Toji grins, breaking the peaceful ambience of the room.

"Wanna hear you for the rest of my life, pretty."

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

Thank you so so much anon!! Kisses! 💕

[azzibueckers5]

chapter 2: i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song)

(chapter 1 link) (ao3 link)

chapter 2: in which azzi is a drama queen and mentally calls herself the word stupid so many times that it loses its meaning (wc: ~8.5k) (gasp)

AN: ummmm hiiiiii i'm back. please enjoy! i wanted to make it angstier but i didn't want to actually write that? so here you go. umm. any and all mistakes re: basketball and the wnba (and anything else) are mine and mine only! i'm learning slowly and I googled a lot of things but who knows. i think that's it? idk have fun freaks <3

azzi wakes to a pounding headache, a crick in her neck from sleeping on the couch, and an overwhelming sense of dread at everything in the world ever. 

hanxiety doesn’t even begin to capture the feeling that curdles in her stomach when she goes to confirm that last night wasn’t a hyper-realistic dream, the words outgoing call, 1:47 reflecting back at her bleary eyes underneath paige’s contact. she’d called her at two in the fucking morning. good god. 

she’s not sure if the wine or the hours of crying is the cause of the absolute knife between her temples, but it doesn’t matter because she needs three advils, like, now, before she begins processing the nightmare that the previous night really was. 

she drags herself off the couch, wincing at the ache in her muscles, and heads to her bedroom to change out of last night's pjs and try and dig up the pain killers that she knows are somewhere in her bedside table. 

briefly, humorously, she contemplates the tub of miscellaneous, much stronger drugs that she’s accumulated over her years of surgeries and injuries. maybe if she overdoses on the opioids she’d been given but never taken after her acl tear she won’t have to deal with this whole L-word realization that is sure to ruin the current stability of her life. 

as she mentally picks through the haze of wine over her memories from the night before, the pit in her stomach grows. she had been a lot of things the prior night- stupid, emotional, drunk, but wrong about the truth of her complex web of emotion surrounding paige? 

she wasn’t so sure. (she was actually kind of sure she hadn’t been wrong. which. fuck.)

after swallowing her pills (advil, not the oxycodone), she picks up her phone and fires off three texts to aaliyah in quick succession, needing her to know how much her line of questioning had caused azzi to spiral.

azzi: u suck btw. 

azzi: the all-star break isn't the time to make me over analyze my friendships

azzi: or my sexuality for that matter

the older girl responds in a matter of seconds.

lili: BRUH I THOUGHT U KNEW

lili: come shoot before practice w me and we can talk it out

lili: but jsyk uve been moping for A YEAR my bad for thinking it was cause yall broke up

azzi: brooooo everyone always says friendship breakups r worse anyways

she releases a long suffering sigh to the mirror above her dresser. she looks a little bit like shit, eyes puffy and cheek creased, posture slumped over looking at her phone. the picture of i don’t want to have this crisis right now but i fear it’s too late. 

screw everything. she looks back down at the buzz of her phone in her palm:

aaliyah: that’s only for straight girls dumbass

azzi: ok well i thought i WAS a straight girl

lili: [screenshotted image of her profile photo for azzi: her, sitting on the ground in the uconn facilities, propped up against the base of her locker, legs spread comfortably. her head is tilted up at the camera, a smirk lopsided on her face, and one hand is throwing up a four, the other splayed out across the top of her trucker hat. she’s wearing a huskies sports bra and sweatpants, slung low enough on her hips to exhibit the the thick band of her basketball shorts and the v of her lower abs] 

lili: does this look like a straight girl to u 

it's almost funny how obvious the answer is. azzi types out a succinct kill youself and throws her phone across her bed.

she feels like she should be concerned with how easily the knowledge that she’s into women (or at least one specific woman) settles into her skin. but somehow it feels more like something she’d known about herself and simply buried, waiting for the right time to fully process. and this doesn’t necessarily feel like the right time, but it's happening whether azzi likes it or not, and she supposes that accepting that you’re gay is a lot easier when every single person in your life already knew and thought you knew before you actually did. 

the only person she really has to solidly come out to is herself (she ignores the voice in her head telling her that she will also maybe have to come out to paige at some point. if they talk and y’know. things go the way azzi is somehow already desperately hoping they will), and she’d always kind of known, in an abstract sense anyway, that she was attracted to women, but she’d never really had a crush on one or had the inclination to actually do anything about that thought so it had sat on the backburner, something she only really thought about when she was drunk, or lonely,  or some combination of the two. 

she figures she can work out whether she’s ever even been into men at all at a later date. all she can think about right now is paige anyways, and it's childish, but she’s almost annoyed at how cliche she feels for having her gay realization be the blonde, like she’s just another fangirl in paige’s tik tok comment section writing some variation of ‘i'm straight, but its paige bueckers!’ 

and it’s stupid, but it feels like she’s feeding into paige's ego by just acknowledging this space that’s been carved out in her chest. paige had always been droning on and on about how much rizz she had, how everybody wanted her, and azzi had loved nothing more than humbling her, calling her conceited and egotistical and stupid, and well. it seems azzi had been the stupid one all along. 

she knows, though, that this feeling, this thing in her chest that has somehow ballooned inside of her overnight, runs much, much deeper than the silly, surface level attraction that most people attributed to paige. and she also reasons that she knows paige, both her flaws and her insecurities and the parts that make her so wonderful, in a way that none of the teenage girls on tiktok could ever begin to even dream of. 

being in love with paige (and she guesses she’s really acknowledging it now, so that's. cool.) didn’t feel like a fluke, but rather something that was simply innate inside of her, ever humming under her skin. 

she curses the universe for giving her this mid-life crisis eight days before she has to hop on the flight that will take her directly to paige’s city, but there's an underlying feeling of hope, too, that she tries to squash. she firmly ignores the thought that it feels a little bit like a cosmic sign. 

paige having a woman she was almost certainly sleeping with, minimum, in the background of her phone at 1am also kinda felt like a cosmic sign. a sign that meant it's too late. 

and. oh god. she needs to text paige about dallas. 

and what the fuck to you say to your ex best friend who you hypothetically were (are?) in love with and drunkenly called crying after a year of not speaking one-on-one to try and plan a hangout? your ex best homoerotic friend who maybe has a new girl? 

but paige had insinuated that she wasn’t expecting azzi to actually reach out, which, aside from the fact that azzi did want to, also made it somewhat of a competition, and azzi didn’t lose competitions. especially against paige. 

it's already nearing 10 am, and even though paige is an hour behind, she wants to make it clear that she’s true to her word. paige had seemed like she’d wanted her to text, too, and. she’d said she missed her. a lot.

she types out the first thing she thinks of, u gonna show me your cowboy boots collection or what, and sends it before she can talk herself out of it.

the anger at paige from the night before is still simmering in her blood, a little bit, because what the fuck? they haven't talked in a year and it was paige’s fault. but also. azzi knows paige, even after all this time, and. she has a growing hunch that instead of the callous disregard for azzi and their friendship that paige had tried so hard to portray, azzi is starting to think that it had been hurt, not indifference, that had caused paige to distance them.

when paige doesn’t immediately respond to azzi’s text and profess her undying love for azzi and azzi only, she tries to convince her immune system that she did not, in fact, just drink poison and she was not, in fact, having a heart attack. 

and god, was it normal to feel like she was dying after sending a text? yesterday-azzi was lucky as fuck that she thought she hadn’t been in love because this fucking sucked. 

she makes breakfast with her anxiety at an all time high, checking her phone every sixty seconds and nearly burning her omelette. as the minutes tick by, azzi tries to resign herself to the reality that maybe paige had told her to text because she didn’t believe azzi would, not in spite of it. 

but then, as azzi is throwing things in her bag to leave for the facilities and bombard aaliyah with questions and a borderline mental breakdown, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket. she drops her water bottle on her foot in her haste to check what it says, and it hurts like a bitch, but paige responds with ‘unfortunately only one pair of boots. but im sure my hat collection will impress u’ and well. 

azzi’s foot could be broken for all she cares, because paige responded and she’s texting like old paige, and maybe it's flirting, maybe it's not, azzi clearly has no idea, but it's a million times better than the one-word messages she received throughout last year, and.

hope blooms, slow and steady, in azzi’s heart, despite her attempts to squash it.  

…

azzi: please tell me you don’t actually wear any of them outside the house

paige: u have to wear one here at all times or they’ll kill u

paige: texas is no joke

azzi: so i guess i’ll need to borrow one when im down there then

paige: when do u fly in 

paige: ill give u the pick of the litter 

…

(azzi does not shriek when she sees that text after practice. she does not.)

…

three days before azzi flies to dallas (and potentially lights herself on fire), she has a moment of weakness. after a particularly tiring lift and a day without more than a few new texts from paige, she settles into bed freshly showered with her laptop propped open on a pillow. she means to put on the rest of the abbot elementary episode she’d been watching earlier, but her fingers apparently aren’t connected to the rest of her body because they type in “paige bueckers and azzi fudd” into the youtube search bar instead. 

a couple nonsense videos pop up before her eyes catch on to the SLAM interview they’d done together right before azzi’s freshman year season. she clicks the link before she can chicken out.

it's a behind the scenes, with interview anecdotes thrown in between clips of them messing around, and they look so young. and jesus the way paige is looking at her. like she hangs the moon in the sky. and eighteen year old azzi isn’t much better, and she can’t keep her eyes off the blonde for more than five milliseconds, and they’re, well, they’re flirting right in front of current azzi’s face, and good god. no wonder everyone had thought something was going on. 

if azzi hadn’t lived through it, known the way they’d only ever tiptoed the line, never crossing, she would’ve thought so too. 

she makes it six minutes into the video before she slams her laptop shut, rolls over, and screams bloody murder into her pillowcase. 

…

the mystics don’t fly down until the night before, and their game is in the afternoon, so she and paige make tentative plans to hang out after azzi ‘find[s] out what happens when you mess with texas.’

paige is a dork, and an unfunny one at that. she hearts the message when azzi tells her as much, and azzi has to hide her smile in the hood of her sweatshirt so georgia doesn’t ask any pestering questions when paige adds ‘unfunny maybe but a loser? never.’

azzi really, really hopes that this text-flirting or whatever they’re doing means that paige doesn’t have a girlfriend. she doesn’t think her heart could take it if she did, and she doesn’t understand how paige (maybe? she’s being optimistic. sue her.) lived with these feelings for so long and didn’t act on them because it's been a singular week of occasional texting and only that has azzi feeling like she’s going to tear her hair out. 

the flight to dallas and subsequent restless night of sleep in a mediocre hotel room crawls by so slowly that azzi feels like she’s been physically transported to a planet in which every minute that goes by is actually an hour. or something. she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar but she feels like messy time travel and space stuff like that was part of it. maybe it's happening to her. stranger things have occurred.

(like not knowing you were in love with your best friend for eight years)

(she doesn’t remember the plot of interstellar because the uconn team had watched it one slow off-season afternoon, and azzi had let paige coax her into taking an edible, gotten ridiculously high and scared, and had spent the entire movie with her face tucked into paige’s shoulder, letting the hands rubbing her back and stupid commentary in her ear lull her into safety) 

(fuck everything)

…

and then the most dreaded and anticipated day of azzi’s short, miserable life so far is upon her. thank god it’s a saturday game, so tipoff is at 2:00, and she doesn’t have to drown in anxiety for a whole day beforehand, because breakfast and the pregame meeting in the hotel is tortuous enough as is. 

kiki has to forcefully put her hand on azzi’s leg on the bus to get it to stop jumping up and down, and everyone knows not to bring up anything related to paige in front azzi, and she hasn’t said anything to anyone other the aaliyah about how they’re speaking again, but she can feel the sideways glances her teammates are sharing behind her back and her brain itches. 

they warm up on the court after the wings are done with their shooting drills, meaning azzi only gets a glance of paige disappearing back into the tunnel when they head out to stretch, but it's enough to transform her anxiety from a level 6 on the richter scale to a solid, nauseating 8. 

there’s signs of paige everywhere: posters with her face all over the walls, her number plastered on the sides of the hallway they have to walk down to get to the arena, and, worst of all, fans milling about, decked out completely in #5 jerseys and paige paraphernalia. several have carefully drawn out posters and clever slogans, clamoring in the stands to get as close as possible in an attempt to gain the one and only paige bueckers’ attention. and azzi can’t even fucking blame them, as pitiful as it is, because she wants paige’s attention on her, too. probably more than any of these fans combined.

a twisted, irrational seed of jealousy takes root in her heart when she thinks about how these fans have gotten to see paige grow and blossom over the last year and a half, how paige had left connecticut and the team and azzi and come here and immediately charmed the hearts of this entire stupid city, not caring what, or rather, who she left behind.

and fuck texas and their stupid cowboy boots and hot weather and their ability to win over really pretty blonde girls and entrap them in their clutches. 

her shots are off during warmups, and it takes everything in her not to turn around and look for a familiar blonde head when they announce the starting lineup and paige’s name is called, but then that effort is entirely futile because paige’s face is suddenly plastered on every single god-forsaken screen in the entire arena as she runs back out through tunnel. and she looks so cool and confident and definitely not like she’s having a tweak-fest about her ex best friend being in such close proximity. and life isn’t fair. 

and azzi loses her breath for a second at how stunningly beautiful paige is. she’s always been gorgeous, even self-proclaimed-straight-azzi had known that, but something about paige in the center of the basketball court, completely in her element, has always made her look more magnetic than usual. 

paige’s eyes flit across the visiting team’s bench for a second, like she’s looking for someone, looking for azzi, and she wants to jump up and wave her arms or do something equally as ridiculous to get her attention, but it turns out she doesn’t need to because then blue eyes find azzi’s without any help, like a magnet, and, wow, azzi had thought that she’d mentally prepared herself for this as much as possible, but she’d been horribly, terribly wrong. 

paige seems almost bashful when her face tilts into a lopsided grin, and azzi’s heart is doing this weird little flipping thing inside of her chest, which, it's never done that before, or maybe it had and she’d just never noticed because she’s an idiot, but regardless, azzi grins back, eyes probably all squinty and everything, and she really hopes no one is paying attention to them right now because she knows she looks absolutely sick in the head. 

she feels bolder than usual all of a sudden, adrenaline coursing through her and the high of having paige’s attention on her after all these months must be messing with her brain to mouth filter, because then she’s mouthing “you ready to lose?” to the blonde girl across the arena. 

paige’s smile drops in exaggerated offense and she’s getting nudged by her teammates to pay attention to something else but she smirks lazily, and flips azzi off before her attention is dragged into their huddle. 

and azzi feels woozy- like a fucking cartoon character with little birds circling her head. lord give her strength. paige flips her off and suddenly she’s acting like the blonde girl came over and proposed or something. this whole thing is so. stupid.

the anthem and pre-game huddle is a blur of nerves and trying not to get caught staring at the back of paige’s head. and then it’s tip off, and blessedly, graciously, they’re not guarding each other, and azzi tries valiantly to focus on the ball and her teammates’ positioning and not on the blonde in her peripheral vision. 

she’s off balance though, only making one of her first four shots, and she knows exactly why that is and it's so frustrating because paige already has seven points and seems entirely unaffected. 

and then, six minutes into the game, paige knocks the ball away from kiki in a breakaway, and azzi is the only one who has a chance at stopping her from a simple, uncontested layup. they run up the court together, paige just out of azzi’s reach until they get to the paint. and azzi knows exactly the move paige is going to pull, could draw it up in her sleep, and the only real way to stop it is to throw her hip out and jump up at the exact second she knows paige will release the ball and pray that her hand makes contact with rubber and not skin.

and she does knock the ball away, fuck you, paige blockers, but her hip also makes contact with paige’s side and she goes sprawling, sliding across the linoleum. azzi has a split second of panic that she’s actually hurt paige, but paige is grinning up at her, the drama queen, and azzi groans when she hears the familiar whistle of a foul call somewhere behind her. 

azzi’s hand grips paige’s to pull her up, other hand going out to steady her hip, and the first real skin on skin contact in a year shocks her to her core. her fingers are tingling, and how on earth was she able to ignore the feeling that arises in her whenever paige is close to her for so long because it feels like the world has stopped spinning on its axis for a second. 

nothing had ever been able to pry azzi’s attention away from basketball before, except for paige, (which. add that to the list of things that probably should have clued her in years ago) and it’s even worse now that azzi understands why that was the case. 

and they are in the middle of a basketball court on live television with thousands of people watching their every move and azzi is still gripping paige’s hand. and someone needs to put her in a psychiatric hospital or something. 

she regrettably pulls her fingers away from the taller girl’s grasp and immediately misses the contact. 

“you playin’ dirty cause you don’t think you can win?” paige taunts, but she’s grinning at azzi like she knows it was an accident, and her face is flushed from the first few minutes of running and she looks positively edible and. how azzi thought of herself as immune to paige’s charm for so long is well beyond her now because she wants to do. a lot of things, actually, but she needs to focus on basketball right now. because again. middle of the basketball court.  

“shut up, cheater. you’re the one flopping around trying to get a call,” is her very mature and reasonable retort.

and oh. azzi realizes again, in real time, what everyone was talking about when they used to say that her and paige were constantly flirting. because her hand is still on the taller girl's hip (just to steady her. yeah right.) and paige is smirking down at her and azzi is teasing her and- oh my god she’s been so stupid. 

the familiar spark of competition (and probably some other things. like attraction. whatever.) lights up between them like no time has passed since they were staying late after practices and running shooting drills just the two of them, and azzi feels herself settle for the first time since she caught sight of paige warming up. 

she’d been worried that she’d be too distracted by paige’s presence to play well, but the feeling of blue eyes on the back of her neck whenever she has the ball, and even when she doesn’t, fuels her like nothing else. 

by halftime, she has 19 points. 

and when the mystics finally edge out an unexpected, much needed win, there’s a 34 next to azzi’s name in the box score. she only misses two shots after her exchange with paige in the first quarter. 

and it's merely an out of conference win, but it's a close one because paige had played well too, and she can feel the satisfaction of a well-fought game settling in her bones, and the added bonus of beating paige, specifically, is making her feel like she's on cloud nine.

they keep their post game hug short and cordial (or. as cordial as a paige burying her face in azzi’s neck and azzi gripping her shoulders as tight as possible can be) (azzi might be delusional but she swears the crowd gets louder when they hug)

she kind of never wants it to end, and misses her instantly when paige pulls away, but then paige stays close when they separate, and looks nothing but proud when she congratulates azzi, asking “you tryna outdo my rookie of the year performance?” 

azzi is grateful for the flush on her cheeks from the game, so it masks how hot her blood gets at the question. “maybe, we’ll see,” is the only thing she can come up with in response, and it sounds coy even to her own ears. 

“i know we will” is paige’s fond response, and there’s cameras surrounding them and azzi’s not stupid enough to bring up their post-game plans right now but she wants to so she just hums and stands there, probably looking like a fucking adoring idiot. 

paige smiles, big this time, despite their loss, and tugs azzi back into a much briefer hug. it’s friendly for the cameras, and quick, but paige manages to tuck an “i'll text you” into azzi's shoulder before she’s pulling away and leaving azzi to watch helplessly after her as she’s immediately swarmed by teammates and media. 

and winning the game was fun and great and awesome or whatever, but the mile-wide smile on azzi’s face has a lot more to do with residual tingling of paige’s hugs than anything else. she is so stupendously screwed. 

…

the press conference goes by torturously slow because azzi doesn’t have time to check her phone beforehand, but they only ask her one question about paige so she counts it as another win.

(they ask azzi if this victory is sweeter because paige is on the other team and azzi answers with a really eloquent “yes,” and doesn’t elaborate when asked. her teammates nearly wet themselves with laughter)

azzi almost falls out of her chair in her attempt to get up as fast as possible when they’re released from press, and it takes everything in her not to sprint back to the locker room to check her phone. aaliyah doesn’t even try to hide her laughter.  

three texts from paige from 10 minutes prior are waiting for her when she finally gets back to her locker. 

paige: about to hop in shower

paige: wanna j do something straight from here

paige: or we can do something later if u wanna go back to hotel first idc  

the three separate texts means that paige is nervous, and some satisfaction settles in azzi’s stomach, but it’s overshadowed by the fact that she’s left the decision making to azzi. 

she debates it for two seconds before deciding she might run into oncoming traffic or something equally as gruesome if left to her own thoughts for more than 5 minutes. she hearts the second text.

azzi: if u wait for me to shower i can be ready in 20

and then she’s only 20 minutes away from being one-on-one with paige for the first time in a year. her shower goes by in a haze and she hopes she remembered to like. use body wash but she can’t really recall because her mind is an abyss of nausea and stress and the little glimmer of hope that she keeps trying to make shut up. 

paige’s ‘kk call me when ur ready and ill tell u where to go’ is waiting for her when she gets out, and she curses herself for only packing a pair of old sweats and a tank top. whatever. it’s not like she needs to impress paige anyway- she’d seen her in every state of dress from black tie evening gowns to pajamas- but still. she’s stressed. 

and then she’s slipping out of the locker room (she’s not doing anything wrong, but she still feels a little bit like she’s sneaking around, trying to avoid questions on where she’s going from her teammates), and calling paige, and letting her voice guide through a hallway and out a couple doors and into the parking lot. 

she hangs up when she sees paige’s recognizable grey jeep ahead of her, and something settles in her stomach at the familiar sight. she’d been in the passenger seat of this car a million and one times. 

but then she’s opening the door and, wow, she feels the furthest thing from settled because there is paige, sitting in the driver's seat and looking clean and nervous and adorably small in an oversized hoodie and shorts. her hair is down and still damp, and she’s wearing glasses, and her hands are fidgeting with her phone in her lap, partially covered by the cuffs of her sweatshirt, and azzi feels something crack in her chest. because how had she not realized that this was exactly what she’d wanted all along?

“hi” paige greets her, voice small and a little shy. 

azzi’s answering “hey, loser” sounds just as bashful and wow, what have they become? 

but then azzi climbs into the passenger seat as paige groans and says “i knew that would be the first thing you’d bring up” and they fall into the ease of bickering about the game and the music paige is playing, and as they pull out of the garage and into the bright afternoon dallas sun, azzi relaxes a bit into her seat. 

they decide to drop their stuff off at paige’s apartment before potentially heading out to find some dinner, and it’s weird- how normal it feels, even though they haven’t done this in forever. azzi still has an undercurrent of panic coursing through her, and she knows she’s looking at paige a little weirdly because the blonde keeps glancing at her funny, like she’s trying to figure something out and can’t quite place what’s changed, but despite that, they fall right back into the simplicity and comfort that each others company has always held. 

until paige decides to ruin the ease of their conversation by glancing across the car at a red light and asking “you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me funny?” 

azzi squirms. debates jumping out, ladybird style. decides against it only because the risk/reward ratio is particularly low. she could deny it, call paige crazy, but that seems useless when she plans on bringing it up when they get inside in 10 minutes anyways. she was planning on waiting until after dinner, but the thrill of having paige within arms reach is making her antsy and she knows she won’t be able to wait that long. 

“no,” she replies. at paige’s sideways glare, she relents, “when we get inside.” 

paige hums, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, and the relaxed environment turns tense in seconds. the remainder of the drive is silent, and it's not awkward, necessarily, but anticipatory, tension clogging azzi’s lungs. 

she fiddles with the ac vents and tries to stop herself from thinking at all. she fails, obviously, and her mind is a mess of paige and random moments from their time at uconn and, the girl in the back of the phone call, and. somehow her hands are shaking. perfect.

she is somehow both thankful and miserable they’re almost there.

they finally pull into paige’s complex, and the mostly silent walk through the garage and elevator ride only further serves to heighten her anxiety. and then paige is pulling out her keys and opening the door and. 

they barely get inside before azzi is rounding on her, dropping her bag on the floor and backing up to lean against the opposing wall. she’d planned this part out in her mind a hundred times, dissecting all the possible pros and cons of asking in different ways, figuring out how to slowly work up to the question that’s been eating her alive since the the all star break, but one look at paige’s confused face and the adrenaline that's been coursing through her veins throughout the whole car ride has her sidestepping logic and reason entirely and blurting out a strangled “were we in love?” 

she’s pretty confident she knows the answer, but the ensuing silence is agonizing anyway. 

azzi can see the second paige processes her question, her face dropping in utter disbelief, and something like heartbreak splinters in her eyes at azzi’s words. paige’s arms go limp at her sides, her keys slipping to the ground beside her, and the jangle of metal against the hardwood floor is deafening in the silence of her entryway. 

“azzi,” paige chokes on her name, like it causes her physical pain. she looks shell-shocked, like she can’t breathe, and azzi can’t breathe either, but she needs to know anyway.

“were we in love, paige? were you in love with me?” she asks again, more desperate this time, the words ripping out of her chest almost without her permission. she feels out of control. between the two of them, paige was always the one to push things too far, press and press until azzi was forced to answer her questions or shut down, and the whip-lash of that role reversal is clear on the older girl’s face. 

still, paige is silent, gaping at her in shock. 

just as azzi opens her mouth to ask a third time, paige closes the gap between them with two steps and seals their mouths together in a desperate, searing kiss. 

azzi’s hands fly to paige's chest immediately, and the blonde’s hands find their place on the sides of her face, cupping her cheeks. azzi opens for her in seconds, and paige makes a wretched, helpless sound in the back of her throat as their tongues meet. she drags one hand down to azzi’s waist and pulls her closer, fingering the gap between her sweats and tank top, and azzi’s hands grip her shirt in return, needing her as close as possible. 

and wow. okay. if there was any lingering doubt in azzi’s mind about whether or not she was into women, into paige, it evaporates into thin air, heat pooling immediately in her stomach. 

and also. paige probably doesn’t have a girlfriend if she’s kissing azzi senseless in her foyer. the relief of that makes her needy, desperate. 

she feels wild with it, with the sudden release of this desire for paige that's been hibernating just under her skin for years, and as paige presses her back into the wall, all azzi can think to do is tug her as close as possible. her hands move again, this time sliding up to the back of paige’s neck, everywhere they can reach, and when they separate from each other for a second to breathe, foreheads pressed together, azzi’s eyes flutter open to probably the prettiest version of paige she’s ever seen. 

she looks absolutely ruined, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen, and azzi feels drunk on the look in her eyes, gazing at her like azzi is the sun and the moon and the whole fucking solar system too. and she’s struck with the thought that they probably could have been doing this for years, probably should have been doing this for years. 

“did you- azzi- did you not know?” is the first thing paige gets out, voice sounding wrecked with emotion and something else, and if azzi had a nickel for every time someone had seemed incredulous that she hadn’t known about paige and her being in love, she’d have five fucking nickels. five nickels to place on the shelf next to her #1 stupidest person on earth trophy. 

azzi can’t help but sound indignant when she sputters out “well no one told me!”

paige just looks at her for a second, like she’s trying to cement this as real, and then she smiles, small and beautiful and just for azzi.

“you’re stupid” is her only retort. and, well. yeah. 

and she looks like she’s about to cry but in a good way azzi thinks, and then azzi can’t see her face anymore because they’re kissing again. she makes a sound in the back of her throat that she will not be recounting when paige slips a hand underneath her tank top, pressing her fingers to her ribs, and jesus, they’ve been making out for maybe a total of two minutes max and she already feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle on the floor. 

paige kisses her like she means it, like she’s starving for it, and azzi didn’t know it until right now but it's exactly the way she likes to be kissed. 

paige wedges a leg between azzi’s, somehow pressing closer, and this is really nice and azzi really doesn’t want to stop but also. they need to actually discuss this before she lets paige do something stupid like finger her in the hallway or drag her off to her bedroom. she might be jumping the gun but also. one of paige’s hands is sliding underneath the waistband of her sweats to caress the smooth skin of her hip, teasing. and, and. she really needs to stop this before her fingers dip any lower because she knows any coherent thought she has will crumble into nothingness. 

she tugs her mouth away for a second, and murmurs out a breathless “paige” in between kisses. she receives a contented grunt in response. 

“paige-” she tries again, except the older girl simply hums and moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kissed down her neck instead. azzi’s brain goes blank for a second, nothing but thoughts of paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands on her waist. but. 

they do need to talk about this. regretfully. 

“paige, we need to- to talk about this,” she stutters out, and when paige still seems undeterred, having moved down to attempt to suck a mark into azzi’s collarbone, she adds, “before we have sex.”

she tries to look away, so she doesn’t have to see the smug grin that she knows will spread across paige’s face at her words, but a consequence of furiously making out with the blonde is that their faces are still inches apart, so she still sees the sly smirk on paige’s stupid, self-satisfied face. 

“who said anything about sex, hmm?” she crows, and azzi blushes, and then looks down pointedly at paige’s hand that is currently slipping under the waistband of her sweats.

“oh i’m sorry, was that not on your agenda?” she asks, teasing, and pushes herself out from underneath paige, walking down the hallway towards the living room, smiling to herself at the immediate feeling of paige’s hands back on her hips, grasping at her to keep her close. 

“no, no, azzi, c’mon, i’m jus’ playing, come back here,” and she actually sounds a little bit worried, as if azzi will somehow change her mind or something ridiculous. 

she spins back to face paige when she gets to the couch, and laughs at the look on her face, hopeful and kind of like a puppy dog. it's definitely a diversion tactic and it almost works, she almost says fuck it and drags paige further into the apartment in search of the bedroom, but she stays strong.

“talk first, and then you can give me a very thorough tour of the rest of your apartment,” she assures, and paige relents, but not before pressing a short, close-mouthed kiss to azzi’s lips, as if sealing the deal.  

“‘kay. i’m holding you to that,” she adds, but she looks unsure of herself, and then they’re just standing there like idiots in the evening light of paige’s apartment, looking at each other. 

azzi decides she wants to be sitting for this, so she kicks off her slides and drops onto the couch behind her. 

for a second, paige looks like she doesn’t know what to do or where to sit, and she’s never been unsure of invading azzi’s personal space before, so azzi just rolls her eyes and tugs her down onto the couch next to her. paige flops down, sprawled out next to azzi, and they settle into the cushions, azzi curled underneath paige’s arm, facing her, legs crossed and socked feet tucking under paige’s thigh. 

paige is quiet, waiting for azzi to formulate how she wants to start this, and she’s grateful for the silence as she mentally grapples with how to open this particular can of worms. 

she settles on “can you tell me what happened the night of the championship?” 

might as well start out with the big guns.

paige inhales sharply, and she looks like she really doesn’t want to recount that night, so azzi gently takes one of her hands in her own and tangles their fingers. 

“you don’t remember?” she mumbles, and her voice sounds so small, not at all like the confident paige that had just been giving azzi shit and kissing the living daylights out of her. 

“no, only. only that we kissed, but even that’s hazy. and i had a mark,” she reaches up with paige's hand still tangled in hers and presses at her collarbone, “right here.”

“yeah.” paige’s voice breaks on the acknowledgement, and she looks like she’s gonna cry at the reminder, eyes watery where they gaze at the spot that her fingers are pressing into. azzi’s heart squeezes in her chest. she looks a little relieved, though, that azzi can’t recall what happened. 

“if i’d known you were that drunk i wouldn’t have…” she trails off, voice shaky, and azzi cuts in. 

“you were drunk too paige, s’not your fault.” 

paige hums. when azzi squeezes her fingers, she continues. “it was such a good night until then. we were so drunk, and you were so happy, and you were clinging onto me like it-” her voice breaks, and azzi leans further into her side to try and comfort her. they’re both already crying a little bit, and her heart squeezes, again, but she needs to hear this before they go any further. 

“like it meant something. something more than usual. and then you wanted to go upstairs and i kept thinking finally. and. and i kissed you when we got to my room and you seemed so into it. and then i said-” she cuts off again, and azzi feels dread pool in her gut. she isn’t sure she actually wants to hear this story but she can’t stop listening. 

“i told you i was in love with you, like an idiot, and you-” she inhales, through her tears, like she’s steeling herself, and azzi squeezes her eyes shut in preparation, gripping paige’s hand tighter. 

“you asked me why i had to ruin it, why we couldn’t just kiss without it meaning anything.” 

azzi makes a wounded sound, curling closer, and paige is sobbing now, and this is so, so much worse than she’d thought. 

“paige.” is the only thing she can get out as comfort, and now she's sobbing too. god she’d been so, so stupid.  “i didn’t know.” she shifts, and then climbs all the way into paige’s lap, trying to ease the hurt that her unconscious drunk mind had caused and pressing a messy kiss to her hairline. she tries to get as close as possible as a reminder that they're here now, not in a shitty hotel room in tampa.

god. no wonder paige had distanced herself. azzi doesn’t even know what she’d have done. probably run straight out of that hotel and thrown herself off a cliff

paige isn’t done, though, and azzi briefly wonders how it could possibly get worse, before regretting her curiosity instantly. 

“and then you got mad when i wouldn’t. wouldn’t just keep going. and i asked if we could jus’ talk about it in the morning and you promised that we would.” paige presses the words into azzi shoulder, bring her arms up to wrap around the younger girl’s back. her tank top is wet from paige’s tears and. this whole thing has azzi sick to her stomach. 

she presses a sob into paige’s hair, and she knows the next part but she lets her finish anyway. 

“and then you didn’t say anything the next morning and i didn’t know if you didn’t remember or if you just didn’t want to talk about it, but either way i just. couldn’t do it anymore.” her voice is shot, and she’s still crying, but she looks relieved to have finished. 

azzi lets the silence sit for a minute before responding. “i thought you regretted kissing me. or whatever happened, i couldn’t remember. and then you just. stopped, like, wanting to be friends, and i thought you’d decided you didn’t need me anymore,” azzi releases through tears, and her heart breaks for both of them at the stupidity of the last year. 

a “no!” rips from paige’s chest, insulted, and she laughs humorlessly. “az, i’ll always need you. for god sake, i pretty much just moped for the entire year plus. arike banned your name ‘cause she got tired of listening to me whine about how much i missed you.” she looks up at azzi through her eyelashes, tears clumped together, and she looks so beautiful, despite them, that azzi’s heart breaks all over again. 

“if it makes you feel better, i missed you just as bad, except i wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. the whole team knew not to bring you up around me cause i would just shut down.” 

she knocks their foreheads together, gently,  in affection before continuing, “one of the freshmen got your old room and i wouldn’t go anywhere near it.” 

paige smiles, brokenly, at that. “bet she didn’t decorate it as well as me.” 

it's not really funny, but azzi lets out a watery giggle anyways, pressing it into the curve of paige’s brow. “she probably didn’t have a blanket over the blinds though.” 

paige hums in agreement, and motions for azzi to continue before starting to trace lines on azzi’s back. 

azzi takes a deep breath before speaking. “over the break we went to dinner, me ‘n lili and a couple others. and somehow like dating and stuff got brought up and she asked me if i’d ever been in love. and i said no.” 

paige tenses under her, but azzi squeezes their hands that are still tangled together and waits until she relaxes again to continue. 

“and none of them believed me. they all thought we’d been dating in secret or whatever. and i couldn’t believe it but then i started thinking about it and. and then i got home and called my mom, and asked her if i’d been in love with you,” she pauses for a second, trying to get her words straight. paige’s hand on her back falters for a second, before continuing, slow and steady, and it grounds her. 

“and she said if i was asking her than i already knew.” 

paige laughs a little bit, commenting “‘course she did.” 

“i know,” she agrees, “and then. well. i got really drunk and somehow thought it was a good idea to call you.” 

paige smiles, a little crookedly. “wasn’t your worst idea, though.” 

azzi hums in agreement. “no, it wasn’t”

paige opens her mouth to say something and then stops, reconsidering. 

azzi narrows her eyes. “what,” she prods, needing to know everything. 

paige hesitates again before continuing. “i thought god was punishing me when i saw who was calling. i’d just made the first step in so long to try and get over you, finally relented to all my teammates telling me to get laid for the first time in over a year and. here you were calling me for the first time in forever like you knew i’d just spent half an hour pretending the girl on top of me was you.” she shakes her head, laughing a little. “i left as soon as i hung up. cried all the way home.” 

and azzi knows it’s fucked up, but satisfaction settels in her bones at the knowledge that paige hadn’t been sleeping her way through texas in azzi’s absence like she’d thought, even if the reminder of the girl on the phone kills her a little.

“i wanted to die when i heard her voice. almost hung up you,” she gets out, and paige presses a kiss to her shoulder in response. 

“baby, i haven’t wanted anyone but you since i was like, sixteen.” 

the word baby echoes inside azzi’s head and she smiles, ducking her head. 

“maybe if you’d ever told me that-”

“-i did tell you-” paige protests, but azzi’s having none of it.

“sober- if you’d told me sober i probably would’ve figured out i was in love you a lot quicker.” 

paige huffs. “azzi, the entire world knew i was in love with you. obviously i thought you knew, too, ” and then, when azzi’s words sink in a bit more, and she adds, a little in awe, “you’re in love with me? like, forreal?”

azzi doesn’t bother correcting her verb tense. it might seem stupid to already be saying i love you when they haven’t actually had a conversation in a year, but she knows with more certainty than anything ever that this is a past and a present and a future kind of thing. 

“obviously.” is her only response, gesturing to where she’s sitting on paige’s lap, their fingers still curled together. 

and paige’s smile is positively blinding as she leans up to press their mouths together, murmuring “s’ fire.” 

honestly. you’d think she’d be a little more romantic. 

and their faces are both damp from tears, but it doesn’t matter because paige is kissing her like her laugh is the best thing she’s ever tasted, and maybe it is.  

and paige flips them somehow (azzi isn’t really paying attention to the logistics, too focused on the patch of skin she finds below paige’s ear that makes her keen) and they end up pressed into the couch, paige laying on top of her. 

azzi finds paige’s mouth again, fingers tangling in her hair, and paige presses their hips together, swallowing the brunettes' moan at the contact. 

and then paige pulls back above her and grins. 

“so can we have sex now,” she questions, and azzi rolls her eyes, shoving at her shoulder.

“way to be a romantic, p,” she responds, but it just sounds fond instead of annoyed. 

“excuse you, i am such a romantic,” she retorts, and at azzi’s unimpressed look, she tries again.  “azzi jazlyn, i am very much in love with you, can i please make sweet, sweet love to you?” 

azzi groans, but it’s kind of a futile attempt to seem like she’s not utterly charmed, because she lets paige tug her up off the couch anyways. 

and there are still residual tear tracks on their faces, and more conversations to be had, but as she chases paige down the hallway to her bedroom, laughter flowing freely from them both, she figures they can figure that out later. right now, this is enough. 

update: chapter 3

AN: ummmm thank you for reading? pleaseeee comment/send me asks it literally makes my whole entire day and I need all the love I can get over the next week of hell (finals). i know i said i was writing smut and i ammmm it just is taking me. a while. so i cut it off here. but maybe keep your eye out for more of these two being freaky? idk. also if you wanna like see any more from them pls let me know what that would be! i have a couple ideas for a paige pov but it would be really angsty. and also a few about like their friends and fam finding out and being like THANK FUCK. took u long enough. idk. again, only time will tell but I can confirm that comments and asks do wonders for my creativity soooo. please do that! ok bye now <3

[kiwriteswords]

You Belong Among the Wildflowers [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: >2k|| AN: I worked as a florist for five years and it was some of the most fun and some of the most beautiful moments I got to witness. I thought this would be a fun meet!cute! I will be making its a series, so please send your requests in for Florist!Reader persona! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, meet cute, mentions of Haley Hotchner, flirtation, first encounter, Reader is JJ's college friend, mentions of Hotch's upbringing. Summary: When Hotch is in need of a good florist, he meets you, JJ's old college friend, who leads him to believe that maybe flowers couldn't fix everything, but they sure as hell didn't hurt.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t believe flowers could fix everything.

But they sure as hell didn’t hurt.

It was something he picked up early—

Something he never really learned so much as absorbed. 

His mother, a quiet woman with tired hands and soft smiles, used to say she wished someone would bring her flowers just once. Her voice never wavered when she said it, never sharp or demanding—

Just wistful. 

A woman too often let down by a man who never came home with more than excuses and stale breath.

Aaron made a promise then, maybe only to himself, that if he ever loved someone, really loved someone, he’d bring them flowers just because.

He kept that promise with Haley.

He would come home from Quantico, exhausted and wired from the field, and there she'd be, soft and sleepy with her hair up and an old sweatshirt on. 

He always brought her something: white tulips in spring, sunflowers in summer, dahlias in the fall. 

When cases kept him too long, he'd send them instead. Sometimes with a note, sometimes without. It became tradition—

A silent ritual that kept their connection grounded no matter where he was or what horror he’d seen.

There was never not a vase filled with some sort of colorful bouquet displayed in their home together. 

And even with work. Flowers were a lovely…band-aid to place on he larger bureaucratic problems. 

When Gideon poked Garcia’s buttons the wrong way--

A bouquet and an apology, courtesy of Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner wanting a smooth sailing ship. 

When JJ had Henry--

He remembered her saying she liked lilies, so he sent her lilies from the team. 

There wasn’t a birthday or special occasion he didn’t have marked on his planner that didn’t have a corresponding floral delivery from his usual place sent out. 

And when Haley died, there wasn’t much he could do but exist. 

The BAU gave him time, but even time felt like a betrayal. The world kept spinning while his had stopped. 

But there was one thing he could do: plan her funeral.

And pick the flowers himself.

White roses.

Classic. Clean. Grieving.

He stood in the flower shop for over an hour, staring at arrangements, feeling too much and too little at once. The florist—an older woman with a warm smile and no questions—had guided him gently, like she knew when to step forward and when to give him room to breathe. 

He came back to her year after year after that, always requesting simple, elegant designs. She never asked why. He always appreciated that.

But now, standing outside the darkened storefront on a crisp weekday afternoon, Aaron realized she was gone. 

The sign had been flipped to Closed for weeks. 

A paper notice taped crookedly to the door read: Thank you for over 30 wonderful years. 

Just like that.

It shouldn’t have caught him off guard. 

People retired. 

Shops closed. 

But somehow, he felt... untethered. 

Like this small corner of familiarity in his life had vanished, and with it, another thread connecting him to Haley.

He had been trying to order something for Jessica—

Haley’s sister. 

It was her birthday. And while their relationship had always been complicated, especially with Jack involved, he didn’t want the day to go by without a gesture. Flowers had always been the language he was fluent in.

He mentioned it offhandedly in the bullpen the next morning—something low-key, muttered as he sifted through files.

JJ perked up immediately. “Wait—are you serious? You’re trying to find a florist?”

He gave a short nod, not looking up.

“You’re in luck,” she said, tapping her pen against her notepad. “One of my best friends from college owns a flower shop not far from here. You’d love her designs—they’re beautiful.” 

She smiled, a little too brightly, eyes dancing in a way that made him suspicious.

He arched an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”

JJ laughed. “Okay, fine. She’s gorgeous. Like—flirtatiously elegant, painfully feminine, one of those women who makes it look effortless. But she’s smart, and she runs a really impressive business. And she's good, Hotch. Seriously. Her arrangements have personality. You’d appreciate the detail.”

“I’m only looking for—” he began, but JJ held up a hand.

“I know. But just give her a call. Or better yet, stop by. Tell her I sent you. She’ll take care of you.”

He sighed, already knowing JJ wasn’t going to drop it. And truthfully? He missed the ritual. 

The weight of a vase in his hand. 

The soft brush of petals when he leaned in to read a card. 

He missed the peace of it—

The stillness it gave him.

Maybe flowers couldn’t fix everything.

But maybe, just maybe, they could start something new.

The bell above the door jingled softly, delicate and old-fashioned—

Charming in a way that made Hotch instinctively lower his voice and straighten his posture, like the shop itself demanded a kind of reverence.

It smelled like summer mornings and memory. 

Sweet, green, earthy. 

The air was cooler inside, heavy with moisture and the subtle perfume of fresh-cut stems. 

Every surface had something blooming or trailing: lush peonies and garden roses in glass vases, eucalyptus spilling from galvanized buckets, tiny pots of violets arranged like a tea party on a shelf by the window.

And then there was you.

You were at the counter, bent slightly over a worktable, hands delicately threading wire through a bouquet of ranunculus and sweet pea. 

Your fingers moved with practiced elegance—

Intentional but light, as though the flowers were something sacred. 

You wore a linen apron over a dress, a pair of delicate gold hoops catching the light when you turned to see who had come in.

JJ hadn't exaggerated.

You were beautiful in that way that didn’t feel real at first. 

Soft around the edges, like you'd stepped out of a memory or an old film. But the mischief in your eyes was immediate, sparking to life the moment you took him in.

“Let me guess,” you said, lips curving into a smile as you stepped out from behind the counter. “JJ sent you?”

Hotch blinked. He hadn’t even said a word yet.

“I can always tell,” you added, folding your hands in front of you with a playful tilt of your head. “It’s the suit. Very FBI but emotionally repressed gentleman in need of a good centerpiece.”

That got the corner of his mouth to twitch. Barely. But it was there.

“Guilty,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

“JJ’s boss,” you echoed like it meant something—

Like she'd mentioned him before. Then you extended your hand, which he took with a polite firmness that faltered slightly the moment your fingers brushed.

Your touch was cool, confident. 

A stark contrast to the warm tilt of your grin.

You introduced yourself with your first name, gesturing loosely to the shop. “Welcome to my little kingdom.”

He looked around again, letting himself take it in now—not just the flowers, but the way they were arranged. Every display felt curated but not staged. Wild, almost, but intentional. Like you trusted the flowers to speak for themselves and only nudged them into poetry.

“It’s impressive,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Peaceful.”

Your expression shifted for just a moment, something fond and knowing crossing your face. “That’s what I aim for. Flowers should feel like exhaling.”

There was a pause, comfortable and quiet, before you asked, “So, what are we celebrating, Agent Hotchner?”

“It’s Jessica’s birthday. My son’s aunt. She’s done a lot for our family, especially after… a loss.” His tone remained even, but the weight in his words lingered.

You didn’t press. Your smile softened with understanding.

“Got it,” you said gently. “So something warm. Grateful. Nothing too romantic, but still thoughtful.”

He nodded, a little surprised at how quickly you’d read the situation.

“I can do that,” you assured him, already moving to gather a few stems in your hands. “Now, do you trust me, or do you want to pick the flowers yourself?”

Hotch hesitated.

“I used to,” he said. “Pick them, I mean. For my wife. It became a tradition. I knew what she liked. But it’s been a while.”

You stopped what you were doing, the bouquet held loosely in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you said. Not with pity—

Just sincerity.

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“Well,” you said after a beat, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “if it helps, I think people always know more about flowers than they realize. It’s just about memory and emotion. Pick one thing you remember her liking, and we’ll start there.”

Hotch thought for a moment. Then: “She liked lilies. The white ones. But they were always too delicate.”

“Casa Blanca lilies,” you murmured, nodding. “Gorgeous, but yes—temperamental. They bruise just from being looked at wrong.”

He huffed out something close to a laugh, and you caught it—

Your eyes flicking to his in quiet delight.

You held up a peachy, cream-tipped rose. “This might be a better choice for today. It says thank you, without screaming ‘I love you.’”

He studied it for a moment, then nodded. “Perfect.”

And as you moved behind the counter to wrap the arrangement, Hotch let himself breathe in again. 

The scent of flowers. 

The sound of soft music playing from somewhere in the back. 

It was easy-listening classic rock. Something he would listen to in the car. It was…comforting.

The easy rhythm of your presence.

You worked quickly, but never rushed.

Hotch watched from his spot at the counter as you wrapped the bouquet in delicate cream paper, folding it just so before tying it with a deep green ribbon that matched the stems. 

Every movement was graceful, intentional.

It reminded him of the way people worked when they loved what theydid—

Not for performance, but for the sake of making something beautiful.

You slid the arrangement across the counter and offered a soft, plesed smile.

“There,” you said, “peach roses, cream spray roses, stock flower for fullness, a little waxflower for texture, and just a touch of eucalyptus—because I have to sneak it in somewhere. It smells clean. Calm. And it says I see you. Thank you.” You tapped the corner of the paper gently. “In flower language, anyway.”

Hotch studied the bouquet, nodding with quiet approval.

“It’s perfect.”

You tilted your head at him, brows raised. “You sure? Not too showy? Not too much?”

He gave the smallest shake of his head. “No. It’s...thoughtful. She’ll like it.”

You smiled, but it softened when you noticed he lingered—

Not quite ready to leave.

So you said gently, “It’s nice, you know. That you still do this. For her.”

Hotch didn’t look away from the bouquet as he replied, “Sometimes I think gestures are all we have. Something tangible. When words aren’t enough.”

You leaned your forearms on the counter, chin tilted toward him. “That’s exactly what flowers are. Tangible emotion.”

There was a pause. 

Comfortable. 

Heavy, but not unpleasant.

He reached for his wallet, and you gently waved him off.

“I’ve got it.”

Hotch blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” you said with a teasing lilt. “But you’re JJ’s friend, and more importantly, I want you to come back.”

That pulled his eyes to yours again—

Steady, searching.

You held his gaze, playful but earnest. “What? Even emotionally repressed gentlemen need a flower source. Besides, you’ve got good taste. I can always use a muse.”

He hesitated, but nodded. “Alright. I’ll come back.”

Your grin widened. “Good. Maybe next time for yourself.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, and you shrugged.

“Nothing wrong with buying yourself flowers. I do it all the time.”

His voice was low, faintly amused. “Somehow, I think it suits you better.

That earned a laugh from you—

Light. 

Genuine.

Ringing through the quiet shop.

And as Hotch turned to leave, bouquet in hand, you called after him: “Tell Jessica I said happy birthday. And that her brother-in-law has surprisingly excellent flower game.”

He paused in the doorway and glanced back at you. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

Then he was gone, the bell chiming softly above him as the door shut.

But something lingered. That scent, maybe. Or the quiet flirtation. Or the unspoken I hope you come back that lived between the petals.

And for the first time in a long time, Hotch found himself already thinking about what arrangement he’d need next.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @superlegend216

[h3arts4abby]

ellie williams headcanons

AND A MOODBOARD AT THE BOTTOM

i love ellie just as much as abby i swear </3

so here’s my headcanons (some r no outbreak au and some mention the outbreak)

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she lovesss sending you tiktoks of random things and it literally doesn’t matter

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 one minute she’ll send you a video of skibidi toilet and 3 seconds later she’ll send you a tiktok that says ‘send this to someone you’ll make out with violently’ and attaches no text and give no context to anything

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’ll love exploring outside of jackson to collect all of her superhero trading cards. if she finds one she already has, she’ll just give it to you.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s pretty vanilla but likes exploring different kinks if you ask. she likes praise and other affection during sex, like holding hands or just holding each other close

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s definitely a switch. sometimes she’ll like being on top, using her strap on you or eating you out, but she loves when you take control and lead the way.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s reckless most of the time with joel, but when you guys start dating she’s hyper aware and extra vigilant. if a bush even dares to graze your leg she won’t think twice about setting it ablaze.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 everything in her room has something to do with you. her posters are bands you both like, all the photos on her wall are of you or include you in some way, and all her jewelry is yours.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she has a box of your clothes (totally didn’t steal them from your dresser) under her bed in case you decide to stay over at hers. all of the essentials are there, like undergarments, pajamas, and clothes for the next day. once a week she’ll take them out and wash them so they stay fresh <3

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 always wants to play songs for you on her guitar but she gets shy halfway through and you’ll have to sing with her so she’ll finish the song.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 one time she was too shy to even play the first chords so when you got home you learned the song on guitar so you could play for her

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she loves all of you, and she will never understand how you have any insecurities. she will kiss every single mole on your body or every scar if she could.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 loves pda but would never make out in public or do anything that would make you uncomfortable. she loves holding hands, rubbing her hand on your thigh, or just holding you close during cold bonfire nights

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 if you kiss her in public she’ll literally turn tomato red and become a stuttering mess

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 joel never allowed the two of you to pick anything up on patrol unless it was necessary, just to preserve room for supplies. obviously ellie doesn’t follow these rules and picks up letters, trading cards, or drawings. but you stick to the rules and only pick up alcohol, rags, bottles, etc. so if you find something on patrol you like, ellie will go back another day and pick it up for you and surprise you when she gets back

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she did not make the first move. she obviously gave little hints like longer hugs than other people, glances towards you, longer eye contact, or just general touches. it took what felt like a million years for you to finally give up and ask her out, becuase eventually you realized she would never ask you out.

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 that last headcanons proves she’s bad at picking up hints. she’ll drop so many but she can never tell when you’re making a move. you’ll kiss her cheek goodbye, hold her hand, graze her thigh, and tuck her hair behind her ear and she’ll never pick up on it

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 girl cannot flirt. terrible rizz, i mean terrible. she’ll make bad jokes that no one laughs at or try to lean on the table you’re sitting at and fall. but that’s what makes her more charming bc she’s so cute. you’ll laugh at her though, and that’s all that matters to her. that you noticed her

— 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 she’s a rambler. while the two of you are stuck stationed at patrol, she will not stop talking. she’ll talk about the newest movie she saw with joel, or the newest comic she read, and if you don’t seem interested for 2 seconds she’ll get sad.

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART ONE.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1.6k words

You work in a flower shop in 70s London. Hobie is being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

Last time I wrote something like this was almost 10 years ago and it was in another language. Forgive whatever happens next. I have no idea what's going on.

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten. Part eleven. Part twelve.

“Thank you, sweetheart, here you go,” the old lady said, handing you a slightly crumpled bill. You quickly counted the change and passed it back into her outstretched hand. “Have a nice day!” You chirped, flashing her your well-practiced customer-service smile. She gave you a small nod and made her way out of the shop, the little bell above the door jingling.

You didn’t know flower shops could have regular customers before you worked there, but apparently, some people bought fresh flowers every week or so. To you, it felt like an unimaginable luxury. Your little paycheck barely covered rent, and you could only dream of having enough money to regularly splurge on daisies to brighten up your dingy ol’ flat. Still, the thought was nice.

You sighed softly and sat down on the stool behind the counter, your eyes scanning the shop. You had gotten used to the sweet smell of flowers and freshly cut grass. The scents blended together, but you'd learned to recognise them. Today, the notes of the lilies you were particularly fond of tickled your nostrils, like a delicacy you appreciated greatly. The warm orange light, rare in this rather rainy season - although all seasons were rainy in London - burst across the old waxed floor from the shop front windows, highlighting specks of dust like golden flecks. Outside, you could see passers-by, hurried or idle, cars, and occasionally a tall red bus crossed your view. The faint crackle of the radio competed with distant honking and the clatter of footsteps on cobblestone. 

Your eyes fell on a vase of daffodils not far from the counter, the golden light making them shine with unexpected brilliance. For a moment suspended in time, yellow became your favourite colour. 

You grabbed your notebook from under the shelf in front of your knees and began scribbling the daffodils. You had no artistic pretensions, but you enjoyed sketching the flowers, finding the activity relaxing and filling the moments of nothingness that stretched out between each customer. It gave you something to do on quiet afternoons like this one.

Just as you were adding some watercolors in, the bell above the door jingled again, startling you. The pleasant sound was followed by the abrasive thud of combat boots on the old wooden floor. You cringed at the noise and looked up, expecting to see another cheerful retiree or a nervous bloke buying an apology bouquet. Instead, you saw him.

Ridiculously tall. That was your first thought. Your second was: piercings. Lots of them. His face glinted under the warm sunlight. It was hard not to stare. He was wearing a band tee, the sleeves and neckline ripped off, layering over some kinds of fishnet thing that covered his arms, jeans that looked like they’d been through a shredder, and a leather belt so worn that the studs seemed to be holding it together by sheer willpower. Chains and eyelets and safety pins and anything and everything silverware stuck to him like he was some kind of magnet. And magnetic he was since he had definitely pulled all of your attention in.

You cleared your throat and forced a small smile, your fingers holding onto the edge of the counter almost to stabilize yourself. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

He gave a small nod. “‘Ello.” His voice was low, his accent so thick even you could pick on it, sounding almost like a caricature. He didn’t elaborate and started wandering around the shop, browsing. You stood there awkwardly, unsure if you should say anything else. He looked so incredibly calm there.

You were trying not to stare, but fuck, you wanted to. He looked so out of place among the delicate roses and sunflowers that it was almost comical. You pretended to adjust a ribbon on the counter while stealing glances at him. When he stopped in front of a display of pink and red roses, you couldn’t resist speaking up. 

“These are really popular with the ladies,” you offered, your customer-service smile now bordering on nervous. 

“Not for a lady. Not really,” he replied, examining the flower over in his hand like he never held one before, with surprising gentleness, scared he might crush it in a single moment of inattention. 

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Silence stretched between you. If Rose, the owner of the shop and your manager, had been there, she’d have rolled her eyes at your lack of salesmanship.

“I’ll take ‘em,” he said suddenly, breaking the tension.

You let out a relieved breath you didn't know you were holding as you immediately move into action, going to the counter and grabbing some craft wrapper for the flowers. 

“D’ya have another colour?” 

You hummed. “Sure, I just gotta check in the back.” You informed him as you went to rummage around in the back of the shop, to find him several options of coloured paper to wrap his bouquet in. When you returned a few minutes later, something seemed strange. As you placed the selection on the counter, he was looking at the wall.

 “Oi, I’m sorry, I’ve changed ma’ mind. Maybe next time darlin’.” He turned on his heels. You paused. Something was off, the air was weird. 

“Wait!” You call as you notice a couple of daffodils missing. You’d know, you were sketching them a second ago. He ignored you, and you quickly stepped around the counter, grabbing him. The leather of his jacket was smooth and cold under your fingers, and you instantly regretted the move. 

“Not so fast!” You were surprised at your own tone, too brave for your own good.

“Let me check your bag.” You asked, your confidence crumbling a little more with each syllable. What if you were wrong? What if he hadn’t taken anything and you’d just accused this intimidating stranger of stealing? It seemed to amuse him more than anything else. He cocked an eyebrow, his lip curling slightly as he shifted his weight. 

“Y’wot, now?” he asked, his tone halfway between annoyed and amused, crossing his arms.

“Let me check your bag.” You repeated with false assurance, and he rolled his eyes. Surprisingly, he did. You looked inside, but no flower there. Cables, tools, weird stuff, but no flowers. Your shoulders drooped, sheepish as you muttered an apology. You wish you could have combusted on the spot, or buried yourself deep underground as you feel the heat in your cheeks. He remained silent for a moment, as if to let you suffer in your embarrassment a minute longer. 

“D’ya always charm yer customers by accusin’ ‘em of theft, or am I just special?” He smirked down at you, and you felt he took a malicious pleasure in seeing you so embarrassed. You let go of his arms and apologized again, sending him on his way. You wanted the floor to just open up and swallow you right then and there. Of course, there wasn’t anything in his bag. Why did you think he’d be stupid enough to actually steal in front of your face?

He finally turned around to leave, and that was when you noticed the yellow petals poking from underneath his vest. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, nor the sheer audacity of that man. You grabbed him again, too easily reaching for a bloke that could easily break you in half.

“Hey!” you scolded again, and he sighed as he turned back. “Wot again? Already miss me? I haven’t even bloody left yet.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping his vest tighter. “You— I saw the flowers inside your vest, don’t lie! And give them back!”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Y’wot now, lil’ bird? A cop or som’thin’?”

“I could call them,” you shot back, feeling your confidence falter under his sharp gaze. “Stealing is illegal, y’know?”

He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Right, right.”

You let go of his jacket, and he pulled out the daffodils, their stems a little crumpled. For a second, he looked down at them like they were the most precious thing in the world. His hand lingered, and you thought he might refuse.

“Y’know, if I pinch these flowers, they’ll prolly come afte’ me harde’ than they did the bloke who pinched the Crown Jewels. Priorities, right?”

You frowned, convinced now he was just trying to distract you. “You know, most people just buy flowers. It’s this amazing thing where you hand over money and—”

“Fascinatin' concept,” he interrupted. “Truly groundbreaking. But I’m more of a barter system guy. How ‘bout a joke in exchange for the daffodils?”

“No.”

“Tough crowd.”

Finally, he handed them over, and for another split second, you almost pitied him. The way he looked at the flowers, his eyes so downcast, it felt… complicated. But before you could say anything, he stepped toward the door.

“Guess I’ll see you around,” he smiled, mock innocence plastered on his face.

You watched through the window as he walked away, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then, it hit you. The regret, the overthinking. Have you been too harsh? Not enough? Surely, that was the right thing…right? You had stopped a petty thief… It was about principles, after all. Plus, flowers were a luxury. You might’ve closed your eyes on canned food or diapers, but no one needs daffodils to survive. What kind of people steal flowers anyway?

“Punk…” You muttered to yourself.

You still had a good hour before closing time. You glanced at your sketchbook, then grabbed your pencils, but instead of finishing the flowers, you started sketching something else.

Someone else.

Part two.

I'm not new to tumblr but new to posting, especially writings so don't hesitate to tell me if I'm not following some unwritten rules or something! 🫶🫶 Also this wasn't proof read so- anyway.