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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 months ago

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Post It - Part 5 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings/notes: a bit steamy with this one (literally and figuratively hahaha) but not explicit smut. As per usual, special shoutout to the best beta reader on the planet who puts up with my shit @lestapiastrisgirl ❤️❤️❤️ pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3k

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -Master List

yourusername posted

498,029 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, yourmom, and others yourusername i think we walked a million miles today. lando man, i hope you've got someone who's willing to give you a foot massage after all that walking we did today... >>>user929 EXCUSE ME user101 WEEEEEE? who's 'we' @/yourusername???? user223 'liked by lando' OF COURSE HE LIKED IT, HE'S IN THE POST user019 didn't lando's last .jpeg post also have the bamboo picture? user038 hey @/its_allegra_babes if L is with her, who are you going to visit in Monaco this weekend. >>>user222 her suitcase story is still up with the ticket to Nice clearly displayed. oh my godddddddd

Your first full day in Japan is spent at the Arashiyama bamboo forest, an hour’s train ride away from your hotel in Osaka. According to all of the research you did on the flight over, the best time to see the forest was sunrise, much to Lando’s dismay. While you were also a night owl like he was, Lando was apparently violently against getting up at such an early hour. It had taken you several attempts at 6 in the morning to get him up and out of bed, but eventually you had won.

Nearly twelve hours later, you and Lando tumble back through the doors of your hotel suite, utterly exhausted. The suite itself is huge with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, a luxurious living room with widescreen tv and spacious veranda that looked out onto the city center. Lando had asked if you had wanted your own room, telling you that he wanted you to be comfortable and offered to pay for 2 singles instead.

You had considered the offer for about ten seconds before deciding that the current arrangement would work. Nothing in your gut was telling you that you wanted anything other than what had already been planned. The idea of having Lando sleeping so closely to you sent a delicious shiver up your spine even now.

Last night, about an hour after you had said goodnight and closed your door, ready for bed (alone), Lando had sent you a TikTok you could hear him laughing at through the shared wall. One text led to another and soon you were slipping beneath the sheets of Lando’s bed before switching on a movie. Nothing more had happened that night, except for you falling asleep cradled in Lando’s arms and Lando waking up in the middle of the night with you still wrapped around him.

That had been the real reason he hadn’t wanted to get up this morning, he was too content with where you were at.

But as he followed you through the door after walking what felt like seventy miles that day, he was glad that the had gone. The two of you had bonded on a deeper level, much deeper than Lando had ever thought possible. The connection between you two had sparked that night in February when he had slid into your DM’s but now? Now the connection was a wildfire.

Lando watches as you drop your bag and flop down onto the couch. The entire time you’d been together today it was like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He couldn’t remember a time where he had laughed so hard and lost track of time like he had today. He felt so stupid for nearly blowing this back in February but as he joined you on the couch, instantly tugging you closer so he could touch you again, he was relieved the universe had decided to give him a second chance. It was wild to him, how well you two were getting on still. He wasn’t usually someone who could spend this much uninterrupted time with another person, he normally craved his alone time but with you? It was like he had told Max the night before over text, with you, it was different.

And Lando knew from the outside looking in, this was moving so fast. No one knew that you had spend hours upon hours just talking, often falling asleep together on FaceTime, back in February. Not that it really mattered to him. If there was one lesson he had taken away from the 2024 season it was that he had to work on giving less of a fuck of what other people said and paying more attention to what those around him that mattered were saying.

And you mattered to him.

“I think we walked a million miles today.” You groan, kicking off your shoes before flexing your toes, the ache in the bottom of your instep creeping up your leg. Your calves were on fire from how many hills you had walked up and down in that forest today. The shots you and Lando had gotten had been 100% worth it though. You couldn’t wait to crack open your laptop later tonight and start editing for Pretty Little Lens. Posting them would have to wait, though. You never ever posted onto PLL before you left a location since your real account almost always detailed where you were and what you were doing and you didn’t want to run the risk of anyone connecting you to the account. You often mixed up locations too, posting places out of order or well after you’d left a location. PLL was how you made your money but you didn’t ever want to be the public face the account.

Lando reaches forward to pull your feet into his lap before pressing the pads of his thumbs deep into the arch of your foot.

“Oh my God.” You groan, head tipping back to rest on the back of the couch.

Lando chuckles softly before starting to work at the muscles of your feet with deeper strokes. You’re quiet while he massages the ache out of your feet, only making slight whimpering sounds every once in a while. Lando shifts in his seat at the sounds you’re making, hoping how hard he’s getting isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is. He can’t help it though, the sounds you’re making are downright erotic and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were teasing him on purpose.

Which of course, you were.

Several minutes pass in silence as Lando continues to work at your feed and up your calves before his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. With one hand still on your toes, he reaches for his phone. You crack an eye open to watch as he unlocks his phone and huffs a sigh.

“Fuck. I forgot a I have a team call in 5 minutes.” He looks up at you, apologies flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is a post race thing that we do every week and I can’t miss it. It shouldn’t take long though, we’ll be fine for dinner.”

You grin before swinging your feet out of his lap and onto the floor. “It’s okay.” You lean over before brushing your lips over the shell of his ear. “I need to take a shower before dinner anyway.”

Lando turns his head before catching your lips with his, pressing his mouth to yours before you can get away. You hum in surprise, caught off guard by the intensity of his kiss. You’re the one to deepen the kiss though, licking your way into his mouth when he doesn’t pull away quick enough. The temptation to climb into his lap is overwhelming but the buzzing of his phone pulls you back down to earth. Tipping your forehead against his, you grin. “I’ll stop distracting you now.”

“I don’t know,” Lando chuckles as he watches you stand, “The thought of you in the shower without me is more distracting than that kiss.”

Laughing, you shake your head before rounding the couch to head towards your bedroom. Dragging your fingers across his shoulders as you walk behind the couch, you enjoy the way Lando visibly shudders under your touch.

Lando watches over his shoulder as you walk down the hallway before he turns back to his phone to dial into the call. It was a routine call that Zak and Andrea held after every race weekend to debrief what went wrong and what they were going to be working on ahead of the next race. They were boring but necessary, especially since things got missed during the hustle and bustle of race weekends.

Lando listens in as Andrea and a few engineers run through the data from the race, discussing tire wear, the strategy that had worked and what they needed to work on for Japan, and the frustrating near-miss podium finish. As he listens and interjects bits of observations himself, he finds himself distracted. His gaze keeps drifting toward the hallway you’d disappeared down. The scent of your shampoo, a mix of citrus and something with a delicate floral scent, lingers in the air, completely distracting him.

He found himself rushing through his recap of the race when it was his turn to speak, eager to wrap things up. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the call wraps up and Lando was free to sign off. After a quick goodbye to the team, he sighs in relief, and tosses his phone onto the couch, the screen going dark.

Lando’s surprised to hear the shower still running but as he passes the room you had claimed yesterday, he found it totally empty. Confused, he spots the white skirt you’d been wearing that day discarded in a heap outside the door to his bedroom. Lando’s heart beat picks up as he follows the trail you had apparently left him. At the foot of his bed was the top you had worn that day, discarded along with a very thin, very skimpy, white and pink lace bra.

He nearly loses it when he sees the matching thong waiting for him at the doorway of the bathroom.

Sultry music floats out from your phone that’s propped up on the bathroom sink. The room was humid and fragrant, air heavy with the scent of your shampoo and body wash. Steam wraps itself around Lando as he takes a few cautious steps into the tiled bathroom. It was a large en suite deal, with his and hers sinks, a huge soaking tub, and a large glass enclosed shower tiled with black marble.

The rhythmic sound of the water mixed with the sultry music created an intoxicating atmosphere that has his heart pounding against his ribs. Lando’s breath catches when he finally spots you, your silhouette a hazy outline through the steam that clings to the glass of the shower door. He could make out the curve of your hip, the delicate line of your spine, the way the water cascaded down your body, rivulets of water doing their best win the race down your body.

He’d never been more jealous of water in his entire life.

Lando hesitates, leaning against the cool tile of the wall opposite the shower, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He decides to stay put, enjoying the view and the way his stomach was churning delightfully with anticipation.

“Are you lost, baby?” Lando teases, pitching his voice loud enough so you can hear him above the soft music and thrumming water.

You finally turn your head towards him, smirk on your lips, and Lando nearly sinks to his knees then and there. “I figured I’d try out your shower.” You rasp, voice husky with need. “Turns out, the acoustics are much better in here than in my shower.”

It takes every ounce of control that he’s honed over his racing career to keep from stripping off his clothes right then and there when his gaze catches the swell of your breast as you turn towards him. “The acousitcs are pretty good in here, aren’t they?” He agrees, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you pick up the loofa that had been hanging from a hook inside the shower. “The view’s not half bad either.”

“It’s too bad your call took so long, you missed the warm up. ” You say, voice light and teasing as you squeeze the body wash bottle before lathering the loofah up.

Lando groans as you start in on your arms, lathering them up with he bubbles. You don’t look up but you can feel his eyes on you, a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine and goosebumps erupting all over your skin.

“It that so?” He chuckles, moving to sit at the edge of the soaking tub that is on the opposite side of the shower. From here he can still see everything you’re doing to torture him but he can sit and enjoy the show. “Well, I’m here now. I’m sure I can catch up.”

The rasp in his voice has heat building in the pit of your belly, sparks of electricity traveling straight to that spot between your legs that is aching for Lando’s touch. You drag the loofah up your arms, up towards your neck before stretching out to show off the delicate line of your throat. “Or maybe,” You suggest, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as you finally lift your eyes to his. ��You should just watch.”

Lando watches, captivated, as your hands move, slow and deliberate, a silent suggestion at what could happen later tonight that sends a shiver down his spine. He could almost feel the the warmth of the water on his own skin, the scent of the body wash filling his senses.

“I’m never taking a work call while you’re around ever again.” He laughs, his gaze lingering on the curve of your ass as you turn around to wash the bubbles off in the scalding spray or the shower head. He watches as you continue washing, the drag of your hands over your body driving him absolutely mad. As he watched he imagined it was him running his hands up and down your slick body. He was torn between keeping his gaze on you to watch you drag your fingers down the line of your body or close his eyes and pretend it was him doing the touching.

All you do is smirk in response, enjoying the way Lando’s eyes have gone hazy with desire as he watches you. Your fingers trail down your torso, coasting over your ribcage and down towards the curve of your hip. You’d never been quite this bold before but something about how today had gone, how you’d been so comfortable all day in his presence had you so needy for him in a more physical way tonight.

Lando chokes on a strangled moan when your fingers continue down your body, teasing their way down towards the apex of your thighs. He wants nothing more than for your hands to be his, to be touching you the way you’re touching yourself but he’s also beyond satisfied watching the show taking place in front of him. You don’t break eye contact when your fingers dip in-between your things for the first time, swirling them around your already sensitive clit.

You can see the barely restrained control threatening to break from behind Lando’s eyes as you tilt your head back, biting on your bottom lip, while you continue to touch yourself, slipping a finger deeper inside you.

“Fuck.” Lando whispers, shifting as his own hand drifts unconsciously towards his cock that is achingly hard. “You know,” He manages to rasp out as a gasp tumbles from your lips when you slip a second finger between your slick folds. “I’m starting to think this shower is less about getting clean and more about torturing me.”

You chuckle, eyes darting from where you’d been watching him palm at his cock back up to his stormy expression. “Torture?” You ask. “Is that what you’d call this? I thought I was just giving you a nice little show.” The innocence in your tone betrays the fact that you’re minutes away from giving yourself a delightful orgasm right in front of Lando.

He watches as you continue to work your fingers between your legs, the way your head is thrown back driving him insane. “Torture is exactly what I would call watching you touch yourself like that when I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“Well maybe next time you should wrap up your work call quicker.” You sass back before dragging your fingers back up your body. “But you’re going to have to wait,” You reach for the shower faucet before turning off the water. The quiet that settles over the room hangs heavy between you.

Stepping out of the shower, you reach for the towel that Lando holds up for you, the soft fabric clinging to your wet skin. You murmur a quiet thank you before reaching for another towel to dry your dripping hair. When you look over at him again, a shimmer of pleasure flutters over your skin. The way he’s looking at you, his eyes dark and intense, is something that you could see yourself getting addicting too.

And that feels dangerous.

Lando groans in response before leaning back against the cool tile, arms crossed over his chest and frown on his face.

“Impatient, are we?” You tease, a playful glint in your eyes.

He pushes himself off the wall, his movements confident and deliberate. “Extremely.” He murmurs, his voice husky. He closes the distance between you then, his eyes never leaving yours.

He reaches out, his fingers tracing your jaw. “You know,” Lando whispers, he breath warm against your lips. “I’ve been thinking of getting you back here so I could have you all to myself all day long.”

He brings his lips to yours, a tender kiss that quickly deepens into something darker, more intense. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, silently requesting access. You open for him obediently, sighing against him as he begins the familiar exploration that you find yourself becoming addicted to. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer so you can deepen the kiss this time. The world around you fades away, leaving one the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the intoxicating scent of his cologne filling your senses as you lose yourself in the way Lando touches you.

He pulls back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Your own chest heaves as you watch the way he watches you. “Fuck.” He whispers, his hands fisting at the white towel still tied around your body. “You have no idea how hard it was to stay out here just now.”

A shimmer of electricity zaps up your spine at the intensity of his gaze. “Now,” He murmurs, tone still husky. “Let’s get you ready for dinner. I’m starving.” He gives you a playful wink before turning towards the door. “But,” He adds before walking away, his voice trailing off behind him. “I’m going to be honest, I think I’m even hungrier for my dessert afterwards.”

lando.jpeg posted

987,109 likes liked by yourusername, maxfewtrell, keeganpalmer, and others lando.jpeg more of this please user348 if not hard launch, why hard launch shaped? user122 that is 100% @/yourusername's bracelet in that first picture >>>user889 girl, @/yourusername is literally in ALL OF THEM user988 if he wanted to, he would >>>user212 @/its_allegra_babes, i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this... yourusername looks like you're having fun!!! :) >>>user202 now they're just fucking with us.

yourusername posted

596,029 likes liked by maxfewtrell, lando, hannahstjohn and others yourusername dreamy few days maxfewtrell did you actually get him to set foot in a sushi place??? >>>yourusername i bribed him with kinder maxie >>>maxfewtrell is that what you kids are calling it these days >>>lando and that's a PR meeting for you!!! user000 oh she's max f approved now? >>>user857 @/its_allegra_babes oh girl, it's over now. user929 shes actually so pretty

(posted six months later to PrettyLittleLens)

5,609,298 likes PrettyLittleLens japan, you were a dream user009 bucket list trip! user034 another unreal series! you are so talented! user578 can't wait for these to be up on the website to purchase. That bamboo one is amazing!!!

lando's camera roll lately...

your camera roll lately

Tag list: @alessioayla @addy-lol @changetyre @obxstiles @tvdtw4ever @joaofelixml @vickykazuya @47chickens @magnusstan @joannaln4 @nicooolsstuff @wakasays @slutforcoffein @ajordan2020 @widow-cevans @isagrace22 @simp4f1 @chertik-007vvv @mayax2o07 @scenesofobx @a-beaverhausen @glitteryturtledeer @halleest @sltwins @doesgekouwe @unknownmystery22 @honethatty12 @chaoswithus @sarahsobsession @liz140569 @sinfully-yoursss @ilove-tswizzle @gigicisneros @angelluv16 @majapapaya4 @chaoswithus @raynetargaryan2 @stylesmoonlight12 @maytheforcebewithyousw-blog @formula1simp @henna006 @eugene-emt-roe @landossainz @anayaverse @yesmanbabe @mille-gracie @waywardpersonwerewolf @whistlef0rthechoir @flowergirl1134

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amnhnyc · 4 months ago

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Research alert! In the past decade, Museum researchers have illuminated biofluorescence in more than 500 species across the tree of life, with a particular focus on fishes and other marine animals. Now, a new study reveals that birds-of-paradise—known for their dramatic plumage and elaborate courtship displays—can be added to that list. The study, published in The Royal Society Open Science, was led by Rene Martin, an assistant professor at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln who conducted this work when she was a Gerstner postdoctoral scholar at the Museum. The project began about a decade ago, when Curator John Sparks, an ichthyologist, conducted a rapid survey of the Museum’s vast Ornithology collection for biofluorescence in birds, which revealed bright green-yellow fluorescence in birds-of-paradise. Sparks’ initial work was continued recently by Martin and Emily Carr, a Ph.D. student in the Richard Gilder Graduate School. Using a specialized photography setup with ultraviolet and blue lights and emission filters, the team returned to the collection and found that biofluorescence is especially prominent in male birds-of-paradise. The researchers note that despite there being more than 10,000 described species, very few scientists have investigated the presence and use of biofluorescence broadly across birds. Read more about the findings in our latest blog post.

Image: © Rene Martin

#science #amnh #museum #natural history #nature #animals #fact of the day #did you know #new research #stem #research #biofluorescence #ornithology #icthyology #birds

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spiderb00bs · 3 months ago

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- BEAUTIFULLY CREEPY

Sophie Thatcher x reader

"your girlfriend just wanted you with her"

Genre - fluff warnings - none

Now Playing - Every Girl Gets Her Wish, Saint Avangeline's version

"She loves my heart-shaped sunglasses, She loves the heart shape my ass is"

The rain was heavy outside, leaving you with only the sound of water droplets hitting the window of your special room. The main lights were off, but the led lights glowed softly, illuminating the space. Your monitor screen displayed the beautiful graphics of The Last Of Us Part II, while you tried your best to concentrate on the horde of freaking zombies coming towards Ellie.

You were an avowed fan of the TLOU universe, and constantly talked about your little hobby in interviews and wherever you could. So imagine your surprise when all your love was noticed, bringing you the unique opportunity to play one of your favorite characters in the second season of the TV show.

You went crazy, telling everyone how you had landed one of the best roles of your career, celebrating with your friends and family until everyone was sick of hearing you talk. Luckily, your girlfriend, Sophie, never got tired of listening to you. She would constantly be asking you when you were going to start filming, helping you with your diet to gain muscle mass, and cheering you on in general.

You can vividly remember when this happened to her, when you were rooting for her when she got the role of Natalie in Yellowjackets, and how you constantly reminded her what a star she was, and how you believed in her until your last breath.

But anyway, here you were, playing the game so that in a few months, you could be part of the story. Concentrating on trying to get through that difficult part of the game, you missed the creak of the door, you always left one ear uncovered in case your girlfriend needed you, but your focus got the better of you this time.

Without noticing the tiny woman behind you, you continued to play nervously, trying to get away from one of the large zombies that was chasing you. Not being able to act fast enough, the zombie managed to catch you, biting your neck and leaving you there to die. Leaning back in your chair, you sighed in defeat, just to jump up and scream as loud as you could when a hand touched your shoulder.

“ HOLY FUCK!” You shouted, putting your hand to your chest when you saw that it was only Sophie.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Your girlfriend shouted amid loud laughter, falling to the ground as her stomach began to ache.

You could feel your body calming down from the fright you'd taken, and for a minute you checked that your heart was still beating and in the right place. “Don't ever do that again, please.” You say, letting a small laugh escape your lips.

Seeing your girlfriend slowly calming down, still on the floor, you smiled. She's so beautiful it hurts. The dimples when she smiles, the way she frowns, her blue eyes almost closed when she's having her laughing attack…

You could see her hand holding her belly, and your eyes quickly moved down her body. Her pale thighs bare, as the shorts she was wearing did nothing to cover it, the skin of her abdomen showing, as her shirt had ridden up a bit in the midst of her laughing fit, and the way her hair was spread out on the floor, getting messy in a way that was too cool for a normal person.

She was perfect.

“You're a nerd.” She pointed at you, laughing slightly at the way your face twitched.

Getting out of the chair, you crawled to her side on the floor, lying on your stomach as you stared at the woman in front of you. “You like bullying me, don't you?”

Smiling at you, Sophie bit her lower lip, nodding as she came closer to you, invading your personal space.

She loved your personal space.

“Yes, I do.” Her eyes watched you with a mischievous glint as she brought her head closer to yours, leaning on her elbows. “What are you going to do about it?”

Smiling, you moved closer, breaking down the imaginary wall between your mouths. You loved kissing Sophie, it was always a surprise, it could be slow and romantic, aggressive and desperate, whatever it was, every time it was dripping with desire.

“I thought you were reading…” You said, as soon as you pulled away from the kiss. The smile persisted on your lips, just like your girlfriend's smile.

“I was…” She began, you could see her eyes roaming all over your face, but you could do nothing but turn red. “But I found a cool horror movie to watch and I came to call you.”

“A horror movie?!” You swallowed.

Sophie knew you loved horror movies, but you were too scared to watch them alone. So whenever she spotted an apparently interesting horror movie (that you hadn't seen yet), she called you to join her.

“Don't you think it's very mean to call me to see a horror movie just after I've almost given myself a heart attack?” You joked, loving the way your girlfriend bit her lower lip to avoid smiling at your stupid joke.

Watching the blue-eyed woman get up from the floor, you lay on your back, seeing her hold out her hand to you. The silent signal for you to come with her. “I was just getting you into the mood.”

With a smile on your face, you followed your girlfriend, letting her pull you along, guiding you into the living room.

“You're mean.”

“You'll get used to it.”

“Is that my boxer shorts?"

“No?! It's our boxer shorts!"

Sorry guys, I'm in my Sophie Thatcher phase.

just kidding (not really), but the third season of Yellowjackets and companion hit me hard.

part two of Clairo's fic is coming soon! The holidays are over and I have to go back to work, so maybe I'll disappear again…

but stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

#gxg imagine #sophie thatcher x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #wlw fluff #gxg fluff #spiderb00bs

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bueckets · 6 months ago

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Going UP?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn't get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student's desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball's golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you're trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it's worth taking the shot. Sometimes cupid doesn't use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Featuring: One (1) very broken elevator Several questionably colored cocktails A security guard who's seen it all Basketball plays drawn in spilled Shirley Temples Analytics-based flirting And a whipped cream fight that definitely isn't regulation play

Coming soon to wherever meet-cutes happen in college sports. (Rated R for excessive basketball puns and gay panic)

WC: 8.1k (roughly)

Genre/Notes: uh, i tried to be funny, floofy, rom-com-ish? (i tried), smut at the end, someone gets their kitty ATE, proof read like 50%

Your sneakers pound against the cracked, patchy sidewalk of North Campus, dodging the construction zone that's been "two weeks from completion" since freshman year. The November air bites at your cheeks, sharp as broken glass, and your laptop bag repeatedly slams into your hip with each stride, probably turning your thesis notes into digital confetti. A gust of wind lashes at you, tugging at your jacket, your hair, your sanity, and sending a rogue candy wrapper tumbling like a lonely tumbleweed across the quad like some 50’s Old West showdown.

You'd woken up to three missed calls from your advisor and an email that made your soul leave your body.

Meeting moved to 9:15 AM. Please bring updated analytics models.

It's 9:12.

The universe is really testing you today. First, your roommate's cat knocked your phone off the nightstand, somehow managing to turn off all five of your alarms. Then, the dining hall’s card reader had the audacity to look at your student ID like it was written in crayon, leaving you to scavenge through your bag for exact change like a Victorian orphan. And now this.

You weave through the crowd of freshmen congregating outside the Student Union like they've never seen stairs before, your thermos of room-temperature coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. The wind whips a forgotten syllabus past your feet as you cut across the grass (sorry, campus maintenance), taking the "shortcut" that everyone pretends they don't use. You can practically hear the landscaping team groaning somewhere, shaking their heads at the worn-down dirt trail you and a thousand other students have carved into their perfect lawn.

Gampel Pavilion looms ahead, all glass and steel and architectural hubris. The morning sun hits it at an angle that makes it look like it's on fire, which feels appropriate given your current state of mild panic. You've spent so many hours in this building that the security guard, Mike, doesn't even look up from his crossword puzzle anymore when you scan your ID.

"Running late?" he calls out as you blast past his desk.

"What gave it away?" you shout back, already halfway to the elevators. Your sneakers squeak against the polished floors, leaving behind a faint trail of panic and shame— but most importantly, dirt.

The ancient LED display above the elevator shows it's on the third floor. You slam the up button approximately forty-seven times, as if that's ever made an elevator move faster in the history of vertical transportation.

"Come on, come on," you mutter, shifting your weight between feet like you're doing some demented speed-skating warm-up. Your laptop bag keeps sliding off your shoulder, and you're pretty sure your hair looks like you styled it in a wind tunnel. A strand falls into your eyes, and you blow it away with a frustrated huff. Everything about you screams disaster, and yet the elevator couldn’t care less.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open with all the urgency of a DMV employee on a Friday afternoon.

And there she is.

Paige Bueckers is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, one foot propped up behind her, looking like she just stepped out of a Nike ad. Her practice uniform is pristine, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail that somehow hasn't gotten the memo about today's wind situation. She's got AirPods in, absently spinning a basketball between her hands like it's an extension of her body.

Your brain short-circuits.

Time seems to slow down as you stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in very attractive headlights. The elevator dings again, threatening to close its doors on your moment of crisis.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward just as the doors start to close, practically diving into the elevator like you're trying to save a ball going out of bounds. Your coffee sloshes, your bag swings, and you nearly face-plant into the corner.

Paige pulls out one AirPod, her eyebrows raised so high they might achieve orbit. "Nice entrance."

You straighten up, trying to salvage whatever dignity might be hiding in the corners of this elevator. "Thanks, I've been practicing."

The elevator starts its ascent with a concerning rattle that definitely wasn't part of the original design. You adjust your bag for the hundredth time, very aware that you probably look like you just lost a fight with a leaf blower. Meanwhile, Paige keeps spinning that damn basketball, the soft thump-thump of it between her hands matching rhythm with your still-racing heart.

Nine floors to go. Eight if your advisor hasn't moved offices again after the Great Coffee Incident of last semester.

You can handle this. You're an adult. A slightly disheveled, possibly caffeine-deprived adult, but still. Just because you're sharing an elevator with the university's basketball goddess doesn't mean you need to—

The lights flicker once. Twice.

The elevator shudders like it's having an existential crisis.

Then everything stops.

The emergency lights kick in, bathing everything in a red glow that makes Paige look like she's starring in a very stylish apocalypse movie. The basketball stops spinning.

"Well," she says, tucking the ball under her arm and giving you a smile that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip. "Looks like the universe has other plans for us this morning."

You look at your phone: 9:14 AM.

Your advisor is going to kill you.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, jabbing at the emergency call button like it personally offended you. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

The little red light blinks back at you, mocking your entire existence, as if to say, yeah, good luck with that, idiot. You hit the button again, harder this time, because maybe the elevator just needs some aggressive encouragement.

"I don't think that's helping," Paige says, watching you with a mix of amusement and concern. She's still spinning that goddamn basketball, the rhythmic thump-thump now feeling less like a heartbeat and more like a countdown to your academic doom.

"Yeah? Well, neither are you," you snap, immediately regretting it. Great. Now you're trapped in an elevator AND you've just been rude to Paige fucking Bueckers. "Shit, sorry, I just—" You run both hands through your already catastrophic hair. "My advisor is going to crucify me. Like, actually crucify me. She's probably got a cross picked out and everything."

Paige catches the ball mid-spin. "Dr. Martinez?"

"How did you—"

"The only professor I know who actually might own a cross for student crucifixions." She tucks the ball under her arm. "She made one of our freshmen cry last week just by looking at her."

"That tracks." You slide down the wall opposite her, your legs finally giving up on the whole standing thing. "God, I can't believe this. I've got my entire thesis presentation on this laptop, three months of analytics data that I haven't backed up because I'm an idiot, and now I'm going to die in an elevator with—" You wave vaguely in her direction.

"With?" She raises an eyebrow, and you swear there's a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"With UConn's basketball savior who's probably missing practice right now because the universe decided today was a great day for some cosmic practical joke." You let your head thunk back against the wall. "Coach Auriemma's probably already got a hit out on me."

Paige laughs, and the sound does something weird to your chest. "Nah, Coach is more of a 'make you run suicides until you puke' kind of guy. Much less paperwork than murder."

"Fantastic. So I'll die from academic execution AND athletic retribution. Perfect way to start a Tuesday."

"You always this dramatic before 9:30?" She's definitely smirking now.

"Only when I'm trapped in elevators with pretty girls who should be at practice."

The words are out before your brain can catch up with your mouth. Your eyes go wide, and you seriously consider trying to pry open the doors and jump down the shaft.

But Paige just grins, wide and dangerous. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're deflecting from the fact that we're stuck in a metal box that's older than both of us combined," you say, proud of how steady your voice comes out despite the internal screaming.

"And I think you're deflecting from the fact that you just called me pretty."

You pull out your phone again, desperate for a distraction. "No signal. Perfect. This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Could be worse," Paige says, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her feet almost reach where you're sitting, and you absolutely do not notice how long her legs are. "Could be stuck in here with Dr. Martinez."

That startles a laugh out of you. "Jesus, don't even joke about that. She'd probably make me defend my thesis right here."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

You look up from your phone to find her watching you with what appears to be genuine interest. "You really want to know?"

"Well," she gestures around the elevator, "it's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

You narrow your eyes. "If this is some kind of pity conversation—"

"It's not." She cuts you off, her voice surprisingly firm. "I'm actually curious. Plus, you look like you might spontaneously combust if you don't talk about something other than being stuck in here."

She's not wrong. Your leg has been bouncing non-stop since you sat down, and you're pretty sure you're about to wear a hole in your bottom lip from biting it.

"Fine," you say, setting your phone aside. "But remember, you asked for this. And if you fall asleep, I'm using that basketball as a pillow."

Paige's eyes light up with something that makes your stomach flip. "Deal."

"Okay, so you know how current basketball analytics are basically just glorified box scores?" You shift to face her properly, your earlier panic morphing into the kind of enthusiasm that usually makes people's eyes glaze over. "Like, sure, we can track points and assists and whatever, but that's just the obvious stuff."

"And there's more than the obvious stuff?" Paige asks, settling in like she's actually planning to follow your inevitably chaotic explanation.

"So much more." You pull your laptop out, balancing it on your crossed legs. "Like, imagine being able to track not just who made the shot, but all the little things that made that shot possible. The way players move without the ball, how defensive shifts create spaces that don't show up in any stat sheet.”

Your hands start moving as you talk, painting invisible patterns in the air. Paige has stopped spinning her basketball, her eyes following your gestures with an intensity that makes you warm all over.

"It's like..." You pause, trying to find the right words. "You know how in chess, sometimes the most important move isn't the one that takes the piece, but the three moves before that made it possible?"

She nods, leaning forward slightly. "Like a setup play."

"Exactly!" You're fully animated now, previous elevator crisis temporarily forgotten. "But current systems don't track that. They don't see how Player A moving left makes Player B's defender shift just enough that Player C can—"

The emergency speaker crackles to life, making you both jump.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice sounds bored, like stuck elevators are just another Tuesday morning inconvenience.

Paige reaches over and hits the call button. "Yeah, we're here. Two people."

"Alright, we've got maintenance heading up. Should have you out in about fifteen minutes. Sit tight."

The speaker clicks off, leaving you both in that red-tinted silence again.

"Fifteen minutes," you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. "Dr. Martinez is definitely going to have that cross ready."

"Hey," Paige says, and something in her voice makes you look at her. "Tell me more about your system. How do you track all those micro-movements?"

You blink at her. "You actually want to hear more?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?" She's got this soft half-smile that does dangerous things to your ability to think straight. "Plus, you get all..." she waves her hand vaguely, "sparkly when you talk about it."

"Sparkly?"

"Yeah, like you're lit up from the inside." She says it so casually, like she hasn't just made your heart do a full court press against your ribs.

You clear your throat, trying to remember how words work. "Right. Well, um, I've been working with the computer vision lab to develop these tracking algorithms..."

The next fifteen minutes dissolve into a blur of technical explanations and basketball theory. Paige asks surprisingly specific questions, and you try not to look too pleased every time she leans in closer to see something on your laptop screen.

When maintenance finally gets the elevator moving again, it feels too soon.

The doors open on the fourth floor – your floor – and you scramble to pack up your laptop, suddenly aware that you've spent the last twenty minutes word-vomiting about analytics to one of the best basketball players in the country.

"Thanks for, uh, keeping me from completely losing it," you say, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "And sorry about the whole..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "chaos."

Paige stands too, and even in the normal lighting, she's unfairly pretty. "Chaos looks good on you."

Your brain short-circuits. "Can I get your number?"

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into the nearest trash can. But Paige just grins, that dangerous one that makes her look like she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

"Tell you what," she says, spinning the basketball on one finger because apparently she's physically incapable of not showing off. "Come to Friday's game. If you can spot one of those micro-interactions you were talking about..." She lets the ball roll down her arm and catches it smoothly. "Maybe you'll find out if I give my number to random girls I meet in elevators."

She backs into the elevator, maintaining eye contact until the doors close between you.

You stand there for a solid thirty seconds, staring at the brushed metal doors like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. Or at least explain how you went from having a mental breakdown about your advisor to what definitely felt like flirting with Paige Bueckers.

Your phone buzzes: another email from Dr. Martinez.

Meeting rescheduled to 2PM. Bring coffee. The good kind.

You look back at the elevator doors, then at your phone, then at the ceiling.

Looks like you're going to a basketball game on Friday.

The security guard at Gampel's student entrance looks at your ticket, then at you, then back at the ticket with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for people trying to use expired coupons at Target.

"This is— courtside," he says slowly, like maybe you don't understand what those words mean.

"Yeah, I, uh,” You shift your weight between feet, very aware of the growing line behind you. "I got it in an email?"

It comes out like a question because honestly, you're still not entirely sure this isn't some elaborate fever dream. The past three days have felt surreal, starting with Dr. Martinez actually smiling during your rescheduled meeting (turns out that fancy coffee shop downtown does make a difference) and ending with an email from [email protected] that made you choke on your morning cereal.

The security guard squints at his scanner like it's personally offending him. "These are usually reserved for—"

"Is there a problem?" A familiar voice cuts through the growing awkwardness, and you turn to find Mike, your elevator-lobby guardian angel, approaching with his signature "I've seen too much student nonsense" expression.

"Got a courtside ticket here, but—"

"Oh, yeah," Mike says, shooting you a look that's somewhere between amused and knowing. "This one's good. Let 'em through."

You mouth a 'thank you' as you pass, and he just shakes his head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "kids these days" under his breath.

The student section is already packed, a sea of navy and white that ripples with pre-game energy. But your ticket directs you past all that, down, down, down the steps until you're so close to the court you can smell the fresh polish on the hardwood.

"This isn't happening," you mutter to yourself, dropping into your assigned seat—which is literally close enough to high-five players coming off the court. "This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just casually sitting courtside at a sold-out game because you got trapped in an elevator and word-vomited about basketball analytics for twenty minutes. Totally normal Friday night."

The woman next to you, wearing what looks like several hundred dollars worth of UConn gear, gives you a concerned side-eye.

"Sorry," you say, slinking lower in your seat. "I talk to myself when I'm having an existential crisis."

She just nods and shifts slightly away, which, fair.

The arena fills up quickly, the ambient noise growing from a buzz to a roar. You try to look casual, like you totally belong here and didn't spend forty-five minutes earlier having a breakdown about what to wear to a basketball game when you're sitting close enough to be on TV. (You'd finally settled on jeans and a UConn hoodie, figuring if you're going to have a gay panic on national television, you might as well be comfortable.)

The teams come out for warm-ups, and your heart definitely doesn't skip when you spot number 5 leading the layup line. Paige moves like she's got some sort of cheat code for gravity, each motion fluid and precise. She's got her game face on, all focused intensity and practiced routine, but then—

She catches your eye as she circles back to the line, and her serious expression cracks just enough to let through a hint of that dangerous grin from the elevator.

"Oh, I am so screwed," you breathe, and the woman next to you shifts another inch away.

The game itself is a blur of motion and noise. You try to focus on analyzing plays like you promised, looking for those micro-interactions you'd rambled about, but it's hard to think strategically when Paige keeps making passes that shouldn't be physically possible. Your laptop's probably having a stroke trying to track all these movements.

By halftime, UConn's up by twelve, and you've filled three pages of your Notes app with what started as technical observations but has devolved into increasingly incoherent capslock about various impressive plays. The latest note just says "HOW DID SHE EVEN SEE THAT CUTTING GUARD??? PHYSICS???? HELP????"

"Nice analysis."

You nearly drop your phone. Paige is right there, pretending to adjust her shoes by the bench but clearly smirking in your direction.

"I'm being professionally thorough," you whisper-hiss back, trying to ignore how your pulse is doing full-court sprints.

"Uh huh." She stands up, heading back to the huddle, but not before adding, "You look good in UConn blue, by the way."

You spend the entire third quarter trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The fourth quarter is when you see it—one of those perfect setup plays you'd theorized about. Paige moves left, drawing her defender, while simultaneously nodding almost imperceptibly to her teammate. The slight movement causes a chain reaction: the defense shifts, creating a gap that shouldn't exist, and suddenly there's a perfect passing lane that materializes out of seemingly nowhere. The ball flows through it like water finding the path of least resistance, resulting in an easy layup that looks simple but was actually three moves in the making.

You're on your feet before you realize it, pointing and probably looking deranged. "That! That's exactly what I was talking about! The head fake was the trigger but it wasn't even about the—" You cut yourself off, becoming aware that several people are staring at you, including the woman next to you who's now practically in the next seat over.

As the final buzzer sounds (UConn by 18), your phone buzzes with a new email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Nice catch

Body: 617-555-0147

PS - Your "professional analysis" face is reaaaaallly cute. Even from ten feet away.

You stare at your phone long enough that the arena starts to empty around you, afraid that if you look away the numbers might disappear like some basketball Cinderella story. The woman next to you finally gets up, edging past with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals.

"Sorry about all the,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

She just pats your shoulder with grandmotherly sympathy. "Honey, I've been watching basketball for forty years, and I've never seen someone have a gay awakening quite that enthusiastically. Good luck with number five."

You're still sputtering when she disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone with a phone number and the distinct feeling that the universe is either laughing at you or playing matchmaker.

Possibly both.

Nah— Definitely both.

After what feels like an eternity of staring at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, your bladder kindly reminds you that you stress-drank an entire large iced coffee before the game. Fucking wonderful. You glance at the concourse—and immediately regret every life choice that led to this moment.

The bathroom line snakes around the corner like some kind of hydra-headed monster, full of people who clearly had the same brilliant beverage ideas you did. You briefly consider just holding it and dealing with the consequences later, but your body has other plans.

"This is karma," you mutter, taking your place at the end of the line. "This is definitely karma for all those times I made fun of people waiting in long bathroom lines."

The girl in front of you snorts. "If it helps, I'm pretty sure we're all suffering from the same coffee-based poor judgment."

Twenty minutes. Twenty. Entire. Minutes.

You've gone through every social media app twice, responded to three emails you've been avoiding, and played enough Candy Crush to rot your remaining brain cells by the time you finally emerge from the bathroom. The arena is practically empty now, just cleaning crew and a few lingering fans.

Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, that number burning a hole in your mind. You pull it out, staring at the digits like they might rearrange themselves into instructions on how to text your elevator-meet-cute crush without sounding like a complete disaster.

To: 617-555-0147

Hey, this is your favorite elevator analytics nerd. Great game tonight. That fourth-quarter setup play was chef's kiss

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately regret every word choice. Chef's kiss? Really? Maybe if you run fast enough, you can catch up to your dignity before it leaves the building entirely.

Your phone buzzes before you can fully commit to your shame spiral.

From: Paige 🏀

some of us are heading to murphy's for dirty shirleys if you want to continue your "professional analysis" in person? promise there won't be any elevators involved

You nearly trip over your own feet.

Will there be a formal presentation required? Should I prepare slides?

just your sparkling personality and maybe an explanation of how you knew that play was coming before I did 😉

Bold of you to assume I wasn't just gesturing wildly at a mosquito

we both know you're too much of a basketball nerd for that. meet you there in 20?

You pause at the arena exit, looking down at your very casual, very not-prepared-to-go-out outfit. But then again, when has anything about this situation been normal?

Your eyes shoot back to your phone and your frantic typing begins once again.

Only if you promise to explain how that behind-the-back pass in the third quarter didn't break several laws of physics

deal. and hey?

Yeah?

the hoodie really does look good on you

Your stomach shoots to your ass and you stand there grinning at your phone like an idiot until Mike, doing his final security rounds, walks by and shakes his head.

"Don't stay out too late, kid," he calls over his shoulder. "These love stories always get complicated when they start in elevators."

"That was literally ONE MOVIE," you shout after him, but he just waves without turning around.

You look down at your phone one more time, then up at the now-empty arena, and can't help but laugh. Somehow, a broken elevator, an understanding security guard, and a basketball player with a dangerous grin have turned your disaster of a week into whatever this is.

Time to find out if Dirty Shirleys taste better when you're sharing them with a girl who can bend physics on a basketball court.

Murphy's is exactly what would happen if a sports bar had a baby with a college town dive and raised it on a strict diet of neon signs and questionable decor choices. The walls are plastered with enough UConn memorabilia to fill a museum, if museums were into collecting signed napkins and mysteriously stained jerseys.

Your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics as you push open the door, immediately hit by the smell of mozzarella sticks and what you really hope is just decades of spilled beer. The place is packed with post-game energy, and you're pretty sure your heart stops completely when you spot Paige at a corner booth, still in her game-day warmups because apparently she just casually walks around looking like a Nike ad.

"Analytics nerd!" she calls out, waving you over with that stupid grin that makes your brain cells commit mass suicide. "We saved you a seat!"

The 'we' turns out to be a collection of players who could probably stack on top of each other and touch the moon. You slide into the only open spot—right next to Paige, because the universe is clearly not done testing your ability to form coherent sentences today.

"Everyone, this is the elevator girl who knows more about our plays than we do," Paige announces, and your face goes hot enough to fry an egg. "Elevator girl, this is everyone."

"I have a name, you know," you manage, trying to ignore how her shoulder is pressed against yours in the crowded booth.

"Yeah, but 'elevator girl' has a better ring to it," she says, sliding a violently pink drink your way. "Plus, it's technically accurate."

"So is 'basketball menace' but you don't see me—" Your mouth snaps shut as her teammates start cackling.

"Oh, I like this one," says a girl you recognize as KK Arnold, grinning like she just got early Christmas. "She's got bite."

"She's got analytics," Paige corrects, but she's looking at you with something that makes your stomach relocate to somewhere in the general vicinity of Jupiter. "Speaking of which, you never did tell me how you caught that play coming."

You take a long sip of your Dirty Shirley to buy time, immediately regretting it when the sugar content threatens to give you instant cavities. "Holy shit, what's in this? Pure pixie stick powder?"

"Don't deflect," Paige says, poking your side. "We've got a whole team of analysts and none of them caught it. So spill."

"Fine, but only because you bought me diabetes in a glass." You shift to face her, accidentally-on-purpose letting your knee rest against hers under the table. "It was your head."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "My head?"

"You've got this tell," you say, getting into it now because apparently basketball analysis is your ideal flirting language. "This tiny little head tilt you do when you're setting up something sneaky. Like a cat about to knock something off a table, but make it basketball."

The entire table goes quiet, then erupts in laughter.

"She's got you there, P," Ice wheezes. "You do look like a menacing cat sometimes!"

Paige is staring at you with a mix of indignation and something else that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. "I do not have a cat tell."

"You absolutely do," you say, emboldened by sugar and the way her eyes keep dropping to your lips. "It's actually kind of cu—"

"SHOTS!" someone yells, and suddenly there's a tray of something alarmingly blue being passed around.

"Oh god," you mutter, watching the liquid slosh ominously. "Is this what happens when a Smurf dies?"

Paige nearly chokes on her drink. "That's terrible!"

"Just like these shots are about to be?"

She leans in close—too close, definitely too close for your remaining brain cells to function—and whispers, "Good thing I like terrible jokes."

Your stomach shoots to your ass (and possibly into another dimension) as she pulls back with a wink that should be illegal in at least forty-eight states.

"I hate you," you inform her, grabbing one of the Smurf funeral shots because if you're going to have a gay crisis in a college bar, you might as well commit fully.

"No you don't," she says with absolute certainty, and the worst part is she's right.

You really, really don't.

The night dissolves into a blur of increasingly ridiculous drinks (who knew they made something called a "Husky Howl"?), basketball stories that get more elaborate with each round, and Paige's thigh pressed warm against yours under the table. You learn that she stress-bakes before big games, that she once tried to teach her dog to play basketball, and that when she really laughs—like, really laughs—she snorts a little and it's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

At some point, Azzi starts drawing up plays on napkins with increasingly chaotic drink-fueled creativity. Aaliyah Edwards keeps stealing her pen to "fix" the defensive rotations, while Nika Mühl throws wadded-up straw wrappers at both of them, critiquing their "absolutely trash spacing."

"No, no, look," KK follows imaginary lines with her finger across the napkin, accidentally dragging it through a puddle of spilled Shirley Temple. "If we run this here, and then—" she grabs your arm— "you're the defense, okay? Stand up."

"I absolutely am not," you protest, but Paige is already pulling you up with that stupid grin that makes your knees forget how joints work.

"Come on, elevator girl," she teases, positioning you near the booth. "Show us those analytics skills in action."

"I hate all of you," you mutter, but you're laughing as KK tries to demonstrate some elaborate defensive scheme that mostly involves her spinning in circles while Aaliyah provides unhelpful commentary.

"Your footwork is trash, bestie," Aaliyah calls out, now using maraschino cherries to build what appears to be a scale model of the paint.

"YOUR footwork is trash," KK shoots back, then promptly trips over nothing.

"Ladies, ladies," Paige steps in, all faux seriousness undermined by the way she can't stop grinning. "Let a professional show you how it's done."

She moves behind you, hands settling lightly on your hips, and your brain immediately flatlines. "See, proper defensive stance is all about—"

"Get a fuckin' room!" Nika yells, launching another straw wrapper that hits Paige square in the forehead.

"Actually," Paige says close to your ear, and your stomach does approximately seventeen backflips, "I've got that new analytics setup at my apartment if you want to see it. You know, for research purposes."

You turn to face her, very aware that her hands haven't moved from your hips. "Research purposes?"

"Mhmm." That dangerous grin is back. "Purely academic, of course."

"Of course," you manage, trying to ignore the way your pulse is doing a full drumline routine.

"Oh my god," KK groans from the booth. "This is worse than when Aaliyah tried to flirt with that barista using coffee puns."

"Hey!" Aaliyah protests. "That was smooth!"

"You asked if she wanted to 'espresso' her feelings!"

"And now we're dating, so who's the real winner here?"

Paige rolls her eyes at their antics, but her thumbs are drawing small circles on your hips that are making it very hard to focus on anything else. "So? Want to help me with some late-night analysis?"

Your stomach shoots to your ass as you meet her eyes, finding them sparkling with something that definitely isn't just about basketball statistics. "I mean, it would be unprofessional to turn down a research opportunity..."

"GET OUT OF HERE," Azzi throws a cherry that sails completely wide of both of you. "Your gay panic is ruining my plays."

"Your plays were already ruined," Nika points out, helpfully redrawing the vodka-smudged X's and O's with what appears to be lip gloss.

Paige grabs her jacket with one hand and your hand with the other, tugging you toward the door. "Don't wait up, nerds!"

"USE PROTECTION!" Aubrey shouts after you, causing several nearby tables to choke on their drinks.

"I mean, analytics can be very dangerous," you say with mock seriousness as you step into the cool night air, very aware that Paige hasn't let go of your hand. "All those numbers flying around."

"Absolutely hazardous," she agrees, pulling you closer as you walk. "Better stick together. For safety."

"For safety," you repeat, hoping she can't feel your pulse racing where your fingers are intertwined. "And research."

"And research," she echoes, giving you that sidelong grin that makes your heart forget how to beat properly. "Though I should warn you..."

"Yeah?"

She stops under a streetlight, turning to face you with eyes that sparkle with mischief. "My elevator works perfectly fine."

Your laugh echoes off the empty street. "Damn. There goes my backup plan."

"I'm sure we can find other ways to get stuck together," she says, and your stomach relocates somewhere in the general vicinity of Mars.

As you follow her down the quiet streets of Storrs, your joined hands swinging between you, you make a mental note to buy Mike the biggest coffee gift card you can afford.

Broken elevators might just be your new favorite thing.

Paige's apartment is exactly what you'd expect from someone who's somehow both a basketball prodigy and a complete dork—there's a literal trophy shelf right next to a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops, and her UConn jersey hangs framed above what appears to be a very elaborate gaming setup.

"Nice lightsaber," you say, nodding to the collector's edition propped in the corner.

"Nice deflection from how your hands are shaking," she shoots back, shrugging off her jacket.

"It's cold outside!"

"Uh huh." She disappears into the kitchen, and you hear cabinets opening. "Want some hot chocolate? I promise it's better than those nuclear waste shots Aubrey kept ordering."

Your stomach does a weird flip at how domestic this feels. "Only if you have—"

"Mini marshmallows and whipped cream? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

You follow her voice to find her already pulling out mugs, one of which has "Ball is Life" written in what appears to be glitter pen. "The kind that owns a bedazzled basketball mug?"

"First of all, Nika made this for my birthday and it's a masterpiece," she says, grabbing milk from the fridge. "Second of all, you're just jealous of my sophisticated taste."

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing says sophistication like..." you pick up a container from the counter, "unicorn hot chocolate mix?"

She snatches it back, fighting a grin. "It's limited edition!"

"Of course, my mistake. Clearly I'm in the presence of a fine dining connoisseur."

The kitchen fills with the smell of chocolate as she heats the milk, and you try not to stare at how she's rolled up her sleeves, forearms on full display as she stirs. You fail miserably.

"See something you like?" she asks without turning around, because apparently she has eyes in the back of her head.

"Just admiring your hot chocolate technique."

"My technique is excellent, thank you very much." She turns, holding up a can of whipped cream with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Want to see?"

Your throat goes dry. "I feel like this is a trap."

"Maybe." She takes a step closer, and your back hits the counter. "But you've been analyzing my moves all night. Shouldn't I get a turn?"

You're about to say something witty—really, you are—but then she's shaking the whipped cream can and all your brain cells collectively abandon ship.

"Don't you dare—"

The words are barely out before she's spraying whipped cream directly at your face. You squeal (not your proudest moment) and grab for the can, resulting in a brief wrestling match that ends with cream basically everywhere except in the actual mugs.

"You're such a menace!" you gasp, trying to wipe cream off your nose while she cackles.

"Says the girl who called me out on my head tilt in front of my whole team!"

"That's different! That was professional analysis!"

"Oh yeah?" She steps closer, effectively pinning you against the counter. "Analyze this."

Your heart stops as she reaches up, thumb gently wiping whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. Time seems to freeze, your entire world narrowing to that point of contact and the way her eyes drop to your lips.

"Your technique could use some work," you manage to whisper, and she laughs—that real laugh, with the little snort that makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

"Maybe you should show me how it's done then."

Your stomach shoots through the floor as you reach up, threading your fingers through her hair (definitely getting whipped cream in it but whatever), and pull her down to meet you.

She tastes like chocolate and whipped cream and something uniquely her, and you can feel her smile against your lips as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

"How's that for technique?" you murmur when you finally break apart, both breathing a bit harder.

"Hmm." She pretends to consider it, but her eyes are sparkling and her hands are still firmly on your waist. "Might need more data to make a proper analysis."

"Oh my god, you're actually worse than me with the nerd references."

"You like it," she says with absolute certainty, leaning in again.

"Maybe," you concede against her lips. "But only because you're cute when you're being smug."

She pulls back just enough to give you that dangerous grin that started this whole thing. "Just cute?"

"And modest, clearly."

"I'll show you modest," she growls, and then she's kissing you again, deeper this time, backing you further against the counter until you're pretty sure your soul leaves your body entirely.

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter,

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, forgotten in the haze of warm laughter and sticky fingers. At some point, her lips found their way back to yours, sweet and a little messy, and now you’re on her couch, knees bumping against hers as you both settle into an almost tentative rhythm. She pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, and her breath fans across your lips in short, uneven bursts.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers, her voice low and a little breathless, her hands sliding up your arms to rest on your shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of your collarbone.

“You like trouble,” you fire back, and there’s just enough of a spark in your tone to make her grin.

“I really do,” she admits, and before you can respond, her lips are on yours again, slower this time, deliberate. It’s not the playful teasing from before—it’s something heavier, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest and your hands curl into the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.

Her fingers tangle in your hair as she shifts, nudging you gently until your back hits the cushions. She hovers above you, her knees bracketing your thighs, her ponytail spilling over one shoulder as she leans down to kiss you again. This time, it’s a little rougher, her teeth catching on your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp, and the sound seems to light something in her eyes.

“You’re killing me,” you murmur against her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, her grin sharper now.

“Good,” she says simply, and her hands are on the hem of your hoodie, tugging it up. “This okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard, and she doesn’t wait for a second invitation. The hoodie’s off in a flash, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and her eyes sweep over you like she’s committing every inch to memory. Her hands are warm as they skim over your sides, fingertips brushing against bare skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the way she says it makes you believe her, even with your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage, trying to sound casual even as she leans back down, her lips finding the curve of your jaw and then lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands find her waist, and you can feel the strength of her beneath the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, her muscles flexing slightly as she shifts against you.

“Should we,” she starts, her voice trailing off as she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear, and you answer it by pulling her back down, your lips crashing into hers with more urgency than before.

“Definitely,” you say between kisses, and that’s all the encouragement she needs.

Her sweatshirt joins your hoodie somewhere on the floor, and her hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, the curve of your hip. It’s all a blur of heat and soft laughter and the kind of clumsy, sweet desperation that only comes with two people trying to figure out how they fit together.

The couch is too small, the angles all wrong, and at some point, she pulls back just enough to breathe, “Bed?”

You nod, and then she’s pulling you to your feet, her hand sliding down to lace her fingers with yours as she leads you toward her room. There’s something about the way she looks back at you, her grin soft and a little nervous, that makes your heart ache in the best way.

The moment you’re through the door, she’s on you again, her hands sliding up your back as she kisses you like she’s trying to memorize every curve, every shiver. The bed is soft beneath you, and her weight is solid and warm as she follows you down, her knee nudging between yours as she leans over you.

“You’re really good at this whole ‘research’ thing,” you tease, and she laughs against your collarbone, the sound low and husky and so incredibly her.

“Don’t distract me,” she murmurs, and her hands are on you again, her touch firm and sure and just a little shaky in a way that makes your chest swell with affection.

And when she kisses you again, slow and deep, you think, for the first time all week, that maybe the universe actually got something right.

The mattress dips under her weight as Paige pulls back just enough to take you in, her hair falling loose from her ponytail, framing her face in a way that feels criminally unfair. There’s a glint in her eye now, something teasing but focused, like she’s about to run the most calculated play of her life.

“You look nervous,” she says, her lips curling into that sharp grin that’s been undoing you all night.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, though your voice cracks on the last syllable like your body’s calling you out.

She chuckles, low and throaty, and leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good. Because I’m about to ruin you, and I don’t need you overthinking it.”

Before you can process what she said, she’s sliding down your body with deliberate slowness, her hands dragging over your sides, down your hips, and hooking around the waistband of your leggings. She raises an eyebrow, silently asking permission, and the second you nod, she pulls them down in one fluid motion, leaving you feeling bare and achingly vulnerable.

“Holy shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, her eyes locked on you like she’s just stumbled on a masterpiece at an art museum. Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs tracing small circles that send shivers racing up your spine. “You’re so—” She stops, shakes her head, and looks up at you with that cocky grin. “Nah, I’m gonna show you instead of telling you.”

Her lips press to the inside of your knee, soft at first, but as she moves higher, her kisses grow hungrier, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you squirming.

“Paige,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, but she just hums against your thigh like she’s savoring her favorite meal.

“Patience,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin as she shifts lower. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Your response gets caught in your throat as her mouth finally finds you, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had promptly evaporates. Her tongue moves with the same precision she has on the court, all calculated angles and devastating accuracy, and it’s like she’s figured out exactly how to dismantle you.

“Fuck—Paige—” Your hips jerk involuntarily, but her hands hold you steady, her grip firm enough to keep you grounded while her mouth does the opposite.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her lips glistening, and there’s a wicked glint in her eye that makes your stomach drop in the best way. “Hang tight,” she says, reaching toward the nightstand.

“What are you—oh my God,” you gasp as she pulls out a vibrator, the sleek little device gleaming like it was made for moments like this.

Paige winks, all confidence and mischief, as she turns it on, the low hum filling the room. “You trust me, right?”

You nod, because at this point, you’d probably trust her to lead you into a cult if it meant feeling like this.

“Good.” She leans back down, her mouth finding you again just as the vibrator presses against you, and the combination is so overwhelming it almost knocks the breath out of you.

Your hands fly to her hair, tugging as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure racing through your body, and her tongue works in tandem, teasing and relentless. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, with every calculated movement.

“Paige, I—” Your words dissolve into a moan that would make your ancestors weep, your thighs trembling as she doubles down, her grip on you tightening.

“That’s it,” she murmurs against you, her voice low and full of something that sounds dangerously like pride. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, you do. The orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and clutching at the sheets as your vision whites out. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you swear you hear yourself speaking in tongues.

Paige doesn’t stop until your legs are twitching, and even then, she presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back with the most self-satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“Did I just—” You pause, catching your breath, your voice hoarse. “Did I just have an exorcism?”

Paige laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you did, I think I’m gonna need to start charging for holy services.”

“Fuck you,” you say weakly, though the way you’re still grinning probably ruins the effect.

She crawls back up to you, her body warm and solid as she settles next to you, her arm slinging over your waist. “Oh, you’re definitely going to want to do that next,” she teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you’re laughing, still breathless and a little wrecked, but somehow more at ease than you’ve felt in ages. Paige grins down at you, smug but soft, and you think, maybe, that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Sometimes the best love stories start with a malfunction.

Just don't tell Mike. He's smug enough already.

The End

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jinxyjinxer · 6 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ FELL ˎˊ˗ being his crush he finally gets to fuck

⟢ characters : Jayce Talis

⟢ warnings : m!reader, mlm, top!jayce x bottom!reader, nipple play, anal, jerking off, takes place during jayce's education, bisexual jayce that fucks around because I said so

It was no secret to the students of Piltover's University that one of their most prestigious students, Jayce Talis, liked to mingle with not only the opposite sex but also the same one.

He was young and adventurous, not one to settle down with the first person that confessed their feelings for him, preferring to just have flings or friendships — if you can call them that — with benefits. Which did not mean by any means that he didn't have his eye on a certain someone.

Someone he thought of very highly.

Someone he imagined every time he would mingle with a person that wasn't them.

He did not think of the person beneath or on top of him, no, he only could think about one specific student that he had his eyes on — you.

With how confident he was around everyone else it must have been easy for Jayce to ask you out on a date but no, he took months to finally even just talk to you. But you liked him secretly as well, so it didn't take long for the two to go further than just meeting up to hang out.

"I'm sorry I- you just were so close and I thought you were about to lean in- I didn't mean to-", Jayce stuttered as he looked down at you, having you pinned beneath him on his bed. He truly was a fool in love.

The two of you had spent some time together in his dormitory room, just hanging out and talking about god and the world until Jayce suddenly kissed you. It wasn't like you didn't reciprocate it, the chaste kiss quickly becoming deeper and steamier, tongues fighting for dominance while he slowly pushed you down to lay flat against his mattress, placing himself in between your legs and hooking them around his thighs, his already hardening crotch pressing against your own, making a soft mewl escape your lips which led to what he just said.

But you didn't want to see any of his shy and flustered behaviour.

How come he was always so confident around others but when he's with you he barely gets a word out?

"Fuck me, Jayce. I want you", was all the words it took for him to regain all of his confidence he usually put on display.

Without hesitating a moment further, Jayce leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss once again, immediately going in and letting his tongue explore your wet cavern.

He was on you like a lion on its prey, devouring everything you had to offer him.

His hands swiftly glided down from your arms to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and exposing your torso to him. Simultaneously his mouth began to wander, first kissing your jaw, then your neck and going down more and more until he had reached one of your nipples, taking it into his mouth, biting and sucking until he finally could hear that sweet voice of yours moaning his name so delightfully. But he wasn't done with just one, no. Once he was satisfied he gave the other nipple the same attention, his pants becoming unbearingly tight from how hard and turned on he was.

He then dragged his tongue across your torso until he reached the hem of your pants, unbuttoning them and pulling everything you had down so you'd finally lay in front of him completely exposed, your dick standing proudly and pre-cum drooling from your tip. Gods, how much Jayce loved this sight.

"You look... Divine", he said in awe, eyes fixated on your body, almost unable to draw away his gaze.

But the need to fuck you was bigger than the need to worship your body alone, after all he could do both at the same time. "Is it okay if we skip foreplay? I just wanna feel your hole around me", Jayce asked, almost begged, you, mind fogged by the immense need to fuck you senseless.

"I promise I'll make it up", he quickly added when you didn't respond which just elicited a chuckle from you, nodding and giving him the green light he needed to continue.

As quickly as he could, Jayce got rid of his pants and underwear throwing them into some corner of the room, his cock resting nicely against his toned abdomen, the tip red and leaking, twitching from how needy he was.

Not wasting more time than he already did he reached over to his nightstand, pulling out a nicely but decently decorated flask clearly full of lube of which he smeared a handful around his cock and between your cheeks and into your hole with a quick dip of his fingers.

His strong hands came down to grip your waist, pulling your hips up just enough so he could align his tip with your entrance, your dick twitching at the though of how his big and thick cock would feel inside of you.

You gave him a small nod, giving Jayce the last confirmation he needed to sink his throbbing erection into you, groaning at how tight and warm you felt around him, your walls snuggly fitting around him.

"Mhm, fuck...", Jayce cursed once he finally was fully inside of you, his eyes half lidded from pleasure and gaze filled with lust.

As much as he just wanted to move and fuck you, he knew how painful it was for you to take him without any preparation, so like the gentleman he was, he stayed still as best as he could, letting you adjust to his sheer size and girth as long as you needed to.

Once he knew you were fine and ready Jayce didn't hold back.

As soon as he moved his hips, he almost pulled out completely only to slam back into you again, making you moan out loudly and arch your back at how deep he was. Jayce repeated this over and over again, his thrusts becoming faster and harder with every time he slammed back into your tight hole.

It was almost embarrassing for him how fast Jayce felt himself near the edge of his orgasm. You didn't voice how close you were but he also didn't want to stop now so he just used one of his still lubey hands to jerk you off in the rhythm of his thrusts until the two of you came unison, Jayce having quickly pulled out prior to his organs, his seed and your own mixing and covering your stomach, chest and the sheets beneath.

#ᯓ★ jinxed requests #ᯓ★ jinxed writing #arcane smut #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jayce smut #jayce x reader #jayce x you #arcane #jayce talis #jayce arcane #arcane jayce #mlm smut #gay smut #x m!reader #x male reader

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itsswritten · 1 year ago

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butterfly kisses

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K (honestly it's just a little drabble)

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, lots of fluff, mating frenzy

Summary: Azriel just can't get enough of your wings <3

Wings Universe - More from this world.

Azriel wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky.

He had thanked the Mother every day since the bond snapped, and even more when you accepted it. When Mor had introduced you into his life only a couple of years ago, he never imagined this would be the outcome.

Azriel vividly remembered the first night he met you. It was another gathering at Rita’s, one of the many that had unfolded, now peace settled over the land.

Mor with playful determination had pulled you over to their table, arm looped around yours– almost in a way that said she wasn’t going to let you escape. He had noticed the faint blush that creeped up your face to your pointed ears, merely from the proximity of your High Lord and Lady, and their inner circle. He recalled how you offered a shy little curtsy in their presence, that had led to the whole table stifling their laughter. Rhys kindly explained that such formalities were not necessary, especially not in Rita’s of all places. Azriel did his best to contain his mirth at the display, all the while chewing the inside of his cheek to stop the chuckle leaving his lips. He truly couldn’t get over how adorable you were, he'd found himself captivated by your endearing innocence.

And that was only the start.

Mor explained how she’d met you in town one day and had essentially thrusted her friendship onto you, and it really didn’t take long for Azriel and his family to do the same.

You were so sweet and caring, and slotted into Azriel’s life so easily that he found it hard to remember a time when you weren’t there at all. Your kindness towards the Archeron sisters, guiding them through the intricate transitions of fae life that they still at times struggled with. Nyx was absolutely enamoured with you, oftentimes seeking your company over his actual family. But they didn’t blame him, because they all did same. Your calm sweet nature was addictive to them all, especially Azriel.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Azriel found himself seeking every opportunity to unravel all your layers. He wanted to know everything about you. From your favourite foods, to the books that captured your attention.

His infatuation all made sense when the bond snapped.

It was the last solstice.

Azriel had noticed how beautiful you were looking, as you always were. But you were clad in a breathtaking pale pink summer dress, the neckline delicately showcasing your décolletage. As you moved with a natural grace, the fabric billowed ever so slightly at the waist, accentuating your silhouette in a manner that held attention.

Or at least held Azriel’s attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He watched you carefully navigate the chaos of the room. Nyx in one arm, giving Feyre some rest and reprieve in her pregnant state. Your other hand bringing in the cake Elain had spent all morning baking. Amidst the flurry of activity, you had been so close to dropping the cake. But Azriel's steady hand intervened just in time, grabbing the plate and taking it off you. Except in that moment your hands touched, grazed past one another in a way they had so many times before.

But that time had been different.

It was Azriel’s turn to almost drop the cake. That all consuming warmth flooded his chest catching him off guard. A golden thread connecting itself to you. The mating bond. Finally.

And based on the bright red flush covering your cheeks, it was clear you’d felt it too. You’d fled the room then, overcome with emotion and what this new revelation meant.

Though, it didn’t take long for Azriel to coax you round.

Ever the gentleman, he courted you. Taking you on the most thoughtful dates and spoiling you with bouquet after bouquet of flowers. He would leave little love notes and poetry for you to find. That it was really no surprise to anyone, when you decided to accept the bond.

That was only three weeks ago now.

Yourself and Azriel were deep in the mating frenzy.

Rhys had kindly offered one of his private residences he had on the outskirts of Night. A smaller cottage, but with all the privacy you both needed. And Azriel had taken advantage of that privacy eliciting sounds from you that he would cherish forever and never tire hearing.

And then there were your wings.

You had revealed them to him the first night after accepting the mating bond, and, Gods, was he done for.

Azriel had taken it upon himself, in the earlier months, to really vet you. His dedication to his role as Spymaster served as a guise for his self-indulgent exploration of you, delving into the intricate details of your being with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Not only had he discovered all the things you love, but he searched for details of who and what you were.

Finding himself holed up in the library at times, hours spent devoted to aquainiting himself to the type of fairy you were.

He knew you had wings, was the type of fairy whose wings were the delicate kind. Most kept them concealed with magic. Yet, Azriel couldn't shake the thought that perhaps they were hidden not only for protection but also out of reverence for their breathtaking beauty. They were mesmerising. Enough to trap Azriel into some kind of trance.

And perhaps possessively so, he was grateful not many males were privy to this part of you.

He was watching you now, laying on your front. Bare. Just how he’d left you when he took a moment to freshen up. You were giggling, your legs up and feet fluttering behind you while propped up over something.

“What are you doing, my love?” Azriel purred inquisitively, stepping closer towards the bed.

“Oh…Feyre was just checking in. Asking how much longer we might be,” he could hear you smile when you spoke, and watched as with the brush of your hand the magical parchment and ink disappeared that you’d been conversing with Feyre on.

“It’s not even been that long,”

“We’ve been gone three weeks–”

“And we’ll be gone 300 hundred more,”

You chuckled at his response, “Az, we do need to go back at some point. They need us.”

“I need you more.” There was no negotiating. Your family would be lucky to see you both before the next solstice at this rate.

Not that Azriel needed the frenzy to be satiated by you, but it truly was driving him. The primal need for you, overwhelming. The pair of you only stopped when you both fell into a slumber from exhaustion. And even then, there were many times you found each other in a sleep exhausted haze, tangled within and inside one another again.

The bed dipped either side of your legs, you were still on your front but could feel your mate over you. He had paused though, his eyes falling over your beautiful pink wings. The iridescent skin reflecting lights across the room. He had almost cried when he first saw them after you accepted the bond, mesmerised and overwhelmed by their beauty.

Getting to see this part of you, a part of you that was so private, stirred a gratefulness inside him. But there was something else too, a possessiveness that had slowly been creeping up his mind recently.

In the past three weeks, you had both done every possible maneuver, tried every kind of love making– fucking, screwing, mating. You’d even made him a crumbling wet mess just from playing with his wings.

But he hadn’t touched yours.

No, they looked so delicate and soft, too beautiful to touch, that he hadn’t dared.

You felt him situate himself behind you, his warm naked body lightly laying on you, his chest resting on your behind. His arms wormed their way under your hips to get comfy, and you splayed your wings flat against your back to fit him.

“Az?” you asked curiously, glancing slightly over at your shoulder to catch him in your peripheral.

He didn’t respond though, not with words. You felt his soft warm breath blowing on the membrane of your right wing, making your squirm under the touch. Your wing fluttering a little in the air.

“How sensitive are they? Too sensitive for me to touch?” You heard him behind you.

“Hm..” you tilted your head slightly to think, “They’re delicate, but you can touch them. Gently.”

You were waiting for him to wriggle his hand from out beneath you but instead you felt something warm and wet run against the bottom of your wing.

You couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping your lips at the soft touch. Azriel had taken it upon himself to use the tip of his tongue to explore this part of you, a part of you that was still very new to him. He felt you wriggle under him, and he shifted placing his full body weight on you so you couldn’t move.

His tongue traced the ridge of your wing, and he wasn’t letting up. Not when he’d made that sound from you. He wanted more of that. He moved and pressed his tongue flat against the delicate skin, evoking another moan from you.

“Does that feel good my little butterfly?” he purred, you could feel the smirk on his lips against your wing as he pressed a kiss on them.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his teasing, but it felt too good to do anything other than surrender to his touch.

“I want to hear your words,” he spoke a little more assertively this time, before swiping his tongue along one of the tubular lines that spread like veins across your wings.

“Yes..” You huffed, before another moan slipped past your lips breathlessly. “It feels good Az…” You felt your body heat, your cheeks for sure rosy, grateful your mate could only hear not see the reaction he was having on you.

He chuckled softly then, the vibrations from his lips skirting across your wings making them twitch.

“My sensitive little butterfly, ” the new nickname only made you squirm more, your core growing slick at his predatory attention.

Azriel moved his hand then, the one caught under your left hip, so effortlessly moving down to your core, cupping your wet slit as he licked the pink shiny membrane again.

“Azriel…” you gasped, but his touch didn’t relent.

You knew this was only the start.

a/n: just some lovely little fluffy mating frenzyness! I just love these two, so I may expand a little more on the wings universe and their relationship if you guys would like to see that! Maybe some domestic bliss, or if there's any scenes you'd like me to write for them or parts of their story you're interested in then I'm happy to explore. Also this was written fairly quickly, so please ignore any typos, I only did a quick little check hehe - Lottie

p.s. also thanks to @thisiskaylin who inspired the nickname! She commented on the wings fic that butterfly would be the perfect nickname and I just had to use it <3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x oc #azriel acotar #azriel series #azriel fluff #fluff #azriel smut #smut

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rafey-baby · 8 months ago

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hidden 4

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, mentions of murder & violence, a surprise in the grocery store, smut: dubcon, fingering, p-in-v, size kink, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.6k

it’s here! (one more part left!!) hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“A picture provided by a passer-by has led us to believe that Rafe Cameron, the suspect for the murder of a police officer is still on the island and has possibly been in contact with the witness who now wants to withdraw his statement, not wanting to testify in court due to personal reasons. However, the investigation is still ongoing and Cameron remains the main suspect, which means that if you have any information about his whereabouts, please do not hesitate—”

Rafe twists the car radio off with a scoff.

“The fuck they’re gonna do with a blurry photo? Unless they find another witness or some real proof, they don’t have shit on me,” he mutters more to himself than her as he yanks open the door and lets it slam closed—leaving her to scramble after his exasperated steps through the grocery store parking lot.

She doesn’t know how Rafe managed to discover the name of the witness or why a few days ago she sat in his truck parked outside the poor guy’s home keeping watch, but at this point, she’s decided that the universe simply must have something against her peace of mind.

When she asked him about his visit, he simply shrugged it off with a ‘don’t worry ‘bout it, just had a little talk with him’ which honestly made unease settle into the bottom of her stomach because it was most definitely not the entire truth. Therefore, for the following days, she tried her very best to avoid his intimidating presence as to not give him a reason to get mad at her while he made several phone calls and ‘took care of business’.

However, acting as if he wasn’t there wasn’t the easiest task since her house, despite the cozy atmosphere (before Rafe), wasn’t very grand. Whenever she’d try to find sleep in her soft sheets, his heavy presence in the next room would send a shiver up her spine and erase any prospects of getting any actual rest. And when she’d try to cook dinner, he’d be looming way too close for comfort and make her accidentally drop a plate on the floor. Therefore, she’s not exactly feeling her best.

As they step through the sliding doors, Rafe is hiding behind black sunglasses and an old baseball cap he borrowed (stole) from her; trying to keep a low profile and appear as ordinary as any casual customer shopping for essentials since he’s practically emptied her fridge at this point.

“Do you want red or green grapes?” she inquires as she peers down at the fruit.

“Don’t really give a shit. Jus’ get both,” he grumbles out, seemingly all too aware of his surroundings—antsy to get out of the store already.

“That’s not very helpful,” she complains quietly, deciding on the green ones before pushing the shopping cart forward with Rafe close behind.

And she’s all too preoccupied with picking out what she wants for breakfast when all of a sudden, he grabs her face in his big palms and presses his lips against hers.

It causes her to let out a surprised noise that gets swallowed up by him as he slots their mouths together—her entire body tensing up in response to him pushing her against the shelves that display different types of bagels.

Momentarily, she’s disconcerted, doesn’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this; all rough and inconsiderate. And maybe that’s why she’s beginning to feel light-headed—every coherent thought wiped away because him kissing her makes absolutely no sense. Therefore, she doesn’t even realize she’s reciprocating the kiss before her distracted mind stirs awake and soon enough, she’s pulling away with creased brows.

“What the—”

However, she’s interrupted by the hollow of his hand plastering over her mouth.

“Shut up,” he hisses lowly, eyes alarmed and shoulders tense.

And she’s about to protest before he nods towards a couple of officers a few feet away from them, apparently having just passed them. They’re strolling through the aisle leisurely, chatting freely and not paying them any mind because why would they do anything except roll their eyes at a lovey-dovey couple making out next to the organic whole wheat toast?

Oh. She can’t believe she didn’t notice them—coming to the conclusion that if she was the one running from the cops, she wouldn’t last a day. Before her brain has the chance to catch up and command her to scream for help though, she feels the barrel of his gun poking at her chest, forcing the desperate pleads to die out on her tongue.

She stares into threatening larimar and blinks—far too frightened to even inhale too loud. Neither of them move until the policemen have rounded the corner, leaving her and Rafe the only people standing in the bread aisle.

And he doesn’t think too much of the kiss, simply a means for him to stay under the radar. However, her head turns into a blank piece of paper, not able to say a word until they’re walking the grass-covered steps to her threshold.

“Why would you do that?” she’s fuming while he locks the front door.

“Was just tryin’ not to blow my cover, calm down,” he grumbles, setting down the grocery bags.

“By kissing me?” she snaps in exasperation.

“Yeah, well there wasn’t exactly time to think about anythin’ else,” he seems so nonchalant about all of this, as if he doesn’t care one bit. And she figures he doesn’t because it seems that for him it’s the most tedious thing in the world to consider other people’s feelings for even one second.

Maybe she didn’t want him to kiss her, of all things—didn’t want him to make the muddy thoughts brewing beneath the surface of her sanity any louder than they already were. Because despite how hard she’s trying to convince herself that him shoving her around and walking around her house as if he owns it doesn’t affect her, it wouldn’t change the fact that something about his dominating presence is slowly but surely making her grow curious.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she drops her keys to the ceramic bowl in the hallway before walking towards the living room—wanting to put as much distance between them as possible in order to have some space to think.

“I mean, s’not like you seemed to mind too much, you kissed me back, remember?” he points out, his heavy footsteps following her.

“I was just…in shock, okay?” she turns around, voice loud and frustrated.

“Don’t fuckin’ raise your voice at me,” he warns her, low and gravelly, making her shiver.

“And if you were just in shock, then why are you blushing right now, hm?” he takes a step closer, too close.

“I’m— I’m not blushing,” she tries to deny.

“You’re a shit liar, you know that?” he chuckles, seemingly amused. “Bet you liked me kissin’ you, hm? Just bein’ too much of a stubborn bitch to admit that.”

Her dumbfounded eyes stare at him in silence because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that.

“Usually not into whiny pups but should just fuck some sense into you so you’d wipe that stupid pout off your face, yeah?” he chuckles, looking at her with something devilish glimmering in the aquamarine of his eyes.

“You’re a fucking psycho!” the accusation escapes her before she has the chance to stop it. She regrets it immediately when he harshly grabs her jaw between rough fingertips—mushing her cheeks together and making her teeth bite into the gummy walls of her mouth.

“What did you just call me?”

“Didn’t— didn’t mean to, m’sorry,” her frightened eyes widen.

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” he dryly laughs in her face, finding entertainment in her torment. She’s about to apologize again when he speaks up once more. “You, uh, you gon’ make it up to me then?”

The words refuse to form in her mouth.

“Cause you know what I think? I think this fuckin’ psycho orderin’ you around like a puppy gets you wet, huh? You don’t think I’ve seen the way you look at me?” he finally lets go of her jaw, tall frame towering over her.

“I—what’re you…” she’s unable to move, trepidation creeping up her spine along with an odd form of intrigue making her respiration grow labored because he’s not exactly wrong.

“Should we check?” he raises his brows.

“What— what are you doing?” she tries to take a hesitant step back, albeit uselessly when her back bumps against the wall.

“That’s not a no,” he tilts his head, mocking her. And then he’s pushing his hand into her pants, past the waistband of her panties and feeling her out—fingertips finding the stickiness already there, causing her to let out a surprised gasp at the sudden pressure.

“Huh, look at that. Should’ve known you were a horny fuckin’ bitch when I first saw those stupid fake scared eyes, talking ’bout some ‘Rafe m’sorry please don’t hurt me I’ll do anything’ shit,” he raises his pitch to an overly girlish squeak, meant to patronize her—yet somehow, she can’t contain the whimper when he swipes a thumb over her clit.

“Bet you’d like that though, wouldn’t you? If I hurt you, roughed you up a little, hm?” his heady breaths tickle her lips and it kindles a blaze deep in her tummy—arousing something novel, strange, unfamiliar.

“Rafe…” she manages out, head spinning.

“Tha’s right, say my fuckin’ name,” he’s chuckling as a digit slips down to prod at her opening before slowly pushing in—causing a faint whine to leave the gaps of her teeth.

“So fuckin’ tight—been a while, huh? Not gonna lie been a while for me too…with all this shit with the cops haven’t exactly had the time to get my cock wet, you know? S’getting a bit frustrating, if m’being honest,” he rumbles mindlessly, too lost in inspecting her reactions to his fingers playing with her cunt to care about what he’s saying.

She doesn’t respond—doesn’t think she’s physically able to when his thumbs over her swollen clit, leaving her dazed because she knows this is wrong, it’s so wrong yet she can’t deny how good it feels to have him touch her like this.

“Now that m’thinkin’ about it, don’t think I’ve tried pogue pussy before, you wanna help with that?” his low drawl is nearly hypnotizing—turning her morals more and more hazy by the second before they evaporate into the tension-filled air surrounding them.

“Rafe…I don’t—”

“You’re soaked. When’s the last time you got fucked good?” he interrupts her.

“I don’t...remember,” she mumbles out.

“Don’t remember? Shit, puppy, no wonder you’re so wound up,” there’s a condescending lilt to his pity, making her whine when he drags his finger out before nudging it back in.

“The guy I was with wasn’t, um, the best so…didn’t really wanna do it again and stuff,” she timidly admits.

“You lettin’ a guy who can’t make you come between your legs? Such a shame, but not really surprised those pogue boys don’t know how to fuck—I’ll take care of it though, make you feel good, yeah?” his breathy promises try to coax her to give in.

“Rafe, I don’t know…”

“Listen, m’just sayin’…m’probably gonna be here for some time until everythin’ settles ‘n we gotta kill the time somehow, no?”

“But this is wrong, you—you threatened to kill me,” she reminds him and herself with the remnants of her determination.

“Yeah, yeah, that wasn’t very…nice, was it? But don’t act like you don’t want this. All m’sayin’ is that you’re the one dripping down my hand right now ‘n really, I’d be doin’ you a favor,” his crooked logic goes unnoticed by her when she slowly blinks up at him.

“We really shouldn’t—” she’s interrupted by another digit squeezing into her achy cunt, making her moan out at the sudden stretch.

“Don’t worry your little head over what we should ‘n shouldn’t do, alright? If you’re worried what your pathetic pogue friends might think, I don’t kiss ‘n tell. Can be our little secret, yeah?”

“Rafe, I don’t think we should…” she tries again.

“Shh. What did I just tell you, hm?” he hushes her with the expanse of his palm pressing against her clit, making her suppress another whimper.

“Promise to go slow?” she asks without a clue as to why she’s not trying to prevent this. What’s wrong with her?

“Of course,” his conformation doesn’t sound all too veracious when something hungry glints in his eyes.

“You gon’ let a kook show you what you’re missin’ hm?” he rumbles before he’s pushing her onto the couch and following soon after—mouth sloppy as it molds over her own and tongue warm when it intrudes her mouth, before quick fingers fumble with his belt until he’s tugging on the zipper of his pants, making her eyes flicker down when he takes himself out.

“You’re so big,” her rounded eyes stare at his cock, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip when she notices how it twitches in his hand in response.

“Shit, you think it’ll fit?” he wonders out loud before he’s grabbing her hips and dragging her closer with strong arms.

“I don’t know…” she trails off when he pulls down her shorts by the belt loops before the drippy tip is nudging at her entrance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he murmurs, and then he’s tucking himself right into her weepy cunt.

She cries out at the overwhelming stretch as she tries to accommodate to his size—thankful he’s not pushing all the way in yet because she already feels so full she’s not sure how she’s supposed to take any more of him.

“Fuck, you really are a tight little thing, huh? Relax, yeah?” he grunts before his mouth meets her neck, pasting wet kisses and letting the flat of his tongue lave over the sensitive skin there in an attempt to loosen her up. Then, he’s moving lower while his fingers pluck at the straps of her flimsy top—letting her tits out and taking a puffy nipple between his lips.

“Rafe…”

“What? You want more?” there’s almost a primal urge in the way he pushes in deeper—forcing a loud noise to tumble from the back of her throat when he begins to fill her up to the hilt.

“There you go, takin’ it like a good fuckin’ puppy, yeah?” he groans against her neck when her nails sink into his back, scratching downwards, sure to leave marks. Then he’s flipping her over onto her stomach with one swift movement before pushing all the way in once more—fitting snugly inside while her walls flutter around him.

Because of the new angle, his cock is now poking at her insides as he shoves her face into the couch cushions with each jostle of his hips. And he’s not gentle, she’s not even sure he knows what the word means as he keeps stuffing her full over and over again—making her see stars when she can almost feel her orgasm on the tips of her fingers. She feels so good she thinks she’s going to pass out.

“Such a dirty bitch, aren’t ya? Lettin’ a complete stranger fuck you like this in your own house?” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he keeps nudging at the spongy spot inside her while her loud moans echo around the room.

“Should stay here for longer, yeah? Jus’ fuck this tight little cunt whenever I get bored, hm?” he pants, mouthing at her neck while his thrusts begin to grow lazy.

And she has half the mind to agree.

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writingwisterias · 3 days ago

Text

To be kind

Leon Kennedy x AFAB! fem!Reader Role Reverse AU (Agent Reader x Civilian Leon) Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Baby Trapping, Heavy Breeding Kink, Angst, Nightmares, Postpartum depression mentions, Trauma, Fears of motherhood/pregnancy, Manhandling, Mating press (he's gotta make sure he gets it in there), creampie, Dom!Leon, Needy Leon, Dilf!Leon Words: 3.4k

Summary: All you have ever wanted is to be kind and look where that's got you. It's only fair now that Leon is kind enough to give you another baby to stop you from getting hurt. After all he just wants to keep you safe. For you ♥️ ILY

All you wanted to do in life was to give and be there for others in a way that people weren't there for you. Now you often find yourself whispering the words of comfort that you wished to hear from others for them. Encouraging the people in your life to achieve their dreams just as you wanted others to do for you. You desired to be kind, something that took more effort than being cruel and twisted like everything else in the world, it already had enough of that. You knew that your kindness is what led you on this path. Going from being a simple rookie trying to help out their future workplace to landing yourself in a dead end job with the highest level of responsibilities.

Holding many government ending secrets which plagued your mind like a curse; a back spot that you can never get rid of despite how hard you tried to wash it away. Those secrets held a reminder that you didn't deserve the privileges you gained from a quiet mouth and hard work. Especially not after the things you had done to get here, all the people you left behind in order to complete a mission. The same people that were brave enough to give up their life for you.

These were the same privileges that allowed you to create the perfect home life but you didn't get to live it, it wasn't for you. The universe wasn't kind enough for you to enjoy the large back garden or the summer breeze that drifted its way through the open windows. It was all for the man that lived in it and spent his spare time crafting it into the perfect home. You were just lucky. Lucky enough to have survived that night, to have survived anything you have been through and to be in the same lifetime to have met him. Leon, a partner sent from heaven. A regular boring cop with a heart of gold, who worked his way through the ranks just as you could have done. The shiny sheriff badge on his shoulder displays his achievements proudly.

He held a reflection on what your life should have been. Maybe in another timeline, you would have worked together and become the ideal couple working through the system and rank today. Partners in crime as you brought people to justice. Just like Batman and Robin as he always jokes. At least he knew your favourite hero and was willing to play the sidekick in your life. No questions asked despite the lingering bruises and scrapes you sported when you come home cloaked in a dark cape and tragic backstory.

Your nightmares were of a higher jurisdiction than he had access to, at least that you can be thankful of. He can't be plagued by the things you have seen. Leon worked hard at home to ensure you lived a dream, so that despite the endless missions the white picket fence was still an option for you. He didn't care about your responsibilities, about your devotion to the cause you fight for. How could he when you came home worse for wear every time? You killed and protected for this dream, he just didn't know it. Your responsibilities crushed it from flourishing without it even starting.

At least that's what you thought until the first set of pink lines happened. The distraction wasn't as welcome to you as it was to Leon, his hands splayed across your stomach with a large smile, his joy radiating off him for the rest of the day. Whilst your hands cradled it with dread, the worry and doubt filled your system early on as the bump formed. It was cute as his thumb would rub small circles over the skin like he was expecting a response this early.

You watched his behavior change as you got further along in the pregnancy, he made his demands for you to stay home vocal despite your love-hate relationship with the field. Your skill set was out there, not as a mother protecting a child from the monster under their bed. How could you lie to them and tell them it wasn't real when they were and you have seen them. You have the scars littering your skin as evidence of their existence as you fought against them. One across your heart, jagged and red, in response to the parasite a cult infected you with. A bullet wound now faded in its age, a reminder of your biggest betrayal on the night that started it all. Both come from experiences with monsters that should have stayed in the story books and not have been revived from the imaginations of a craved mad man looking for power.

The child came along quickly but the bond that should have followed after the birth didn’t. Leon suited the role, was proud of the title as his undamaged hands cradled the bundle of light. You were scared to stain the white blanket red, to taint her with the blood on your hands as you carried her and the weight of the world on your shoulders. It was just a cause from postpartum, the doctors claimed as Leon dragged you to the appointments, no longer being able to bear looking at you carelessly cradling the bundle to your chest. Finding it heartbreaking to witness the rejection and worries towards a surprise you weren’t excited for, he didn't know what caused your panic or fears about motherhood. It was a horrible secret, something you could and wouldn't express to him. You would end up dimming the light that radiated off him as he slid into fatherhood with ease, nurturing both you and baby as if it was second nature. As if once again he always knew his life would turn out like this.

The rejection you had against her didn’t last long, not when her smile would greet you in the mornings with unconditional love. Her tiny hands now more explorative than claiming, her fingers delicate against the scars as they traced them instead of their pinching and grabbing behavior before. You wonder what she thought of them, if they were pretty like Leon thought or told an ugly side to you like you imagined.

Those types of thought didn't really matter in the end as it became evident that the family you had created with him was now finally healing you. The eye bags you wore now lightening as you gained as much sleep as you could with a crying baby, your body fills out lightly again as you ate with Leon every night. A 6 month maternity leave was what you needed apparently, to heal and find yourself in something other than the weapons and skills you used to protect yourself. However, just as quick as it came the maternity leave ended and he watched you fall into the same cycle you had created before, the wall slowly building as you steeled yourself to face the harsh survival again. Your body is working hard to be able to shoulder all your burdens, the cold features returning as you walk through the door.

He hated what they did to you, what they forced you to become as he just did idle work for the community. Helping old ladies cross the road whilst he was on patrol, chasing after meaningless kids before they ruined their futures. He was the station's favourite, as was the little girl you both created. Her eyes danced around with wonder as he carried her around, her little fist clutched against his shirt whilst her head rested on his shoulder. They asked about you, how the birth was, about the recovery after. Cooed over the shared ability you both had at creating cute babies, questions of another one spilling from their lips in curiosity about their favourite officers life. “It’s better to have them close in age, they’ll look after each other if something happens.” they would say.

He knew what they were on about, he always did. You, the dangers that you faced in the role displayed on your own shiny badge that remained tucked in a pocket compared to on your shoulder like him. A job that reminded him life was short and precious, that every moment he spent with his family he should be grateful for.

Leon wanted nothing more than to plead and beg on the phone to them, just to let you rest. It had been years since you smiled truthfully, since the light in your eyes returned for more than just your wedding night. Your daughter and himself are now presented in your life as guardian angels, the people that help save you from yourself. Leon hated you leaving, not knowing if you were going to return or if he was going to be greeted with a half assed apology and an American flag being handed to him by two soldiers. He could never stand seeing the missing piece of the stupid key holder you got him for christmas. Forever waiting for your keychain to fill the missing piece of the puzzle, not only in the tacky key display but in the home itself.

He’ll blame his coworkers for putting the idea in his head, the seed that implanted in his brain which formed into his current plan to keep you safe and at home, at least for a little bit longer. He watched you shower through the reflection of the bathroom mirror, the steam he had wiped away coming back just as quick. You were fading from him again, retreating into your shell of darkness like it was some kind of punishment. In the fogged glass he could see that you had a multitude of new scrapes and cuts, some that he knew would scar adding to your already intensive collection.

Your eyes met him through the fogged glass noticing how his stare was intense and lustful as he scoured every inch of your body. It had been a while since you were both together, the interruption of your toddler didn’t help. Neither did the aches and pains of your first few missions, he didn’t seem to mind though. He never did. Leon would deal with his desires in other ways, your hand or his work perfectly with some lube and dirty words. However, tonight his cock throbbed with the need to be as deep as he could go, to be able to feel the sweet kiss of your cervix as he bred you. You didn’t know this, his plans to empty what he had let build in his balls whilst you were gone. However, you would have assumed he was ovulating with how intense his stare was and perhaps a creampie would be a good distraction and stress reliever.

A family friend had your daughter for a few days, as they always did when you got back. An agreement you had made with Leon in fear she would witness one of your possible nightmares. You were her strong mommy, a superhero that left to save people whilst Daddy stayed and helped the town. You hoped she would keep this idea and never witness what your superhero job did to you.

“You look pretty tired sweetheart.” Leon spoke, his frame leaning against the counter. If the shower screen wasn’t so misted up you would have noticed the prominent display of his erection through the grey sweats he wore. His legs crossed slightly like he was doing it on purpose, to display the goods he hadn’t touched for you. “When am I not tired? I’ve only been back to work for a few weeks and I feel like I need a holiday.” You sighed, facing the stream to wash the lathered soap off. Watching as the murky colour washed down the drain. The taint of corruption disappearing from the household.

“You look like you need a holiday.” Leon teased as he watched the suds flow off your breasts, now rounded and fuller since the first pregnancy, an unexpected but welcomed change. “Are you saying I look like shit? You wound me Kennedy.” You chuckled whilst turning the shower off and stepping out around the screen to finally see him face to face. “Oh darling, you look at anything but that.”

Leon shifted himself, his hips jolting out first pressing his need towards you as he drew your attention to him. He smirked as it worked, your eyes lighting up at the display and promise of his unconditional love towards you. “I think you look rather stunning actually.” He continued.

Leon stalked towards you, his hands landing on your hips rubbing his thumb along the skin in small tempting circles. The motion mimicking the same one he uses on your clit, soft, small infinity symbols, drawing them around your body like a spell. He knew your body like a map, understanding each small trigger to set you on fire, leaving you needy and desperate for him. Leon’s lips placed tempting kisses along your pulse point, sucking softly at a spot underneath your jawline as his fingers traced lower. He had a clear directive, a goal to be met as they finally teased your puffy lips. He gathered the arousal there, his clothes now damp as he tugged your body towards him.

Leon’s heady scent infected you, his cock was hard and twitching against your bare pussy. “I feel like this is a little unfair. You can get me worked up while I’m naked but I have to suffer with the outline through some sweats and a compression shirt.” You pouted, a smirk creeping in slowly as he pulled you closer. Leon’s breath teased the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Let’s do something about that then.”

He lifted you with ease, your thighs squeezing his hips as he walked you to the bedroom. Your kiss never broke until you landed on the bed. He groaned at the sight of your body in the dim lighting, droplets that still lingered on your skin making you glow. You watched as the fabric slipped over his head, showcasing his well maintained physic. Your eyes eagerly follow his happy trail to where his fingers now teased along the waistband of his sweatpants. Leon chuckled at the squirm you offered him as he exposed his impressive and needy length, the sight never getting any less arousing despite the years the two of you have been together.

His tip was leaking pre cum, wasting the precious droplets on the sheets as he crawled above you. “I love how you are always so ready for me sweetheart.” He said as his tip ran along the length of your pussy, coating himself with your arousal. You whimpered at the feeling of him slotting himself between your lips, his tip catching your clit with slow teasing prods of stimulation. Your hands grasped at his forearms as your nails left your own marks along his untouched skin. The red trails fading in your memory as he notched himself at your entrance, sighing as he finally began to press his length inside.

Each inch he gave you was glorious, stretching your cunt perfectly allowing you to lose your mind in his gentle rhythm. Leon was always good at helping you float away from your responsibilities. The horrors fade to the background of your mind as his pace increases. He loved the way you writhed beneath him, your arms now outstretching above your head gripping the sheets with an iron grip. Your chest arched towards him, displaying your perfect tits whilst whining as his lips made contact with them. He started sucking softly against your nipple as it peaked. His tongue circling it occasionally grazing his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Tender marks leaving in his wake, painting his own mark against the other spots that decorated over your skin.

Leon worshiped you, every scar, every bump that you had to offer. All holding a story of your survival. His mind began to fill with his intentions, the primal drive to push himself further and further inside your warmth. He needed to flood your insides with himself so you had no other option but to take it. He would press himself as far as he needed for that to become possible. As his frame began to tower over you, he pressed your legs into your chest, folding your body in the perfect way to drill himself inside. You felt his thighs squeeze your hips, his were thrusts now deeper and harder, his length barely pulling out before he pressed it back in. Your eyes fluttered shut, allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling of him overpowering you.

“Fuck sweetheart, doing such a good job at taking me so deep” He groaned, “I got to get it deeper though, think you can take it baby?”

Leon smiled at your small nod, your eyebrows pinching as his constant thrust brought you to overstimulation. He could feel your cunt squeeze him tightly, sucking him further inside. You needed this as much as him, your cunt practically begging to be creampied. He wondered if despite your initial protests of the first pregnancy that you would want this one as well, that maybe you loved being filled with his claim. His tightened balls slapped against your ass as he continued his grinding thrusts, your cunt screaming and gushing with your arousal as you finally lost yourself in the pleasure he gifted you. “I’ll keep you safe like this baby, keep you home and protected” He grunted, his thoughts unravelling as the internal chant to go deeper began.

He obeyed his instincts, driving his cock head deeper and deeper inside, giving your cunt more than it could take of him. Your pelvis ached with his abuse, your clit screaming white hot pleasure as his wisps of hair teased it. “Leon–” You moaned, eyes fluttered back as you attempted to arch into him. His entire body prevented it, keeping you trapped in his methodic movements. His concentration never broke, his mind missing the announcement of your second orgasm as his cock twitched frantically inside you.

Leon was painfully rigid, allowing your walls to feel every inch and vein he had to offer. His own release surprised him as he began to thrust it inside of you. Filling you to the brim whilst making a mess of it as it spilled out. “Fuck, gotta get it deeper, make sure it takes. It’s gotta take, to keep you home” he groaned, pushing his load further. The overspill didn’t matter, not when he would take advantage of the time alone you both had, spending every moment filling you so his goal was achieved.

In your world he was powerless, he had nothing to stand on to keep you home, to ensure that you were healthy and happy. The government couldn’t stop your growing family, couldn’t send you out on the field whilst you were filled with him. “I’ll make sure it works, I’ll keep you happy baby…keep you safe”

You should have been more concerned with his words, as he admitted his overpowering thoughts on your body. Yet, as he eased you into the right mindset, the perfect one for thinking about nothing but the warmth that flooded through you, instead of your responsibilities in the world.

The arousal lingered in your nerves, your aches of pain from battle being replaced with the ones he caused. “I love you, I need you safe” Leon whispered, pressing a kiss against your brows. He manoeuvred your conjoined bodies, not allowing his semi hard cock to slip from your pussy and allow his load to spill anymore than it already did. Your head moved with his heaving breaths, slowly slipping into a peaceful rest before he repeated his process.

All he wanted was to keep you safe, you had done your part for the world. Your body is decorated in the marks that they caused, the history of whatever you had been through. Whilst he was inspired by your bravery he needed you here, like this, with him. “I love you too leon” You replied, your body becoming dead weight as you drifted off. His twitching cock keeps you plugged full, ensuring his desires become true and trapping you in the safety of the house he had built for the growing family he had planned.

#~mads rambles #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy #dividers by elleisdesigning

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coniferouspines · 1 month ago

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Another snippet inspired by @babyblankyerror ’s Dr. Pinington AU.

“Stanley, are you—?” Stanford stopped dead upon entering his brother’s office, standing in the doorway dumbstruck as he took in the sight before him.

Stanley was sitting on the floor, leaning over one of those life-sized anatomy models one would normally find in a university biology classroom. He was dressed in his favourite lab coat, the one that was too big for him with the sleeves that would slip down past his hands. Surrounding both him and the anatomy model was a large array of stuffed animals, all posed in different positions. Some were set up to hold various medical instruments, while others were holding fake plastic organs. A few more seemed to simply be observers.

Mr. Rabid was right on top of the model’s open chest cavity, sitting on the fake lungs. It wore a little nurses’ cap on its head and a mini lab coat that Stanley had clearly sewn together himself. It looked to be watching Stanley as he rooted about in the model’s body, seeming very intent with… whatever his task was.

“What are you doing?” Stanford asked, thoroughly dumbfounded.

He’d watched Stanley poke around in actual dead bodies before and remove their organs, and that had been less confusing than this. At least those bodies had been real and something could be done with their parts. This was a plastic model.

Stanley turned at the sound of his voice and cracked one of those eerie smiles (Stanford refused to think about how they were starting to become more endearing than creepy at this point). “Hey, Sixer!” Stanley said cheerfully. He waved a hand in greeting, the long sleeve of his lab coat flapping about.

“Hi, Stanley,” Stanford said patiently. “Again, what are you doing? What’s with all the—” He gestured wordlessly to all the plushies.

“Well, we haven’t had a patient or even a body to… have fun with… for a while and I’m bored. And if I’m bored… then my friends are probably bored too! So I figured I should include them… because no one likes feeling left out.” Stan beamed like he was proud of himself, looking at Stanford with those big, mismatched eyes.

Stanford blinked as the puzzle pieces clicked together in his brain. “Wait, Stanley, are you—You’re playing?”

“Uh-huh!” Stanley tapped his misspelt name badge. “The doctor is… in session! Or something. Whatever they say.”

He stuck his tongue out at Stanford in a goofy manner, and for a brief moment, Stanford’s mind overlaid the image of the man before him with a much younger version, with a boy in a white and red striped shirt. He had the same look on his face: giddy, innocent in the way only a child could be, yet mischievous and bold.

Stanford didn’t know what to say. His brother was playing make-believe surgery with his stuffed animals and a plastic anatomy model. There was something almost sweet about it, if one ignored how odd it was for a grown man to be doing so. Then again, Stanley had gained a lot of new…oddities…since his incident. Most of them Stanford wrote off as being from brain damage that the botched lobotomy had done to him.

So this was fine. Stanford could accept this. Even if it was a little unsettling, Stanley wasn’t hurting anyone by doing this. There were worse things he could do than play pretend in his free time.

“Did you… want to join me?” Stanley had cocked his head to the side, staring at Stanford with hopeful eyes.

“Actually, I was coming to ask if you wanted to join me,” Stanford said. “I was going to go get lunch. Did you want to come?”

Stanley jumped to his feet, nearly tripped over the hem of his too-large lab coat, pin wheeled his arms wildly to keep his balance, then bounced over to Stanford excitedly. “Yes!”

“Calm down,” Stanford chided, though a smile tugged at his lips at the overeager display. “It’s just lunch.”

He led the way down the hall, Stanley practically skipping behind him.

#Stan is such a little guy #I am here for it #he’s just having fun!#if you can’t get real kidneys plastic will do #for the moment #soon he’ll be robbing graves again #gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls au #dr pinington #fanfic

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere lucky egg Welt Yang?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Welt Yang x Reader

[Lucky Egg Dispenser]

Just a silly game, a gimmick at best. You thought.

But when you received the egg, something told you this was different. The vendor said it would hatch in three days, but by the second night, something strange happened.

As you lay in bed, a strange pull dragged you toward the egg. It was unlike anything you had felt before—like gravity itself was bending around you, sucking you in. Before you could scream, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you were inside.

A vast void stretched infinitely in all directions. Stars blinked in and out of existence. The weight of the universe crushed against you, yet at its center, a figure stood. His silhouette was imposing, his glasses reflecting an unreadable light. His voice echoed through the space.

"So you’re the chosen one."

You barely had time to comprehend before reality snapped back. You gasped, now back in your room, the egg still resting on your desk—silent, unchanged. Had that been… a dream?

By the third night, cracks raced along the shell. Light spilled from within, painting the dark room in a golden glow.

He stepped out.

As the egg cracked open and the light faded, you expected something to be fragile, small, and needing care. Instead, a person stood before you, composed, and radiating an aura of wisdom. He adjusted his glasses, his expression calm, his deep voice broke the silence.

"I must apologize. This is likely unexpected for you."

His tone was gentle, polite, so carefully measured, like he had already accepted this new reality without hesitation. He examined his surroundings before looking back at you with the weight of someone who had lived countless lifetimes.

"I am Welt Yang. And it seems I was meant to come to you."

Your mind raced with questions.

"Why are you fully grown? How did you come from an egg? What happens now?"

The next few days were surreal. Welt adapted seamlessly to your home. He moved through your space with quiet grace—reading books you had long since abandoned, and speaking only when necessary.

When you tried to ask him about his origins, he would smile.

"I have existed before, in many ways, in many places. But here, now—this is where I am meant to be."

You noticed the small things first.

He always positioned himself between you and the door, as if instinctively protective.

His gaze followed you—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was memorizing every detail.

When you spoke, he listened too well, as if dissecting every word, every emotion behind it.

----

You weren’t sure if shopping was something Welt would enjoy, but you figured it was necessary—he had come from an egg, fully grown, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The city was a blend of modern technology and old fantasy, towering skyscrapers laced with enchanted neon signs, trains that floated along invisible tracks, and adventurers in sleek, reinforced gear heading toward dungeons to farm points for their next upgrade.

As you walked through the bustling shopping district, Welt remained calm as always. His gaze lingered on technological displays, arcane artifacts, and the strange blend of magic-infused machinery.

"This world is fascinating" he murmured, adjusting his glasses.

You led him into a high-end boutique, a mix of modern fashion infused with enchanted materials. Welt didn’t resist, but he also didn’t seem particularly excited—his approach to shopping was practical, efficient, yet undeniably elegant.

He ran his fingers over the fabric of a long coat, analyzing the enchantments woven into it. "Durability enhancement… a fine choice."

You encouraged him to pick what he liked, but he only sighed softly. "If I must, I will choose what is necessary. But if it pleases you, then… I shall wear what you prefer."

You didn’t enter dungeons often, but you figured Welt might want something useful—perhaps a weapon, a device, or something enchanted for protection. To your surprise, he was far more interested in books. He browsed an ancient tome filled with combat theories, occasionally nodding as if confirming information he already knew.

"You have dungeons here… fascinating. Are you well-versed in combat?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. "I can manage. But I’m no expert."

"Then perhaps I should accompany you next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt."

The store was packed with enchanted trinkets, weapons, and gear for dungeon explorers. You reached out to grab something—a sleek, rune-etched device—but in your distraction, you misstepped. The uneven flooring caught your foot, and in an instant, gravity betrayed you.

But before you could even hit the ground, a soft yet firm force caught you mid-air.

A low, familiar tap echoed through the store—Welt's cane against the floor. A subtle distortion rippled around you, as if space itself had bent to his will.

You were weightless, suspended just inches above the ground before gravity gently readjusted, setting you back on your feet as if nothing had happened.

"I would suggest being more careful. But… I suppose I shall always be here to catch you."

---

One evening, you returned from a dungeon, exhausted. You barely managed to set your gear down before sinking onto the couch.

You didn’t expect him to say anything—Welt wasn’t one for unnecessary words.

Instead, he simply walked to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain, the quiet hum of a kettle. And then, moments later, he set down a cup of tea beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Drink"

You hesitated, then took a sip. The warmth spread through you, soothing, grounding.

And then, rather than returning to his own space, he stayed.

Not speaking, not hovering—just there, reading, sipping his own tea.

---

The marketplace was full of people—merchants shouting their wares, adventurers bargaining for supplies, enchanted displays flashing prices in shifting runes. You had been here countless times before, yet today, the crowd felt denser. You were focused on a shop window, eyeing a sleek new dungeon scanner, when the sudden shove of a passerby knocked you off balance.

A pressure settled against your lower back, keeping you upright.

"Careful" Welt's voice came, steady as always. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from you.

You turned to him, half-expecting a comment, a lecture on paying attention. But he only adjusted his glasses, nothing more.

"Didn’t expect the market to be this crowded today."

Welt hummed in agreement but didn’t step away. If anything, he shifted slightly—positioning himself between you and the chaotic stream of people passing by.

Another person brushed too close, and this time, Welt moved again, subtly steering you toward the safer edge of the walkway.

You glanced at him, a question forming on your tongue, but he spoke first.

"Shall we keep moving?" His tone was neutral, polite—as if he hadn’t just repositioned himself to guard your every step.

You nodded, falling into step beside him.

He was always paying attention. Always watching out for you.

And for the first time, you wondered—just how long had he been doing this?

----

The dungeon loomed before you—an ancient structure half-swallowed by time, its entrance pulsing with an eerie glow. You had been inside dungeons before, but never without a solid reason. This time, Welt was with you. And this time, you didn’t know what was waiting ahead.

The party of twenty adventurers stood at the entrance, murmuring strategies, double-checking equipment. A mix of veterans and newcomers, all here for the same reason—to farm, to survive. You adjusted your gear, your grip tightening around your weapon.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

You turned to him. He was dressed in sleek, reinforced attire, different from his usual formal wear but still undeniably his style.

"As ready as I’ll ever be." you replied.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded.

The moment the dungeon gates sealed behind you, chaos erupted.

A tremor shook the ground, and before anyone could react, a force split the party apart—an unseen magic carving an impassable wall between you and the others. The stone beneath your feet shifted, rearranging the dungeon itself.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, guttural growl echoed from the dark.

Your Battle: The Abyssal Maw

The chamber you had been forced into was massive, its walls lined with dripping black stone, pulsing like a living thing. In the center, a hulking creature uncurled itself from the shadows—a beast with jagged obsidian scales, eyes like molten gold, and a mouth lined with spiraling rows of fangs.

Your instincts screamed at you to move. The moment its claws lashed out, you barely dodged, feeling the wind of its attack slice past you.

"Tch—this is bad."

You had fought before. You could hold your own. But this thing was different. It moved with terrifying speed despite its massive frame, and the magic-infused air weighed you down, making every movement sluggish.

You launched a strike, a well-placed slash aimed for its exposed side—but the moment your blade connected, a pulse of energy repelled the attack, sending you skidding back.

"It’s reflecting damage?!"

No. Not reflecting. Absorbing. The wounds you had managed to land were already closing, as if the dungeon itself was sustaining it.

Then, the floor quivered beneath you—black tendrils shooting up, aiming to ensnare you.

You dodged too late.

A sharp pull yanked you downward, the abyss-like tendrils tightening around your limbs. The beast's maw opened wide, its next attack coming straight for you—

Welt’s Battle: The Chrono Tyrant

Elsewhere in the dungeon, Welt stood alone.

His battlefield was different—a massive, circular chamber lined with golden clockwork mechanisms, gears the size of buildings shifting with ominous precision. The air thrummed with magic, time itself feeling… distorted.

And standing in the center, a creature of regal terror.

Its form was humanoid but grotesquely elongated, draped in flowing robes made of shifting sands. A golden mask, cracked and ancient, covered its face, and in its skeletal hands, it held a massive staff with an hourglass embedded within.

With a mere flick of its wrist, the entire world slowed.

Welt’s body reacted before his mind fully processed it—his movements suddenly delayed, weighted. The Tyrant had activated its Temporal Field, distorting the flow of time in its favor.

Welt exhaled, adjusting his grip on his cane. "Hmph. A manipulation of time? I see… then I shall correct it."

The Tyrant struck first, golden chains of pure energy snapping toward him. Welt tapped his cane against the ground, and gravity warped.

The chains veered off course, thrown aside by an invisible force—but not entirely. A second chain materialized mid-air, twisting against the very rules of space and catching Welt's coat.

Time bent.

A vision flashed before him—a glimpse into a possible future. A strike to his left. A trap forming beneath his feet. The slowing of his pulse.

He adjusted.

His footwork shifted, moving not just in reaction, but in expectation. His power countered the Tyrant’s own—where it sought to manipulate time, Welt adjusted space.

The battle was not one of brute force.

It was a war of who could rewrite reality first.

As you struggled against the Abyssal Maw, as Welt confronted the Chrono Tyrant, one thought echoed between you both.

"Where are you?"

Because if you had already fallen—

Then neither of them had any reason to hold back.

Welt did not rush.

Even as the Chrono Tyrant screeched in defiance, the golden hourglass embedded in its staff fracturing, even as the dungeon trembled beneath his calculated strikes—he remained measured.

The moment he had seen through its abilities, the battle had already ended. With one final tap of his cane against the air, the very gravity of the chamber shifted.

The Tyrant lurched, its elongated form crushed under its own weight, ancient mechanisms groaning as time itself unraveled. Gears halted, sand reversed, and in one final, distorted wail—it shattered.

He had no time to linger.

His cane tapped against nothingness, and as if the air itself had become solid ground, he walked.

Not forward—up.

The laws of physics bent to his command as he ascended through the dungeon’s fractured space, his coat billowing in the unnatural wind. The dungeon itself was warping, sections of its structure breaking apart from his influence.

And then, he saw you. You were still struggling.

The Abyssal Maw was relentless, its black tendrils tightening, its body regenerating faster than you could wound it. Your breaths were labored, your body aching from the sheer force of resisting its pull.

It was only then that you felt it.

Your head snapped upward, and there, standing above you, as if gravity itself had ceased to matter, was Welt.

His cane tapped once against the empty space beneath his feet.

"KNEEL."

The very air shuddered as an unseen force crashed downward.

The Abyssal Maw collapsed. Its massive body slammed into the ground, the weight of existence itself crushing it into the dungeon floor.

And you, despite your resistance, were forced down as well. Your knees hit the stone, your breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of the gravitational pull.

Everything was on their knees before him.

The Abyssal Maw let out a strangled, guttural roar, but it could no longer move. The force holding it was absolute.

Welt descended then, slow, deliberate, his polished shoes touching the dungeon floor with elegance befitting a king. His shadow loomed over the beast as he approached, and then—one final tap of his cane.

The weight increased.

The beast’s body cracked.

Its form imploded into itself, crushed under its own mass until nothing remained but a whisper of the abyss.

"Are you hurt?"

What had once been a party of twenty was now reduced to a handful of survivors. The rest—gone. Some torn apart by unseen forces, others crushed beneath collapsing structures.

The dungeon had never been this brutal before.

You and Welt stood among the wreckage, taking in the eerie stillness that followed the battle. It wasn’t victory—it was survival, and barely at that.

Then—a new presence.

You turned.

At the far end of the ruined battlefield, half-shrouded in shadows, stood her. A girl. Purple hair cascading like silk, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. No expression. No hostility. Just… watching.

Yet—the sheer pressure of her presence sent a chill down your spine.

You gripped your weapon instinctively.

Welt, however, stiffened in a way you had never seen before.

And then—a flood of something.

Memories. Not yours. His.

You saw it in the way his hand trembled against his cane, his usually composed expression shifting into something unreadable.

A whisper of a name—long buried, long forgotten.

But this was not the time.

"Retreat," Welt ordered, voice steady despite everything. "Now."

You ran.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Welt Yang retreat—not out of weakness, but out of understanding.

Because whatever she was—

Even he wasn’t certain he could win.

Welt led the retreat with calculated precision. Not a single wasted motion, not a glance back—just forward. His grip on his cane was tighter than usual, his breaths controlled but heavier.

The survivors—those few who remained—followed, their footsteps unsteady, half-limping, half-running through the shifting corridors of the dungeon. The walls trembled, reality distorting in ways it shouldn’t.

Behind you, there was no pursuit.

No sound.

But the presence of her remained, like something watching from beyond a veil.

Welt felt it more than anyone.

Memories that did not belong to the present flooded him. Visions of battles fought in another time, another place. The cold sensation of déjà vu, of knowing something yet not remembering why.

"Welt!" Your voice snapped him back.

The exit was so close. The dungeon’s magic was shifting—trying to keep you in. Welt’s mind worked fast. He saw the exit crumbling before it even happened, understood the physics of collapse before the first stone fell.

"Keep moving!" He ordered.

A single tap of his cane against the air. The dungeon’s gravity twisted, shifting against itself. For a brief moment, space folded—a shortcut carved into reality. The survivors didn’t hesitate. They dived through the opening, one by one, escaping just before the structure sealed again.

You followed, but just as you passed the threshold, you turned—Welt was still inside.

The weight of memories, the presence of her, the strain of controlling the very dungeon itself—it slowed him, just for a second.

And in that second, the dungeon walls collapsed toward him.

"WELT!"

Another tap. A shift in space.

And then—he was beside you. The dungeon sealed shut behind him.

You barely had time to breathe before the survivors started counting their numbers, checking wounds, assessing what was lost.

Welt, however, was silent.

"Welt?" You asked, cautious.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then—he exhaled. "It seems we have more to investigate."

----

Welt had always carried a calm vibe, so steady that it makes you depend on him. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he remained unshaken.

But now, he was burning up. His body, usually so composed, lay fevered beneath the dim glow of your room.

You had done everything you could. Cooling cloths, potions, even magic-infused remedies. Nothing worked.

The nightmares never stopped.

Then—the system board appeared.

It flickered into existence before your eyes, its interface an unnatural light against the darkened room. A choice.

[Welt Yang is unresponsive. External interference detected. Do you wish to enter his consciousness?]

Your fingers hesitated.

Then—you pressed [Yes].

The world blurred.

And then, you fell.

Inside Welt’s Dream

You landed on solid ground—yet it felt… wrong. Like the weight of existence was shifting beneath your feet.

The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow twisting unnaturally. The air carried a heavy, suffocating stillness.

And ahead—Welt.

But he wasn’t himself.

He stood at the center of the dreamscape, frozen. His form was both him and not him, flickering between past and present. His eyes—haunted.

And then—a whisper.

"You should not be here."

Not from Welt.

From the dream itself.

A shadow shifted at the edges of your vision. Something watching. Something waiting.

But you had no time to hesitate.

You stepped forward. Toward him. Toward whatever had him trapped in this nightmare.

You approached carefully, the unstable ground beneath you shifting with every step. Welt remained frozen, caught in a battle you couldn’t see—a war within his own mind.

But then—a red-haired girl appeared.

She stood not far from Welt, her expression unreadable. As if she had expected you.

"You came for him."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not a threat, not an enemy—something else entirely.

The dreamscape shuddered. Reality here was breaking.

Welt let out a sharp breath—a flicker of consciousness, a struggle to return.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped between them.

"Let him go."

The girl tilted her head.

"You think I am keeping him here?"

The dream pulsed. Your heartbeat quickened.

You could fight. You could force her out. But something told you she wasn’t here to destroy.

She was a presence of the past.

"He doesn’t belong here anymore."

For a moment, she just watched you. Then, she smiled.

"Perhaps he doesn’t."

The dream began to crumble. The world around you brightened, the suffocating weight lifting.

And as she faded, dissolving into the cracks of memory, her final words echoed—

"Take care of him."

A final whisper. A final glance at Welt.

Then—she was gone.

The moment she disappeared, Welt gasped, collapsing forward.

You caught him.

The dream shattered—

And the two of you woke up.

You stretched as you got up, ready to cook something—your body needed food after everything that had happened. But just as you turned toward the kitchen, you felt a gentle pull on your sleeve.

He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere past you, his grip light yet unwilling to let go.

"Stay."

You hesitated.

But then—your stomach betrayed you. A low, unmistakable growl broke the silence.

Welt finally let go. "Go on, then," he murmured. "Take care of yourself first."

Even as he let you go, you could feel his gaze follow you until you disappeared into the kitchen.

As you sat down with your freshly made meal, you let out a satisfied sigh. Finally, food. You scooped up a spoonful, about to take your first bite—

And then, in a blink, it was gone.

You stared at your now-empty spoon in confusion before following its trajectory—right to Welt, who had the audacity to be calmly chewing after swiping your food.

"Welt!" you exclaimed.

He barely looked fazed. With a small, deliberate motion, he tapped his cane against the floor and adjusted his glasses.

"To think of it," he mused, completely ignoring your glare, "I shouldn’t waste food, should I?"

Oh. Oh, he did not just say that.

"That was my food!" you huffed, scooting away protectively with your plate. "You literally said you weren’t hungry!"

Welt simply tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint, unreadable smile. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

"Thank you for the food." he said.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Fine. Next time, I’ll just have someone else cook for me."

The moment you said that, you felt it.

Welt didn’t outwardly react, but something changed in the air. His fingers tightened slightly against his cane, his shoulders going just a bit too still.

"Someone else?"

You shrugged, missing the way his gaze darkened ever so slightly. "Yeah, maybe a friend or—"

The sharp clink of a spoon being set down cut you off.

You turned to see Welt calmly placing the stolen utensil beside your plate. His expression was still polite, still composed—but something in his eyes told you that he was absolutely not amused.

"I see." He leaned back slightly, "Perhaps I should make sure you have no need for… others."

Before you could question that slightly ominous statement, you sighed instead, choosing to ignore the weird tension he just created.

Looking at him now—this grumpy, elegant, thief of food—you couldn’t help but think about everything you had been through together. The dungeon, the sickness, the nightmares… and somehow, here you were.

You softened a little.

"From now on," you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, "I’ll be in your care."

The tension that had wrapped around Welt instantly unraveled.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, his entire demeanor shifted.

Gone was the faint edge in his voice, the almost possessive glint in his eye. Instead, something gentler took its place.

He sighed, a small, nearly invisible smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well," he murmured, voice softer now. "From now on, I’ll be in your care as well."

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