#Sling model

[kirantech]

Accessing Component Policies in AEM through the Component Sling Model

Problem Statement: How can I utilize component policies chosen at the template level to manage the visibility of specific field content within the component’s Sling model code? Introduction: AEM has integrated component policies as a pivotal element of the editable template feature. This functionality empowers both authors and developers to provide options for configuring the comprehensive…

[nikkinelson1313]

[violettenightshade]

Soaking up every ray of the summer solstice. 🌞 May we be reminded of the light within and around us. ✨

[bagsglobaal]

https://bagsglobal.com/category/bags-global/outdoor-bags/

[shouyuus]

18+, mdni, vi-shaped but what else is new

car mechanic!vi who's basically been working at her dad's autoshop hounds auto since she was like seven years old, running around handing vander the fuel pressure meter and fetching water, who grows up in the garage to the point that all vander's regulars know her by name and also all her favorite sweets (bc she DOES have a sweet tooth, despite her tomboy looks).

car mechanic!vi who's closet is exclusively stained gray tanktops, leather jackets gifted to her by all her dad's patrons, and old denim from thrift shops bc she likes how they feel worn in and also why bother getting "nice" clothes if they're just gonna get greased up anyway? who hums to herself when she's working, always has a cool beer chilling in the garage fridge and is doing her best to make sure she can send powder to caltech bc she knows her sister is a genius and is gonna be like a rocket scientist one day.

car mechanic!vi who laughs when you pull up one day with your 1960's cherry red corvette, climbing out of the driver's seat with your white fishnets and your pink croptop and your plaid miniskirt, your heart-shaped sunglasses propped on top of perfectly blown out bangs, and the only thing vi can think when she lands eyes on you is how much she'd enjoy taking you apart on the hood of your car, your thighs hiked onto her shoulders, your palm-prints inked into the bright red paint of your car.

car mechanic!vi who grins slow, slings a greasy towel on her shoulder as she comes out to greet you, hitching an eyebrow as you motion towards the car, your cheeks stained the most adorable shade of pink she's ever seen, saying --

"i think there's something wrong with it --" but when you purse your perfectly glossed, cherry-tinted lips, vi has to force herself not to lose focus because sweet baby jesus on a harley, that should be illegal.

"-- think you can help...?" you shuffle your feet, glancing at her even as she takes her time looking you over, doing nothing to hide the way her eyes rake over the length of your body and back up again.

"sure thing, sweets. mind if i pop the front?"

you swallow, nodding eagerly; vi doesn't miss the way your eyes linger on her arms and perhaps flexes harder than is absolutely necessary when opening up the front hood of the car.

car mechanic!vi who bends over to take a closer look and actually does miss the way you physically have to tear your eyes away from the bend of her ass, because holy shit? it does not help that vi shifts to lean further into the hood, a slip of skin peaking out from beneath her tanktop, and suddenly, there's a spring-water rush of blood behind your ears, threatening to drown out all other sound as she pulls back with a shrug.

"looks like the cooling system's busted," she says, scratching at the back of her neck, frowning as she looks back at you, "there's a couple things we can do --"

you swallow, "just a couple?" you ask, before you can stop yourself. you squeeze your eyes shut as the words leave your mouth. woops. fuck.

car mechanic!vi who blinks, cocking her head at you before a smirk teases across her lips. she leans back against the front of your car, crossing her arms loosely over her chest.

"yeah, for the car. but... dunno, if you wanna stick around for a bit, i can think of a ton more things we can do..."

you lick your lips, scuffing your mary janes against the cool pavement of her garage.

"define a bit... and also a ton..."

vi's grin is crooked; there's a fox-bright gleam in her eyes as she pushes off the car and makes her way towards you -- and for a moment, you can't help but wonder if she's a lamb in wolf's clothing, or perhaps (the thought singes a tantalizing line up your spine) just the damned wolf itself.

car mechanic!vi who tells you that for the car, she can either order all the parts that have suffered wear and tear, and then just replace them.

"issue with that is, in these older models, even with the parts replaced, it won't last you too long before you'll need them redone again."

"so..." you teeter, looking around at the various tools hung across the walls, every inch of space utilized to maximize efficiency, the high ceilings, the slow-turning fans, the propped up cars, some missing the front two wheels, some just a skeleton of mechanical parts.

"but lucky for you, one of my old man's pals just put a brand new crossflow radiator into his 1960's corvette, and he paid me to help him rig it. and i can do the same for you."

by the way vi smiles, it's obvious that this is the option she thinks you should go for. you blink.

"cross... flow... what?"

vi stares for a few seconds before letting out a startled laugh.

"wait -- i thought you said this was your car?"

you nod, fiddling with your hands behind your back.

"and... you've got no idea how to take care of a vintage car like this, do you?"

you shake your head, feeling a now-familiar heat prickling into your cheeks.

"my -- my dad got it for me for my 21st birthday..." you say, just on the other side of petulant.

car mechanic!vi who hums low in her throat and closes the distance between you in a few quick steps, a hand drifting up to trace along the line of our cheek.

"and you're just daddy's little princess, aren't you?" she asks, noticing with a dull ache in her belly, the way your breath hitches at the word princess.

she bites back another smirk as you bob your head once, your eyes flickering down to her lips before refocusing on her again.

"well..." she draws out the word, tugging back, a satisfied warmth pooling in her chest at the way your lips push out into perfect pout at her distance, "if you wanna give you daddy a call to ask what he might want..." she lets her words trail off. but you're already shaking your head, your eyes bright, your expression over-eager.

(she thinks you just might be the end of her; if she doesn't end you first.)

"no!" you squeak, "i -- i mean -- whatever you think is best --" you amend hurriedly, blushing something furious as vi leans back up against her workbench, her gaze locked on the shape of you, the hunger in her eyes now so evident that it sparks goosepimples down the lengths of your arms.

"yeah? you trust me that much, pretty girl?"

you nearly go into anaphylactic shock; your lashes flutter.

vi thinks she might honestly blow a fuse as you look shyly back at her, your gaze somehow both molten and hard.

"y-yeah. i do. i -- i trust you."

car mechanic!vi who wastes no time drawing up a plan for your repairs, but when you glance over the receipt, you notice that the number at the bottom is way, way too long, and you're fairly certain (even in your advanced stages of crush-induced lightheadedness) dollar amounts aren't usually broken up by dashes.

"is this... where i should send the payment?" you ask, holding up the handwritten receipt.

vi grins, tossing you a look over her shoulder as she steps out from behind the wheel of your car, now parked safely in her garage.

"nope. that's just my number."

"your..." you look back down at the scribbled series of digits. oh.

"so... are you gonna text me the final cost?"

vi chuckles, "sure, sweets -- if that's what you'd like. and if you're feelin' real frisky -- we can text about other stuff too."

your breath catches in your throat like thread around a barbed wire fence. you nearly drop the receipt.

"l-like what?" you ask.

"oh... i dunno..." vi says, the tease now obvious in her voice as she makes her way around the shop, gathering this tool and that, bending down to haul a massive toolbox from beneath a set of shelves. your mouth physically waters at the flex in her biceps as she carries it all back over to her workbench.

"maybe about the kinda coffee you like," she says, leisurely, "or how you'd like your eggs in the morning."

car mechanic!vi who wastes no time in asking if you'd like to go out the next day, because as much as she really loves the thought of pinning you to the hood of your car right then and there, a part of her wants to do this properly. and, she muses, there's no better foreplay than sharing a banana split sundae with a pretty girl.

she sends you on your way with the receipt tucked into your miniature handbag ("what's that even hold anyway?" "uhm... my card wallet, the keys, and lip gloss!" "...ah. of course. all the most essential things.") and a promise to pick you up the following day, since your ride's temporarily out of commission ("don't worry, sweets, i'll take real good care of this baby right here." you immediately wonder if it's normal to feel jealous of a car).

and pick you up she does, at 6pm on the dot, in black pants so tight they might've been painted on, and a cropped leather jacket, though you hear her revving her motorbike a full 30 seconds before her text dings on your phone --

look outside, sweetness.

car mechanic!vi who is so polite to your rather bewildered parents, smiles wide and charming, easily slips into conversation with your dad about the vintage cars in his collection, calls your mom "m'aam" and compliments her pearl earrings, promises not to keep you out too late. so that by the time she tells you to swing onto the bike behind her, you're convinced that your parents might like her more than they like you.

"hold on tight, princess." is all she says before she rips off down the street of your cul de sac and you're yelping, burying your face in her back, the leather of her jacket butter-soft and warm against your skin.

car mechanic!vi who's just a bit too smug and more than a little smitten when she has to help you off her bike in the parking lot of the cute little retro-themed diner downtown, you shaking out your hair from the helmet she'd handed you, your cheeks painted sunset as she guides you into the restaurant with a palm at the small of your back.

who enjoys talking to you way too much, who wants to bottle up the sound of your laughter in one of those old fashioned coca-cola bottles, all sweet and bubbly, and save it for the summer afternoons when the air's thick enough to slick the skin, pop it open and pour it down her throat, swallow around the sound of you, giggling into the curly fries, debating with her about the perfect ketchup-to-mustard ratio for the most optimum fry-eating experience.

car mechanic!vi who tells you that the sundaes here are the best in town, and nearly melts at how bright your eyes get, how excited you look as you nod and flag down the waitress to order one.

"just one?" the waitress asks.

"trust me, one is more than enough," vi answers smoothly, shooting you a wink that might've induced heart failure in a weaker soul (and you truly do not think you're one of god's strongest soldiers bc you definitely had to take a mental breather after that).

but it turns out that she was quite right, because the banana split is huge. dauntingly-sized. and vi perhaps has too good of a time watching you gape over it (she's not at all thinking about how your cute lil mouth, so round now, would look stretched over her strap, not at all nope, nope, nope) before motioning for you to dig in.

car mechanic!vi who thinks, for the first time, that she might've bitten off more than she can chew (metaphorically, of course) when you cut off way too big of a bite, and white whipped cream smears across your lips as you struggle to get the whole thing in your mouth, your cheeks puffed out, lashes fluttering.

"careful there, sweets -- don't want you to hurt yourself," she says, in a decent stab at her usual suave tone, but her voice comes out just a bit hoarse as she reaches out to try and wipe some of the whipped cream from your lips at the exact moment your tongue flicks out to do the same --

her stomach clenches as your tongue accidently laves along the pad of her thumb and the dollop of cream drops onto the table between you.

"whoops," you say, your shoulders shrugging up as you finally swallow the bite of banana and cream, reaching for a napkin to wipe your mouth before dabbing at the tabletop.

when you glance up at vi, she's still staring, her expression strangely blank as you meet her eyes. but the second your gaze catches on hers, you see the way her pupils dilate, darkness eating into pre-dawn blue.

car mechanic!vi who tries her level best not to fidget too hard as the pair of you diligently make your way through as much of the sundae as possible, before you toss down your fork with a sigh, shaking your head.

"wow, i'm so full!"

"mm... could be fuller, i'm sure," vi murmurs into your ear, grinning when you shiver at the low sway of her voice, the gentle dance of her fingers on your waist.

"v-vi!" you squeak, even as she ushers you from the diner with a bright grin at the waitress, promising to come by again soon, and to send their love to her dad and younger sister.

and fuck, she really did think she wanted to take this slow, but holy shit, she can't wipe the image of you swallowing around the mouthful of cream from her mind, the feeling of your warm tongue as it'd flicked across the pad of her thumb.

"c'mon, sweet girl," she says, grazing her lips along the soft spot behind your ear and your knees almost buckle then and there, but her strong arm is looped around your waist as she helps you back onto her bike and cups your cheeks, "god, you have no idea what you do to me, huh?"

your breath hitches; what you do to her? what about what she does to you?

car mechanic!vi who can't help the way she presses in to kiss you, hesitating for a breath to ask can i? against your lips before you're nodding, just as eager as she is, and tugging her in to kiss her. you taste as sweet as she'd imagined (and lord, has she been imagining, even though it's been less than 24 hours), the lingering taste of whipped cream and chocolate syrup on your tongue as she licks hungrily into your mouth, moaning as you whimper, your thighs squeezing around her hips, your ass nearly slipping off the seat of her bike.

she hitches you back up without breaking the kiss, heat rolling up into her neck and shoulders as she feels your fingers twisting in her hair.

"f-fuck --" she pulls back breathless, her head spinning, her eyes caught on the press of your kiss-bruised lips, the way you purse them as you glance up at her, already looking so debauched she's tempted to pull you into the shadow of the diner and take you against the wall.

but, she falls half a step back and breathes, grinning crookedly as you pout at her.

"a-are you gonna take me back to your place, or not?".

car mechanic!vi who lets out a startled laugh and cocks her head, thinking that really there is a god, and that this -- just you, sitting on the black leather of her bike, your hair a bit mussed up, your cheeks flushed with color, asking her to take you to hers -- is all the proof she needs.

"you really are a spoiled little princess, aren't you?" she asks, swinging her leg over the bike seat and adjusting her grip. your arms loop around her middle and she tries not to groan at the feeling of your body pressing up against hers.

"well, daddy always told me that i shouldn't settle for anything less than the best," you say, and your voice would've been lofty, had it not been for the way you lean up to ghost your lips by the shell of vi's ear, chasing shivers down the length of her entire spine.

her stomach roils with heat. she turns to shoot you a smirk over her shoulder.

"well then. guess i'll just have to ruin you for every other girl who might come your way, huh?"

car mechanic!vi who definitely breaks the sound barrier tearing through the few streets separating the downtown strip and the auto shop, who's barely done parking the bike before she's pulling you bodily off the seat, hitching your legs around her waist and carrying you into the shop, slamming a hand on the switch to close the garage door.

she's already kissing you by the time she sets you on the hood of your car, the height of it perfect for her to pull back and pin you down by your wrists. she thinks that you have no business looking so perfect against the bright cherry of the paint, and grins as she looks you over, pressing a knee up between your legs just to hear your breath hitch and admire the way your cute little plaid skirt rides up.

car mechanic!vi who drops to her knees, pillows her cheek on your thigh and groans as she flips up the hem of your skirt to press her the flat of her tongue to the damp patch already soaking through your pink lace panties. who's mesmerized by the sight of you arching your back on the hood of your car, your fingers scrabbling at the smooth metal, reaching down till you can grip at her hair, your lips parting over your little whimpers and moans -- she thinks, faintly, that she wants to fuck you till your voice goes hoarse.

"vi -- what if -- is anyone -- ah --"

she can't help smiling at the way you can't quite get a full thought out, leaning back as she hooks her fingers around your panties and tugs them down your thighs till they're dangling off one of your delicate ankles.

"no one's here, sweetness -- so you can be as loud as you want," she says, reaching down to slick her fingers between your pussy, admiring the shine on her skin.

"b-but what if -- mmngh -- someone c-comes -- b-back --"

and it's cute, really, how worried you are about all of it, even as she teases a finger around your sodden hole, her thumb flicking up against your clit, making your body jerk up. she smiles, easing a finger in with a soft groan of her own, relishing the way you squeeze around her.

"mm, well -- let's see..." she says, her voice low and steady even as she tugs back her finger and pushes it in again, slow as anything, "my dad's out drinking at my uncle's bar across town, and my baby sister's at benzo's place with ekko --" she allows herself a crooked grin as you keen around her just as she presses a second finger into you, "they said they were studying but..." she shrugs, her eyes hooded as she watches you squirm beneath her, "i'm pretty sure they're hooking up so --" she runs a tight circle around your clit with her thumb, puffing out a breath as your thighs clamp shut around her wrist and she has to pry them back open with her other hand, pinning your knee to the hood of your car, keeping your other leg still with one of her's.

"the only person you gotta worry about coming... is yourself, princess."

car mechanic!vi who fucks you through two orgasms, eats you out for a third, before finally letting up and carrying you up to her bedroom above the auto shop, asking if you want to text your parents that you're staying the night.

you do, and vi only teases you a little bit about being such a good girl, but she lets you burrow in against her chest, lets you kiss her neck and tug her phone from her hands before planting one on her lips and trailing your way down her chest, tugging at her tanktop till she laughs and pulls it from her body.

car mechanic!vi who nearly loses her mind when you look up at her from between her legs, all wide eyes and parted lips, pressing your perfectly manicured nails into the corded muscles of her thighs and asking her in the sweetest voice to

"show me what you like -- please? i -- i wanna make you feel good too."

car mechanic!vi who fucks your face till both of you are breathless, her hips bucking up against your perfect mouth, her mind fizzling out at the edges at the way you're moaning into her cunt, the way you're grinding your hips down over nothing as she talks you through how to eat her out just the way she likes. who jerks you up and hauls you into her lap to kiss you sloppy, her fingers digging into the meat of your hips as she grinds you down over her still-throbbing clit, who fucking can't get over the sight of you riding her even as both of you tip into the realm of overstimulation, whining and keening and you collapsing onto her in the muted, twilight dark of her room.

"h-holy shit..."

vi laughs, "yeah. you can say that again."

you look up, a soft, pliant smile, "holy shit, violet..."

and the sound of her name on your lips convinces her, more than anything, that (contrary to all her big talk earlier), you're definitely the one who's ruined her for any other girl who might come her way.

car mechanic!vi who wakes up to your lips on hers, who groans into the taste of you, kissing you, rolling over to pin you beneath her even as the early morning sun spills lemon-bright and spring-water-sweet through her half-closed blinds.

"morning, princess," she mumbles against your lips.

"morning..." you giggle, gasping as she drops a tender kiss to your shoulder.

"sleep well?" she asks, trailing down the smooth skin of your chest till she can lave her tongue around your puffy nipple.

"mm --" you suck in a breath, "y-yeah -- had -- had good d-dreams -- a-ah!" you arch up into her, your body soft and warm as a daydream, and she just can't get enough.

"yeah? tell me... what'dyou dream of, hm?" vi asks, letting the world hum through her throat, rumbling over your skin like thunder across a distant horizon.

you twist your fingers into her hair, gently tracing the tattoo on her cheek before smiling down at her with a smile that looks like the shadow of the rest of her living days --

"i... i dreamt of you."

car mechanic!vi who comes downstairs to find vander in the kitchen, powder nowhere to be seen. but vander takes one look at her and grins, chuckling, rolling his eyes.

"alright then -- what's her name?"

she hesitates for a second before telling him.

"pretty name," vander muses, even as he tugs open the fridge to pull out a few eggs and a half-empty carton of milk. he pushes the milk towards vi with a pointed look.

"vander -- i -- i think she might be the one."

to which vander only laughs, cracking an egg with one hand into the oiled up pan. almost immediately, the egg whites begin to sizzle.

"this the girl with the cherry corvette?" he asks. wordlessly, vi nods. vander chuckles.

"good for you kiddo -- i always told you, haven't i?"

"that i'll know when it's the one? yeah... i -- i think i get it now." vi runs a hand through her bedridden hair, staring at the carton of milk and the ludicrously proportioned cartoon cow, advertising full fat contents within.

"well, as long as you're sure," vander says, cracking another egg, and another.

vi lets out a weak laugh, nodding as she opens the fridge to pull out some orange juice and a few boxes of blueberries.

"yeah. i'm sure."

vander nods, brows furrowing slightly as he flips the eggs with an expert twitch of the wrist.

"good. and -- how's she like her eggs done in the morning?" he asks, reaching over for a plate. vi stares at the over-easy eggs sliding from the old nonstick.

she lets out a tired little laugh, "probably like... poached, or something."

vander whistles, "got yourself a little diva, huh? well -- can't blame ya -- your uncle silco --"

"okay, thanks dad --" vi cuts him off with a deep groan, nudging him out of the way to place a small pot in the sink to fill with water.

vander chuckles, "you gonna introduce me when she comes down later?"

vi takes her time placing the pot on the stove and starting the heat.

"sure, yeah. i'll introduce her."

vander reaches over to ruffle vi's hair, cackling when she tries to duck out from beneath his massive hands.

"'m happy for you, violet."

vi stills, a helpless smile spreading across her lips like sun-warmed butter.

"yeah... me too." she says, "me too."

[slutzforbueckers]

can you do y/n who went viral/famous for how good she played in high school and how insanely pretty she was meeting the uconn girls for the first time since she committed to playing their and Geno introduces them to the girls and they ask her a bunch of questions ( basically fan girling) and one of the girls ask her if she’s dating anyone which she the tells them that she’s gay and that catches them off guard which makes Paige start liking her and the more they get too know each other they both have feeling for each other leading to smut

once in a lifetime

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: paige takes a liking to you after you join the team, slowly but surely.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you had been to plenty of campuses- visited, toured, played in their gyms— but none of them had felt like this. UCONN was different, the moment you stepped foot in the practice facility, your stomach was burning with nerves. you had dreamed of playing here your whole life, becoming a husky is what motivated you to be as great as you are now.

geno met you in the lobby, already sipping coffee and smirking like he could spot your nervousness a mile away. “you sure you’re ready for this?”

you tilted your head with a nervous laugh. “i think so.”

his grin widened as he nodded, slinging an arm around your shoulders like you were already one of his own. “good, because they’ve been talking about you since december. i’m not sure if they wanna play with you or date you.”

you choked out a laugh, cheeks warming. you could already feel the butterflies in your stomach disappearing, hearing that they already liked you made things a lot easier. “that bad?”

he held the door open for you, snickering before he spoke, “worse.”

the sound of sneakers on hardwood stopped as soon as the doors opened and you stepped in—the echo of dribbling died, a team of the most talented women’s basketball players in the country were staring at you like they had just seen a celebrity. which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

you had gone viral more times than you could count—crossovers that made people drop their phones, game-winners that left crowds screaming, and that one video of you pulling up from half-court and winking into the camera had something like 8 million views. everyone knew you were good at basketball but they also knew your face, a face that could probably have you a successful career in modeling if you weren't interested in making people trip over their own two feet.

geno cleared his throat, gesturing to you. “alright, alright. no need to act like she’s beyoncé.”

your ears perked up and you held back a laugh as you watched kk nudge ice and whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “she kinda looks like beyoncé.”

"okay, i'm leaving her in your hands. welcome her and try not to scare her off." geno shook his head with a sigh and patted you on the shoulder before heading back to his office.

that's what broke the ice— the court exploded with chatter and movement, the team crowding around you like fans after a game. they all spoke at once and it was hard to keep up.

“hey girly! im kk, the best player on the team. i'll teach you everything i know.”

“you mean how to miss layups?” another voice chimed in. you turned to see azzi smirking, arms crossed. “hi, i’m azzi. don’t listen to anything kk says—any of them for that matter.”

"thanks for the heads up." you smiled, laughing as more girls introduced themselves. it was fast and chaotic, but somehow you already felt like you belonged. after the introduction came the questions, they were all curious about your stats, how you got so good. you looked past the group to see paige—standing a little apart, cool blue eyes on you, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

you knew who she was, obviously. everybody did. the face of women's college basketball. you had followed her on social media, followed her career. she played with swag, control, talent—and somehow, she looked even better in person. her blonde hair was tied back, a light sheen of sweat on her temple, eyes steady and unreadable.

you met her gaze and smiled. she didn’t smile back, not quite, but the corner of her mouth twitched. she turned away, grabbing her water bottle from the bench like nothing had just happened. before you could think too long about it, kk threw an arm around your shoulder. “so, who's the lucky guy?”

you laughed, not expecting the question so soon. “i’m gay, there will be no lucky guy.”

dead silence. twelve stunned faces looked back at you like you’d just dropped another game-winning buzzer beater. paige had turned around, her brows furrowing as she looked at you.

"well that was unexpected,” ice muttered. “never would've thought.”

laughter broke out again, and a few girls high-fived you. you rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was beating a little faster—and not just from the attention but because you felt eyes on you. one pair in particular. you turned slightly, scanning the room. paige was looking at you from across the court again. this time, she didn’t look away. something flickered in her expression, curiosity, interest, maybe something else. then she grabbed a ball and started shooting like nothing happened.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you adjusted quickly—your game fit right in with theirs, fast-paced, sharp, aggressive. the girls respected you instantly. it wasn’t hard making friends— jana and azzi basically adopted you, dragging you to every team hangout, movie night, and post-practice snack run. sarah kept calling you “future,” morgan taught you every ridiculous tiktok dance she knew, and kk kept giving you flirty little side-eyes like she wasn’t totally kidding.

but paige? paige was… different. she wasn’t cold, she just wasn’t as easy. she’d joke with the others but was quieter around you. she’d pass to you perfectly during drills but barely speak to you after. you caught her looking sometimes—quick glances when you weren’t supposed to notice—but whenever your eyes met, she’d look away.

it should’ve annoyed you, you weren’t used to people being indifferent—especially not when they looked at you like that—but something about it hooked you.

one day after practice, you lingered in the gym, getting up extra shots. you were mid-three when you heard the squeak of shoes behind you.

“you’re always the last one out,” paige said. you turned. she was leaning on the wall, arms folded, sweaty from practice but still somehow effortlessly composed.

“you stalking me?” you teased.

a small smile pulled at her lips. “just wondering what you’re trying to prove.”

you arched a brow. “you think i’ve got something to prove?”

she walked closer, picking up a ball and rolling it in her hands. “you play like you do.”

“i play like i love it.”

she nodded, looking at you again, really looking. “you ever stop moving?”

you stepped toward her now, slow, deliberate. “you ever stop watching?”

that made her blink, she dropped the ball, and it bounced away. for the first time, paige bueckers looked flustered.

“…i’ll see you tomorrow,” she mumbled, turning quickly and heading toward the locker room. you watched her go, chest buzzing with a strange mix of pride and something you didn’t want to name yet. the next day, paige passed you the ball a little harder, guarded you a little tighter, smirked at you when you sank a shot in her face.

it wasn’t much but it was something.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you weren't sure when things changed exactly. maybe it was that late practice when everyone else had cleared out and it was just the two of you. maybe it was the way she had started passing to you with just a little more trust. or maybe it was in the locker room—when you caught her watching you as you peeled off your jersey, her gaze lingering for a second too long before she quickly looked away, cheeked tinged pink.

but something shifted.

the distance between you and paige didn't feel cold anymore, it felt like a string was burning between you, pulling you closer to each other, like you were circling something inevitable. it started with small things, she started sitting near you during team meetings—quiet but present. when you cracked a joke she laughed, not loud like kk but still a laugh.

one night, you stayed in the gym late, a airpod in, hoodie up, working on your footwork with no one but your reflection and the sound of squeaking soled to keep you company. when you you missed a step and cursed under your breath, a voice behind you nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"try slowing down."

you turned, startled. paige was leaning against the wall, arms folded over a white tank top damp with sweat. “you watching me again, bueckers?”

she just shrugged, walking toward you. “just thinking you’re too good to end up on the bench.”

you rolled your eyes but handed her the ball. “then show me.”

she did, effortlessly. her steps were sharp, deliberate, her pace controlled. you watched her every movement—not just how her body moved, but how she looked at you while she moved. there was something different in her eyes now. you switched spots, trying to mimic her timing. she stepped close, fingertips grazing your waist as she adjusted your stance.

“don’t rush the pivot,” she murmured. “let it come to you.”

you exhaled slowly. her voice was soft, closer than it needed to be, and it made a shiver run through your spine. “didn’t know you gave private lessons,” you said, voice lower than usual.

she stepped back with a small smile. “guess you're special.”

your breath caught—just for a second—but it was enough. the look in her eyes was different now. not guarded, not shy, just there. honest. wanting. you tossed the ball aside, watching it bounce across the hardwood. “so what happens after the lesson?”

she hesitated for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she heard you right. then she moved toward you again, steps slow, deliberate. “that depends,” she murmured, standing close enough now that you could feel the heat of her body through your hoodie. “you still want me watching?”

“i want more than that,” you whispered.

you weren’t sure who moved first—maybe it was you, maybe it was her—but suddenly her mouth was on yours, hungry and searching, and you melted into it. her hands found your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your hoodie, gripping your hips like she’d been dying to. you kissed her back with everything you had, all the tension, the teasing, the heat that had been building between you for weeks pouring out in that moment.

she pressed against you fully, tongue sliding over yours as she deepened the kiss. her hands slipped lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, and you got the message quick—jumping up, wrapping your legs around her like you’d done it a thousand times. she carried you to the edge of the court, setting you down on the bleachers with a groan. her lips never left yours for long—just enough to pull off your hoodie, eyes raking over you like you were something she’d been craving.

her fingers slipped into your waistband slightly, fingers brushing just enough to make your hips twitch. she pulled back, eyes meeting yours. “you want this?”

“yes.”

she didn’t hesitate after that. her fingers slid down—firm, controlled, just like her game. her touch was confident, knowing exactly where to press, how to build the pressure. you groaned, back arching slightly, but she kept her free hand on your thigh, grounding you. her name slipped from your lips like prayer, over and over.

“look at me,” she said quietly.

you met her gaze, and it nearly undid you. her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling, but her focus was locked entirely on you, watching you fall apart for her. her fingers moved faster, deeper, her thumb circling just right, and your body started to shake—your breath coming in short, messy gasps. “paige—“

“i got you,” she whispered. “let go.”

you did—your head dropped back, a broken moan slipping from your mouth as the wave hit. she didn’t stop until your thighs were trembling, until you had to push her hand away with a shaky laugh and a whispered curse. she finally stood upright again, eyes full of something quiet and wild all at once. she leaned in, kissing you softer now, almost sweet.

“1v1 me?”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[violettenightshade]

As a creature of the night I thrive under the moon’s glow, but even I need that vital prana force from the sun to recharge. ✨🌞👙🏖️

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Ugly Side To Fame

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: fluff, angst, being kidnapped and forced to act out a fantasy, implied smut

Request by anon: can you do a Spencer x reader where the reader is like a famous singer model actress (what ever you want the reader to be) and she is gorgeous and no one on the team knows because her and Spencer what to keep it private because of how famous she is and Garcia is her biggest fan and one day she never shows up to her and Spencer dinner date and he is worried about her so her goes to her condo house and sees that the door is wide open and the house is ransacked and there is blood and he call the team and they open a case for her but then they get specious of why he was at her condo and he comes clean to them about dating her

Summary: You’re a famous model with lots of fans who adore you. When one of them crosses the line between fan and stalker, it’s up to Spencer’s team to save you before it’s too late.

Square Filled: forced to hurt someone for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: just a reminder that there are models of all sizes, and each of them is beautiful!

x

You arch your back and tilt your head slightly to the right, staring at the camera as you do. Fans blow all around the set to keep the models cool, but you can feel the baby oil sliding down your skin into places where it shouldn’t be. You’re hot, sticky, and sweaty, but the position is perfect.

“Great work, Y/N! Now turn toward Gio and put your hands on his shoulders lazily.”

You turn toward your coworker and sling your arms around his shoulders naturally, leaning into him slightly.

“Fantastic job, you two. Don’t look at the camera.”

The photographer snaps a few dozen photos from different angles, and she grins when she’s done. You feel a sense of pride when she grins like that. It means you’re doing your job right. You’re a famous model, shown all across the country and different parts of the world in billboards, ads, magazines, and even fashion shows. You’ve even gotten a spot in the next Victoria Secret show, and that’s something you’re looking forward to.

People are coming and going from this set, so you don’t think much of the chatter until you see him. The love of your life. Your rock. Your love. Spencer Reid. He must have gotten off work early and decided to come see you.

“Okay, take five while I reset everything.”

You break away from your coworker and immediately go to Spencer’s side, pulling him in for a hug. You’re careful not to get too much baby oil on him, but he doesn't seem to mind.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” You lean up and kiss him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you. We don’t have a case this weekend, so be prepared to spend every minute with me.”

“Sounds like a dream.” The five minutes are up, and you look back at set. “I should be done in thirty minutes. Wait for me.”

You scurry off to do more poses with your coworker. Spencer has never been the jealous type. He’s secure in his relationship with you. Yes, you’re a model. Yes, you have a lot of fans who adore you. Yes, you do often pose with half-naked men. However, he’s the one you’re going to go home with at the end of the day. You never fail to show him how much you love him. He loves seeing you on ads and billboards, and he made sure to secure a spot at the Victoria Secret fashion show next month.

He could not be more proud of you.

After the shoot is done, and you’ve taken a quick shower, you two leave hand in hand. He doesn’t drive, but you don’t mind the walk to your house.

“So, when am I going to meet your friends?”

“Is it so wrong to want to stay in this bubble with you?”

“Have you even told them about me? That I’m a famous model?”

“If I have, you’d know about it. Penelope is your biggest fan.”

The topic of meeting his second family has always come up, especially recently. It’s not that he’s hiding you or wants to hide you. He knows how people can get, and he wants to keep you all to himself. You’ll meet them eventually, but tonight won’t be that night. You don’t feel shame from him, so you know that's not the issue. It can be overwhelming, especially when the love of your life is so much more famous than you. Spencer is setting high expectations for his friends. What if they don’t like you? What if they do? What if you get hurt because of him and his job?

You get to your house and immediately go to the kitchen to put a frozen pizza in the oven. It’s quick, and you don’t feel like cooking a whole meal after a long day. Being a model doesn’t mean you get to skimp out on what you eat. You work out regularly, and with the right balance, you can have both a model career and eat what you want. Models like Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid look great, but you know how strictly they set rules for themselves.

When you became a model, you promised yourself you weren't going to be like them.

You and Spencer enjoy pizza and a movie, but you’re in the mood for some dessert. Before the movie ends, you slink closer to his side and attach your lips to his neck. Spencer relaxes against the couch and pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling him. You suck on the sensitive spot underneath his ear, and he grows harder underneath you.

He cups your cheeks and pulls your lips to his, and he kisses you passionately. He hooks his hands under your thighs and stands with you in his arms. The night is filled with steamy passion, one that leaves you shaking for more.

On Monday, he arrived at work before you got up. He left a note on his pillow that he’ll see you for lunch. He’ll call you later with details. If he looked into a mirror before he left, he’d have seen something he never wanted his friends to see. The girls are around JJ’s desk gossiping about what they did over the weekend.

JJ is about to share what she, Will, and the boys did when she sees it. Her mouth parts, and the girls turn to see what JJ is looking at. At first, they don’t see it until Spencer turns his head. Right on his neck is a big red spot from where you were sucking.

“Who, Spencer, who knew you’d be the type?” JJ chuckles.

“What?”

“Damn, here I thought all you did was read and do research,” Tara laughs.

“What are you talking about?”

Matt and Luke walk over to see what the girls are giggling about when they see the mark on Spencer’s neck.

“Who, Spencer, who’s your little girlfriend?” Luke grins.

Spencer looks at everyone and finally realizes what they’re looking at. His hand flies to the side of his neck where he knows your mark is, and his cheeks redden.

“I burned myself.”

“With that, a curling iron?” JJ smirks.

“You have a girl we don’t know about?” Luke asks.

“What? No.”

“Oh, so then you’re hooking up with people?” Tara smirks.

“No. Okay. Yes, I’m dating someone, but she’s not ready to meet you all yet.” That’s a lie. It’s he who isn’t ready. He’s content with staying in this bubble for as long as he can. “Can we return to work now?”

Spencer leaves before anyone else can ask more questions. They’ll come to know you soon enough, so he wants to avoid those questions as long as he can. Like last week, there isn’t an active case since the B team is out, so he focuses on the files he has open. Time flies, and it’s lunchtime before he knows it.

He takes out his phone to call you, but you don’t answer the phone. You must be caught in a shoot that’s running long, and he doesn’t want to bother you. He leaves a voicemail saying he can do a late lunch, but you don’t return his call. He doesn’t think much of it and returns to work. By the end of the day, he starts to become worried that you haven’t answered any of his calls. It’s weird, but maybe work ran late.

However, the set is closed when he arrives to pick you up. If you’re not at work, then you have to be at home, and you should have answered his calls. As he walks to your house, he calls you. All of them have gone to voicemail, and he immediately becomes suspicious. That suspicion turns to worry when he sees your house.

The front door is wide open which is Spencer’s first indication that something is wrong. He walks inside your house carefully as if someone will pop up and scare him. The living room is to the right, and the furniture is toppled over as if you were running from someone or something.

The kitchen is worse with every drawer and cabinet open, and knives on the ground. He doesn’t even want to see what upstairs looks like, but he goes up there regardless. The first thing he notices is the pool of blood on the carpet. He doesn’t need to see the rest of the house. 

He knows what he needs to do.

He pulls out his phone and calls his team. Only they are going to be able to help. He doesn’t trust the local PD to be able to solve this. If you’re hurt and suffering, he needs only the best to track you down. Soon, your house is crawling with officers, CSIs, and his team.

“Look, I know I said she wasn’t ready to meet you all, but it was me who wasn’t ready. I guess I wanted to stay in this bubble we created. My girlfriend is Y/N, the famous model. I don’t know what happened here, but we were meant to get lunch together. I thought she was at work because she never answered my calls. I just came here to see this. I don’t know what happened.”

Everyone is shocked that Spencer is dating. No, not that he is dating. It’s that he’s dating you. They never pictured him with a model. They’re happy for him, of course, but it’s a little shocking when they never expected it.

Still, this is a crime scene, and everyone snaps into focus. A sample of the blood is taken to the labs for testing. If it doesn’t come out as yours, then whoever was in this house after you is hurt. The local PD is tasked with gathering as much evidence as they can from the scene alongside Matt and Rossi. 

With being a famous model, you have a lot of fans from all over the country, the world, even. If you were attacked in your home, then the person who did this to you might have been a fan. Spencer, JJ, and Penelope are tasked with going through your social media and laptop to see if there is someone who has taken a special interest in you.

Luke is going around to your neighbors in hopes someone might have seen something, so Spencer heads back to the BAU with JJ and your laptop. Penelope heard the news as soon as Spencer called, so she tried to contain her excitement about potentially knowing her favorite model.

“I’ll be sure to introduce her to you after this, but here is her laptop,” Spencer says and hands it over.

“Sure, of course. Don’t worry, Spencer, we’ll find her.”

Getting into your laptop is light work for Penelope, and Spencer and JJ go through your social media accounts. Spencer has the passwords to all of your accounts because you’re so forgetful, and you don’t want to put your passwords in your notes just in case you get hacked. One of your friends was hacked a year ago and had all of her information stolen. Plus, why remember when you have a super smart boyfriend to remember for you?

“Look at this, Spence,” JJ says, showing him her phone. It’s one of your DMs on Instagram. “Y/NSBOY_69 has sent her multiple messages talking about how beautiful she is and how he’d love to meet up with her. She never accepted the request, so all of them are left unanswered, but it looks like she has a fanboy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Spencer’s brow furrows as he reads through your TikTok, Facebook, Snapchat, and Twitter messages. The ones that aren’t from friends and family are from fans who seem to have some sort of obsession with you. None are as bad as Y/NSBOY_69. He has liked every picture you have posted, commented multiple times on them, and has messaged you asking when you two are going to get together.

“This guy is seriously all the way creepy,” Penelope says. “I have messages asking her to carry his babies.”

Anger flares up in Spencer’s chest, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually a calm person when it comes to you. He knows you get messages from obsessed fans, but he never knew it could get this bad. Sure, he’s seen what obsession looks like, but it’s different when it happens to someone he knows.

“I can’t wait for Rossi and Matt to finish up at her house. I know this guy is the one who attacked her. How, I’m not sure. Maybe he followed her home and forced his way in.” Realization passes over his face. “What if she let him in?”

“I highly doubt that,” JJ scoffs. Just then, the others come back from the crime scene. “Find out anything?”

“One of the neighbors noticed something as she was out walking her dog. She was on her way out when she noticed someone tall and lanky sneaking around her house, looking into her windows. When she came back, the door was wide open. Y/N was already gone.”

“So, he was stalking her. You should see her social media accounts. Tons of comments and messages from a single account that I’m sure Penelope is looking through.”

Spencer frowns in thought. He never knew the kind of behavior you’d see daily. You keep a good front for someone who knows there is a stalker out there obsessed with you.

“You bet your ass I am,” Penelope says. “This guy is not trying to hide at all. He doesn’t even have safety measures to prevent someone like me from getting through. His name is Charlie Jones. His address and work have been sent to your PDAs.”

The team splits into two with one half going to his work and the other half to his home. Luke kicks in his front door, and Spencer and JJ follow him inside with guns raised. It’s a two-bedroom apartment, so the team quickly clears it. Charlie isn’t here. However, it’s not a total bust. In a bedroom, the walls are covered with pictures of you. Not just the pictures you’ve posted online or you in ads. Pictures of you out and about. Some even with Spencer in them. His face is crossed off in every single one of them.

This isn’t just an obsession. This is something else entirely.

Spencer takes out his phone and calls Rossi before connecting him to a call with Penelope. “He’s not at his house.”

“He’s not at work, either. Turns out, he’d been fired a few months ago for bad behavior,” Matt informs.

“We found something at his house. One of the bedrooms has pictures of Y/N in it. He was completely infatuated with her. Pictures of her going about her normal life. Garcia, is there anything else you can dig up on this guy? Another property he might own?”

“He doesn't have any other property in his name. However, his parents do. They work in Asia, but they do have a farmhouse they bought several years ago. I guess they wanted to try their hand at farmlife, but it never stuck. It looks like the place is abandoned.”

“I bet he took her there,” Spencer says.

“Address already sent. Please be careful.”

When the strange man broke into your home, you fought hard. You fucked up your house trying to get away from him. You even managed to cut him with one of the kitchen knives. Still, he came prepared and managed to trap you inside your bathroom. He stuck a syringe in your neck and injected you with something that caused you to pass out.

You woke up in this farmhouse to him crying over you, apologizing for hurting you. He smothered your face with wet kisses, and you did your best not to vomit. All he wants is to be with you. He created this fake life with you in his head, and now he wants it to become reality. Besides injecting you, he hasn’t hurt you.

Maybe it’s because you’ve been complying knowing you have to save your energy for escaping. As soon as an opportunity presents itself, you’re taking that one-way ticket out of here. If Spencer didn’t know you were missing when he attacked, he surely does now. He and his team are going to find you.

You just have to stay alive long enough for them to save you.

“How is your neck?” he asks.

“Good. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” you lie.

It hurts like a bitch since he wiggled the needle in you to make sure it stuck. The last thing you’re going to do is tell him that.

“I’m sorry, baby. I had to do that. You were fighting me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He reaches up and touches your cheek. He pulls you in for a kiss, and you lean in hesitantly. “Never be sorry. You’re too perfect to apologize for anything. Now, go get the food you cooked.”

You eagerly leave his side to grab the food you’ve been cooking for the past hour. You sit across from him and push your food around. You lost your appetite long ago, but Charlie scarfs his food down as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

“Am I ever going to go home, Charlie?”

“You are home. This is our home now. Y/n, it’ll be perfect. I’ll fix up the house and make it perfect for you. You’ll be here with the kids, and I can tend to the farm with all kinds of animals.”

“Kids?” you squeak.

“Four of them. I’ve always wanted a big family,” he grins.

Oh, hell no. You don’t care if this will kill you. You need to get out of here now. The front door doesn’t seem to have a lock on it. He must be so confident that you’d want to stay here with him that he doesn’t care to lock the front door. Or, maybe it is. Either way, you have to get out of here.

“I’ve made dessert. Are you ready for that?”

“You are the dessert, my love.” Like fuck are you going to let him touch you, but you don’t tell him that. “But yes. I’d love some.”

You get up from the table and walk into the kitchen, his back still turned to you. There are no knives around, so you grab the pan you used to cook. You grip the handle tightly and sneak over to Charlie on light feet. Without thinking, you swing the pan across Charlie’s head, gasping when he is tossed onto the floor from the impact. You drop the pan in shock before your fight-or-flight response kicks in.

You jump over Charlie and run to the front door, yanking it open. Thank fuck it’s not locked. There is a car pulling up to the farm, and you scream for help.

“Help me!” You cry out in pain when Charlie grabs your hair tightly. He yanks you away from the door and slams it shut. “Let go of me, you psycho!”

The front door is kicked in, and the FBI swarms in with guns raised. Charlie puts you in front of him and presses the sharp tip of a knife to your throat. Where the hell did he get that from?

“Charlie Jones! Drop the knife,” Emily demands.

Your eyes immediately find Spencer’s, and you know you’re going to be okay. Even if he stabs you. Spencer is here. He always takes care of you.

“I’m not going to do that. You don’t understand. We were meant to be together!”

“Look at her, man,” Luke says, “you’re scaring her. Do you really want to do that to the woman you love?”

“She’s scared because you’re pointing your guns at her!”

“Okay, I’m putting my gun away,” Spencer says as he steps forward. No one else does, but Charlie isn’t focused on them. “I know you love her. I saw your wall. You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“You took her away from me,” Charlie growls.

“You can have her.” You try not to be hurt knowing he is just trying to talk him down. Spencer is just saying anything to get Charlie away from you. “If you care about her, Charlie, if you want a life with her, then you’ll let her go. She can’t give you children if she’s hurt or dead.”

“She was always meant to be with me.”

“I know. I just need to know she won’t get hurt. I care about her, too, but I know you love her. Just let her go, and you two can go back to your life here.”

The hesitation on Charlie’s part is all Emily needs to take the shot. He loosens his grip on you, and you duck just in time for Emily to shoot Charlie in the head. You immediately run into Spencer’s arms, and he holds you tightly as the others make a quick sweep of the place.

“You’re safe, Y/N. I’m sorry for saying those things.”

“No, you saved me.” You lean up and kiss him. “I love you.”

The paramedics come to check you out, and Spencer is by your side the whole time. The rest of his team is standing by their cars, whispering to each other. It’s out now. Everyone knows Spencer is dating the hot model.

“Spencer, I think they know now,” you giggle.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll introduce you.”

Charlie injected you with a local anesthetic to knock you out, so you’ll feel much better in the morning. You’re good to go. Spencer walks you over to the group, and he sees that JJ is on FaceTime with Penelope.

“Guys, this is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

“Hi, I’ve heard so much about all of you,” you smile.

“Funny. We never heard a thing about you.”

“My fault. I know.”

“I’d love to get to know all of you. Maybe next week we can all have lunch at my place. You know, after I get it all cleaned up.”

“Are you okay? He better not have hurt you. I’ll beat his ass in the afterlife,” Penelope says protectively.

“No, not much. He just had me make him dinner. He kissed me. It was gross.” You lean into Spencer. “I’m okay now.”

It’s nice to finally be able to talk to the people he calls his second family. There will always be people like Charlie out there who want to hurt you, but you know you’ll be okay with a whole team of FBI agents behind you.

x

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[bapeach]

KK's "twin"

This is my longest fic so far and I'm gonna be honest, it's not great. I lowkey hate it because the ending is very rushed and I don't love the overall vibe, but I also didn't wanna just get rid of the whole thing. I promise I'll try to post a better fic soon! I'm sorry for any grammatical mistakes and as always I hope you enjoy. :) (Also, I'm sorry if the translated part is incorrect, my French isn't what it used to be 😅) Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader  Word count: 7.1k+  Summary: When the team finally gets to meet KK's beloved cousin, Paige realizes that her type has changed. ------------

Today was the day. The day you’d finally visit KK at UConn, and she couldn’t be more excited. You were KK’s 2-year-older cousin, and honestly? She thought of you as her role model. Every time she saw you, she’d beg you to transfer to UConn so you two could hang out more. You never really paid any mind to it, though. You liked your own school, had great friends, and had a starting position on your basketball team. Of course, you missed the younger girl when you didn’t see each other for months at a time, her being your favorite cousin and all, but it wasn’t enough for you to enter the transfer portal. 

KK looked as if she was about to combust, unable to sit still in her excitement. “You guys are gonna love her so much! She’s so funny. I mean, not as funny as I am, but still! She’s like my twin, for real,” KK gushed to her team as they all sat in the locker room getting ready for practice. She ignored the looks the girls gave each other, continuing to sing your praises, too enthusiastic to let them bring her mood down. 

It’s not like the team wasn’t looking forward to meeting you. Not at all! It’s just that they’d had to listen to KK’s excited rambling for days now, and it was getting a little old. Hell, they hadn’t even met you and they already knew your favorite foods, the movies you liked, the inside jokes you two had and even the name of your first pet! So, yeah, the girls were getting a little tired of the young guard’s constant yapping. They were also a bit nervous. They loved KK to bits, but they weren’t sure they’d be able to handle two of her. 

KK was no doubt the life of the party, always hyping people up and bringing smiles to everyone’s faces. Some people said she reminded them of a puppy with her endless energy and youthful joy. This was often a good thing, seeing as there was never a boring moment when she was around. The older teammates did, however, have to rein her in a bit when things got too chaotic and loud. So, yeah, the fact that there would be two of her, both constantly egging each other on, was a bit scary.

As the girls make their way to the court, KK continues talking about all the things you guys would do when you got here and how she was going to convince you to transfer. “It’s gonna work this time!” she swore. Seeing coach Geno already there waiting for them, the basketball players step up their pace, trying not to piss off the older man (Okay, and maybe to get away from KK, though they’d never admit that to the girl).

Once they’re all huddled around the coach, listening to today’s plans, Paige looks over at Nika across from her. The blonde raises her eyebrows, widening her eyes as she huffs a little, as if to say, “Finally, she’s quiet,” making Nika grin. Azzi, having seen the whole interaction, gives Paige a push and shakes her head with an eye roll and a smile. The blue-eyed guard simply sends her a playful wink, letting her know she’s just kidding. As the team scatters to start their drills, Paige walks over to KK, slinging an arm around her. While she’d rather not hear about how good of a basketball player you are or how well you pull off pranks, again, she knows it’ll make her friend happy.

Having been split up into groups, KK, Paige, Azzi, Nika, and Aaliyah walk over to one side of the gym for their exercises. “So, at what time is this legendary Y/N even coming?” the Croatian girl asks. “Uhh, she said she’d probably get here a little after practice ends,” KK replies with a beaming smile. “You guys will join us for lunch, right?” she asks, looking up at Paige with wide, hopeful eyes. The blonde catches the ball Aaliyah throws at her, bouncing it on the floor a few times as she looks at the teammates. Seeing them all nod with a shrug, she smiles at the freshman, “Sure thing, KK.”.

While you had originally planned on arriving a little after practice, letting KK shower and get ready in peace, you’d changed your plans. Your coach, an old friend of Geno’s, had let UConn’s coach know you’d be touring the university. The older man had given you a call, letting you know you could stop by practice if you wanted to “see how they do it in Connecticut”. You’d agreed, letting him know you appreciated the invitation. You had to admit, you were excited. You’d get to see your best friend in action, meet her beloved team, and scout the competition a little. 

Arriving at Gampel Pavilion, you eagerly make your way inside. You open the big double doors to the court, making sure not to slam them so as to not disturb the players. You immediately walk over to coach Auriemma, shaking his hand and telling him it’s an honor to meet him. While you loved your own coach dearly and were thankful for everything she’d done for you, part of you wishes you’d committed to UConn to learn from the Geno Auriemma. 

As you two talk about your basketball experiences, you hear a loud yell. “TWINNNN!” KK screams, sprinting over to you. You barely have enough time to turn around to catch the younger girl as she flings herself at you. You stumble back a bit before catching your footing and gripping her tightly. “Hey there, Kiddo,” you chuckle at her glee and the way she’s clinging onto you. When she finally lets you go, you take a step back, crossing your arms with a tiny smirk on your face. Her team had walked over after hearing the commotion, wanting to finally meet the amazing Y/N.

When KK had called you her twin and a slightly less cool version of herself, the athletes had not expected this. Paige gulped nervously, giving you a once-over. You stood next to KK, towering over her as you matched Jana’s height, standing at 6’5”. You were wearing a navy shirt with black Nike sweats and matching sneakers, a dog tag necklace glinting on your chest. Your arms were covered with patchwork tattoos while a nose piercing twinkled under the bright gym lights. Paige had seen you were wearing a few chunky rings when you were hugging KK, one of which looked like a snake coiling around your finger. 

Your dark eyes roam over the team, making some of the younger girls shift their weight a little, feeling slightly intimidated by your intense vibe. If you didn’t look so scary, the team would’ve laughed at the stark difference between you and KK. While the shorter girl gave off golden retriever vibes, you were like a black cat. Your sharp jaw and big muscles made sure people didn’t mess with you, and the smirk on your face made you look like you knew everyone’s secrets. You looked fearless. 

While Paige was always pretty confident and never really got nervous around anyone, she felt her throat go dry as her hands became clammy the longer she looked at you. “Hey, I’m Y/N,” you said, your voice low and steady. Paige felt a wave of emotion wash over her, but she couldn’t figure out which one. 

You see the girl you recognize as Nika open her mouth to introduce herself. Before she gets the chance to, KK starts introducing everyone, adding her usual sass. Though you were already familiar with everyone, your cousin having shown you plenty of pictures of everyone, all with funny stories attached to them, you give her your full attention with a soft grin.

“..., and that’s Azzi, she’s coach’s favorite,” she playfully frowns before finishing the introductions, “And that over there is P Boogers, she always bullies me.” You look over as KK points at each girl, hearing Paige scoff at the freshman’s description of herself. You look the blonde up and down, raising an eyebrow in amusement as she catches your eye, a blush creeping up her face. “Cute,” you think to yourself. 

“Nice to meet you guys! KK has told me all about you,” you say with a grin, slinging your arm over KK’s shoulder as you rub her head in a teasing way. You hear the girls laugh as your cousin pushes you away with a huff. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be here until after practice?” she questions, fixing her hair. “What? And miss seeing you in action?” you smirk. 

“Alright ladies, this is all very sweet, but we’ve still got 30 minutes of practice left, so let’s keep going! You need to warm up, kid, or are you good to go?” coach Geno calls out, turning to you towards the end of his sentence. “I’m ready, sir,” you grin. He sends you a nod, bouncing a basketball your way. You catch it before letting it spin on your pointer finger. “Alright huskies, split up into teams for a scrimmage. I trust you’re all old enough to choose your own team without fighting!” the coach's voice booms loudly.

KK immediately jumps on your back, yelling, “Dibs!”, right into your ear. You wince, telling her to get off as you roll your eyes. You pretend you’re annoyed, but it’s clear that you’re just kidding, finding it endearing how much the younger girl clings to you. 

During the scrimmage, you impress the athletes around you with your near-perfect shots, great form, and high basketball IQ. “No wonder she’s a starter for her team,” the girl sporting a #5 jersey thinks to herself. While she usually never really struggles to lock in and focus on the game, she finds herself getting distracted by the way you move with power yet grace. 

After you finish your game, your team having won by 2 points, you get a few pats on the shoulder from the girls. “Not too shabby,” Nika teases with a smirk. “Yeah, KK could learn a thing or two from you,” Ice says with a mischievous grin, narrowly avoiding a slap aimed at her arm by the girl in question. “See what I mean? I’m always getting bullied for no reason,” the freshman complains with a frown. “It’s okay, Kiddo… I’m sure you’ll be as good as me one day,” you say, patting her shoulder before sending her a smirk as you finish your sentence. 

“Heyyyy! You guys are so rude,” she groans before stomping off to the locker room. You only chuckle, walking over to the sidelines where you’d left your bag. You bend down to grab your bottle, squeezing some water into your mouth. Once you feel refreshed, you close the lid, wiping away the drops that missed your mouth. 

As you look up, you see Paige staring at you, swallowing harshly before looking away once you make eye contact. You grin to yourself before lifting your bag over your shoulder and following the girls towards the locker room. As you pass by Paige, who tries her best but fails to avoid looking at you, you send her a wink. This is gonna be fun.

Once everyone is ready, you decide to split up into different cars to meet up at your nearest McDonald’s. Of course, KK sprints off towards your car before anyone else has time to decide who will drive. You just chuckle, crossing your arms as you look at the other girls to see who else will join you. “Nika, Paige, and I will also come with you if that’s okay?” Azzi smiles softly at you. “Fine by me,” you return the gesture. “Alright, cool,” Nika says. You all turn towards Paige when you don’t hear a reaction from her. 

It’s not like Paige wanted to ignore the conversation happening around her. She just couldn’t stop looking at the way your muscles were flexing as you crossed your arms. It’s not like she had a crush on you or anything! She was just… appreciating your physique! Yeah, that’s it! 

You smirk a little as Azzi nudges Paige. Heat creeps up the blonde’s face as she realizes everyone is looking at her, waiting for a reply. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, that’s cool,” she stutters, hoping that she replied the right thing to whatever they’d just asked her. You chuckle softly as you turn around and start walking toward where KK is impatiently waiting. “God, took you guys long enough! Let’s gooooo, I’m hungry,” she complains. 

Once everyone gets into the car, you plug in your phone and start playing your latest playlist. Making sure everyone is wearing their seatbelt, you shift the car into gear and start driving. You spend the next 15 minutes listening to KK’s chatting, smacking her hand away from your phone whenever she tries to change a song. Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you glance into your rearview mirror, once again making eye contact with Paige. You send her a soft smile, not wanting to embarrass her. She sends you a nervous smile before turning back to Nika, who was mumbling something about her psychology class.

When you arrive at the fast food joint, you all pile through the door, moving towards the nearest free tables. The conversation flows easily between you and the team, everyone becoming more at ease in your presence. While you were definitely a lot scarier than KK, you two did share some similar traits. Both of your smiles could light up a dark room, you had the same humor (though KK’s was a bit more immature), and you had the same mannerisms. The longer you all hung out, the more everyone realized that though you looked like you could easily knock them out, you were very kind. You always gave your full attention to everyone talking to you, never interrupting them. You made sure to include the quieter girls when you thought they might feel left out. You shared your food with the ball of energy next to you without a word, simply pushing your fries closer to her…

Paige couldn’t help feeling warmth spread through her chest. It’s just… it was sweet to see you treat one of her favorite people with so much love… “Yeah, that’s it,” the UConn star thought to herself. She simply appreciates you as a person and could see herself becoming really good friends with you!

Paige gets shaken out of her thoughts as she hears Azzi speak. “So Y/N, how come you didn’t commit to UConn?”. She turns to you, seeing you lean back a bit to cross your arms before replying. “Well, I actually almost enrolled here-” you start before getting interrupted by KK’s mumbling, “You should’ve”. You grin at her pouting before continuing, “It took me a while to choose a school. I had to pick between academics and athletics. While UConn is a really good uni for academics as well, my university just had a better program.”

Paige bites her lip as she watches you talk. It was so alluring. The way you were able to keep everyone’s attention with your low, raspy voice. “While I obviously love basketball, it felt less important to me than my studies. Besides, it’s not like my school’s basketball team sucks, they’re great! Maybe not UConn great, but we can hold our own,” you grin, hearing the girls around you chuckle. 

“You know, KK has talked about you nonstop for days, but we still don’t even know what your major is,” Aaliyah says. You shake your head in amusement at the young girl’s ability to say so much while simultaneously not really saying anything at all. “I’m an English major,” you say with a small smile. “Oooh, so you know all the big words? Fancy,” Nika says with a teasing smile on her face. “She does!” KK raves, “She can also speak like 10 languages!”. 

You roll your eyes at the exaggeration, but your smile grows with her enthusiasm. “Okay, chill, it’s not that many.” “You speak other languages? Which ones?” Nika asks, leaning forward with interest. “Well, obviously I speak English,” you grin as everyone chuckles. “But besides that, I can also speak French, Spanish, and a bit of German… Oh! And I’ve been learning a bit of sign language on the side, but I’m still looking for proper classes for that,” you explain. Looking around, you see everyone’s eyes widen as their mouths drop open. “Holy shit!” you hear someone mumble. 

“Yo, you should say something in French!” you hear Ice say. “Uh, sure, what do you want me to say?” you ask. You see the girls all look at each other, trying to find something you could say. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?” you hear Azzi’s soft voice beside you as she sends you a gentle smile. “Alright, let’s see,” you clear your throat. 

“Bonjour, je m'appelle Y/N ! J'ai vingt ans et j'étudie l'anglais. Mon hobby est le basket-ball, bien sûr, mais j'aime aussi lire. Je suis fille unique, mais j'ai quelques cousins dont je suis assez proche. Mon meilleur ami est KK. Uhhh, je n'ai pas de petite amie mais j'y travaille,” you say, looking at Paige for the last sentence with a mischievous grin. (“Hello, my name is Y/N! I'm twenty years old and I'm an English major. My hobby is basketball, of course, but I also like to read. I'm an only child, but I have a few cousins I'm quite close with. My best friend is KK. Uhhh, I don't have a girlfriend, but I'm working on that.”)

Paige flushes as she looks away. She’d been staring at you the whole time, chewing her lip. The blonde was completely enthralled by your French accent. Even speaking a different language, you spoke with full confidence, which sent another wave of emotion through her stomach. 

The girls around you look at you impressed. After explaining what you just said, skillfully leaving out the last part, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Before you’ve even fully disappeared from everyone’s view, Azzi knocks her elbow into Paige’s arm. Quickly looking away from your retreating figure, the blue-eyed girl looks at her best friend, letting her know she’s listening. “Hm?” she hums, pretending the brunette hadn’t caught her staring again.

“She’s so into you,” she replies in a hushed voice, making sure no one overheard her. “What?” Paige questions, her eyes wide. Her tone has a certain… desperation? No. Not desperation, because Paige doesn’t like you like that… she’s just uhh intrigued by you… Yeah, that sounds right…

“Mhmmm,” the team’s princess hums, “did you notice how she left out the last part of her translation?” “What?” Paige repeats, “Of course not, I can’t speak French… But you can!”. The blonde’s voice rises at the end of her sentence, gaining the attention of her team around her. She just grins at them sheepishly before asking Azzi to tell her what you’d said, her voice urgent.

The brunette shakes her head, chuckling in amusement at how smitten Paige already seemed, only having met you a few hours prior. “Calm down, lovergirl.” “Azz, come on! She’s gonna be back soon,” the enamored girl whines, acting like a little kid. Azzi rolls her eyes, leaning even closer to her best friend, “She said she’s not dating anyone… but she’s working on that…”. Paige frowns for a second. Not because she doesn’t like the idea of you dating anyone else! Just because she’s not sure what any of that has to do with her. “God, you’re so oblivious sometimes, P. Did you not see the way she was looking at you while she said that? The way she’s been looking at you this whole time actually?”

The star athlete doesn’t get the chance to reply, seeing as you’d already returned back to your seat. It was probably for the better though, sass clear on the blonde’s face. None of it mattered anyway. The blue-eyed girl is pretty sure you were looking at her the way you were looking at everyone. “And besides, even if she did like me, it’s not like I’d care… she’s not exactly my type,” the girl thought to herself. 

And you weren’t really. Paige had had her fair share of girlfriends and flings, all more on the… well… girly side. Girls that knew nothing about basketball, loved makeup, and were scared of breaking a nail. She’d never been with anyone taller than her. Someone that was more likely to carry her around on tiresome hiking dates. Paige wasn’t used to anyone being able to make her so flustered just by a simple look, always being the one to make other girls blush with a few well-aimed flirty grins. 

Azzi knew her best friend. She could read her like an open book even when she tried to be sneaky. Because let’s be honest, if there’s one thing Paige isn’t, it’s subtle. Whenever the blonde liked a girl, she’d stare at them, holding eye contact like her life depended on it and making them feel like they were the only people in the world. She’d flirt by annoying the hell out of them, knowing they couldn’t be mad at her when she’d send them her signature smirk. And so, because Azzi knows her so well, she could clearly tell that Paige was head over heels. It was cute to see the otherwise so confident girl flush red, stumble over her words, and zone out looking at you while still trying to deny her crush. 

“We should all hang out at Pazzi’s dorm!” KK says eagerly, “We can have a sleepover!”. Paige rolls her eyes at the ship name between her and her best friend. “‘Xcuse me? Do we not get any say in that?” she replies sassily. “Hmmm, no,” KK grins. “Whatever,” the blonde responds, faking her annoyance. She was actually pretty excited at the thought of spending more time with you. Of course, she didn’t let that show. She didn’t want Azzi to give her that knowing look of hers.

After finishing your meals and a lot more laughing, you all get up to go to Paige and Azzi’s dorm. As you’re walking towards your car, you let the girls go ahead of you, hanging back a little to keep talking to KK. You look up as you hear your cousin stop mid-sentence, a frown forming on her face. Paige, Azzi, and Nika had already reached your car, the blonde leaning against the passenger seat. “What? Nuh-uh, I get to sit in front!” KK speeds over with a scowl. “You snooze, you lose, Camera,” the blue-eyed girl smirks. “Y/N! Tell her to move,” your cousin demands, swiveling her head around and looking at you with a pout. You look between the two, both blue and brown eyes staring at you with hope. 

You shrug lightly with a smile, “Sorry kid, you should’ve called shotgun.” KK huffs as she stomps her foot, making her teammates laugh. “You’re supposed to be on my sideee,” she whines as you unlock the car and get in. You only chuckle, looking in your rearview mirror to see her pouting with her arms crossed. “Play nice, Kam,” you say with a warm smile. She replies by sticking her tongue out and looking away in annoyance. You can tell she’s not actually mad though, the corners of her mouth curling up against her will. You two could never stay mad at each other anyway, always apologizing within a few hours of an argument. 

As you’re driving and asking the directions from the blonde beside you, you can’t help stealing glances at her. She looked so peaceful, nodding along to the beat of the songs on the radio as she tapped her fingers against her thighs. You weren’t afraid to admit you were attracted to the well-known player, even before getting to know her. You’d seen quite a few of her games, even played against her one time (though she probably didn’t remember, you looked quite different back then, and your last name wasn’t that uncommon). You really admired the girl if you were being honest. 

On the court she was an amazing player, the stats proved that. And she didn't win all those prizes for nothing. You liked the way she never gave up. The way she led her team, even when they felt like all was lost. You also knew she had a really high basketball IQ, the way she seemed to be able to know what was gonna happen on the court before it had even happened.

Off the court she was a great person as well. You hadn't known her for that long, but KK had told you plenty of stories about all the funny moments she'd had with the blonde. During late-night facetimes, when the vibe had calmed down, KK would tell you all about how the #5 player had helped her. It didn’t matter if your cousin needed help with certain shots she struggled with or with her schoolwork, Paige was always there when she needed it. And anyone KK spoke of that highly? Well, they were immediately good in your book. 

When you guys are about halfway to campus, Paige's phone rings. Glancing over, you see the caller ID read Ice Spice. You could only assume it was the #25 player calling. You see the blonde scrunch her face together in confusion as she taps "Accept." "Wassup, Ice? You're on speaker," she says, holding the phone in between you two. "Hey, we were thinking of stopping at the store real quick to get some snacks. Whatchu guys want?" You hear Ice's voice crackle through the phone. You wait until everyone has answered before asking them to bring your favorite snack and drink. You also ask them to bring some other candy that you know KK really likes but always seems to forget about. As you look back, you see that the young girl has already long forgotten about the phone call, being too busy playing a game on her phone. You roll your eyes fondly.

When you get to the apartments, you park the car and walk towards the trunk. You hand everyone their bags, holding onto your own as well as your cousin's as you listen to her bicker with Paige. You hear Nika butt in every once in a while to tease both girls, her Croatian accent coming out a little. Walking up to the agreed-upon dorm, you fall back a little as you make quiet conversation with Azzi.

You really vibed with Azzi. She was calm and pretty quiet, but she didn't bite her tongue when she disagreed with something. You liked how mature she was but still managed to quip back with a witty comeback to make everyone laugh. 

You liked the whole team, really. The way they all acted like older sisters to KK. While being around the same age as her, you tell they felt a sense of protectiveness over your baby cousin. You saw as they all took turns making sure she was okay, keeping an eye out for her at all times. It warmed your heart.

When you all reach the dorm, you walk in, putting down your and KK’s bags somewhere near the door. “Y/N! Sit next to me!” KK hollers from where she’s seated on the couch. You chuckle in amusement as you walk over, plopping down next to her. You sling an arm around her and pull her a little closer. You feel the freshman relax against you as you both listen to Paige and Nika’s bickering. Azzi sits down next to you, giving you a gentle smile before turning to give her best friend a disapproving look as the girl says something out of pocket to Nika.

Sitting here, totally at ease, made you realize that in the few hours you’d known the girls, they’d made you feel completely at home in their little group. You continue to listen to the chattering around you, joining the conversation whenever you need to before hearing a loud banging on the door. “Oh my godddd”, you hear Paige groan as she gets up. Opening the door, she says, “Y’all needa fucking chillll, bro,” before letting the rest of the team in. 

Everyone finds a place to settle down before handing out the snacks and drinks. When you get your stuff handed to you, you give the candy to KK. She immediately shoots up from where she was lying against your side. You grin at her as she looks at you with wide eyes before flinging herself back down against you in a hug. 

“This is why you’re my favorite cousin!” she fake cries, making the team chuckle at her dramatics. You smile down at her as you pat her head before looking up when you hear someone say, “So… what’re we gonna do?”. Everyone looks at each other, shrugging a little. “Games and a movie?” Azzi suggests softly. 

Not being able to say no to the people’s princess, everyone agrees before splitting up into groups to play different games. Ice and Aaliyah immediately get up to go play Fortnite on Paige’s Xbox while some of the other girls run off to go play Roblox on Paige and Azzi’s laptops. 

You stay seated as Azzi walks over to the cupboard to grab a deck of Uno for you, KK, Paige, Nika, and herself. Before the brunette even gets the chance to take out the cards, the blonde turns to the Croatian girl to talk shit. “You ready to lose again, Mool?” she teases, completely butchering Nika’s last name. “I hope you play better than you talk shit, Boogers,” the Croatian quips back. You feel KK sit up properly as she grins, having regained her energy, “Less talking, more playing, losers. You guys are going downnn.”

15 minutes later you think you might pass out. 

Have you ever laughed this much before? Turns out Nika is notoriously bad at Uno, somehow always forgetting to yell the word when she has one card left. Apparently Paige is strangely good at pulling +2 cards while Azzi somehow always manages to have all of her cards be the same color. You were the only normal player, seeing as KK kept trying to (and somehow succeeding to?) cheat by looking at everyone’s cards and by putting down multiple cards when no one was looking. After a while, you decide to stop playing, seeing as Nika looks like she’s about to kill Paige if she gets another +2 card. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon laughing as you play games and tell stories. When it hits dinner time, you order a few pizzas. You all decide to play rock-paper-scissors to see who has to go get them. You’re glad to see the Croatian girl is better at that than Uno, seeing as you weren’t sure it would end well if she lost again. 

Once Ashlynn and Caroline leave, you all find a spot around the tv to watch some movies. You’re still seated on the couch next to KK and Azzi, with Nika and Paige sitting beside them.

“Alright, I think it’s my turn to choose a movie,” Paige says in a matter-of-fact way. “What? No way it’s already your turn again!” Ice protests. “Uhm? Yeah, it is? Aubrey picked last time, so it’s my turn again,” she frowns offendedly. “I swear to God if you make us watch that movie again,” Aaliyah grumbles from her spot on the floor. “Hey! Love & Basketball is a really good movie!” Paige raises her voice defensively, “Right, Azzi?”. 

“Yeah, sure, ask the one person who loves the movie as much as you do,” Nika grins. The blue-eyed girl looks around the room with a frown before settling her eyes on you. Her face softens. “What do you think of the movie, Y/N?”. Her eyes are wide and innocent looking, you think you can even see a sparkle of hope swimming around in them.

You raise your eyebrows slightly as everyone turns towards you expectantly. You clear your throat a little. “I, uhh, haven’t seen it yet,” you shrug slightly. Paige’s mouth drops open. “IT’S DECIDED, WE’RE WATCHING IT!” she yells, making the girls around her groan. You grin at the girl, glad to see she’s gotten more comfortable around you, showing her more playful side instead of the nervous side you’d been seeing (though she looked cute either way). “Okay, okay, calm down, P,” Azzi chuckles at her excitement. “We’re gonna watch multiple movies anyway, so why don’t we let Y/N pick the first movie and then watch yours after?”. You see the team nod their heads eagerly at the idea of not having to watch Paige’s movie just yet.

You look over at Paige, who playfully scratches her chin in thought. “Okay, fine… But only because I’m not in the mood for it yet,” she says. “Right… not in the mood for your favorite movie… or maybe you’re head over heels for Y/N, who will tell?” Azzi thinks with a small smile on her face. 

“So, Y/N/N, what’s it gonna be?” Nika asks with her signature teasing smirk. Once you tell them your favorite movie, you start chatting about school and basketball, waiting for the food to arrive. You see Paige get up out of the corner of your eye as she mumbles something about getting everything ready. Azzi nods, getting up as well to help the blonde with the plates and cups. Your eyes follow their retreating figures until they disappear into the kitchen area. You hoped you’d be able to talk to the blue-eyed girl alone before you had to leave again, wanting to see if you were right thinking she liked you back.

When Paige and Azzi get to the kitchen, they don’t speak at first, silently moving in sync as if they were two parts of a whole. Seeing as the blonde isn’t going to say anything, Azzi opens her mouth. “So… Are you gonna make a move?” 

Paige whips her head towards the brunette so fast you’d think she got whiplash. “What? What do you mean? Make a move on who? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she rambles as her cheeks flush red. Azzi grins at her friend’s nervousness before placing her hand softly on the girl’s arm. “Relax, P, it’s just us here.”. 

“I’m chill, I just don’t like Y/N like that,” she replies, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge so she has something to do with her hands. “If you don’t like her, then how did you know who I was talking about?” Azzi looks at her with a gentleness that makes Paige freeze.

“Oh my god… I like Y/N…” the blonde thinks as her eyes go wide. Seeing her reaction, her best friend pulls her into a hug. “Ask her out,” she whispers into the panicking girl’s ear. “No! No, I can’t! I mean, she probably doesn’t even like me back… And even if she did, she’s KK’s cousin… that’d be weird, right?” the wide-eyed girl rambles. The brunette doesn’t get the chance to reply as loud knocking is heard on the front door. Paige pulls away with a certain urgency as she speeds out of the kitchen to let the girls in. Azzi shakes her head with a sigh, “Let’s hope Y/N has more balls,” she mumbles to herself.

Walking to the living room with the paper plates and cups, Azzi sees Paige already sitting back in her spot, leaving an empty spot next to you for herself. “P, swap with me,” she says, standing in front of the blonde. Paige’s eyes widen as she asks, “Why?” “Cus I said so,” the brunette rolls her eyes, “I need to talk to Caroline.” Paige gulps as she scooches closer to you.

You send her a soft smile, being able to feel nerves radiate off of her in waves. It was cute seeing how much a nervous mess she was near you. You’d seen enough edits of her on your TikTok to know she was usually extremely confident. So seeing her like this? Completely flushed, avoiding eye contact, and even sometimes stuttering over her words, she looked adorable.

As you all start watching the movie, you feel KK lean against you as she finally starts mellowing out. You knew it was coming. You’d been around the younger girl enough to know she was very high energy throughout the whole day, but the second you two sat down, in the comfort of your safe space, she’d become quiet, finally being at ease. 

You all eat your food, watching your favorite movie, and you can’t help but wish you could stay like this forever. Once the end credits play, the girls around you praise your movie choice before playfully complaining about the fact that it was now turn for Paige’s movie. You all joke around a little more before you decide to finally watch the movie, not wanting to go to bed too late. As the first lines get spoken, the blonde loudly shushes everyone with a wide grin, leaning forward a little to fully enjoy the movie. 

While you’re sure Love & Basketball is a great movie, you don’t pay attention for a second. How could you? When Paige was sitting so close to you, subconsciously having leaned in a little. Her warm thigh pressed against yours as she mouths all the words. It makes your heart flutter.

Throughout the movie, some girls get up, mumbling about going to bed before disappearing with a wave and a sleepy smile. When the movie comes to an end, only a handful of people are left. You look around, making sure not to wake KK from where she has fallen asleep against you. “Did everyone fall asleep?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, it looks like it,” Paige grins.

The blonde gets up, grabbing the cups and plates around her. You get up as well, making sure KK is still comfortable, before helping the blue-eyed girl bring the dishes away. You work in silence until you get to the kitchen. “You were right, you know?” you say with a grin. “Hm,” Paige hums, looking at you before breaking eye contact nervously. 

“You were right, it was a good movie,” you say, stepping a bit closer to her. “Yeah?” Paige asks with a grin, “Did you also love the part where they dyed their hair in the janky gas station?” “Yeah, that was a really good part,” you say, sliding even closer to her. Your heart flutters as you hear her laugh, slapping a hand in front of her mouth to not wake up the girls. “You didn’t watch the movie at all, did you?” she says, her eyes twinkling.

You send her a smirk, standing in front of her as she’s leaning against the counter. “You caught me,” you say, not even feeling embarrassed about it. She laughs, heat rising in her cheeks at your proximity, before asking, “What did you even do for the past 2 hours?” You shrug, leaning a little closer, “I guess I was just enjoying the view.” Paige flushes a bright red. 

She clears her throat and looks everywhere but at you. “Ahem, the uhhh, the girls like you a lot,” she stammers, picking at her nails. “Oh yeah?” you grin, “That’s nice… I like them too…” “Mhm… You know, when KK told us about you, we didn’t expect you to be like this at all. I mean, she called you her twin all the time, so we envisioned an exact copy of her. She always called you the less cool version of herself. We didn’t expect you to be so badass. I mean, like, your tattoos! They’re cool! Yeah, cool….,” the blonde rambles, her sentence trailing off as she cringes at how awkward she is.

Your eyes crinkle as your smile grows. “Paige…” you say softly, making her look up at you. “Relax,” you mumble, taking another step closer as you grab her hips. You give them a light squeeze before saying, “Listen, I like you. I’ve always admired you from afar, but now that I’ve spent a day with you, I’ve realized that I want to be more than just a friend… So, I would really like to take you on a date if you’d let me?”

You look down at her, slightly nervous about what she’ll reply. When you see her tense up, you soften your grip, getting ready to take a step away. You worry you misread the situation, but before you can step back, Paige relaxes as a bright smile makes its way onto her face. “Yeah, yeah, that’d be nice,” she grins. 

You smile widely. Paige’s eyes dart all over your face, properly taking you in. Her eyes linger on your lips for a second before they return to yours. You lean a little closer, testing the waters and giving her the chance to pull away. When she doesn’t, you lean in all the way, pressing a soft kiss against her lips as she closes her eyes. When you pull back, her body follows yours, not quite ready to end the kiss just yet. 

Opening her eyes, she looks at you with a grin, biting her lip in excitement. This all felt so new and exhilarating. Completely different from her past relationships but a good different. She felt like she could explode from the giddy feeling in her stomach. 

Leaning in to kiss you again, a loud gasp can be heard. You both pull away quickly as you turn around to see KK standing there with wide eyes, her mouth dropped open. You look at her with a worried look in your eyes. While you did really like Paige, you’d never date her if KK wasn’t okay with it. 

For a moment no one says anything. You open your mouth to apologize, to explain, to say something, anything! You don’t get the chance to however as the younger girl speaks first. “So… does that mean you’re finally transferring to UConn?” she says, her shocked expression turning into a smug smirk. You feel the tension leave your body and can’t help letting out a deep belly laugh. You pull her into a tight hug, looking back at a still frozen Paige. You grin at her, sending her a wink as she finally relaxes. This is gonna be really fun.

[sailornymph]

beyond the fantasy; phantom troupe

synopsis — realizing your phantom troupe boyfriend is batshit crazy, but it is too late

content warning — yandere behavior, dark romance, sexual themes

a/n — i apologize for my unexpected absence. thank you for all of the support and new followers i have still received, even with my lack of presence and i hope that you all continue to enjoy the work that I put out for you all. i am working on my drafts, please do not text me inquiring about your request because i am working on it. thank you all.

♡ chrollo lucilfer

“damn it, chrollo, just…just call me back when you get the chance, okay? you have me worried sick,” you spoke in a hushed tone, leaving the millionth voicemail to your boyfriend.

ending the unanswered call, you stared at your previous calls, your face heating up. where could he have gone? hundreds of messages, texting him about your day, asking about his, but no answer, it was like he vanished. it had only been three weeks now, but to go from nearly everyday with him, to never hearing from him, it felt like you were experiencing withdrawals.

chrollo, a charismatic, yet mysterious man he was, who managed to steal your heart only six months previously. he had stopped in your bookstore, when he approached you, searching for a book. you could never forget his soft smile, as he apologized, going on about how he ruined an old book of his and he was looking for a replacement. helping him, he was the most charming man, asking if you had recently moved in the area because he would have noticed such a beautiful person.

it was only a matter of time before you were going on dates to the art museum, lunch together, while he sketched you, humming as you babbled, or your favorite, when he’d come to your shop, late in the evening before you closed — picking a book, he held your hand, leading you to a seat — sitting first, he pulled you into his lap, where he went on to read to you. god you missed him.

“excuse me?” you heard, as the doorbell jingled, making you shove your phone into your pocket.

“yes, how can i assist y-matthew?” you smiled, a gasp slipping from your lips, as you moved around the counter to hug your old friend from college.

“in the flesh, baby,” he smirked, slinging his muscular arms around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“there were talks of you finally opening your own bookstore, i knew you'd do it,” he cooed, pinching your cheek, like a mother would do their child.

matthew elsten was always someone you admired greatly. he was from a wealthy family of doctors, but he thought being in school for all of the years was uncool for him. he was good looking, charming with a great body, and so instead of following what his family wanted him to do, he chose to make a path for himself, which was beyond admirable, being that he was now very successful.

“i did, and you actually became a swimsuit model,” you nodded, smiling at his huge smile, he was still as handsome as your remembered.

“you've seen my work, y/n, i knew you would support me,” he cheered.

“i’ve seen you on many magazine covers on my way to work, i’m proud of you, matt,” you nudged him.

“thank you, it means a lot coming from you,” he pretended to tear up.

“no problem, so tell me what can i help you with, old friend?”

“oh nothing much, i happened to be in the area, when i remembered angie told me you opened up here, so i wanted to see if you would take me up on an offer from the past,” he blushed, making you smirk, his words bringing a familiar memory to you.

“refresh my memory”

“your number and maybe some dinner sometime, angie said that you had a boyfriend, but he hadn't been around in a while, so i figured why not try again,” staring into his eyes, your mind drifted to chrollo. would this be considered cheating? he never seemed like the jealous type, matt was only a friend, and lastly, he was your boyfriend, yet he didn't seem to care too much about you, how he was able to easily abandon you for the next three weeks.

“sure, but i’ll have to think about dinner, matt,” you laughed, writing your number on a card, handing it to him.

“i get it, i can respect that you are busy with your shop, but if you're ever free, and you'd like to meet up, maybe you could use me, it would be fun, but i’ll see you around, y/n,” matthew winked, leaving you flustered in the empty store.

you juggled your keys and the phone as you laughed with angie, the cold air brushing your cheeks as you approached your apartment door. thankful that you would finally have a few days of resting after being busy.

“i can't believe you sent matthew to seduce me?” you teased.

“i sent him to distract you, god knows that chrollo doesn’t deserve you. he disappeared and left you to grieve as if he died.”

“he didn’t die,” you mumbled, pausing as your key hit resistance.

“he might as well have, he ghosted with no reason, meaning he is trash. honestly, if matt makes you smile again, you should let him. also, he’s a total slut from what i've been told, you should take him up on his offer, just for fun”

you laughed. “you’re terrible.”

but your laugh soon died. your door was… unlocked.

you always locked your door, sometimes double or triple checking. there was one reason you would leave your door unlocked and that was when you were expecting someone. your stomach dropped.

“angie, let me call you back,” you whispered. you ended the call and turned the knob.

it opened.

your breath caught. the lights were off — except for the dim glow in your living room.

and then you saw him.

matthew.

slumped in your chair. bruised, bleeding from his lip. eyes barely open.

“matt?” you gasped, rushing toward him — but the lights flared to life. reaching to touch his face, he winced, barely conscious.

you stopped.

standing beside him, arms calmly crossed, was a woman you didn’t recognize — her eyes dark, her expression unreadable.

“who are you?” you questioned, backing away.

“welcome home,” a familiar voice cooed softly.

you turned.

chrollo.

leaning against your bookshelf. the same one he used to read to you from. his smile was gentle. too gentle.

“i brought a friend for you to use.”

“what is the meaning of this? who is this woman? why is matt here? and how the hell did you get into my apartment?” you questioned, the longer you stared at his handsome face, the angrier you became. here you were sad, worried, stressed about him and now he stood in front of you, dressed expensively, with a nonchalant expression on his face.

with a soft motion of his hand, the woman was leaving the apartment without sparing you a glance.

“i’ve been away for business, my love, but i’ve come to collect what is mine,” he told you, his voice unusually calm.

“what are you talking about? did you and that woman do to matt?”

you were still processing the sight of matt beaten, chrollo eerily calm, the woman who stood as if she were a guard. he walks to you like he’s returning from war, not breaking and entering.

“i have a secret to share with you, but it will not be here, we’re leaving,” he gently touches your cheek, but you jerk away.

“as for your friend, he is very lucky to be alive, when he deserves worse,” he continued, making you frown. your mind going to angie’s words about him.

“you can’t really think that i am coming with you, i’ve been worried about you and-

“you’ve been so loyal. i didn’t want to taint that by rushing”

“i was worried sick over you! i begged you to call me back! i could hardly eat, i didn’t sleep—i didn’t even look at another man for weeks, until matt and you—you think you can show up like this now?!”

“i won’t stand for it. you expect me to follow you? like nothing happened? do you think i’m that pathetic?! angie was right about you”

he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even defend himself. he just watches you — head slightly tilted, as if he were studying a painting.

“you’re right,” he says softly. “you shouldn’t follow blindly. but you will follow.”

“i don’t even recognize you right now. we’re done. i’m done, chrollo. go back to wherever you came from. i want no part of you anymore,” you mustered the strength to say, turning to go to matt, when he finally moved.

slow, but without hesitation. he grabs your wrist — not enough to bruise, but enough to make you freeze. he pulls your close, body flush against his, his hand sliding up to you jaw. holding you there. firm. possessively.

“you don’t get to leave me, not yet”

you try to pull away, but his grip only tightens.

“not until i’m through with you”

letting out shallow breaths, you searched his eyes, trying to understand what was happening, as the tear escaped.

“you’re not making sense,” you cried.

chrollo softens his expression immediately. wiping the tear with his thumb. and then he kisses your lips. slowly. almost lovingly.

“you cry so beautifully. it’s a shame i wasn’t here to see more of it”

“go pack your things,” he continued.

you wanted to scream at him, push him away, slap him for potentially hurting matt, yet you stood unable to move under his gaze. you wanted to stand up for yourself, but deep down inside you know you didn’t have much of a choice: you were going with him.

clenching your jaw, you turn to go to your room, shutting the door behind yourself. hurriedly reaching for your phone, you gasp, realizing it was missing from your pocket. gulping away the tears, you packed a few pieces of clothes and other miscellaneous items, before you went back to face chrollo.

immediately your eyes went to the empty chair matt once sat in, then the woman from earlier standing stoically by the door.

“where is matt? what did you do with him?” you yelled at chrollo.

“you should be worried about yourself angel,” he smiled, before a sack was placed over your head and you were knocked out.

jolting out of your sleep, you realized you were being carried, by chrollo. when he suddenly stopped, placing you down, before the sack was taken off by the woman. you were walking in a unfamiliar building, when you saw them.

they were hunters, but they were also criminals. they stared, making you move closer to chrollo, who had an arm loose around your shoulder, not paying them any attention.

“you sure about this, boss?” one of the men ask, but chrollo said nothing, continuing to lead you past them, until you were inside of a plain room. the various books scattered around let you know that this was in fact his room.

letting you go, he watched as you sat at the edge of the bed, as he pulled a chair up, sitting in front of you.

“you were mine the moment you smiled at me in that shop-

“who are they?” you interrupted, eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember where you seen the group of criminals.

he just smiles.

“they’re mine.”

you blink. “yours?”

he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“the phantom troupe. the spiders. i lead them.”

you laugh. this had to be one big joke.

“you’re not serious.”

he tilts his head, unbothered. calm.

“why do you think i’ve been gone so long? why do you think no one dares to touch you in this city? they know you belong to me. and i belong to the troupe.”

you freeze, unable to believe that you were hearing.

“you’re lying”

he doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t explain further.

instead, he reaches into his coat pocket — pulls out a small black book. one of the old ones he’d always read from when you first met.

he flips to the middle and turns it toward you.

inside awaited a hand-drawn spider. numbered legs. names written in a clean, elegant hand.

your heart sinks when you see one word underlined.

“lucilfer.”

he watches your expression shift. he loved watching you realize things.

“i didn’t lie to you,” he says softly. “i just showed you the part you were ready for.”

“why are you telling me this now?”

he stands, crossing the room.

“because now… you don’t get to leave.”

“what did you do with matthew?”

“matthew…that was a lapse in judgment. one i’ve corrected”

“why me, why are you doing this to me?” you whispered.

“because you waited”

“that doesn’t mean anything anymore, it doesn’t mean i still want you, after all of this”

he leaned closer. “it means you need me.”

your breath hitched as he stood, reaching for your coat, fingers brushing your shoulder with reverence. he removed it slowly, like peeling away a layer of armor.

“i watched you suffer. not out of cruelty. but to be sure you were worthy of me”

you flinched. “worthy? you left me.”

“i watched every moment,” he murmured. “i saw your tears. your prayers. your silence. that’s devotion”

“that’s pain,” you snapped, voice shaking.

watching as he stood, he reached for your hand, closing the distance between you, hand sliding under your chin, tilting your head up.

“they’re the same, sometimes,” he told you gently, before pressing his lips against your own.

his kiss wasn’t rushed. it was slow — sickeningly soft. the kind that made you feel like maybe this was still love. maybe.

your body remembered him. your mouth betraying you. he kissed your jaw. your neck. his hands held your waist like you might disappear — like he owned the shape of you.

“you’re mine,” he said quietly. “not in theory. not in memory. now.”

your knees buckled when he pushed you gently onto the bed. his eyes never left you — he didn’t look at your body. he looked at your soul.

“i missed you,” he whispered, crawling over you. “i thought of this every night. how quiet you’d be beneath me.”

you didn’t know if you were crying or sweating — his fingers found your skin like he already knew it. like he’d memorized every inch.

“this is what you wanted,” he breathed against your collarbone. “even now, you want it.”

and part of you hated that he was right.

he kissed you until your body forgot how to fight. that it was supposed to be angry at him.

his hands continued to travel — patient, reverent — until they gripped your thighs and spread them. he didn’t ask. he didn’t need to.

“say it,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “say you’re mine.”

you turned your head, gasping — shame curling in your gut as he dragged his palm over your inner thigh, deliberate and slow, resting on your clothed cunt.

“i’m not,” you choked. “i’m not yours,” you shook your head.

he didn’t say anything for a moment, pressing his palm against your pussy, feeling you repeatedly clinching your walls.

“then why are you shaking like you want to be?”

he reached to unbutton your pants, sliding them, along with your panties down your legs, tossing them aside as if they meant nothing, and pushed two fingers inside you with a low breath.

you gasped — not from pain, but from how easily your body betrayed you.

“you were waiting for this,” he murmured, curling his fingers. “you thought of me every night. praying i’d come back and ruin you.”

“chrollo—”

“you want to hate me.” he thrust deeper. “but you dreamed of this.”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t. your thighs trembled, hips instinctively rising to meet his hand.

his mouth crashed down against your collarbone, teeth scraping, biting hard enough to leave proof — his tongue softening the sting with a slow lick.

“i missed this body,” he growled, voice finally breaking that calm, silken mask. “i missed the way it sings when i touch you. let me hear it,” he said, satisfied when you began moaning at his command.

he unbuckled his belt with one hand, never stopping the rhythm of his fingers inside you. stroking himself, he finally removed his fingers, grabbing your thighs to pull you closer.

he pushed into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until you were full — stretched, trembling, barely able to breathe.

“perfect,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

“even after all this time…you still fit me like you were made for me,” he continued.

you whimpered. not just from the pressure, but the way he looked at you — like you were sacred, like this was some twisted ritual and your body was the altar.

his hands braced your hips as he started to move — slow at first, deliberate. he wanted you to feel every second. every inch.

you tried not to cry out, but your body betrayed you, back arching as pleasure pulsed up your spine.

“there it is,” he murmured. “that sound. that’s mine too.”

you clenched your teeth. “i hate you.”

he smiled, thrusting harder, stealing your breath.

“then hate me from under me”

your fingers twisted into the blanket as he picked up the pace, every stroke pushing the words from your lungs.

“you’ve already submitted,” he said lowly. “your body made that choice before your mind did”

he leaned in, biting your shoulder — not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting.

“but i’ll still wait for your mouth to catch up”

his hand slid up your chest, gripping your throat with just enough pressure to remind you of your place — of who had you pinned, who had taken you apart so easily.

“say it.”

you gasped. “w-what?”

“say you’re mine.”

you shook your head, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. but your hips were still rising to meet him. your body still pulled him deeper.

he growled, pulling nearly all the way out — then slammed back into you with one sharp, punishing thrust.

“say it, or i’ll keep going until you can’t speak.”

you choked — pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

“i’m yours… i’m yours, chrollo—please—!”

his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing the sob that slipped free. his kiss was deep, possessive, unforgiving. tongue and teeth, breath and dominance.

he angled his hips just right — hitting that spot that made you cry out again, your body convulsing around him.

“good girl,” he whispered against your lips. “i knew you’d remember who you belonged to.”

you came undone — trembling around him, nails raking down his clothed back. And he didn’t stop. not even as your vision blurred, not even as you sobbed his name into his shoulder.

he came moments later, growling against your throat, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside you, fingers digging bruises into your hips.

when he pulled out, he didn’t ask how you were.

he gathered your limp body into his arms, kissed your temple, and whispered:

“now you’ll never forget.”

you didn’t remember falling asleep.

your body was sore in places you didn’t know could ache. last night was different from the previous lovemaking the sheets still smelled like him — clean, faintly smoky, tinged with something sweet and old like worn paper or dried blood.

when you sat up, you realized, he was gone. no note. no goodbye. just empty space beside you where his body had once caged yours in heat and silence.

you moved slowly, stretching your legs out of bed, wincing slightly as you stood. every part of you remembered last night. his hands. his voice. the way he whispered, “you’re mine.”

you scanned the room and spotted a dark shirt draped across a chair — definitely his. you pulled it over your bare skin. it smelled like him. it felt like belonging.

you stepped into the hall barefoot, the cold floor shocking your skin as you padded through the dim hideout. quiet, still. like a church built for monsters.

then you heard voices — muffled, serious, rising from a door down the corridor. half-curious, half-hoping, you followed them. and walked right into it.

the dim room went silent the moment the door creaked open.

there they were — the phantom troupe. spiders in human skin. gathered but scattered in the old room. maps. weapons. bloodstained papers.

beyond them was a balcony, and there he sat like their king, like a god, chrollo.

and when he saw you — in nothing but his shirt, hair tousled, eyes still dazed from sleep — he smiled. not politely. not cruelly. but with affection.

“ah,” he murmured. “my queen has awakened.”

you froze.

a few heads turned, acknowledging your presence. one of the the members being the one woman who stood behind matthew — she blinked and tilted her head, as if trying to decide whether you were prey, a pet, or something else.

chrollo held out his hand.

“come here.”

you hesitated. just for a second.

but your feet obeyed before your fear did.

you walked toward him, heart pounding, face burning. he pulled you effortlessly into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vice.

he nuzzled your neck — right where the bruise from his bite still pulsed.

“she’s proven herself,” he said to the others. “watched. endured. stayed.” not that he had given you much of a choice.

“she’s mine. my princess.” his voice dropped lower. “no—my queen.”

you didn’t dare look at the others. his hand slid under the hem of the shirt you wore — just resting on your bare thigh.

“she belongs here now,” he said softly into your ear. “you’ve earned it, my love. you survived and that makes you divine”

a few minutes passed before the troupe members resumed talking as you rested on his lap, as if you were nothing but his doll.

“you were always meant to sit beside me. i just had to break the perfect world around you until you saw it too.”

♡ feitan portor

feitan, your boyfriend was very peculiar. he was incredibly secretive and stoic. but he was your bizarre and stoic love. he didn’t talk about his past or work. never brought friends around.

you knew he liked that you didn’t ask questions, that you held a deep trust for him. there was so much that you loved about him, that you could never bring yourself to say out loud.

the way he always knows when you’re overwhelmed — how he’ll pull you into his arms, sit you on his lap, and stay silent until your heartbeat slows. the way he watches you when you talk, like your words are the only ones worth hearing. the way he touches you like he’s memorizing your skin — not with lust, but ownership. like he wants to carve your existence into his hands.

your parents hated him, he looked even weirder to them, he was quite short, he had the face of a murderer — they went on and on when he left, after they had shown up to surprise you. but you didn’t find yourself caring.

folding your laundry, you began to put it away, feitan’s clothes folded perfectly on your bed. glancing at the dresser, your eyes moved to the door. he hadn’t officially moved in, but you had given him a few places for his things and he had been vocal about you not touching any of the places.

“i’m sorry, honey, but i’m not leaving these clothes laying around,” you huffed, opening the door to place your clothes inside. however, the sight made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

you hadn’t expected to find a folder — thick, black, unmarked. not tucked away or buried beneath anything. it sat there like it was waiting for you.

was this always here?

you shouldn’t open it, but you couldn’t contain your curiosity.

the moment you slid your fingers beneath the flap, a chill ran up your spine. it wasn’t even the first photo that shook you — it was the fact that you recognized the angle.

you — brushing your hair in front of the mirror. taken from behind. another one — you asleep in bed. another — walking home at night, head down, unaware.

your stomach turned. they weren’t new. some were printed on thin, glossy paper. others were older, aged with creases like he’d touched them too many times. you flipped faster.

you at work. you sitting on your porch. you with your friend, mika, outside a cafe last month.

your hand froze.

the photo was burned slightly on the edge. someone — no, feitan — had scrawled something underneath the image in messy, slanted handwriting:

untrustworthy.

you dropped the stack. but the folder wasn’t done with you. beneath your photos were others — not of you, but of people you’d spoken to. your coworker. your old classmate. that barista who gave you free coffee and a wink once. all labeled. some scratched through.

some with one word beneath them:

removed.

your breath hitched. what the hell is this? then, in the very back, something different.

a photo of you again — this time from far away, sitting alone on a park bench.

on the back, in the same jagged handwriting:

mine.

you didn’t hear the door open. you didn’t hear him come in. you only felt it — the chill in the air. the weight behind you.

and then the voice, quiet, low, close enough to breathe against your neck.

“you weren’t supposed to look.”

your entire body locked up. the folder still open in your lap. his handwriting still in your hands. slowly, you turned your head.

feitan stood in the doorway — half in shadow, half in the dim orange glow of the setting sun through your curtains. blood stained the edge of his sleeve. his face was unreadable.

his eyes, though— his eyes were watching you like he had already decided what came next. you opened your mouth. no sound came out.

“you broke the rule.”

his tone didn’t rise. he didn’t step closer. that stillness was worse than anything else.

“i asked for one thing. one.”

your voice finally returned, weak and shaking.

“what… what does this mean, feitan?”

he tilted his head, just slightly.

“you ask that now?”

you stood, folder dropping to the floor, photos spilling like secrets between your feet. you stumbled back a step, two. your hand reached for the table, looking for anything — keys, your phone — something to make this not real.

he stepped into the room.

“you were supposed to trust me.”

“feitan—”

“but now,” he murmured, moving closer, “i can’t trust you.”

you backed into the wall.

he didn’t rush.

just reached out, slow and precise, gloved fingers curling under your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.

“and that means you can’t leave.”

you flinched, tears slipping down your cheek. he wiped one away with his thumb, calm. deliberate.

“you looked,” he whispered. “so now you belong to me fully.”

he just watches you.

the photos are still at your feet. your hands are shaking. your lungs burn like you’ve been holding your breath for hours.

he takes another step.

you press harder into the wall, like you can melt through it, vanish. disappear from his stare.

“you weren’t supposed to find that,” he says quietly.

his voice isn’t angry. it’s almost… disappointed. but the kind of disappointment that comes before punishment — not yelling. not rage.

correction.

“i told you not to touch my things.”

“you hid pictures of me,” you say, voice thin, fragile.

“people i know—”

“people who got too close,” he cuts in.

another step.

you’re fully cornered now. wall at your back. dresser to one side. him in front. nowhere to go.

“you’re acting like i hurt you,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

his hand lifts — so slow it almost doesn’t feel real — and comes to rest against the wall beside your head. not touching you yet. just closing in.

“but i haven’t. not once.”

your voice cracks.

“you’ve killed people, that waiter, my old schoolmate, my neighbor, you hurt people”

“but not you.”

your throat tightens.

“you followed me—watched me—”

“yes.” his tone is sharp now, biting. “and no one else gets to. do you understand?”

your lips part but nothing comes out.

his other hand lifts. rests on your waist. just his palm. solid. claiming.

“if you had known back then,” he murmurs, “would you have stayed away?”

you say nothing. because the answer is yes. obviously yes. you would’ve ran and never looked back.

his hand slides around your back, pulling you against him — not violently. but with no room left to resist.

“but you didn’t,” he whispers. “you let me in. you chose me.”

you shake your head. “i didn’t know.”

“you didn’t need to know.”

he leans in. breath against your lips now.

“i’ve always known everything for you.”

you gasp. your eyes burn. tears blur your vision, but his gaze never softens.

he presses his forehead to yours.

“you can cry,” he whispers. “you can shake. you can hate me.”

his fingers curl into your shirt.

“but you’re not leaving. not now. not ever.”

you break.

your knees buckle. a sob escapes your throat, and your face collapses into his chest.

his arms wrap around you — tight, unyielding. one hand stroking your hair, the other keeping your body molded to his.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “that’s mine now too. your fear. your voice. your surrender.”

he kissed your temple.

“all of it.”

his hand moved, slow, to the side of your throat — not choking, not hurting. just resting there. measuring your pulse. you tried to move. he stepped closer, pressing his body against yours, caging you between him and the wall.

“what is this, feitan?” you croaked

his eyes flicked down to your mouth as you spoke, but not with lust. it was something darker. hungrier.

“devotion.”

you gasped.

“this isn’t devotion—this is insanity.”

his grip tightened. your head hit the wall behind you with a soft thud as he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your ear.

“do you know how many people looked at you like they wanted what was mine?”

you shook your head, whimpering, but he didn’t stop.

“i waited. i watched. i let you live your life. let you have your little friends. your little smiles.”

“but they didn’t deserve to know you.”

his other hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt — not groping, just resting on your waist. grounding you. owning you.

“i let them breathe near you,” he whispered, “and you think i’m the monster?”

your voice cracked.

“please… let me go.”

he stilled.

for one long second, you thought he might.

then he spoke and it was a death sentence.

“no.”

his lips grazed your temple. then your cheekbone. then lower, kissing away another tear.

your knees gave out, and he caught you before you hit the ground.

“i won’t let you break yourself trying to escape. you already tried that with words.”

“now you’ll learn with silence.”

he lifted you into his arms like you were weightless — no struggle. no resistance left.

you cried into his shoulder, voice gone.

and he carried you to the bed like a priest to an altar.

he doesn’t let go of you.

even as the sobs tear through your chest — even as your fists weakly push against him — he stays, still and solid, arms wrapped around you like armor forged from obsession.

he lowers you to the bed with care.

not forceful. not rushed. ritualistic.

he lays behind you, pulling you against his chest, one arm around your waist, the other tucked beneath your head like a pillow. you’re shaking. tears won’t stop. you don’t know what you’re feeling anymqore — betrayal, fear, heartbreak, or the most dangerous thing of all: comfort.

his lips graze the nape of your neck.

“you’re safest here.”

he kisses your shoulder. soft. almost reverent.

“you were always meant to be mine.”

your heart races, your mind screams, but your body — exhausted, confused — begins to settle in the curve of his hold.

“i’ll never let you go,” he whispers.

he kisses the side of your head. your temple. your jaw.

he doesn’t say “i love you.”

he never has.

but you feel it in the weight of him. in the way he traces your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch. in the way his breath syncs to yours, even as yours hitches.

you cry until the tears run dry.

and eventually…

you sleep.

you wake alone.

the light is dim — filtered through heavy curtains. the silence is strange, almost hollow, and your first instinct is to move, run, leave.

but something holds you still.

a scent — his.

a pressure — the weight of the sheets still warm.

and then, your eyes fall on it:

a note. no. not a note.

a page — torn from one of your books.

your favorite one. the one you told him you loved, months ago. the one you thought he never listened to.

a passage is underlined in red ink.

“she was his sun, his wound, his ruin — and he would love her even if it meant burning the whole world to ash.”

beneath it, scrawled in his sharp, slanted handwriting:

run if you want.

i will find you.

and what you see next will not be this kind.

your blood runs cold.

and next to the note — folded with care — is a gift.

a necklace. yours.

you lost it weeks ago.

but there it is — cleaned, gleaming — and threaded through the bullet casing of a round he clearly fired.

your name is scratched into the metal.

you stare at it, unable to breathe.

he loves you.

and you would never be free because of it.

♡ illumi zoldyck

you were always told you were intimidating.

you were tall, poised, graceful — the kind of beauty that drew second glances in every room. but it wasn’t just your looks. it was how you carried yourself. the sharpness in your voice. the confidence in your walk. years of martial arts had carved strength into your posture, but you left that world behind after college. becoming a hunter didn’t interest you. you wanted peace. control.

so you became a teacher instead.

discipline and elegance were your currency. and most men didn’t know what to do with that.

until you met illumi.

he wasn’t like other men.

you noticed him first at a coffee shop, sitting perfectly still, black eyes watching the rain like he was memorizing its pattern. he wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense — too pale, too intense — but he had something no one else did.

silence.

he didn’t approach you.

you dropped your wallet, and he picked it up.

you said thank you.

he said nothing.

just looked at you — long and hard — and then walked away.

you thought that was the end of it.

it wasn’t.

you saw him again two weeks later. same coffee shop. same table.

this time, he spoke.

“you’re predictable,” he said without greeting.

you raised a brow.

“excuse me?”

“you come here every tuesday and friday. you order the same drink. you open your book to the same chapter you never finish.”

normally, you would’ve been insulted. defensive.

but something about the way he said it — flat, quiet, without judgment — made you pause.

he wasn’t mocking you.

he was observing you.

you found yourself smiling.

“maybe i was waiting for someone to notice.”

his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“i already did.”

it started there.

dates that weren’t really dates — just him watching you eat while you talked, occasionally asking strange questions.

he never complimented you. never touched you. never smiled.

but he always paid.

he always walked you home.

he always answered your texts within ten minutes — no emojis, no punctuation, just short, cold sentences that made you weirdly giddy.

you told yourself you liked it because he was different.

because he was honest. because he didn’t play games.

but truthfully?

you liked how he took control.

he picked the restaurant. he opened your doors. he pressed a hand to your lower back when guiding you through a crowd, and you felt it for hours after.

he was awkward. unnerving. completely unreadable.

but you felt safe.

or at least…

you thought you did.

you hadn’t seen him in a week.

not unusual for illumi — he’d warned you early on that he traveled often for work. what that work was, exactly, he never said. you assumed it had to do with security, surveillance, something secretive.

he never lied. but he never told you much of anything either.

so when he showed up at your door — no call, no warning — you didn’t hesitate.

you opened the door with a smile and kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and finally his mouth. his arms didn’t move. his face didn’t change.

but something was wrong.

you pulled back slowly.

“you’re back,” you whispered. “i missed you.”

his eyes were darker than usual.

emptier.

“we’re leaving,” he said.

you blinked.

“what?”

“you’re coming with me. now.”

“can’t we go in the morning? i haven’t packed, and i made dinner—”

he didn’t move.

he just stared.

a cold weight settled in your stomach.

“illumi?” you tried again, quieter.

“we’re going to meet my parents.”

you laughed — soft, nervous.

“okay, so tomorrow we can—”

“no.”

just one word.

his tone didn’t change. but his energy did.

something cold, final, pressing in from all sides.

“we leave in ten minutes. bring only what you need.”

you tried to argue.

you asked him why.

you asked what was going on.

you told him you didn’t understand.

and he looked at you like you were speaking nonsense.

“i made a decision,” he said.

“a decision about me?” you snapped.

“yes. you’re mine.”

you froze.

he stepped closer — not threatening, not loud. but deliberate.

“you’ve always said you liked how i lead. now follow.”

you packed. your hands lightly shaking.

you didn’t know if you were more afraid of what would happen if you refused — or what would happen if you agreed, but you couldn’t recognize illumi at the moment.

you didn’t think anything could be stranger than the way illumi lived.

and then you met his family.

killua was polite enough. the grandfather said almost nothing. the butler gave you chills. and silva — massive, godlike, inhuman — sized you up with a stare that felt like he was seeing through you.

but oddly… they approved.

“she’s lovely,” his mother said. “beautiful hands. strong frame.”

“will she fight?” his brother asked. “i want to see what she can do.”

you were too stunned to speak.

but illumi placed a hand on your back and simply hummed.

“she’s worthy.”

and the matter was settled.

you were theirs now.

your presence at the table during dinner wasn’t questioned. your hand was studied by his mother like it held prophecy. one of the younger brothers asked if you’d ever killed anyone. you laughed — no, of course not — and the room just stared.

his father nodded.

“she has the spine,” his grandfather said.

when the table cleared, and the family dispersed into the massive, cold estate, his mother brushed a hand over your shoulder and said:

“i can see it now, you’ll make a fine daughter-in-law.”

you didn’t respond.

you couldn’t, bowing out of respect and then following illumi.

the room was cold. elegant. dark wood and velvet sheets. more of a shrine than a place of rest.

“what the hell is this?” you snapped, as soon as the bedroom door shut.

he didn’t answer.

“why did we come here? why didn’t you tell me about any of this? and why are they acting like we’re engaged? you never even—”

“they were going to choose someone else,” he interrupted.

you stared.

“so i chose first.”

you laughed — sharp, disbelieving. a fucking arranged marriage.

“you think that’s how this works? you chose me? we haven't discussed this as a couple, what about what i want?” he stepped forward.

“you want me.”

you stepped back.

“and what if i said no?” your voice cracked.

his head tilted slightly. he was still standing near the center of the room, fingers loose at his sides. his gaze didn’t shift.

“you won’t.”

“you’re saying you're not giving me a choice, illumi.”

“i don’t believe in choices when outcomes are obvious.”

“you think that is love, illumi? sneaking around behind my back? forcing me here? treating me like some—”

his hand caught your wrist before you could finish.

you gasped.

not at the pain — there wasn’t any — but at how fast he’d moved. how close he was now. how he was suddenly, undeniably stronger than you’d let yourself realize.

“i let you believe you had space,” he said. “so you’d feel safe.”

his hand slid to your jaw, forcing your chin up.

his touch was cold. soft. absolute.

“but you don’t.”

your breath hitched.

“not anymore.”

his lips brushed yours — not a kiss. not yet.

“you can run, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“but you’ll only get tired.”

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t gentle.

his hands knew exactly where to press — not painful, but deliberate. claiming.

he guided you back onto the bed like he’d already planned it. like he’d rehearsed it.

and when he leaned over you, he whispered:

“i won’t hurt you.”

his breath ghosted over your throat.

“but i will ruin you for anyone else.”

“illumi—wait—please, just talk to me,” you said in a hushed tone.

your voice trembles as he walks you backward toward the bed, step by deliberate step. the room is quiet, the lights low — but there’s no softness here.

his hand never leaves your wrist.

“you don’t want to do this like this. not when i’m scared. just listen to me for a second—”

“it is natural to be scared right before surrender,” he says flatly.

you pull back — he doesn’t stop you. he just waits, head tilted.

“this isn’t surrender,” you argue. “this is—this is force, illumi. this is control. i thought we were building something real.”

he steps toward you again.

you step back.

your knees hit the bedframe.

“it is real,” he says. “this is the only kind of love that’s ever been real.”

you shake your head, eyes wide.

“i don’t want this.”

“you do.”

“you’re wrong—”

his hand moves to your waist, holding you steady.

“you’ve wanted it since the first time i touched you.”

your breath catches.

he’s watching you like a hunter watches a caught animal — not with glee. not with cruelty. with certainty.

“you think you have choices. you think your words matter. they don’t anymore.”

“you’re mine.”

“and what is mine doesn’t get to leave.”

you try again — softer this time.

“please… please, illumi”

his hand slides up your back, pulling you flush against him.

“you’re pleading like i haven’t already won.”

you freeze.

he leans in, brushing your ear with his lips.

“you don’t need to pretend you’re free anymore. it doesn’t suit you.”

his hand presses lightly at the base of your neck — not choking, just grounding you.

“you’re beautiful when you give in.”

and then he kisses you.

and your knees buckle, as he let’s go of you, to allow you to fall onto the bed.

you sit on the edge of the bed, your hands instinctively are folded neatly in your lap. not because you’re calm — but because if you don’t fold them, you’ll claw at your own skin.

illumi moved across the room, silent, removing his coat with eerie grace. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t ask how you’re feeling. doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

because he already knows.

and worse — he doesn’t care.

“you’re trembling,” he says finally.

you don’t respond.

“there’s no need for that.”

you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“is that supposed to comfort me?”

he walks toward you, slow and deliberate.

you flinch — just barely.

but he sees it.

he kneels in front of you.

his fingers rest lightly on your knee — a feather-light touch that feels heavier than iron.

“i chose you.”

his voice is calm. too calm.

“you should be proud.”

you look at him. really look at him.

his face is as expressionless as ever. his eyes black and bottomless. he doesn’t blink. doesn’t shift. doesn’t breathe like a normal person.

and yet—

you remember when he used to bring you tea before bed. when he used to sit across from you at cafés and watch you talk, wordless but present.

was any of that real?

“you didn’t ask me,” you whisper. “you never asked me.”

his hand slides up your thigh, firm now.

“you didn’t need to be asked.”

“you needed to be claimed.”

you open your mouth to argue — but what’s the point?

your world has already shrunk.

your choices, your job, your old apartment — all gone. absorbed into the suffocating silence of the zoldyck estate.

and now him.

his hands.

his will.

“i don’t want this,” you say, voice cracking.

his lips brush your cheek. not with passion. with finality.

“you don’t need to want it, you just need to accept it.”

your chest tightens.

you close your eyes.

and for a moment — just one — you imagine slipping away in the night. climbing the wall. running until your lungs burn.

but you know better.

he would find you.

he already knows every exit. every trick. every weakness.

so you nod.

just once.

and his hands slide around your waist, pulling you into his lap — like you’re something he’s earned. something that was always his.

outside the bedroom, in the long stone hallways of the estate, a shadow stands quietly.

kikyo zoldyck leans against the wall, one ear tilted toward the door. her hands are clasped under her chin in a gesture of glee.

“such a good boy, illumi,” she whispers.

“and such a perfect little bride.”

♡ hisoka morrow

you should have left the first time.

the first time he made your heart race in fear and lust at the same time. the first time he whispered something that made your knees shake and your soul want to disappear.

but you didn’t.

instead…you let him press you down into the sheets. again. and again.

you weren’t his lover. not really. not in a traditional way.

you were his obsession, his distraction, his favorite trick — the one he could play with all night and still crave more.

he knew your body like it was a game board.

every scar, every tremble, every gasp.

you’d sworn him off more times than you could count — but still, every few weeks, you’d find yourself tangled in silk sheets and breathless laughter, choking on his name.

“i’ll ruin you,” he warned once, breath hot against your throat.

“but you’ll love it.”

you didn’t believe him. not really. not until the day you found the truth.

you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he was in another room, talking to someone. casual, amused, excited even.

“yes, i almost took her head off the first time she tried to leave,” he chuckled.

“but it wouldn’t be fun if she didn’t fight.”

he paused.

“besides… i already marked her. it’s just a matter of when.”

you stopped breathing. you left everything behind.

your bag. your coat. the letter you wrote to explain why.

and you ran.

you’ve been running ever since.

until now.

three cities later. new identity. new job.

and still, some nights, you wake in a sweat — your skin aching like it remembers his fingers.

you still dream of him. of the way his eyes lit up right before he kissed you like a dare. of how good he made you feel — when he wanted to.

but how could you love someone like that? how could you still ache for him?

tonight is quiet.

too quiet.

you lock your door.

check your window.

but you know before the lights flicker.

before the room chills.

before you turn and find him standing there — calm. smiling. drenched in silk and madness.

“you ran,” he says, as if it was part of the game.

you don’t scream.

you just whisper, “how?”

“darling,” he hums, stepping closer, “you should know better.”

“you don’t run from me, you circle back.”

you try to say something — anything. but your throat’s dry. your pulse pounds. his hand lifts. not to strike. to touch your cheek.

“i missed this face,” he says sweetly.

“missed the way you melt just before you beg.”

“hisoka—”

“shhh.” he leans in.

“i’ll be gentle.”

he kisses you once — slow. sinful. certain.

and you hate that your body remembers. you hate that your knees still go weak.

“you can run again,” he says against your lips.

“but i’ll just follow, so be a good girl…”

“and stop pretending you don’t love how this ends.”

“i think me disappearing meant should stop seeing each other,” the words leave your mouth slowly. cautiously. like you’re afraid they might be your last.

you stand across from him — tense, trembling, your back barely grazing the door.

he stands perfectly still, arms at his sides, lips curled into that goddamn smile.

“mm,” he hums, tilting his head.

“you think that’s how this ends?”

you swallow.

his presence fills the room like smoke — intoxicating, stifling.

“i can’t keep doing this with you, hisoka,” you whisper. “i’m not some card in your deck. i’m not—”

“not what?” he interrupts softly.

“not a player?”

he steps forward.

your breath catches.

“but darling,” he grins, “you entered the game the moment you moaned my name.”

you look away — heat floods your face, shame burning at your edges.

“it’s not a game to me,” you say, voice cracking. “it’s my life. and you— you’re dangerous.”

“mmm,” he purrs.

“so are you.”

he’s closer now — close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

his fingers ghost over your wrist.

“you’re fun when you’re afraid. but you’re delicious when you’re brave.”

you jerk away, glaring up at him.

“you can’t just… keep coming back. like you own me. like i don’t get a say.”

he blinks slowly. and then — he laughs. not loud. not manic. just amused.

like you’d just made a joke he’s been waiting his whole life to hear.

“oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, stepping around you, voice coiling like smoke.

“you don’t get a say. not yet.”

he’s behind you now — hands resting on your shoulders.

“we haven’t even had our grand finale.”

his mouth is near your ear. his breath is warm.

“you haven’t bled for me. screamed for me. begged me to stop… and meant it.”

“you haven’t even tried to kill me yet.”

you flinch — and he feels it.

his fingers trail down your arms, wrapping around your waist.

“i want to see you unhinged,” he whispers.

“want to see what you look like when you snap.”

“because that’s when people are real.”

he presses a kiss to the back of your neck — soft. slow. possessive. your knees weaken.

“you’re insane,” you murmur, voice shaking.

“mmm. but you like it.”

he turns you around, gently but firmly — like he’s handling something precious.

his hands frame your face.

“you think this is obsession,” he says, dark eyes gleaming.

“but it’s worse than that.”

his mouth meets yours before you can respond.

it’s not a kiss — it’s claiming.

his lips press hard against yours, hands sliding down your back, pulling you into him like gravity itself demands it.

your fingers curl into his shirt — not because you want to, but because letting go would mean falling.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your skin.

“go on. try.”

you open your mouth — but nothing comes out.

he grins.

“you’re mine, ma amour.”

“and i’m not done playing.”

you strike first.

not because you think it’ll stop him — but because you have to try.

your arm swings clean, aimed for his jaw — but he’s faster.

he catches your wrist midair. doesn’t even flinch.

his fingers tighten — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you how much stronger he is.

“ooh,” he grins. “so feisty.��

“do it again.”

you wrench your arm back, pivot, twisting into a kick — but he dodges like it’s a waltz.

“that’s my girl,” he purrs, circling you.

“show me what i’ve been missing.”

“you’re disgusting,” you hiss, breathless.

“and you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

your shoulder slams against the wall as he finally closes the distance — chest to chest, grin to glare.

“still running?” he asks.

“or are we done pretending you don’t like it when i catch you?”

hisoka’s palm slides to the back of your neck — holding you in place, firm and sure.

not choking. not hurting.

just reminding.

“you don’t own me,” you snap.

“don’t i?” he tilts his head, eyes flicking to your lips.

“funny. you taste like mine.”

you try to shove him away — he doesn’t budge.

you spit a curse — he laughs, low and delighted.

“mm, there’s that bite.”

“i was afraid time would tame you.”

he presses in.

you’re pinned.

your breath stutters.

hisoka’s hand ghosts your side, slow, deliberate — like he’s checking for where your resistance lives.

“you’re trembling,” he says.

“you should be.”

your fingers tighten at your sides.

you should scream.

should fight harder.

but your heart’s hammering in that old rhythm again — the one you swore you’d never feel for him again.

desire.

dread.

inevitable surrender.

he leans close — breath hot against your ear.

“just say the word…and i’ll ruin you like the old days.”

“messy. drawn out. unforgettable.”

his lips brush your jaw.

you don’t speak.

because you’ve already lost. because maybe you wanted to.

and when hisoka finally pulls you down onto the bed — all silk and laughter and smoke — the only sound in the room is your shallow breathing…

…and the unmistakable snap of a playing card against skin.

you wake in silence.

the kind that sits heavy in the chest — thick, muffled, wrong.

the sheets are tangled. the air still smells like him. but he’s gone.

your body aches — not from pain, not quite. just the reminder of closeness. of his hands. of how he doesn’t need to be rough to ruin you.

you sit up slowly.

the room is dark, save for a dim light bleeding through the window. and on the pillow beside you — a card.

the queen of hearts.

your name is carved across it in red ink.

or maybe blood.

beneath it, a single sentence:

“until you finally draw.”

you stare at it.

your fingers trace the edge.

and something inside you — something you’ve buried for months — finally slips loose.

you miss him.

not just the thrill. not just the chase. him.

his grin.

his silence.

the way he touches you like he’s tasting a fight beneath your skin.

you hated him. you still hate him.

but your heart clenches at the idea of him being gone.

and you realize, too late, that this was never about escaping.

you didn’t run because you wanted freedom.

you ran so he’d follow.

so he’d prove it wasn’t just lust. wasn’t just a game.

and he did.

he always does.

you press the card to your chest.

your voice cracks when you whisper,

“i’m just as messed up as you are.”

the shadows don’t answer.

but somewhere — somewhere close — you know he’s smiling.

[daughterwifed]

ROUTE 69 !

ft. di!leon kennedy x woc!reader

tags. piv, smut, cop!leon, ignorance/racism but not on purpose 😭, leon woc fetishiser, blowjob, public sex, car sex, creampie

notes. im scared 2 post this all I have to say is im a fat brown woman and um my belly fat is going to shield me from any backlash.. this fic was much worse and then I changed it to di leon and made it more of him being ignorant without realising n having a fetish. readers race/ethnicity isn’t specified but since im south asian i did write it w myself in head .. reading this back it’s very south asian actually wow. some bits r taken from my old n deleted fics if they sound familiar 😴 i’ve been writers blocked 4 months so this is clunky n disjointed,, feedback n rbs always appreciated :3 UNEDITED!!!!!!!!

You get pulled over beside a cornfield—Where Leatherface met Sally. 

Okay, sure, you were speeding, like, a little bit, but it’s not like there’s anyone to crash into, there’s no schools around here so no kid is going to wander into the road and splat against your windshield like a bug, and there’s no deers so you really don’t see the problem. This road is long and winding like an unfurled spool of silver ribbon, it’s scary, and the only source of light is the fucking moon, and while there’s probably only a 0.01% chance of something happening to you—This is Midwest America you’re talking about - land of the free, birthplace of literally every serial killer like ever.

They have it all here: killer clowns, rapists, somebody’s coworker, zodiac killers, night stalkers, mommy’s boys and cannibals. 

An entire carousel of freaks.

He’s just a cop, you tell yourself, some overweight, gun-slinging, bible-thumping degenerate that has to pick on generally polite and law-abiding women like me to feel good about himself. 

You press your face against the wheel and try not to think of Jason and Michael Myers and that terribly evil, big-nosed clown with his stupidly small top hat.

Tap, tap, tap. 

You don’t even look when you roll down the window, not until he sighs deeply and gives a pointed, “Ahem.” 

Don’t look at him wrong. Don’t smile at him wrong. Don’t even breathe wrong. Don’t give him a reason.

When you lift your head you're met with his crotch. It’s not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but it’s not exactly unwelcome—You can tell by those hands and those thighs and—well—that dick that you’ve got him all wrong. He’s not fat or ugly. He’s a hot gun-slinging, bible-thumping cop, and somehow that’s even worse. 

“Do you know how fast you were going—“ He adjusts his belt, probably shifts his dick from one side to the other side of his obscenely tight uniform before he bends down to peer into your window. “—ma’am?” 

Oh god. 

He’s like hot hot. 

Somewhere between retired underwear model and vintage pornstar hot. His eyes are the type of blue you'd like to dip your toes into, and his name badge says Kennedy. 

“Fast enough to get your attention?” You smile at him hopefully, sitting up straighter and shifting your body towards the window to show him your perfectly planted cleavage. 

Officer Kennedy seems to take that into consideration, nodding thoughtfully while he looks right down your work blouse and at the scalloped cups of your lucky lace bra. It’s always been there to get you out of a pinch—like that presentation today, if you hadn’t stood directly under that spotlight with that bra and that sheer blouse, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be getting a promotion and such a glowing recommendation. 

When he’s done checking you out, Officer Kennedy asks for your license and registration, you rifle around in the glove compartment and pretend not to notice a pack of condoms falling to the ground. 

He leans forward, peering through the open window, yoi catch sight of the ID clipped to his shirt. “Think we might have a code M&M on our hands,” Officer Leon Kennedy says. 

“A what?” You dig out your insurance papers and hand them over, fingers trembling when you go to get your license from your card wallet—You haven’t done anything bad, you went over the speed limit, it’s not like you’re lying about your papers, it’s not like you have a body in the trunk—It’s just the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you. 

“Y’know, Mexican or Muslim—Aw, don’t look at me like that, it’s just a joke, don’t make me feel bad about a joke.” He clicks his tongue like he’s embarrassed. “I’m not like that,” Leon continues as he squints at your license, “I don’t have a problem with anyone or anything, it’s just how we talk down at the station.”

You just blink at him. What are you even meant to say to that? 

“Tough crowd.” He shrugs and hands everything back to you, for just a moment you think you might be able to get away with a slap on the wrist, but you don’t go to his church, you don’t sound like him, you don’t wave around little flags on the Fourth of July, you’ve never even had a casserole, and you most certainly don’t look like anyone he would call a friend. “Here ya go.” He sticks his hand through the window, waving around a fine.

“I can’t pay that,” you blurt out, and you want to be smart and tell him that you know speeding doesn’t cost that much, he could just give you a point on your license and it would all be fine and dandy, but you’re panicking. 

“Didn’t think so.” Leon gives you a pointed look—Like, like he planned this, like he’s setting you up, and he is, he so is—You’re tired and upset and wary about the gun he’s wielding on that belt. “You know,” he sighs, glances at your strategically unbuttoned shirt, “there’s something else you could do for me.” 

Okay, this is good, it sounds more like the start of a bad porno than a horror movie and you’re alright with that. You can do porn, you can take dicks, but you can’t take chainsaws or hooks or needles or anything of the sort. 

To be coy, you blink at him slowly, tears beading your lashes like morning dew. “I have a boyfriend, Officer.” 

“Ah…” Leon seems to take it seriously, like abusing authority is fine as long as a woman’s single—but the moment she’s taken? He’s got morals. “Arranged marriage, huh?”

You blink at him. Again. And again. And again. 

“No…” You say slowly—Oh, what the hell. “Yeah, forced marriage, it’s a whole thing, if I don’t make it back tonight I'm in for a beating—That’s why I was speeding actually, officer, I just want to get home before it’s too late.”

“Damn shame.” Leon shakes his head, the gravel crunching under his boots as he shifts. “Treating a pretty girl like that…Nice skin, pretty hair, big eyes—That’s just not right.” 

So he’s like that - the type to call you a princess in bed and a terrorist at the airport, the type to fuck you and let you know that his buddies can’t find out about this, he doesn’t change the radio station when a rap song comes on when he drops you two blocks away from your house. 

“Listen, sweetheart, you seem like a good girl, girls like you, they're good in school, study hard, doctors, lawyers, all that stuff—“ He makes a vague hand gesture that is neither here nor there. “—So I don’t wanna give you a ticket or a court date, but, uh, that doesn’t come for free.” 

“I understand, officer.” You bat your lashes at him, biting back a smile. This isn’t so bad, you got a promotion and now you’re getting laid. There’s no axe murderers or rapists in sight, just a cop with his dick in the right place. 

“Good girl.” He nods, pleased, and then he switches off his radio. “So, you do that for that prick at home or me?” Leon’s eyes drift to your cleavage, to your thighs in that short skirt, it keeps riding up the more you squirm in your seat. 

“I like uniforms,” you tell him innocently, “can’t help it.”

Leon laughs, slow and knowing. “I bet you do.” His fingers brush his belt, not to reach for his gun, but to unbutton them. You poke your head a little further out the window, his hand finds the back of your head, guiding you to his dick. His gun-slinging, bible-thumping dick that you fully intend to put in your mouth - you’ve made your bed and now you're kneeling in it. “I don’t have a breathalyser with me, so this’ll do.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as your warm mouth closes in on the tip, he’s big, but not in the way that makes your jaw ache—If he wanted to do that he’d find better luck shoving a gun in your mouth. 

“Fuck, wait.” He lets out a soft grunt and pulls his cock from your mouth, smudges of red lipstick and strings of spit keeping his tip and your lips together.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, heart thumping out of your chest—Did he change his mind? Did he have, like, an epiphany? Was it bad? Oh god, what if someone saw you? What if there really is a murderer out here and everybody knows they always go for you when you’re fucking—

Leon opens the back door—You were worried about murderers and hillbillies but your doors weren’t even locked. “Get in the back.” 

“Oh.” You let out a breath of relief, climbing over the handbrake and losing a heel on the way over to meet him. He braces an arm against the roof of your car as you kiss the tip off his cock, letting dribbles of pre wet your lips. 

“Fuck,” Leon groans, one hand rests atop your head, “you’re trouble, I should’ve cuffed you.” 

“I would’ve liked it,” you mumble around a mouthful of fat cock, you should be ashamed of soaking through your poor thong, but you’re not. That ticket would feel a hundred times worse than a sore throat. 

“Speak English.” He gives you this cheeky smile when you let out a noise of surprise, but you’re too concerned with taking him deep in your throat to start an argument—So he gets away with it like he has a million times before. If it were any other day you'd give him a piece of your mind. Really, you would. Honest. Once his tip knocks the back of your throat, you start speaking his language, gagging wetly as you swallow around him, one hand trailing down to grasp his heavy balls. You feel him pulse, and he curses under his breath. “That got you going, huh?” He snorts, amused and all sorts of turned on.

When you pull off with a pop, you go straight to licking up the seam of his balls. “You having fun down there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” It’s muffled as you take one into your mouth and then the other, you like to play with your food, and sucking up (read: off) took you so far in school. 

“C’mon, enough of that,” Leon hums, pushing you off gently like you’re a kitten clawing at the hem of his trousers. You go to whine and then wonder what your parents would think of this and zip your mouth shut. Your grandmother came to America for what? For this? For you to let any old pig put his dick in your guts? Whatever. Whatever. He’s a hot pig. He’s like the cutest guy you’ll find for miles, and you’ve already gone to college, you’ve got a good job, why can’t you indulge? “Scooch over.”

You shuffle back, skirt hiking up your thighs until it’s more of a belt, he wedges himself between your thighs—Your legs dangle out the door, and you're still worried something or someone is going to come out of the cornfield waving around a scythe and cut up both your bodies like a canvas, but you’re wet and he’s on top of you and there’s no going back now.

“Wait—Keep it on,” you gasp softly as he lifts the hem of his uniform shirt.

“Why? You like it?” He asks, blinking at you with those big blue eyes, they’re clear like a summer afternoon. 

Obviously. 

“I dunno…I kinda like it, feels wrong.” You take his hand in yours once he drops the bunched up fabric, bringing it to feel how wet you’ve gotten. 

“What? The badge? The uniform?” He looks smug, like you're some kinky act of rebellion for him—Well, you don’t really have the right to speak on things like that. 

“The gun,” you say softly, flashing him your sweetest smile. 

“You're dirty,” he tells you with a groan, lining up his cock with your soft cunt, dragging the fat head up and down your folds, letting it brush over your throbbing clit just to see you writhe. 

“Hurry,” you whine, digging your nails into his biceps, you want him to split you straight down the middle. “Wait—Are you married?” 

“Does it matter?” Leon asks before he pushes in with one single glide, you're so wet there’s no resistance, just the slight stretch of a pleasantly big dick, tip nudging your cervix. 

“Oh my god.” You drag your nails down his back, legs going rigid as pleasure prickles your spine. “I was just—just wondering.” You bet there’s someone. Blonde, short, small, the kind he can bring home with no judgement. 

“Probably should’ve asked before you sucked my dick.” Leon huffs out a breath as he shifts his hips, angling deeper, making you sniffle as he drops his sweaty forehead to press against yours. He’s so deep you feel him everywhere, you can’t escape him and you don’t want to. 

His cock drags in and out of your slick cunt, one of his hands is by your head and the other settles on your tummy, trailing down until he finds your swollen clit. The pad of his thumb rolls over the soft bud as he fucks into you, pussy clicking wetly with each sharp thrust. 

If you had any dignity left, if you weren’t twenty seconds away from gushing all over him, you'd probably be embarrassed by the noise. The wet squelch each time he bottoms out, the smack of his balls on your ass, the way you’re whining like a fucking, boot-licking idiot. 

“Wait—Wait, I can’t—“ You push at his abdomen, wanting him to ease up as you feel the pressure build deep in your gut, there’s no time to feel guilty when it feels so fucking good, when your cunt tightens and he presses down on your clit and your poor Honda Civic—She’s been subjected to a lot tonight. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon cups your cheek, his hand is softer and smaller than you expected, gentler than the one that’s pinching your clit and making you sob into your fist. “Go on, good girl.” 

You think you black out when it happens, and you don’t know why. It was good, sure, but it wasn’t, like, deserving of a pornstar reaction, and you just gave that—Boosted his already huge ego, made a fool out of yourself, disappointed whoever in your line of ancestors decided the shift to America was a good idea. 

“You do that for your husband?” His voice is strained, his thrusts are sloppy, his mouth is hanging open as he ruts into your messy cunt. 

“I don’t actually have—It’s the uniform.” You think about the box of condoms on the floor and hook your legs around him, digging one kitten heel and one regular human heel into his ass to keep him from running away. 

Leon’s eyes go wide, he opens his mouth to protest, and then you squeeze his dick so tight it empties his brain and his balls. He even looks good when he cums. Adam’s apple bobbing, lips parted, a perfectly timed rivulet of sweat drips down his temple as he fills you up. 

The quiet after all of it is said and done kind of makes you wish you did hear a chainsaw revving somewhere in the distance. He buckles his belt as you pull your thong back into place, dried cum sticking to your thighs, dripping onto your poor old car. You have driven a million relatives back and forth in this little thing, you take your mom to the doctors and your grandma to the grocers and now she’s ruined. 

His radio is switched back on, you find both your shoes and place them on the passenger seat. You can’t drive in this state, not when your legs are wobbling so bad you wouldn’t be able to step on the brakes. Maybe that’s what you need to do. Drive head first into a wall. 

“I can drive you home,” Leon offers after he watches you stare at the windshield blankly, “Can get somebody to bring your car over in the morning.”

You accept and wonder who he voted for as he drives. His pinned radio stations are all some sort of rock, but there’s no country and that makes you feel a little better. 

He grabs your wrist before you get out, all blue-eyed and earnest. “I hope…I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your folks, I know how they get, your people, I don’t want, uh, anything to happen to you.” 

You look at your house. All the lights are off. There’s not a single car parked in the drive. There’s nothing because you live with no one but yourself. You thought cops were meant to have deductive skills. 

“And if your husband gives you any trouble, you can call me, for real this time—Not, not for that, but for help,” he finishes clumsily, like he didn’t raw you in the middle of an open road while he was on fucking duty.

“I don’t have…” You look at him, like really hard, remnants of red lipstick on the collar of his blue uniform, his seed staining your panties white. “I’ll tell you if he gives me any trouble,” you say, only because you know he needs a reason to come and see you, he couldn't be casual with somebody like you. He’s going to knock on your door with a warrant just so he can fuck you into your mattress. 

“Okay.” He nods, lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll bring the handcuffs next time.”

I’ll bring a fucking veil next time so I can hang you or myself, maybe an anklet or two if you’re into that officer.

You fix a smile onto your face. “Goodnight, Officer.”

[blissfullyapillow]

┃Genshin + HSR men as spiderman (+ your boyfriend)

₊˚⊹♡ Various x gn reader

₊˚⊹♡ wc: 7,189

₊˚⊹♡ warnings: Baizhu. Alhaitham’s part is suggestive but nothing explicit. Caelus’ part contains a ton of references to various things (one of them being your option to choose between Caelus or Stelle when you start HSR). Overall fluffy scenarios w/ your boyfriend (who is also Spiderman) :> 

₊˚⊹♡ Pillow Talks: Some parts are proofread others aren’t (for once) because I wasn’t feeling up to it. I intentionally put Baizhu under warnings it's not a mistake, I thought I was being funny doing that lol. Ngl Caelus’ part is my fav <3 !! I have a ton of drafts I’ll eventually complete, life is just a lot for me rn. I love you all ♡(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ ♡ <3

₊˚⊹♡ Masterlist

Alhaitham ✮ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 〃

always has headphones on. Even when he’s fighting. He’s literally never seen without them

He’s been offered to do collaborations with many companies to make a model of headphones off the one’s he usually wears. He never accepts, unless it’s for his go to brand.

All villains know to leave spidey’s headphones alone. The last villain who broke his old pair didn’t make it out of the fight alive.

That wasn’t a joke.

Anyway, most people don’t ask about his headphones, rather reporters are always at their wits end since they can never get an interview out of him. Not even a brief still shot of him.

Hell, most people don’t even know what he sounds like.

For the most he’s a man of few words, but when he does speak? You’ll wish he hadn’t.

Very sassy. Has the best retorts and the most vile insults.

His suit is really cool too, and very practical.

He’s a college student when he isn’t spiderman. He’s scarily efficient at juggling his part time superhero duties along with his heavy college workload. Maybe it’s because he gets all his work done way in advance? Who knows.

He’s super gentle whenever he’s rescuing civilians. At most, he’ll say a word or two in response to their gratitude. Something along the lines of “yeah.” Or “It’s no problem” if you’re lucky. Most people don’t try to make conversation anyway. As stated before, he’s really good at dodging not only reporters but cameras in general.

So, imagine your surprise when he actually stops walking away after you’ve asked him what he’s listening to. You can’t see his face, but his spidery eyes widen comically in shock.

No one has ever asked him that before. You’d think someone would, but no one has.

So, he indulges you. “I’m not listening to anything at the moment. Sometimes I’ll have music playing, but for the most part I tend to use these just to block out noise. Plus, people tend to leave you alone when they see you have headphones on. It also makes for an adequate excuse to pretend I don’t hear people speaking to me.” Your mouth drops in pure shock at the fact that spiderman not only spoke to you, but he’s also.. very.. interesting.

Oh, he likes that look on your face. You can’t see it, but he has a huge smirk on his face underneath that mask.

Alhaitham recognized you from campus. Of course he was quick and efficient with moving you to safety before he took care of the danger, but he couldn’t return you to ground level until after the fight.

Speaking of fighting, he’s really good at it. His movements are calculated and precise. You made a mental note never to get on spider man's bad side as you watched him clock the villain square in the jaw, with no regard for whether they retain consciousness or not.

“I’ll see you around.” Is all he says now, before he web slings away. Wait, see you around? But he’s spiderman!

Little did you know that spiderman was your hot, intelligent classmate you had a raging crush on.

Lucky for you, it seems he may develop feelings for you too.

𓆩♡𓆪

“I thought I told you to leave your window unlocked? I’d hate to be spotted.” Alhaitham scolds you as you unlock your window for him, and he effortlessly slips into your abode.

“I’m sorry, but I like hearing your cute little knocks on my window. It’s the highlight of my day.” Alhaitham sighs, as if he’s annoyed, but in reality your words cause his heart to flutter.

Once he’s inside he slips off his mask and stretches his fit body. He catches sight of your lingering, fixed gaze. He smirks as he purposefully flexes his arms for you. Your head whips around, looking away as if he hadn’t caught your ogling.

“It seems like someone missed me.” His knowing words result in a click of your tongue. Yet, you find yourself melting in his warm embrace as he wraps his arms around you from behind. You’re a goner when he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. He presses a kiss there.

As his lingering lips trail along your sensitive skin, you ask him your usual question. “What are you listening to?” He hums in contemplation as he thinks. “To the sound of your voice.” You suck in a breath, and he smiles.

That question is something of a routine between the two of you. You always ask him, ever since you learned of his identity during one of his canon events. His response will change depending on his mood, and it’s a good indicator of his current mood.

If he gives you an actual song, it’s an easy way to tell depending on the tone and meaning of the song. Otherwise, if he replies with “Nothing.” He’s either tired or on the verge of breaking. Usually it’s both, since he says the silence helps him think.

Now, if he responds with something sweet, like “The sound of your voice,” he either wants to cuddle or…

The firm press of his hand as it trails along your inner thigh is answer enough.

You feel heat warm the expanse of your body, but you pretend not to notice. “I thought you said class drained you earlier today?” You try to distract yourself with conversation. Alhaitham’s hand only travels up further. “It did. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, yet I was stuck listening to the professor droning on and on about a topic I’ve already read extensively about. Now, I can finally do what I’ve been wanting to do to all day long.” Alhaitham’s voice is rough, and his breath grazes the shell of your ear.

“Okay…” Is your eloquent response. You know if you turned around, you’d be met with that knowing smirk of his.

“Now, will you help me relax? Being spiderman is draining after all, and not being able to touch you the way you deserve all day has made me really tense.”

You have no objections when his fingers finally reach the place you’re craving it most.

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

ᐟᐟ☆ Caelus .✮𖦹‪‪ ₊˚

Radiates the most Gen Z vibes it’s insane

Up to date on everything and anything pop culture related. Whether it be old or new.

A theater went into a frenzy when fans realized spider man was in the same theater watching Five Nights at Freddy’s with them

He was upset since he had to slip out and watch the movie at home on Peacock instead.

Anyway, he’s a real sweetheart. He always makes time to stop and help older individuals cross streets, helps children find missing items, and he’ll even give some citizens a lift to a place they’re running late to.

Well, he stopped doing that last one after the incident. … That was his second canon event.

He became spider man when a woman named Kafka purposefully had a mutated spider bite him. He doesn’t recall too much before that, and he’s not sure why he can’t, but that’s a part of his journey. To discover himself and put together pieces of his past.

He still occasionally runs into Kafka and her companions, but for the most part he’s still developing his own opinion of her.

He’s a ball of energy most days. Reporters love him since he’s always so receptive and open to their questions.

Yet, he has his moments. Some nights, if you look to the right building, you’ll spot a lone figure on top, staring into the vast night sky. On those nights, he imagines a life where he travels those skies, exploring what the universe has to offer. Maybe there are other planets out there? What if he could visit them, and experience intergalactic adventures?

Oh well. Maybe in another timeline. He isn’t a nameless traveler here after all.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, you’ve bumped into each other on countless occasions when he’s in his civilian form. Actually, you two are very close friends.

He’s debated with himself many times. Should he tell you the truth? Time and time again his answer was no, and for many reasons. One, Kafka clearly has a close eye on him, and he isn’t sure of her intentions yet. Two, he doesn’t want you needlessly worrying about him. Unfortunately, you already do.

So it honestly doesn’t come as a surprise when you stumble upon him during a particularly hard moment in time, and he lets it slip that he’s spiderman and he’a struggling.

Thankfully, you’re just the support he needed.

Now, he has a safe space. A person who feels like home in a place where he truly has none. And he’s eternally grateful to you for it.

As for you, he’s your personal ray of sunshine. You’re overjoyed you can play such a prominent role in his life, and you don’t love him any less for being spider man. If anything, you somehow worry less about him…?

It’s honestly hard when you watch him overcome many impossible odds. He even accumulates new powers every now and again! He’s really strong, mentally and physically, so it eases your worries at times.

Even if he does need a shoulder to lean on, as you often do, you’re more than happy to be that shoulder for him.

Honestly, it’s a good thing he has you. His future canon events look pretty… rough. Especially the one where he meets himself from a parallel universe. You know, the one where he’s a star instead of the sky.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Oh my gosh Name look! They even have my bat in the game!” Caelus happily swivels around in his chair to look at you, frantically pointing to his pc monitor all the while.

You look at the screen, and sure enough there’s a scarily accurate model of your superhero boyfriend in the game, currently performing a silly dance move.

“Ah.. I see..” Is your response. You really think it’s cool, but you want to tease him a bit. You struggle to contain your grin when he pouts at your lack of enthusiasm. “I thought you’d think it was cool….” You can only chuckle as you run soothing fingers through his soft locks.

“I do sweetheart, I do.” Your words make him visibly light up, and he practically jumps out of his chair to wrap his arms around you.

“Speaking of, I have something else I want to show you…”

Que a fun midnight outing on top of the tallest building overlooking the whole city.

“Wow.. this is beautiful..” Your eyes shine as bright as a dying supernova as you gaze upon the beautiful landscape before you.

Caelus is beaming with pride, glad he was able to surprise you like this.

“Yeah, I stumbled upon this view after a particularly hard battle.” He hums in content as he leans back, pulling you into him.

You rest your head against him, his chest a comfortable pillow.

You can feel his steady heartbeat beneath your ear, and it’s a soothing melody.

“Thank you for sticking by me all this time.” The words are a gentle caress against the shell of your ear, yet they cause your heart to ache.

“You don’t need to thank me for that, silly. I love you, and when you love someone and they’re good for you, you stand by them. No matter what. Yeah?” You gently pat his chest.

He smiles.

“Yeah.”

He’s silent again, and a comfortable atmosphere wraps around the two of you like a warm blanket right out of the dryer.

That is, until he decides to open his mouth.

“Don’t get too comfortable. I might just push you off.”

…

He looks at you to gauge your reaction.

Absolute horror is written on your features.

He loves it. It sends an electrifying thrill through him; he loves to tease you too.

“You’re getting too out of hand with these jokes of-“

His lips steal the rest of your words, and you allow it.

The city paints a magical backdrop for your moment of intimacy.

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

Jing Yuan ⁞ ⟡ ⚡︎ ♡⸝⸝ 🕷 

This spider man is always accompanied by his cat, Mimi.

He rescued her during a particularly rough encounter. He tried to send her off after ensuring she was safe with authorities, but she refused to leave his side. Now, he already had a soft spot for cats, so it was a no brainer to him

Mimi has accompanied him ever since, and she even has her own little mask and everything.

Little does he know that the ‘cat’ he saved was really just another one of the smuggled exotic animals those crooks tried to sneak into the city. Mimi will no longer fit in that backpack of his in a few months time.

He’s really lazy, honestly. He calls it conserving energy, but really he will only intervene when it’s called for or if the situation is rapidly turning dire

He has many admirers. Pictures of blurry glimpses of his suit sell for hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, online

So, so many fan edits of him. And he’s seen ‘em all. He’s secretly really smug about it, but he keeps that to himself

He has a commanding presence, and an air of elegance about him. It almost feels like his fighting is an art of sorts. It’s fascinating to see the creative ways he’ll use his webs to get the job done.

Mimi has plushies, courtesy of collaboration with spiderman.

He bought the pre-orders for her plush and a few more when the official drop released

So, how did you end up with a man like Jing Yuan? Gorgeous, handsome Jing Yuan who's also a renowned general?

Simple. You're his personal alarm clock.

No. Literally. You were asked to wake him up after he fell asleep on the job again, as everyone else had grown tired of the task, and that was the beginning of an.. interesting dynamic.

The best part about it? One day you arrived a bit earlier than your usual time to wake him up, only to find the infamous spider man frantically urging Jing Yuan’s cat, Mimi, into a backpack.

Long story short, now you not only have to deal with waking him up, but you also have to deal with a clingy boyfriend who isn't afraid to his webs against you

𓆩♡𓆪

“Jing Yuan! I told you, this meeting is important and it’s imperative that-“

He blatantly ignores you as he webs the door shut, and now you’re stuck with him in his office.

“Mhm. I understand. Now come here, I miss you.” His stupid smile makes your heart race as he opens his arms, welcoming you in.

Ah, what the hell.

You all too easily bend to his whims. You quickly find yourself in his arms, snuggled against his warm body.

“That’s much better sweetheart. See? This isn’t so bad is it?” You abhor his teasing, yet all the same it sends a thrill through you.

“Shut up. I better not get in trouble because of you.” You sigh. “No one would dare say anything to you. If anyone ever does, I will personally tend to the matter.” His voice is tense, along with his statement, but all you feel is his thick hair tickling your cheek as he nuzzles his head against you.

A goofy smile spreads across your lips, and soon you forget all about the meeting as you enjoy each other’s embrace.

An adorable sound comes from Mimi, lounging somewhere in his office you assume. The usual.

“By the way, are we still on for dinner later?” Your question evoked a chuckle out of Jing Yuan.

“I wouldn’t miss dinner with you for the world.” “Not even if your spidey duties call?” Your quip causes an adorable pout to form on his lips.

“My ‘spidey duties’ can wait until I’m full and satiated. You mean more to me than you know, my sweet angel.” His words warm not only your heart, but your soul.

You completely lose track of time in his arms.

So it comes as quite a shock when obnoxious knocking can be heard on his office door. You know, the one that’s currently webbed shut?

“Jing Yuan!!”

Ah, Diviner Fu. She knows all too well that you’ve failed yet again to lure Jing Yuan out of his office.

“Ah, looks like dinner has arrived sooner than we expected sweetheart.” You squeal when he suddenly sits up with you still in his arms.

He uses his webs to grab his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder as Mimi hops in, used to this ordeal.

“Remember to hold on tight, okay?” He murmurs the words against the shell of your ear, before he slips on your own little mask over your face. Just as a precaution, though he’s really good at staying hidden whenever he’s with you.

“Off we go.”

And with that, you two sling out of the window of his office, leaving an exasperated Fu Xuan behind.

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

♡ ┃ Kaedehara Kazuha ‧.°˖➴

He is the amazing spider man

Like, he’s the ultimate spider man. He’s kind yet deadly, and very friendly.

He’s as swift as the wind, and he actually travels with a sword. You’ve never seen Spiderman incorporate sword play in with his webs? Well, you’re in luck! Kazuha does this at a masterful level. He made it into a sort of art form as well. At the end of his fights he’ll always create beautiful imagery using his sword, carving out complicated shapes and scenes with his webs. It’s kind of like a signature of his

He’s pretty good at balancing his civilian and hero life. Although he may get caught up with things if unexpected incidents occur, which lets be honest, it happens all the time when you’re spider man

He’s genuinely so sweet, and it’s easy to see through his actions. The public loves him. He has loads of admirers.

After a very traumatic incident involving a close friend of his, he experienced a period of grief and depression

He got back on his feet eventually, and he awakened new powers within him! Well, that would be the only explanation for why he was suddenly able to use electricity during combat with a particularly strong villain

Not only does he use a sword but now he has the ability to wield electricity?

Once word of spider man’s new powers spread, the number of crimes that were committed went down drastically. Literally. Statistically crime rates decreased by 25% the following week. 25%. Your usual run of the mill people were too afraid to do anything after witnessing the devastating beating Kazuha gave to a particular individual

To be fair, he was late to your date because of them. He wasted no time, defeating that villain within mere seconds before frantically webbing away to meet you

Speaking of dates, Kazuha enjoys going on many dates with you.

From indoor cozy dates to public outings, typically walks through nature, Kazuha’s favorite past time is the time he spends with you

He often leaves you handwritten notes before he leaves, ranging from eloquent poetry of his feelings for you, to short blurbs of how your eyes make it physically impossible for him to focus on what you’re saying. (He felt bad because he got lost in your eyes while you were describing your Christmas decorating plans to him)

Overall, Kaedehara Kazuha is a model spider man. Kind and caring, yet swift and fatal when the situation needs him to be.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Kazuha, I told you I forgive you already!” You giggle despite your exasperation. Kazuha disregards your statement as he places fleeting, soft kisses on your person.

He starts with your hand. He holds your hand delicately, treating you as if you’re porcelain. He places a kiss to the back of your hand before his lips slowly trail up your arm.

Your heart melts at the tender gesture, all the while your body lights aflame with his burning gaze. His piercing orbs hold your gaze as his lips make their leisure ascent.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him even if you willed it.

“I promised you I wouldn’t be late to our date this week, but I was. You have my sincerest apologies, my love.” You feel his lips move as he murmurs the words against your skin.

“No need to be all formal. We’ve been together for how long now?” You murmur the words in embarrassment, as Kazuha’s lips now brush along your neck, teasing you.

“Hmm.. if I recall correctly, today would make five years correct?” You nod your head, yet your eyes drift shut as Kazuha playfully teases the skin of your neck with his teeth.

“Y-Yeah.. so..” Your mind is blank. You completely forgot the point you were trying to make.

You have a feeling that was his goal all along.

His lips finally reach their destination; his eager lips meet your parted ones.

You groan as he draws you closer, placing a firm hand on the back of your head. His kiss almost feels a bit desperate; his lips mold with yours in perfect sync as his free hand explores the expanse of your body.

When he finally parts from you, you take desperate gasps of air. His state isn’t much better; his lidded gaze roams your body as he takes deep breaths.

“Kazuha…” “hmm?” He smiles, a lazy, slow smile, and you know you’re not letting him leave any time soon.

“I.. um.. oh! I was going to say, before you rudely distracted me..” He chuckles at that, tracing the contour of your face with a finger as you continue to scold him. “It wasn’t your fault you were late. The police force needed backup and-“ His lips capture yours again.

You reluctantly press against his chest, gently pushing him away.

You pout.

He winks at you.

“I know, but it still took away from our precious time together. I wanted to make it up to you by arriving early today, but I wasn’t able to fulfill that desire.” He sighs, and his finger moves from your face down to your neck, lower to your collarbone.

“I promise you it’s okay, Kazuha. I understand. Although, if you really want to make it up to me…” This time, your gaze is the heated one as you skillfully unravel his ponytail.

He sucks in a breath at your action. “I have another desire that you most certainly can fulfill.”

“Ah, I like the sound of that.”

Lucky for you, he is more than able to fulfill that desire of yours.

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

‧₊˚ ┊Shikanoin Heizou ⚖✮⋆˙✦

Public menace #1

He drives the police force crazy because he always solves all the cases before they can get to the bottom of it. He does so not only as spider man, but as his civilian self too.

He can be a bit of a flirt when he has the mask on.. well, ‘a bit’ is an understatement, but he doesn’t just flirt with everyone!

He really only flirts with you, honestly, yet you reject him time and time again. He was a bit puzzled, since he knows how flustered you get when he flirts with you without the mask. Maybe it’s because you don’t know it’s him? He’ll have to test that theory

Using his detective skills he quickly deduces that it was because you have a crush on him. Him. Not spider man.

He knows of your intense loyalty, so of course you wouldn’t entertain his flirting, even if the individual flirting with you is the spider man.

Once he figured that out, oh how much fun he has teasing you as spider man

He’ll use his webs to get around quickly and restrain his enemy, but in combat? He prefers to use his fists. He’s quick with it too. He’s Shikanoin ‘left, right, goodnight’ Heizou.

So, whenever he does use his webs in combat, you know he’s going against a formidable foe 

He’s super sweet to fans. Signatures, autographs, everything. On the sly though, when you still didn’t know he was spider man, he kissed an autograph he signed specifically for you before he handed it to you.

There was a visible mark left behind, and although you were annoyed you still kept the autograph (that you didn’t ask for)

When he finally revealed his identity to you, you were simultaneously livid and not surprised; You know of Heizou’s tendency to tease

He planned for the whole reveal to be super romantic and everything, and by the end of it you two became a couple.

You are the ones who create the iconic spider man kiss. He’s upside down, holding a handwritten confession of love, not a rose, that you cautiously take from his hand. In the letter he explicitly stated that spider man and the man you were currently crushing on are the same people. Following that was a very romantic declaration of his feelings for you.

When you looked up from reading the letter, you found yourself face to face with Shikanoin Heizou instead of the spider’s mask. The shock on your face was too adorable to ignore, so he kissed you whilst hanging upside down.

It was an… interesting experience, to say the least.

Would you repeat it? Absolutely.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Heizouuu….” Your whine is music to his ears.

He nuzzles his head further into your chest, and his sigh is one of contentment.

“Yesss..?” This time, you’re the one sighing, except it’s one of annoyance rather than content.

“I’ve needed to use the bathroom since five minutes ago.” “And I told you you’re welcome to. I will wait as my warm, loving arms ache for your return.” You scoff at his dramatic use of words.

“Thanks, Heizou, but how could I possibly go to the bathroom when your body is literally tangled with mine?” This question gives him pause, even though it really shouldn’t.

Said body adjusts a bit, but he makes no move to get off of you.

You’re currently lounging in bed, doing nothing really. Just enjoying Heizou’s company. It was nice until you had to use the bathroom, and with the way Heizou’s body is lying on you, legs entangled and arms wrapped around you, there’s no possible way for you to escape.

His head remains on your chest, but he looks up at you now.

“How about a deal? If you can solve this riddle-“

“Shikanoin Heizou.” 

…

“My apologies.”

He quickly moves off of you, and you make a beeline for the bathroom.

You’re not surprised when he’s on the other side of the door the moment you open it.

“Sometimes, Heizou, you just…” You struggle to find the words to properly express yourself.

“I just..?” He prompts you, guiding you back to the comfort of your shared bed.

You finally find the words you were searching for as you both resume your previous position, except this time Heizou’s head is buried against the crook of your neck.

“You just.. fail to surprise me, really. Which is funny, since you’re someone who’s full of them.” His body shakes against yours as he laughs at your bold statement.

“Ah, my lovely partner knows me so well. Honestly, how did a detective like me get so lucky? I believe that’s the biggest mystery of all.” His words fill you with warmth; they effectively morph your feelings of affectionate annoyance into a feeling of immense joy.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You do know I’m the one who got lucky, right?” You chuckle when he gasps, as if the very concept itself is absurd.

“I would refute that hypothesis of yours, but I believe it would only cause this conversation to continue in circles. So, I propose that we are both the luck ones. Do you agree?”

You feel his smile and hear the affection in his voice as his lips brush along your skin.

“Yeah.. I agree.” “Perfect.”

And with that, a comfortable silence fills the room once more.

It’s a relaxing evening, spent with your very loving and very dramatic boyfriend.

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

Welt Yang ﹕⸝⸝ *:･ﾟ✮

“Wait, spider man is an old man!?” Yeah and there’s a literal dinosaur who dons the mask in another universe. Your point?

Lol jokes aside, Welt is one of, if not the most, powerful spider man. I mean, he can literally manipulate gravity.

He’s also a huge nerd.

He always brings his cane along with him when he fights, so the enemy tends to underestimate him, thinking he’s close to retirement and should just give up the whole ‘hero act’ already. Honestly, maybe he should, but that day isn’t today.

If he gets particularly annoyed by comments from his opponents, he’ll just get rid of ‘em. via a mini black hole of sorts. It’s super effective.

He’s actually very fond of making jokes and semi-horrible puns. They make you laugh though. Others? Not so much.

Anyway, he’s very reserved and he won’t stick around for reporters to interview him. He’ll just give the necessary information needed for authorities to take over, and in the blink of an eye he’s gone.

For his day job, he’s an animator. A well renowned one too. He’s very casual about it though, and he doesn’t see it as something deserving of praise.

He’s taken on a young talent who’s a blank page, in the process of writing a story of their own.

You’re the one who finds out Welt’s well kept secret. He didn’t plan on revealing his identity to you, as he felt it was his burden to bear and he would hate to make you a target.

He’s experienced many battles and has faced numerous foes, so he’s very wise and experienced. He’s faced scenarios where his morals come into play, and that’s something he’s not fond of. He rather preserve his integrity and do things in a way that aligns with his inner values. He’s been granted many opportunities to do things in an underhanded manner, yet he has never taken that  opportunity.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Please please please!” You jump up and down in innocent joy, but the man before you pinches the bridge of his nose.

“No.”

“Why not? Please! I promise this is my last time asking.” You plead with him, moving to hold onto his arm.

“That’s the exact same line you use every time.” “It is not!” You retort.

“You said the same thing yesterday.”

“Welt, please!” Now you fix him with a pleading look, a look you know he can’t resist.

“Name, my ability to manipulate gravity is a powerful one that comes with great responsibility. It shouldn’t be used as a measly… ahem..” His cheeks take on a pink hue as he coughs into his fist.

You’ve pressed yourself against him, your head tilted as you gaze at him with that look in your eyes.

“…this is the last time.” His gruff response brings you to life, your eyes alighting with joy as you remove yourself from him.

He misses the warmth of your body, but your smile provides him with a permeating warmth that is different, but comforting all the same.

“You always say that.” Your bratty response irks him. In an instant your world is flipped upside down as your feet are lifted off the floor.

“Yay! Thank you Welt.” He can’t find it in himself to be annoyed when you’re doing silly little flips as your body floats in the air.

This has become a regular occurrence for you. Occasionally, when you’re in the mood to be a bit silly, you’ll ask Welt to use his gravity manipulation to suspend you in air.

He was opposed to it, but eventually you wore him down. Now, he agrees to give you a few moments of fun, although sparingly.

His gaze is soft as he watches you enjoy the moment with childlike glee, before you’re gently lowered to the ground once more.

“There. Satisfied?” His voice is rough and his gaze won’t meet yours, but his heart pounds in his chest. You really are too cute.

“Yes! Thank you, and I’m sorry I keep pestering you about it… but… I appreciate it.” You saddle up beside him and wrap your arms around him in a grounding hug.

He smiles.

“Don’t worry about it.” Is his simple response. He presses a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, before he rests his on top of yours.

Fwip!

You glance behind you when you hear the sound, just in time to see the door to your shared bedroom close shut. Your eyes study the webs on the door handle before you swivel around to face Welt.

His cheeks are tinted pink once more, but he meets your curious gaze.

“Let’s.. enjoy each other’s company for the remainder of the day.” His words cause your own face to heat up, but a sly smirk soon presents itself on your lips.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” You relish the look he fixes you with, and you willingly follow his lead to your neatly made bed.

“On the contrary, with that attitude of yours I get more than my fill of you.” His words are contradictory to his actions, since he’s pulling you closer as his lips seek yours.

You smile when his lips finally meet yours.

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

‧₊˚ ┊Baizhu ⚕ *: ♥

With swift and deadly attacks that require minimal movement, Baizhu is always quick to subdue the enemy

Some days are harder than others for him, as he has a chronic illness. He still gets the job done, and he’s always advocating for others in a similar situation as him. He doesn’t reveal much to the media, but he does like to tell anyone who may hear “If I can be spiderman, then I know you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Instead of a spider biting him it was a snake. A talking snake no less. Her name is Changsheng, and she travels with him almost all the time.

Many ask to pet Changsheng. He turns down most requests but on rare occurrences he may let an individual do so (mainly children)

Has miraculous healing powers. He’s also a good sport at taking heavy hits, but he can only handle so much. Still, he’s stronger than you’d think, and he’s great at sporting others back to health. It’s almost like they were never sick at all once Baizhu tended to them. Unfortunately, his illness always seems to flair after he does so…

Speaking of, he’s well loved, Dr. Baizhu. He literally has a 5 star rating and everyone raves about him. You would think he would limit clients since he constantly gets a large influx of them, but he’s too kind to do anything of the sort.

Sometimes you have to scold him and force him to coax him into taking it easy; he tends to take on a bit more than he can handle.

He’ll say cheesy things like “You’re the remedy I’ve been searching for all my life. Most certainly.” Whenever you two are alone and spending quality time together. You can only smile when he tells you these things; He’s too cute to feign annoyance with.

He’s immune to poison. Don’t ask why he just is. (It’s totally not an added benefit of a contract he made)

𓆩♡𓆪

Your fingers gently scrub the area, and a noise akin to the sound of a satisfied cat purr is heard.

You bite your lip as you try to contain your smile, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it anyway.

You’ve finished lathering Baizhu’s hair in the floral conditioner. He allows you to finish the process of rinsing his hair, and the result is satisfactory. His hair, which now has the floral scent of the conditioner, has a renewed sheen to it.

“Your hair is gorgeous, Baizhu. Well taken care of too.” You hum, guiding him as you both move to sit down.

You sit on the couch, and have him sit in front of you on the floor.

You gently dry his hair as he leans back into you. It causes you to get a few droplets of water on your person but that’s insignificant to you.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your boyfriend so relaxed. He’s been overworking himself again, not only with his job as a doctor but with his spiderman man duties.

You insisted on a self care day since he has the day off, and you prayed people would stay in line today so he wouldn’t have to suit up.

It seems your prayers were answered; it’s now late evening and the orange hue of the sky is slowly morphing into a starry night sky.

The streets remain peaceful today.

A groan from Baizhu draws your attention.

He’s looking up at you with furrowed brows. “I thought I told you to stop worrying so much about me.” You ‘tsk’ at the audacity of his claim, opting to flick his forehead. It was a light flick, but he acts as if you’ve scorched him.

He hisses. He sounds like Changsheng.

You giggle.

“I know you aren’t telling me to stop worrying.” You shake your head in dismay, albeit a knowing smirk is on your lips.

“Name, I know I am not one to talk but I promise you I’ll take better care of my mental wellbeing. You have my word.” He places a comforting hand on your knee. The touch brings warmth to your skin.

“Promise?” Your voice is quiet. It sounds small. You’d be surprised if he even heard you.

You open your mouth to repeat your question, sure he hadn’t heard you, but he speaks before you can voice the question once more.

“I promise.” His statement is firm. When you look into his golden snake-like eyes, they’re full of life. Determination emanates from their intense gaze.

You believe him.

“Okay, good. I hate to see you like that, you know…” His gaze softens at the obvious concern on your face. He understands it comes from a place of love, so he only nods in understanding.

“I’m sorry sweetheart.” He reaches for your hand, still a bit wet from washing his hair, yet he places a kiss to your palm nonetheless.

With that, you resume your task.

You take your time braiding his hair. It’s relaxing, and the diffuser you have going only adds to the calm atmosphere.

As soon as you finish braiding his hair Baizhu moves. It startles you, but you’re soon put to ease when he sits beside you.

His arms wrap around you, and he rests your head on his shoulder. Your eyes fall shut as you breathe in the floral scent of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispers the words, and you feel the soft press of his lips on your forehead. You feel the same touch on your nose, your cheek, your eyelids, until they finally press against your lips.

When he pulls away, you respond with a thank you of your own. He seems taken aback by your words, but then the sweetest smile lifts his lips.

“You are quite welcome.”

🕷🕸 ๋࣭ ⭑⛓

♡. Blade 🗡⭒⚠︎︎ ⛓°˖ 

He is the second spiderman in Caelus’s verse

He honestly feels as if the whole Spiderman role is a curse rather than a blessing, but he still plays the role nonetheless.

When he feels like it

Most people only know of Caelus as spiderman, but once Blade also took on the role there were rumors of a darker, more sinister spiderman seen webbing from building to building during the late hours of the night

Of course Caelus had to investigate said rumors, and that led to a one on one encounter with Blade and.. Kafka?

Long story short Blade begrudgingly helps Caelus out when he’s in a jam, but for the most part he keeps to the shadows and does his own thing. Whether what he does is morally ‘right or wrong’ doesn’t concern him.

He has the symbiote, Venom, and he absolutely hates it. Yet, well, here they are.

There was an incident when things got a little.. tense between Caelus and Blade. Before the situation escalated Kafka was able to get Blade under control.

Overall he doesn’t really do too much as ‘spiderman,’ but you’ll definitely have a chance at catching him beat the absolute shit out of a robber in a dark alley, their cries for help muffled as they’re eaten alive by the symbiote :D

Unfortunately for Blade, Kafka isn’t particularly fond of him eating people, due to the hassle of keeping it on the down-low. He’s supplied with massive amounts of chocolate to substitute for the people he was firmly told he can no longer consume, unless it’s a dire situation.

Blade truly sees his life as a misfortune, especially during moments where Caelus coerces him into helping him out. He’s really under no obligation to help, but something about Caelus persuades him to comply (albeit begrudgingly).

They make a great duo! Surprisingly. Like, Caelus can already be a hard hitter, when he chooses to use his bat, but add Blade into the mix? Whoever they’re fighting is not surviving that fight.

𓆩♡𓆪

Your hands slip under his shirt, cold against the warm skin of his abdomen. You trace the outline of his many scars; they feel rough against the delicate pads of your fingers. You move closer to Blade, burying your head into the crook of his neck.

You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your own; it soothes you.

He moves, his hands slipping under your shirt as well, tracing the curve of your spine.

“You really are such a handful…” He murmurs the words, quiet and emitting a gentle warmth. You shiver from his gentle touch, cold fingers leisurely teasing your skin.

You debate speaking up, to let him know you’re awake, but you quickly decide against it when he speaks once more.

“No one could compare to you. When I’m with you, I feel a warmth I haven’t felt in a long, long time…” Blade’s uncharacteristically honest words cause your heart to swell.

You struggle to contain your smile. You feel him shift closer to you, and soon a pair of surprisingly soft lips are pressed against your temple.

He remains silent now. Enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, running his hands along your skin.

“I love you too.” You finally say. He startles for a moment, and it makes you giggle. When you pull your head away from his neck you’re barely able to make out the sight of his flushed cheeks before he shoves your face back to its previous position.

He says nothing, but the smile on his face says all the things he fails to put into words.

[rubysunnday]

send it soaring

summary: a hot air balloon was something quite majestic... but so was benedict bridgerton

a/n: look at me writing fics! if you want to know what scene inspired this whole fic look no further.

"Isn't it marvellous!" Belinda crowed, tugging on her older sisters hand excitedly.

Y/N Byrne couldn't help but smile at her sister. "It is, Betty," she said, twirling her around in a circle.

Y/N had been a bit bewildered when her sister had insisted on attending the Hawkins Balloon fayre. Belinda was never normally interested in such things - she much preferred spending time in the toy shop within Fortnum & Mason's. But the hot air balloon had captured everyone's imagination.

The Vauxhall Gardens were littered with brightly coloured tents. Some had small flags fluttering from the main tent pole whilst others had hand-made bunting strung along the front. Each one contained different things - sweet treats, hot drinks or sheltered seating from the wind.

A dark blue and white striped tent with light blue bunting across the front housed the exhibitions that Mr Hawkins had brought with him to demonstrate how his hot air balloon would work. Hand drawn blueprints were pinned to a board and there were several model balloons sat on plinths around the tent.

Y/N looked around in awe as Belinda continued to tug on her hand, urging her forward and toward the balloon sat in the centre of the field. As her eyes wandered around the grounds, she caught a glimpse of someone she had hoped would be in attendance.

Benedict Bridgerton stood by a stall selling jars of sweets, dressed in a dark blue jacket and light blue floral waistcoat. Y/N's gaze did not leave him, even as Belinda almost guided her directly into a metal pole. Seemingly sensing he was being watched, Benedict turned, his eyes searching the crowd.

For a second, Y/N and Benedict locked eyes. The world seemed to slow, and everything went silent.

"Oh, look, macarons!" Belinda cried, abruptly tugging on Y/N's hand and snapping her out of her daze.

Y/N stumbled forward and inside the pink and white striped tent that housed cakes and deserts of different shapes and sizes. A sign outside named the tent as Ms. Plaskitt’s Sweet Treats.Belinda immediately moved toward a plate of delicate pink macarons and plopped one into her mouth with a happy moan.

She picked another one off the tray. “These are delicious,” Belinda said, her mouth full of macaron.

“If mother was here, she would be crucifying you,” Y/N told her sister. She reached out and took a chocolate macaron from a nearby tray.

“Luckily, mama is not here,” Belinda replied, beaming with delight as she took yet another macaron. Belinda glanced over her shoulder and then turned sharply on her heel. “Oh, Gregory! Come here, they have strawberry macaron’s!”

Belinda frantically waved her hand at Gregory Bridgerton, urging the boy over to the tent. Gregory glanced over his shoulder and, seeing his mother and other siblings occupied, darted across the field and into the tent.

“Gregory, your mother will worry,” Y/N stepped back as he all but shoved past her to reach the trays of macarons, “where you’ve gone.”

“She won’t,” came Gregory’s muffled reply.

“No, she won’t – but only because I told her where you had gone.”

Y/N turned. Benedict stood in the doorway of the tent, arms crossed, eyebrows raised at his brother. From this distance, Y/N could see that the flowers on his waistcoat were tulips and lily of the valley, all dark blue against light, almost silver, blue material. He stepped closer, coming to stand beside her. A gust of wind blew through the tent, and she caught a whiff of his cologne – lavender and citrus.

A scent that suited him perfectly, Y/N decided.

Gregory pouted. “I only wanted a macaron.”

“You also only wanted to ‘glimpse’ the balloon,” Benedict retorted, “but look what happened there.”

Gregory glanced down at his sling. Belinda’s eyes widened as she noticed it for the first time. “Gregory, what did you do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled, picking up a macaron and swiftly leaving the tent.

“But I do!” Belinda crowed, chasing after him.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “I fear Belinda has developed a small crush on Gregory.”

“If it helps,” Benedict replied, shoulders moving up and down as he chuckled, “he has one too.”

They looked at one another for a moment. Benedict’s light-grey eyes stared into hers. Y/N felt as if she was being lured in. Something was tugging her forward and toward him and, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the sensation kept getting stronger every time they met.

She’d first seen him four years ago at a ball. He’d offered to grab her a glass of lemonade from the table, and they had spent the rest of the night in each other’s company, hiding along the wall.

By now, Y/N had been out for almost five years and spinsterhood was fast approaching in the eyes of the ton. After the first year, her mother’s attention had waned and Y/N soon found herself glued to the walls, waiting and hoping.

Whilst the season had become more enjoyable with less people watching her every move, Y/N felt as if she had been cast aside. She had danced with everyone and anyone, but none had made offers of proposal – which she didn’t mind. Well, maybe she did a little.

It was hard, watching everyone she’d debuted with making matches and getting married. Some had even had children by now, the eldest ones turning five that winter. But there had been some comfort, knowing Benedict had yet to also meet his match.

Yet, it was different for him. He could sleep with anyone, kiss anyone and no one batted an eye. He had done it all and Y/N couldn’t help but be envious. Love wasn’t everything and neither was marriage. Everyone did things in different ways and at different ages. But to be almost three – and – twenty and to still be awaiting a first kiss…

Well, Y/N was beginning to feel lonely.

“You look deep in thought,” Benedict said softly.

Y/N inhaled sharply and blinked; her eyes dry. “Sorry,” she replied. “It has been a… well, I was going to say long day, but it is currently only one in the afternoon.”

Benedict chuckled and Y/N’s stomach swooped. He smiled the crooked smile she loved so much and, suddenly, she realised that there was only one person she wanted to settle with.

Perhaps Benedict Bridgerton was the entire reason she had gone so long with no proposals. Perhaps, fate had destined them to be together.

Fate is a fool, Y/N thought to herself. Why would Benedict choose me? No one else wants me, why would a Bridgerton?

“Miss Byrne, are you well?” Benedict asked.

Y/N’s eyes shot up. “Sorry,” she said again. “I am… not really with it today.”

“Do you need someone to escort you home?”

Yes.

“No,” Y/N replied, forcing herself to smile, even if it didn’t reach her eyes. “I should really go find my sister.”

Concern didn’t leave Benedict’s eyes, but he nodded nonetheless, stepping to the side to let Y/N past. Y/N’s hand brushed his as she did. She clenched it into her fist, willing her insides to stop tangling themselves in knots.

Belinda hadn’t gone far. She was dancing around the maypole with Gregory and Hyacinth. Deciding that her sister would be fine by herself, Y/N left the small fayre, walking past the tents and up onto the main path through Vauxhall Gardens. A wooden bench sat alongside the path, overlooking the green. Y/N sat down, pulling her dark green silk shawl tighter around her shoulders as the wind picked up once again.

She hated herself for loving Benedict. Y/N knew it could never extend to anything more than friendship. He was a Bridgerton, he could have anyone he wanted in a heartbeat and that certainly wasn’t going to be her. Even if romance did blossom between them, Y/N wasn’t entirely sure she was willing to risk the friendship she had with Benedict, for it.

His family treated her as one of their own. Every ball, every event, they would seek her out and they would talk to her and keep her company. Her own mother had stopped doing that long ago, afraid that she would be caught in Y/N’s wallflower turned spinsterhood.

Was Y/N truly willing to risk all that for love?

Not that there is any love between us, Y/N thought.

Desperate to get out of her head, Y/N glanced up at the fayre. The wind had gotten stronger and was knocking the balloon about, forcing it side to side. Even from where she sat, a fair distance away, Y/N could see how much it was saying in the wind. It’s basket kept moving, bouncing around the wooden dais it had been carefully placed on. It tugged on the ropes keeping it tethered to the ground and the workers had to keep dodging the basket as it moved.

A sudden sense of doom began to grow inside her stomach. She couldn’t quite explain why but, historically, things never tended to go well within Vauxhall Gardens.

Y/N stood up and quickly began making her way across the grass and down to the fayre. If something was going to go wrong, she didn’t want Belinda to be on her own and potential end up in trouble.

As she rejoined the fayre, no one else seemed to have noticed the stronger winds and the dangerously swaying balloon. Two workers were holding down two of the main ropes, keeping them taut in an attempt to control the balloon.

“Belinda!” Y/N called, hurrying over to her younger sisters side.

Belinda turned abruptly, hand grasping a miniature hot air balloon. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said, trying to school her face into calm composure. “I turned and you had gone from the maypole.”

“Oh,” Belinda glanced behind her, eyes narrowing as she looked at Gregory talking with another girl. “It got boring,” she replied, turning back to her sister.

Y/N felt her heart ache at the disappointment in Belinda’s eyes. “If you are okay – ”

“Which I am –”

“ – then I am going to go for a wander,” Y/N finished.

Belinda batted her off, turning back to the miniature hot air balloons. Y/N stepped away but didn’t stray far from her sister. The balloon was still swaying, despite the workers best efforts. One had managed to tie a rope down, hammering the metal peg into the ground by the corner of a tent. The tension on it was evident as the balloon pulled against it.

Y/N wasn’t happy. The balloon wasn’t secure by any means and whilst the balloon and basket itself weren’t dangerous, the ropes were. If one with enough tension snapped or came loose, it could hurt anyone standing near it. It happened often enough on merchant ships.

Her gaze left the balloon. She scanned the tents, eventually finding Benedict. His back was to her, but she knew it was him. Next to him stood a blonde-haired woman, perfectly dressed and immaculate. Benedict leant back and laughed. The woman turned slightly, and Y/N caught sight of her face. She was beautiful.

Of course, she thought. She’s perfect.

She was sulking now, Y/N knew that. But it stung. Knowing Benedict was just out of her reach and would forever remain that way. They were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

God, I wish we were.

“Watch out!”

One of the workers was waving his hands frantically. People gasped in shock, darting back as one by one the ropes snapped away from the pegs. Those with high tension on them whipped back and forth, barely avoiding a group of gentlemen standing nearby.

Y/N glanced around for Belinda. She was stood safely away from the chaos along with Gregory and Hyacinth. Y/N breathed out, grateful that her sister was away from danger.

However, Y/N wasn’t.

She had been so focused on Belinda and making sure she was safe that she didn’t even notice the rope tethered behind her snap. Someone yelled at a warning, but Y/N didn’t register it in time. The rope slithered away at a rapid pace and whipped toward her.

One moment Y/N was staring at the flying rope and the next her back was hitting the green grass. She heard the rope whip past, hitting the fabric of the tent above her head.

“You can open your eyes,” a familiar voice said. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N breathed out shakily and slowly opened her eyes. Lying on top of her, one hand by her head, the other on her shoulder was Benedict. He was breathing hard, as if he had just run a fair distance in a short amount of time.

Which, she supposed, he had, since the last time she’d seen him, he had been in the centre of a tent, woman on his arm. But now, here he was, lying on top of her, his hand still resting against her arm, his other trapped underneath her.

“It’s over,” Benedict said softly, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair back from her face. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Y/N looked up at him. Up close, she could see his eyes had hints of green in them and there were small crinkles at the corners of his eyes. She had never been this close to him before. She wanted to freeze the moment. She wanted to relish it.

But people were staring at them.

“So, you have,” Y/N whispered, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek.

Her words seemed to break Benedict out of his revery. He pushed himself up with one hand, his other moving to her elbow so that he could help her up. Even once they were both standing, Benedict’s hand remained on her elbow. His thumb gently caressed her upper arm, the sensation raising goosebumps along Y/N’s skin.

Y/N looked into his eyes and the world did seem to stop. His eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly with concern and in his eyes was the tiniest amount of fear. She had never seen him so worried before.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, reaching up and squeezing his arm once. “I promise.”

What she really wanted to do was reach up higher and rest her hand on the back of his neck, gently stroking the edge of his hair with her thumb. She wanted to hug him tightly and breathe in his cologne until it was all she could smell.

But people were still staring at them.

Reluctantly, Y/N let go of his arm. She stepped back, creating a small amount of space between them. Benedict kept his hand on her elbow until he couldn’t reach any more. He let his arm fall back to his side, flexing his hand.

The spell seemed to have broken. People began to swarm them, asking Y/N if she was okay and congratulating Benedict and his brother, Colin, on saving the day. Soon, Y/N was gradually pushed out of the circle until she found herself on the outside, blocked by the women of the ton.

Y/N sighed softly A hand grasped hers and she looked to her right. Belinda stood by her side, glaring at the women. For a thirteen – year – old she looked very annoyed.

“Let’s go home,” Belinda said, tugging Y/N’s hand gently. “Come on.”

Y/N turned and let her younger sister pull her away from the crowd and from Benedict. She didn’t look back. Though, if she had, she might have seen Benedict trying to fight through the crowds to reach her.

That next morning, Y/N sat in the living room, quietly working on her cross stich as her mother discussed the plans for her annual ball. Belinda was upstairs with her governess and her father had disappeared off to White’s at the first chance.

“What do you think of a masquerade theme?” Vivian, Y/N’s mother, said, raising her voice so that Y/N could hear her from the other end of the room.

Y/N poked her needle up through the fabric. “Is that not copying Dowager Lady Bridgerton’s annual ball?”

Vivian pursed her lips. “There can be more than one masquerade ball, Y/N.”

Y/N sighed quietly. Her mother was impossible at times. “What about a Venetian themed ball?” She asked, pulling her needle up.

“Perhaps. I shall ask Lady Cowper when I next see her.” Her mother stood up, setting aside her notebook. “Mrs Hadley, do you have a moment? I wish to discuss our annual ball with you.”

Y/N watched her mother leave the room, listening as her footsteps grew quieter. The moment she could hear them no longer, Y/N slouched back against the sofa and groaned.

“That was not the reaction I had hoped for.”

Y/N jumped, almost throwing her cross stitch at the intruder. She stood up abruptly and stared at the doorway, her eyes wide. Benedict Bridgerton was standing in her living room doorway, dressed in a dark blue jacket, golden yellow waistcoat and red cravat.

Benedict gave her an apologetic smile. “My apologies, your butler said to come straight up.”

Y/N cleared her throat. “Uh, yes he’s, uh, he’s not the best at his job…”

Benedict glanced around the room. “Are you alone?”

“My mother was here,” Y/N replied quietly. “She left.”

Y/N tried not to cringe. He could see that she had left, there was no need for her to state it aloud.

“Would you like me to come back later?” Benedict asked, pointing his thumb behind him.

“No!” Y/N exclaimed, just a bit too loudly and a bit too quickly. “No,” she said again, calmer this time. “What can I do for you, Mr Bridgerton?”

Benedict stepped into the room. “I wanted to check on you. You left very quickly yesterday.”

“Well,” Y/N said, “there wasn’t much reason for me to stay.” Y/N put her hands behind her back, mainly so Benedict couldn’t see her wringing her hands and twisting her fingers.

“I wanted to apologise, too.”

Y/N frowned. “Whatever for?”

“Tackling you to the ground.”

“Benedict, you saved me from a flying rope,” Y/N told him, oblivious to the fact she had just called him by his first name for the first time. “You do not need to apologise for reacting as quickly as you did.” She paused, noticing how a smile as gradually growing on his face. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You called me Benedict,” he told her.

Y/N froze. “I don’t think I did,” she replied.

Benedict took a step forward. “I think you did. In fact, I know you did… Y/N.”

Hearing him say her name sent a shiver through her body. She had heard him say her surname dozens of times but nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to hearing Benedict say her first name.

It was rare that anyone’s first name was used in polite company. Unless you were a younger sibling or were being presented for the first time, it was surnames only.

“Did I say something wrong?” Benedict asked, moving even closer. There were only a few inches of space between them now. If Y/N reached out, she was certain that she could brush her hand against his sleeve.

“You know you did,” Y/N whispered, her voice hoarse. “Benedict, we cannot… this is not appropriate.”

Benedict crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “Is it not?”

“No, it is not.”

Y/N breathed in deeply as Benedict stretched his arm out, the back of his hand brushing against hers. Some many emotions were running through her. Why was he acting like this with her. Why was he even here?

They were just friends.

“We cannot,” Y/N said again. “We are unchaperoned, if anyone walks in on us in this position, the scandal it would cause…”

“Perhaps I am willing to risk a scandal,” Benedict replied, lowering his voice.

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped away from Benedict, moving away from the sofa and toward the window. Her breathing was heavy, and her hands were shaking slightly.

This was absurd. Completely and utterly absurd.

Hurt appeared in Benedict’s eyes. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished. He cleared his throat, taking a step back. “I apologise, Miss Byrne, I do not know what came across me.”

“Why?” Y/N asked, her words so quiet they almost didn’t come out.

Benedict frowned. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N asked, waving a hand at him. “Why did you save me yesterday when we both know I was nowhere near being hit by that rope. Why did you even come here today?”

“Do you really not know?”

“If I did, Mr Bridgerton, I would not be asking,” Y/N told him.

For a moment, Benedict just looked at her. They were only separated by a sofa, but it felt as if a gaping chasm had opened between them. Something had shifted and, even before Benedict began to speak, Y/N had a feeling that there would be no going back.

“I came here today,” Benedict began, “because I was concerned for your wellbeing. I saved you yesterday because I could not stand to see you in harm’s way, even if you were safe.”

Benedict took a deep breath in, raising his chin slightly. He walked forward, crossing the chasm between them. Y/N took a step back as he came to a stop in front of her, the toes of his shoes almost touching hers.

“I am doing this,” Benedict said, taking her ungloved hand in his, “because I love you, Y/N Byrne. I have done for some time now; I just lacked the confidence to enact upon it until recently. Even then, it was not until yesterday that I realised just how much I love you.”

Y/N felt as if her breath had been stolen from her. Someone had just reached in and pulled all the air out of her lungs. She stared at Benedict. His mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then, his brow furrowed, and his eyes filled with concern. Y/N felt a hand on her elbow and the warm touch of Benedict’s skin on hers snapped her back to reality.

“Y/N, breathe,” Benedict said softly, squeezing her arm. “Hey, look at me.”

“I am,” Y/N said, slightly breathlessly. She took a few deep breaths in, trying to fill her lungs with air again.

A smile appeared on Benedict’s face. “Was my confession honestly that breathtaking?”

“Evidently,” Y/N replied. She let out a slightly breathy laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Benedict told her, his hand still on her arm. “This has done wonders for my confidence.”

Y/N let out a sudden burst of laughter. “I think you might have broken me,” she said afterwards, a bewildered look on his face.

“Is it really that surprising?”

“Well, yes.” Y/N looked at him. “I made my debut almost five years ago. I’m nearly three – and – twenty and not once has a man ever shown the slightest bit of interest in me. You, Mr Bridgerton, are one of the most eligible men in London… why would I ever think you would be interested in me? I’m not really anything.”

“Don’t say that” Benedict scolded her gently. His hand moved down her arm, brushing against her skin, until he reached her hand. Gently, he threaded his fingers through hers. “You are the most interesting woman in the ton. There is more to you than all the debutantes put together, Y/N.”

“So, I’m not like other women?” Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Benedict groaned. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Have I just ruined the moment?”

“A little.”

He opened his eyes, squinting at her. “Do I get a do over?”

Y/N nodded. “If you insist.”

She was teasing him, of course. Nothing that he said in that moment could dissuade her from him. He had caught her hook, line and sinker and Y/N knew there was no going back. She was his, body and soul.

Benedict took her other hand. “You, Y/N Byrne, have captured my heart. I can walk into any room and sense your presence before I even see you. I would gladly take on any pain, any burden for you. To know how close you had been to being injured yesterday -”

“I was nowhere near the rope –”

“Will you let me finish?” Benedict asked.

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying to hide her smile. She nodded her head, letting Benedict resume.

“The mere idea of not having you in my life anymore is an unthinkable thought. No matter how hard I have tried to find someone, anyone, to settle down with, no one felt right.”

Y/N looked at him, staring directly into his eyes. “And I do?”

He nodded. “More than I can ever put into words. It is as if you complete my soul.”

Slowly, Y/N smiled. She reached up and put a hand to the back of Benedict’s neck, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the skin behind his ear. Benedict leant into her hand, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Perhaps we’re the final pieces of each other’s jigsaw’s,” Y/N said softly. “Everything has finally fallen into place.”

“Not quite yet,” Benedict replied.

He leant forward and pressed his lips to Y/N’s. She was taken aback for just a second. Then, her eyes closed, and she pressed her lips to Benedict’s. His breath tickled her cheeks, and she could feel his hands against her waist.

Warmth was beginning to spread out from her heart and down her legs. Lavender and citrus were all she could smell as Benedict pressed himself against her, his lips soft and gentle against hers. There was desire burning up between them but no urgency. They both knew that they had all the time in the world.

[never-rxne]

─── you're sevika's muse.

◉ photographer!sevika x fem!reader. ◉ 1.8k words; light angst and fluff; suggestive content (sexual and non-sexual nudity) - read at your own discretion.

"we can go back to new york; loving you was really hard." —Lana Del Rey. “Ultraviolence.”

The first picture she took of you: late night, in her untidy loft apartment, empty wine glasses among the clothes flung over the floorboards. Your legs are tangled in the bedsheets, you gaze at a point slightly above the camera’s lens, presumably at Sevika herself. Your eyes are slightly unfocused, dazed, an unreadable smile on your lips. The strap of your bra slipping over one shoulder. Lipstick smudged over your mouth. 

Hours ago, Sevika had seen you across the room at the cocktail party in SoHo. She could not take her eyes off you. She remembers how you stood aloof in the corner of the room, arms crossed over your chest with a jaded look in your eyes, like there was no one in the room worth your interest. The way you shifted on your feet, the tilt of your head. It was like a light exploded in Sevika’s mind. The slump of the past few months fell away like a veil. She knew then that you were the one. 

She leans toward Silco—lithe, fashionable, scarf thrown around his neck, holding the glass of bourbon like one of the exquisite pieces of ceramic art he collected—and asks, “Who is that?” 

Silco pauses his conversation with Vander to follow her gaze. He sees you and lifts his brows. “I’ve never seen her before. Might be one of the new tryouts for Babette’s play.” Noticing Sevika’s eyes, trained intently on you—the eyes of an artist. “Oh, dear,” he says. “Sevika has found her new muse.”

Before the night runs out, before you are swept away by anyone else, Sevika approaches you.

“Where do you come from?” she asks. 

“I’m from nowhere,” you tell her. “My life starts tonight.” 

“Is that so?” 

She speaks only to you through the night, ignoring everyone else in the room, ignoring the countless hopeful models who had been drawn, like moths to a light, to the rumor of the famous photographer Sevika being at the party—her first public appearance in months. You answer her questions, yet by the end of the night she feels as if she has been dancing in circles, getting nowhere. There’s something about the way your eyes drift over the room before returning to her. As if you’re daring her to come closer. As if every look you give her is a silent challenge. She wants to capture that gaze. She wants to capture your attention forever, through the shifting lens of a camera. 

Sevika leans slightly closer, dropping her voice. “I’m gonna be very forward with this. I think you’re beautiful.”

You only give a half-smile, raising the glass to your lips. Echoing her own words back at her. “Is that so?” 

Later, when you’re lying beneath her on the frameless mattress in her apartment, she tries to repeat the sentiment. This time you say, “show me.” 

So she gets up, gets her camera from where it has been collecting dust on the top shelf for months. 

“Didn’t know you took pictures,” you say sleepily. 

“Something like that.” 

She has been featured in Vogue, Cosmopolitan. Nominated for the Hasselblad. There was a time when all the industry’s eyes were on her, when she was breaking record after record, surpassing every male photographer in the business. Then came the accident that took her left arm. She hasn’t taken a single photograph since then. 

Until now. 

You watch her sling the camera strap around her neck, fixing it up dexterously with her single hand. She adjusts the focus and raises the camera to her eye, brow furrowed with concentration. The shutter goes off, a brief flash. 

“See,” Sevika says, not showing you the picture. “Beautiful.”

▸

Another picture she took of you: in the kitchen, the morning light falling over your face, casting the other half in shadow. You’re looking over your shoulder at her with the remnants of a laugh on your mouth, holding a cup of coffee. She likes this picture best. You’re wearing nothing but one of her unironed dress shirts, and as you turned your head your profile became slightly blurred. It looks as though you will start moving within the picture any moment, to finish the teasing sentence you had started to say, to let out the rest of your laugh. 

She takes candid shots—in one picture you’re leaning over the flowers at a deli in Bedford, examining the bouquets for the perfect one to take home to decorate the living room table. In another your back is to her, your trench coat flying in the wind, leaning on the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, watching the sun rise over  the East River. In another you’re asleep, one arm flung over your head, a book resting on your chest, lips slightly parted. 

No work of art, in her eyes, could capture your essence. You have her spellbound. 

After a year together, she opens her first gallery in ages. You are the star, of course. By now your name has spread throughout the artists of the city. Sevika’s muse. The unknown aspiring actress who came into the city and swept her away. Her passion for you was unforeseen, it drips from each masterpiece of a photograph. She captures every angle, every shade of light that falls on you. In one picture you sit against an empty black backdrop, naked but for a single velvet cloth wrapped around your body. In another only your silhouette is shown, against the background of a shadowed doorway. 

The critics buzz with praise, but there are also criticisms. You are too elusive. Sevika has failed to catch something essential. In every picture you are present, yet completely inaccessible. It raises the questions: does art need to be accessible? To whom does it need to be accessible? Who is allowed to be in on the secret? 

While the public argue amongst themselves, Sevika finds that you are slipping from her just as you slip away from the lens of her camera. For a while, she stops taking pictures of you. She takes you in, with her eyes and her eyes alone. 

“You know,” you tell her one day as you walk down the streets, “you make me hate this city a little less.” 

Sevika looks down at you. “You hate the city?”

“I wasn’t planning to stay. But then I met you.”

Quietly she asks, “was it worth it?” 

You wrap your arm a little tighter around hers, lean your head briefly on her strong shoulder. “Silly,” you murmur. You don’t say anything more. 

▸

Even after you leave, Sevika keeps the pictures. Every single one. Even the ones that embarrassed you—because you were caught mid-blink, because you were wearing something lazy, because your makeup wasn’t done. Even the ones that embarrassed her—because the focus was off, because the lighting was wrong, because her angle was awkward. 

She closes the gallery to the public, but the pictures stay on the walls. She walks through the rooms in the dark sometimes, standing in front of the pictures and gazing at them for what feels like hours. 

Was it her? 

Did she adore you the wrong way? 

She looks at the pictures, she tries to find the answer in your frozen face. The public liked the clearer ones the best—the pictures where you stare directly into the camera, the pictures that show your entire face in harsh relief. But she loves the ones caught in motion, the ones where you seem to share a secret with someone just outside the frame. 

She had always assumed it was her you were looking for: Sevika. Not the photographer, not the tragic artist, not the recluse who ruined her career too early. Just her. 

But you were an actress, you had come into her life as one and you left the same way. Was your love for her a performance as well? 

It doesn’t matter to her. She knows she would have loved you anyway. She knows she would do it all over again if she could. 

▸

She sees you again in the Black Cat Theater, six months later. An off-broadway show that took off because of your performance as the lead role. As you stand in the wings, you see her come into the theater—it’s one of those small, cramped boxes common in those avant-garde theater spaces downtown. You see her in the audience when you go onstage. 

You don’t expect her to talk to you. You’re surprised she doesn’t leave during the intermission. She seems to have come alone, sitting in the back row. You notice she cut her hair short. The bangs sweep over her eyes, her jaw looks more pronounced, but those pouty lips you had loved are the same. The broad shoulders, the black leather jacket she always wore in the fall, the intense gaze are the same. 

The show ends. You disappear into the dressing room, which is really a glorified closet built to accommodate maybe one person but was stretched to be the dressing room of a cast of eight. As you’re rubbing the rouge off your lips, a stagehand calls your name from the door. 

“Someone’s here to see you.” 

You go out, still in costume, and see Sevika standing by the curtains. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“Hello,” you say, surprised. 

“Hey.” A brief pause. She holds the flowers out. “Congratulations,” she says. Her tone is rough, businesslike, as if determined not to make this any more than what it looks. 

You take the flowers. What else could you do? You look up at her and a million things you want to say to her crowd your thoughts. 

“You were good tonight,” Sevika says. “Really good.” 

“Thank you.” You feel more and more like an idiot standing there in your nineteenth-century skirt, holding the bouquet of flowers close to your chest. You want to tell her how much it means that she came to see you, that she saw where you’ve ended up. You want to tell her about the mind-bending work of the past months, the rising hopes and crushed dreams. You want to tell her how much you’ve missed her, how much you wanted to go back. 

Sevika turns to leave. The motion jolts you out of your thoughts. You push the flowers to one arm, reach out and grab her hand with the other. She turns, brows raised in surprise. 

“Have a drink with me?” You say. “Just ten minutes and I’ll get out of this.” You nod down at the costume. 

She seems to hesitate. “Don’t you have an afterparty to go to?” 

“I’ll skip it. I’d rather go with you.”

“Why?” 

You let out a huff of impatience. “I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to see you. I… I’ve missed you.” 

At your last words, a corner of Sevika’s mouth curls up. She says, “is that so?”

[harryspurpleloofah]

Baggage Claim

Summary: Harry needs to rush to a meeting gate his flight so grabs the first suitcase that looks like his. When he hears Y/N complaining to the staff about how she her bag he pieces together that the suitcase isn’t his. Later they're drinking together and the same lingerie he found in her bag is now being modelled to him.

TW: p in v sex, oral fem receiving, swearing, mentions of drinking, size kink if you squint hard

Harry’s footsteps are quick as he moves through the crowded airport terminal, his mind already halfway to the hotel. The long flight from London had drained him and he can feel it in the tightness of his neck, the way his body wants to slump with every step. But there’s no time for that. He’s used to flying in and out of places, managing the pressure of tight schedules. The job, the meetings, the expectations. It all blends together until it feels like muscle memory.

He’s barely registered his manager’s voice on the phone, rambling in the same tone that’s both familiar and grating.

"Harry, where the hell are you? You need to be at the hotel in twenty. No more delays, okay? Straight to your room, change, and the meeting's at six. Be there. Got it?"

Harry exhales, dragging a hand through his hair as he rounds a corner toward baggage claim. "Yeah, I hear you. I’m on it," he mutters, though his mind is already a million miles away. The meeting is looming, but so is the exhaustion that’s been chasing him for the past few days. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been since he had a proper night of sleep. Two days? Three? It doesn’t matter. He’s just got to power through.

His eyes scan the conveyor belt for his bag, but it’s all a blur now, the usual haze of too many flights and too much noise. His fingers absently swipe at his phone screen, checking messages from his team, seeing another reminder from Jeff: don’t be late.

The airport’s always a strange place for him...people rushing in all directions, tired travelers slinging their bags over their shoulders, strangers walking right past each other without a second glance. He’s used to it, but sometimes, the loneliness of it all gets to him. He’s here, in a strange city, surrounded by people but still alone.

A bag thumps down on the conveyor, and Harry snatches it without a second thought. It’s black, the same style as his, the same size. He could’ve sworn this was his, but then again, in a place like this, things blur. Luggage all looks the same.

He starts to turn away when the woman’s voice cuts through the noise again, louder this time, more frustrated.

"No, I’m telling you, this is not my bag! I know what it looks like. I’ve had it for years!"

Harry’s pace slows, his attention flickering for a moment before he mentally shakes it off. There’s always someone losing their luggage. He’s seen it a hundred times. She’s just another frustrated traveller who’ll be fine once the staff finds the right bag. He doesn’t have time for this. He has a schedule to keep, and that’s the priority.

But then something catches him, maybe a gesture, a movement that pulls his gaze. The woman standing at the counter looks like she’s ready to cry, her hands gripping the counter as she argues with the staff.

For a moment, Harry wonders why he even cares. Maybe it’s the way she’s standing, the way her shoulders slump just slightly when the staff tells her they’ll have to check the lost and found again. He doesn’t know her, but there’s a flicker of something in him. Empathy, maybe? Or maybe it’s just a distraction from his own mental fog.

He moves on, his steps quickening again, but then his mind flashes back to her voice. He thinks he hears her mention something about how important her bag is.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, his eyes flicking over his shoulder one more time as the staff tries to calm her down. He feels a slight pang, but he pushes it away. It’s not his problem. He needs to focus.

Harry strides to the exit with his suitcase, barely looking down at it. The airport doors slide open, and the cool breeze of the city hits his face. The car he’d booked is waiting, a familiar black SUV, and he climbs in, pulling the door shut behind him.

He tosses the suitcase onto the seat beside him, half-heartedly checking his phone again, and his manager’s message flashes in his mind.

Don’t be late.

But something still feels off. The bag...it didn’t feel quite right.

The ride to the hotel is too short, and Harry’s lost in thought, replaying the earlier scene. He doesn’t know why it sticks with him.

In his hotel room, he’s quick to shed his jacket, moving around like he’s in autopilot, wanting to get it all done and over with. There’s no time to linger, no time to think. He’s got a meeting in less than an hour, and he can’t afford to be late.

But then he stops, his hands hovering over the suitcase. It’s still sitting there on the bed, like a random, inconsequential thing. He starts to unzip it, the dull sound of the zipper breaking the silence of the room.

The first thing he pulls out is a lace black lingerie set. He doesn't exactly remember packing this.

His mind spins for a moment as he pulls out more items...a tube of lipstick, a small notebook with a faded sticker on the front. And suddenly it clicks. This isn’t his suitcase.

His stomach flips. There’s no way he grabbed the wrong bag. He’s been through this a thousand times, and he’s careful.

He quickly shoves everything back inside and zips it shut, his mind racing. Of all the things he could’ve done wrong today, this was not it. He had to fix this.

His fingers tremble slightly as he picks up the phone again and checks the time. He doesn’t have much time before he needs to be at the meeting, but he can’t let it go. He needs to go back. To find her.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, and grabs the suitcase. His shoes click against the marble floor of the hotel lobby as he heads back out, trying to act like this is no big deal. It’s just a mix-up. An honest mistake. But deep down, he knows he has to make it right.

The airport isn’t far. The car ride feels even shorter this time. He doesn’t mind the silence. His thoughts are all over the place. What if she’s already gone? What if she doesn’t even care about the mix-up? Or worse..what if she’s angry?

As soon as he steps back into the terminal, Harry scans the area for her. He doesn’t see her at first, but then he hears it. That same sharp, frustrated voice from earlier.

“No, this is unbelievable! You lost it, not me. I’m telling you!”

Harry feels a jolt in his chest. There she is, standing at the lost-and-found counter again, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she argues with a staff member. Her voice is almost shaking with anger.

He hesitates for a moment, watching her. Something pulls at him. It’s stupid, but he can’t just walk away. This is his mistake. He needs to fix it, if only to give her some peace.

“Excuse me,” he says softly, tapping her gently on the shoulder.

She spins around, eyes wide, and for a split second, Harry almost forgets how to breathe. She looks...well, not happy, but definitely surprised. She’s got this look on her face, like she’s not sure whether to punch him or smile.

“I’m really sorry,” Harry starts, running a hand through his hair. “I think I’ve got your bag.” He holds it out, an apologetic smile on his face. “I grabbed the wrong one earlier. Didn’t realize until I got back to the hotel.”

For a moment, she just looks at him. Her expression softens, but there's still a trace of annoyance lingering behind her eyes.

“You—” she starts, but then sighs, rubbing her temples. “Of course. Of course you did. What a mess. My day’s been just perfect so far.”

Harry winces at the sarcasm, but he can’t help the slight chuckle that escapes him.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry again,” he says quickly. “I really didn’t mean to make things worse for you. But if you want, I—” He pauses, glancing at her. “If you need a drink or something, to take the edge off, I’d love to make it up to you. My treat.”

She looks at him, a slight skepticism in her eyes, but then she softens a little. It’s clear she’s still a bit on edge, but she’s not rejecting the idea outright.

“Well,” she says, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, “I am pretty pissed off. A drink might help.”

“Good.” Harry grins, the tension between them slowly easing. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, I promise. Least I can do.”

She nods, finally accepting the bag. Harry watches her for a second, a small sense of relief flooding through him. She might be frustrated, but there’s something in the way she’s talking to him now, less sharp, more resigned, that makes him think this might just work out.

She eyes him for a second, still cautious. “You’re lucky I’m not calling security right now,” she adds, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips.

Harry chuckles. “I’ll take my chances. You’d make a pretty scary security guard, you know.”

Her smile widens just a little, and for the first time today, Harry feels like he might be able to breathe again. Maybe he hadn’t completely messed everything up after all. His meeting would have to wait. Jeff could handle it.

The bar is dimly lit, the kind of place where the drinks are strong, the music is just low enough to talk over, and the walls are lined with leather booths that make everything feel a little more intimate. Harry swirls the amber liquid in his glass, leaning back against the cushioned seat, his limbs loose and relaxed from the drinks they’ve had.

She’s next to him, just as tipsy, her cheek resting against her hand, fingers lightly tapping against her jaw as she looks at him with a lazy sort of amusement. The frustration from earlier is long gone, melted away with every sip of whiskey and the gradual ease of conversation.

“So,” she says, her words slightly drawn out, “when did you see it wasn’t your bag?”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip. “Would you believe me if I said I only got it after I opened it?”

She tilts her head, smiling. “What gave it away? Not a fan of my taste in heels?”

“Actually, I thought the shoes were alright,” he says, lips curling up at the corners. “But I usually don’t pack lingerie. Especially not for work trips.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then she blinks.

“Oh my God.” She groans, eyes squeezing shut as her head drops forward onto her arms. “That’s so embarrassing. Please tell me you didn’t—like—look at everything?”

Harry chuckles, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Didn’t dig through it or anything. Just opened the zip, saw a very lacy little number right on top, and I didn’t need anymore to know it wasn’t mine so why would I keep digging?.”

She lets out another groan, though she’s laughing through it now. “Fantastic. Love that for me.”

Harry’s still smiling, but there’s something softer about it now, a warmth in his gaze as he watches her squirm. He nudges his glass against hers.

She leans over a bit to explain, “basically I went to Italy to see my boyfriend-”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ex. So yeah I went to see him and the lingerie was for that too but it didn’t really go to plan and let’s just say it didn’t serve the purpose of making me feel prettier.”

“He told you it looked bad?”

“Not directly. But he clearly wasn’t bothered by it since I showed it to him and told him I’d wear it that night but he spent the night god knows where. Honestly, it probably led to the breakup.”

“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice a little lower now, “I think you’d look great in it.”

It’s quick, but he sees it—the way her breath hitches, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the base of her glass. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when she finally looks back up at him, something that makes his stomach flip in a way the alcohol can’t take credit for.

She laughs, but it’s quieter now, and when she reaches for her drink, she takes a long sip, like she’s giving herself a moment to think. When she finally speaks, her voice is a little different—lighter, but with an edge of curiosity.

“That so?”

Harry hums, tilting his head slightly as he watches her.

The air shifts between them, something subtle but undeniable. It’s not just the drinks. It’s the way they’ve been leaning in a little closer with each refill, the way her knee brushed his under the table twenty minutes ago and neither of them moved away. It’s the way she’s looking at him now, eyes flicking down to his mouth before snapping back up, like she hadn’t meant to do it.

The tension stretches, coils tight, and then she moves first.

“Maybe I should go see if you’re right,” she says, her voice lilting slightly at the end like she’s teasing, but her eyes are saying something else entirely.

Harry’s grip tightens around his glass. His pulse kicks up, but he keeps his expression the same, matching her energy like it’s just a game.

“Well,” he murmurs, “don’t let me stop you.”

She holds his gaze for a beat longer, then slides out of the booth, smoothing her hands down the sides of her dress as she turns toward the exit.

She pauses just before walking away, glancing at him over her shoulder, her lips curling into the faintest smirk.

“Coming?”

Harry’s up before he even realizes he’s moving.

When she changes and comes back out, she barely has time to turn around before Harry’s on her, hands bracketing her face as he crashes his mouth against hers. It’s desperate, messy, all lust and hunger, like they’ve been holding back from the second they sat down at that bar. Her fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and he groans into her mouth, pressing her back against the door.

“Should’ve never said that,” she murmurs between kisses, breathless and drunk on the way he’s touching her.

“Said what?” he mumbles, lips trailing down to her jaw, then lower, dragging against the skin of her throat.

“That you thought I’d look good in it.”

Harry laughs softly, but it’s rough at the edges, his teeth grazing against the sensitive spot just below her ear. “I was just being honest.”

Her hands move to his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. The fabric barely hits the floor before he’s gripping her thighs and hoisting her up against the door, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The first press of him against her makes her gasp, fingers tightening on his shoulders

He rolls his hips once, deliberately slow, just to make her whimper.

“Think I’d rather see for myself now,” he mutters. She doesn’t argue.

He carries her to the bed, laying her down before leaning back just enough to strip her out of her dress. His eyes darken as he takes her in, sprawled out beneath him in that same black lace set he found in her suitcase.

“Jesus,” he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. His gaze drags over every inch of her before he reaches out, running a slow finger along the strap of her bra. “Knew I was right.”

She bites back a smirk. “And here I was thinking you were all talk.”

“Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong then.”

He does.

His mouth trails lower, tracing every delicate detail of the fabric, his hands smoothing down her sides before gripping her hips and pulling her closer. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of her underwear, taking his time, teasing her with slow touches.

When he finally pulls them down, his breath hitches. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

She barely has time to breathe before he’s kissing down the inside of her thigh, his hands holding her steady as he settles between her legs.

His mouth is warm, good.

Her back arches at the first swipe of his tongue in her cunt, her fingers finding his hair again, tugging just enough to make him groan against her. His grip on her tightens, like he needs to keep her there, like he’s got no plans of stopping until he’s torn her apart.

She tries to say his name, but it barely comes out, lost in a sharp gasp when he does that thing with his tongue. He hums against her, clearly pleased with himself.

“Feel good?” His voice is low, rough, vibrating against her skin.

She nods, thighs trembling slightly.

“Use your words, love.”

Her breath catches. “Yeah. Feels—God, it feels so good.”

He grins against her before diving back in, his pace slower now, more focused, like he’s savoring every second.

She comes beneath him, her whole body going almost limp before she shatters, her moan breaking apart in the air between them. He doesn’t move for a long moment, just presses soft kisses to the inside of her thigh, letting her catch her breath.

Then he shifts, crawling back up over her, his lips brushing against hers as he nudges his nose against her cheek.

“Reckon I’m not all talk then?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement.

She laughs breathlessly, pulling him down for another kiss.

“Not even a little.”

He moves back up to her and slides inside her after making sure she’s wet enough. She groans out. He’s huge. She’s honestly a bit scared for a second she’s never had sex with someone who’s as big as Harry. She adjusts herself without making it obvious she’s nervous as he starts to thrust.

He snaps out of his own pleasure for a few moments to look over at her, “you ok? I can stop.”

“No-it’s great. I’m just getting used to you. Keep going.”

“Mm..is that why you’re so tight? Never felt a cock this big?”

She moans as she reaches for his curled locks again. She kisses him again sloppily this time, his tongue smashing onto hers.

He keeps moving in and out of her, his cock getting slicker and slicker as his breaths grow shaky and his lips find comfort in the crook of her neck where he kisses. He adjusts her under him again to get at a deeper angle causing her to arch half off the bed.

He could hear his phone vibrating on the bedside table, probably his manager scolding him but he didn’t give two shits anymore. He couldn’t name a single thing he’d rather be doing than her. He could feel his release coming and he didn’t want to come before she did.

He reached a ring hand down, the coldness making her slightly hiss. He rubbed at her clit trying to bring her there too. She groaned as the room filled with his last few desperate thrusts, their skins slapping a bit slower than they were a few minutes ago.

As soon as she came, he pulled out, spraying her with ropes of cum. It wasn’t the most he’d ever cum in his life but he’d honestly surprised himself even with this. It was certainly the most since he was about 25. And even in missionary? He couldn’t imagine how could it would be if he was actually feeling risky and tried something with her. But for now he needed to focus on cleaning her up.

After he was all done, he let her borrow a Nirvana shirt to wear to bed along with leggings she’d fished out of her own suitcase on her trembling legs despite him telling her to lay back down and that he’d do it. She turned to him in the bed.

“Do you do this often?”

“Mm?”

“Purposely take peoples bags so you can fuck them later?”

“Not usually no. Thanks for the idea though.”

She chuckled softly. “Was this a..um a one time thing?”

“Could be. Could be more.”

“Don’t be so cryptic.”

“Let’s just say next time I see you at the airport, taking your bag won’t be an accident.”

[malsmind]

file/information —

hacker!matt desperatly has to find a way to hack into

popular!reader's phone again.

file-warnings: stalking, male and female masturbation

you sat in the cramped lecture hall, the faint hum of the projector overhead mixing with the rustle of notebooks and the occasional cough from someone a few rows back. it was a typical tuesday morning at college—intro to programming, a class you only half-paid attention to because the professor’s monotone voice could put anyone to sleep. your phone buzzed on the desk, screen lighting up with a text from a friend about some party this weekend. you smirked, tapping out a quick reply, oblivious to the pair of eyes watching you from across the room.

matt slouched in his seat near the back, his hoodie pulled low over his forehead, hair spilling out in messy strands. he kind of looked like every other guy to be honest. he didn't dress in any 'weird' or 'nerdy' way, but there was something sharper in the way his blue eyes flicked toward you. he wasn’t just some slacker coasting through college. matt was a hacker, the kind who could dismantle a system in his sleep, and he’d been trying to crack into your phone for weeks. not that he hadn't done it before, he's hacked into your phone and other devices multiple times, but recently, your phone’s security was tighter than usual, probably because apple had sent you a warning when matt wasn't careful enough with hacking into it last time. some custom encryption he couldn’t quite unravel, and it was driving him up the wall.

the reason why exactly it was making him go insane was because last night, when he went to touch himself, knowing after a long day and a night out you'd shower, maybe even find relief in touching yourself as well, he was left needy and frustrated when your phone kept kicking him out. no mater what he did, your phone just wouldn't cooperate.

he chewed the inside of his cheek, spinning a pen between his fingers as he watched you scroll through your screen. he’d tried phishing links, brute-forcing your password, even sniffing the campus wifi for vulnerabilities—nothing worked. it was starting to feel personal, like your phone was taunting him. then, last night, hunched over his laptop in the living room of the house he shared with his brothers, the idea hit him: if he couldn’t hack it, he’d break it. get you a new one. slip in a backdoor before you even turned it on. his lips had curled into a grin at the thought, a little twisted but undeniably clever.

now, he just needed an opening. class ended, and you shoved your stuff into your backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as you headed out. matt followed at a distance, hands in his pockets, blending into the crowd of students spilling into the hall. he caught sight of you by the vending machines, fishing coins out of your jeans to grab a soda. perfect. he ambled over and “accidentally” bumped into you just as you turned around. your phone slipped from your hand, clattering to the tile floor with a sickening crack.

“shit, my bad,” matt muttered, crouching down to pick it up before you could. the screen was shattered, spiderwebs of glass radiating from one corner. he held it out to you, his expression all apologetic, but inside, he was buzzing. “damn, that looks rough. still work?”

you took it from him, frowning as you pressed the power button. nothing. just a dead, black screen. “great,” you sighed, “there goes my whole life.”

“m' sorry..” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’ve got an extra one back at my place, though. new model, still in the box. you can have it if you want—save you the hassle of dealing with the repair shop.” his tone was offhand, like it was no big deal, but his pulse ticked up a notch waiting for your answer.

you hesitated, eyeing him for a second. you’d seen matt around—quiet guy, always tinkering with something in the lab—but you didn’t really know him. still, a free phone was a free phone. “yeah, okay,” you said finally. “that’d be awesome, thanks.”

he flashed a lopsided grin, leading you across campus to his place. he dug through a drawer, pulling out a sleek, unopened phone box. “here,” he said, tossing it to you. “all yours.”

you caught it, tearing into the packaging while he leaned against the desk, watching. what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that he’d already cracked it open days ago, slipped in a custom firmware with a remote access trojan buried deep in the system. camera, mic, everything—he’d have it all. you powered it on, the screen glowing to life, and started setting it up, oblivious to the way his fingers twitched slightly, itching to get back to his laptop.

“looks good,” you said, pocketing it. “thanks..”

“nah, don’t worry about it,” he replied, shrugging. “just glad it’s not going to waste.”

you left, and he waited a few minutes before locking the door, rushing up to his room and booting up his rig. the monitor flickered on, lines of code scrolling as he connected to the backdoor he’d planted. your camera feed popped up, grainy at first, then sharpening as you walked into your dorm room across campus. he leaned back in his chair, heart pounding a little harder than he’d admit, watching you toss your bag onto the bed and kick off your shoes. nothing special yet, just you being you, but the thrill was in the control. he could see you whenever he wanted again.

later that night, he couldn’t sleep. the room was dark except for the blue glow of his screen, the hum of his pc fan the only sound. he pulled up the feed again. you were in bed, the soft light of a lamp casting shadows across your walls—posters, a cluttered bookshelf, a half-dead plant in the corner. you’d changed into an oversized t-shirt, hair messy, scrolling through the new phone he’d given you. then, the phone started moving in a way that made him sit up straighter, turning up the volume of his headset. matt saw the expression on your face, hearing the small whimpering noises slipping past your lips, and knew what was going on behind the screen.

he'd been waiting for it all night..

matt’s breath hitched. he shouldn’t—he knew that somewhere in the back of his head—but the line was already blurred, and he was too far gone to care. he unzipped his jeans, hand slipping inside as he watched you shift, the shirt riding up slightly to expose the soft skin of your perfect tits. "shit—" matt hissed, his grip tightened, movements slow at first, eyes locked on the screen. your room smelled like lavender, he imagined from what he'd seen trough your camera so far, from that candle you always burned. he pictured the way you’d gasp if you knew, and just as his thoughts wandered to what your reaction would be if you knew what was going on behind the little screen you held in your hand, you moaned, wet sounds of your fingers working on yourseld echoing. he thought about what those moans would sound like if he was the one pulling them out of you, the thought sending a jolt through him.

the feed stuttered slightly as you picked up your pace, fingering yourself, but matt reloaded the page, keeping you in frame, fresh and in perfect quality. his hand moved faster, rougher, the sound of his breathing filling the silence of his room. "fuuuuck, y/n—"he whimpered pathetically, watching you as you bit your lip, breathing heavily as you tried to hold back your moans, and he groaned low in his throat, imagining the heat between your legs, the wetness clinging to his fingers instead of yours, the slickness he couldn’t see but could guess at. "fuck—fuck—fuck..." matt gasped out, body tensing up as cum hit his knuckles, hot and sticky, as he finished, chest heaving, eyes still glued to you lying there, oblivious, reaching your orgasm in synch to him without even knowing.

he wiped his hand on his shirt, leaned back, and smirked at the screen. “so fuckin' sexy..” he muttered to no one, already thinking about tomorrow, and the day after, and the many more days he'd watch you touch yourself, doing it with you.

@loser41ifee GAVE THE IDEA FOR THIS! (i hope i did a good job cause omg this took me way to long to actually start writing.)

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