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cherrychilli · 2 months

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18+ Eddie Munson x F! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, dry humping, nipple play Summary: Eddie turns up at your house one night and in need of help so you show him how far you're willing to go to help out your closest friend. WC:4K

For the most part you were indifferent towards Jeff Parker. Neither of you ran in the same circles and he was usually the type to keep his head down but add a little alcohol to the equation and the guy turns into a regular Jay Gatsby — all over indulgent and the life of the party. You just wish that party wasn't taking place 15 feet away from your bedroom window.

It was all the drunken hollering and the thumping music that kept you up that night, bone-tired after pulling double shifts at work. It was the police sirens blaring an hour later that ripped you out of a dream just as you were finally able to doze off with your head buried beneath your pillow. And it was the tapping on your bedroom window that came ten minutes later that made you spring up and nearly shoot out of your own skin.

"Eddie! what the hell?", you whisper shout into the darkness of your bedroom, recognizing his shaggy haired silhouette crouched behind the glass and backlit by nearby streetlamps.

You figured he must have climbed up the lattice to get up onto your roof as he begins to point urgently at the lock on your window, mouthing at you to let him in.

Kicking off your covers, you quickly make your way over to the window and unlock it for him, pulling it open and stepping aside to allow him to barrel roll into your room and heave a heavy sigh of relief.

Sprawled out on your carpeted bedroom floor, Eddie pants the exertion away and you leave him there to rest, connecting the dots yourself.

"I told you to stop dealing at parties", you deadpan, shaking your head in that world weary way you often slip into when it comes to Eddie but all that seems to do is trigger a grin that makes him look suspiciously chipper.

"Got to make a living don't I?", he replies from the floor, his hair all wild and fanned out in an unruly halo of frizz and curls.

It's far too late at night for you to be bothered enough to get into it with Eddie so you simply roll your eyes at him instead, making sure to shut your window to keep the chilly night air from seeping into your warm, cozy room.

The music that'd been playing next door has finally been silenced, you're pleased to notice but as you look out the window you see that the patrol car responsible for making Eddie and several other partygoers disperse and hightail it out of there remains parked in front of Jeff's house.

"I'll make a move once the fuzz's gone. I'm parked a couple blocks away so it should be fine", Eddie explains casually, able to anticipate your concern but you keep your eyes fixed on the car and its flashing lights for a moment longer, chewing on your bottom lip.

The thing was, in a town where almost everyone had it out for your best friend, you weren't too fond of the idea of him driving home at this time of night with his pockets stuffed with illicit party favours. Hell, Eddie often gets pulled over in the middle of the day by asshole officers hoping to book him on a possession charge. And since the trailer park isn't exactly closeby, the likelihood of him running into another cop and getting pulled over seems way too high for your liking.

The thought of it alone makes your stomach plummet. You just didn't want to see your closest friend getting into any kind of trouble. Especially if you could do something to help prevent it.

Turning away from your window, you eye Eddie intently while he glances up at you from where he's still laid out on his back, his breathing even now that he's managed to catch his breath.

"I think you should stay the night. It'll be safer that way", you tell him plainly.

Though most of your room is draped in darkness, Eddie's lit up in a column of orange light that pours in through your window so it's easy for you to make out the way his eyebrows rise up and disappear behind his bangs, his eyes growing wider too as he props himself up on his elbows to look at you.

"Y' sure?", he asks and you can feel him studying your face closely, looking for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

You know he'll find none though. Sure, this is all very spur of the moment stuff but you have no reservations about having Eddie stay over. Exactly the opposite.

"Yeah. But be quiet, okay? My whole family's asleep", you tell him as he begins to pick himself up off the floor, face beaming as he grins at you and steps closer to where you're standing.

"Ya big softie. All worried about me, huh?", he posits, tipping his head to the side in a way that at any other time, you might have considered cute. Right now however, all he's managed to conjure is annoyance given how little sleep you've had tonight.

So you narrow your eyes at him, the rest of your expression flat as he makes the mistake of bringing his face closer to yours, giving you the opportunity to reach out and pinch his earlobe between your thumb and forefinger, twisting the soft skin until his teasing grin deflates and he throws up his hands in surrender.

"Fuck, uncle, uncle!", he calls out while keeping his voice as low as possible, face pinched in pain and looking all kinds of helpless before you decide to let go with a pleased scoff, a small smirk playing on your lips too.

Eddie rubs a hand over his newly freed ear, his gaze wandering away from your eyes, seemingly sizing you up before he takes a step back, no longer within your reach.

"By the way...", he utters cautiously, his gaze returning to your face when another smile curves his lips.

"Nice get up".

Confused, you take a look at yourself, your face turning warm as you tug down on the hem of your oversized t-shirt, hoping in vain that Eddie hadn't caught a glimpse of the panties you've got on underneath when he was down on the floor.

Though he doesn't confirm it, the look on his face says it all — that overly pleased smirk and that telltale glint lighting up his deep brown eyes. It irks you for just a moment before you surrender with a sigh.

"Eddie, I'm too exhausted for this. Please, can we skip the teasing and just go to sleep?"

A look of vague disappointment flashes over Eddie's face when you're able to quickly brush aside your momentary embarrassment, padding over to your side of the bed, no longer concerned with how much of your bare thighs might be on display before you pull back the covers and get in.

"C'mon, get in already", you urge him to join you as you motion to the vacant space on the left side of your bed, fighting off a yawn in the process because your eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

It's Eddie who looks a little rattled now as he eyes your bed, his fingers fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket with restless uncertainty before he rids himself of it, setting it on your desk chair before he bends down to begin unlacing his shoes in the dark.

You hear him struggle while he's crouched down, whispers of 'shit', 'fuck' and 'god fucking damnit' said loud enough for you to hear while you giggle at him, feeling a bit more at ease now that you're reminded of the kind of dork Eddie is at his core — sharing a bed should be no problem.

You've already turned over, your back to Eddie and your cheek resting on your pillow by the time you feel him slide in under the covers next to you, mattress dipping under his weight.

"I'll take off before your folks get up, I promise", he says to you and you hum back a sleepy 'okay' in reply, nuzzling into your pillow.

With that out of the way and both of you settled in bed, you thought that would be the end of it until next morning but sleep doesn't come as quickly as you would like.

For the next couple of minutes you can feel him readjusting beside you, tossing and turning and you already know why. In the interest of getting back to sleep you interrupt him. "Eds, just take them off already", you mumble over your shoulder at him, causing him to freeze.

"You want me down to my underwear?", he whispers back at you and though your back's still to him you can feel the incredulous expression he's got on his face as his eyes bore into the back of your head.

"It's fine. I'm in mine too", you tell him with a seemingly unbothered huff though if he'd had his palm pressed to your chest and just above your heart he'd know you're nowhere near as calm as you make yourself out to be.

A moment of silence elapses before he finally answers.

"Mkay"

You feel him move around, catching the sound of his zipper being pulled down before he's shucking his tight jeans off, relief apparent in his tone when he settles back in bed now that he's shed the tight denim.

"Night then", he whispers to you as you do your best to stifle the warmth swirling in your belly.

"Night", you answer, eventually drifting off to sleep at last.

"Shit shit shit shit shit"

It's the first thing you hear when you begin to wake up, blinking several times to clear your blurry vision before you can take a look at your alarm clock.

6.30AM. The sun's just beginning to rise and you grumble under your breath as you turn over to face Eddie, figuring now's the best time for him to make his way home.

"What the hell?"

You squint at the boy who appears several shades paler than usual, his eyes all large, looking like some kind of cornered animal with a pillow shoved over his lap.

"Um, are you okay?", you sit up in bed, your back against the headboard just like Eddie's.

His eyes dart nervously all over the room, seemingly preferring to focus them anywhere else besides on you and that only leaves you feeling even more confused.

"Okay so- the thing is...I can't exactly leave right now", he mumbles sheepishly to you, the corner of his left eye pinching into a slight twitch.

"Why? are you okay?", you ask, yet to catch on as to what seems to be troubling him.

He looks positively torn with his teeth worrying his bottom lip and a light sweat forming at his temple. "Fuck. Okay. Please don't hate me. It's just that— I have no control over it, okay? it just happens sometimes in the mornings, you know? and- and I...oh god you think I'm some kind of perv don't you?"

You can only blink at Eddie as he brings both hands up to cover his eyes, his neck stretched taught as he leans his head back until it thuds softly against your wall, letting out a defeated sigh.

Looking down at the pillow placed over his lap, you're finally able to guess what the problem is, your belly swirling with a familiar flash of warmth again, same as when you listened to him taking his jeans off last night.

"Oh...well, I don't think you're a perv. It's uh, natural? you can't help it", you tell him as calmly as you can manage, wanting him to feel better by lightening the weight of shame and guilt he's currently shouldering.

Hands still on his face, he parts his fingers enough for him to peek at you from between them. "So you're not mad?", he whispers, watching you closely to gauge your reaction.

You shake your head softly, trying your best not to let your eyes drop back to the pillow in his lap like you might be able to see right through it. You want to see right through it. Badly.

"I'm not mad Eds. I promise".

With another deep sigh, he seems to be more at ease now that he knows that he hasn't upset you, letting his arms flop down at his sides.

"I don't know what to do" he whispers and you can hear how torn he is over the whole situation as you catch the helpless little quaver to his tone.

"What do you usually do?, you ask, your thoughts all frazzled and crowding your head way too quickly than you can manage to comprehend them.

Eddie says nothing, turning to face you with a pointed look, quirking an eyebrow up high at you.

"Right.. dumb question. sorry", you admit.

A few beats of silence commence as both of your minds work, passing over bad idea after bad idea before you turn to back to Eddie again.

"I mean, you could just use my—"

"I can't just jerk off in your bathroom with you sitting here", he stops you quickly and firmly though not unkindly, making you realize that no matter what you try to come up with, he's probably already thought of it first.

"Eddie we have to do something about it", you maintain, sparing a glance at your alarm clock as it reminds you that he's only got a limited amount of time left to leave before he risks getting caught by your family or a neighbor seeing him clamber out your window.

You think about it long and hard, one particular thought echoing louder than the rest in your mind. You try to will it away but it only takes up more space in your head until it's all you can think about, taking in a big breath before you decide to share it with Eddie.

"If you want, I could help you", you tell him, nervously picking at your fingers in your lap.

"...What do you mean?", he asks, looking at you suspiciously.

You shrug. "Y' could grind on me".

There's a pause that seems to drag on much longer than you would have liked, both of you staring into each others eyes, unblinking.

"I can't do that — feels like I'd be taking advantage of you or something", he finally breaks the silence, making you feel somewhat wounded that he'd turned your offer down even though you know he's only trying to be a decent friend. You wish he'd give it a rest.

"Would it help if I took over?", you offer next, steeling yourself in the case of him turning you down once more.

"Sweetheart...please don't tell me you're just fucking with me."

"I'm not I promise", you answer firmly.

"I...are you sure? I mean really 100% sure?", he asks again.

You can't help but roll your eyes at him, slipping your legs out from under the covers to straddle Eddie's thighs all while his jaw falls slack at the sight and feeling of you on top of him, your fingers curling around the pillow still resting on his lap.

"I'm sure. Are you?", you ask him before proceeding though if you were to guess, you could read the answer off his face with ease.

"I...yeah", he squeaks, eyes all big and round like he's in awe of the way you've taken the lead.

"Okay then. Let me get rid of this."

You toss the pillow aside to the spot you'd formerly occupied, gulping down the lump in your throat with some difficulty when you set your eyes on the tent in his striped boxers. The way it strains against his underwear, it's easy to guess he's both thick and lengthy under that thin veil of cotton and the more you look at it the more it feels like the room is starting to tilt and spin.

It's the kind of thing you've thought about in secret a fair amount, you and your best friend doing things that you wouldn't ordinarily do with someone who was just your friend. You pull yourself closer to him, laying your hands on his shoulders as you balance your core over his bulge, carefully lowering yourself until you're pressed up right against his clothed cock. Both of you release a shaky breath at the feeling, him, because you feel so warm and soft and you, because he feels so warm and firm.

"Put your hands on my hips", you tell him next, liking the way his cheeks pink up in response as he places them on you gently, sending a wave of goosebumps all along your body.

You start slow, grinding yourself on the ridge of his cock, unable to help the way your pussy flutters as you drag it up near Eddie's tip and back down close to his balls, working your way up to a simple rhythm.

"How's that? is it good?" you ask, making sure to check in with him.

"Shit yeah that's...that's good. Keep going", Eddie starts to firm up his grasp on you, guiding you, encouraging you to pick up the pace, all the while you try to keep secret the way your stomach tightens up with so much heat, your pussy dripping plenty with slick.

"Eddie..."

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?", you ask him as you notice the the way his brows have begun to knit together, the same way they get when he's concentrating on nailing a solo on stage.

"I don't think I should uh answer that", he answers cautiously, disappointment making your lips push out into a little pout.

"Please. I wanna know", you ask gently, melting his resolve with your pleading eyes

"...M' thinking about your tits", he grits out, looking like he ought to be ashamed about it. You figure you have a way to fix that.

"Do you want to see them? would that um, help?"

Your offer hangs in the air for a few seconds as you finally manage to catch your clit the right way along Eddie's clothed cock, your toes curling while pleasure blooms inside your bones.

You no longer make a strong effort to hide the way that humping his cock is making you feel either, that it's not just him who's getting off here and maybe that's why Eddie manages to convince himself that it's okay to take this next step with you.

"I want to see them — yeah", he manages to croak out, his fingers twitching with so much excitement around your hips. He's thought about it too — the two of you like this. How could he not? when you're the only one who's ever cared. When you look the way you do. When you're soaking through your underwear and his with your nipples already hard as they show through your shirt.

How could he not want you?

With Eddie giving you the green light, you take your hands off of his shoulders and pick up the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off as you toss it behind you, uncaring of where it might land.

"Oh my god."

To you it might have felt like a quick undressing but for Eddie the world slows down to a crawl. He sees it all; the subtle way your breasts bounce and shift with your movements, the way they slope and rest on your chest, rising and falling with every breath and the way your perky nipples react to the cold air in your room, pebbling before his eyes.

"You can touch them if you want", you notice the way he's looking at them, feeling his cock jump under you.

"Christ, you're trying to kill me", he answers all hoarse.

To you, there's no greater compliment, your smile widening into a grin. Carefully, you guide him this time, prying his hands away from your hips and encourage him to cup his hands over your tits instead, moaning when he begins to press into the soft flesh, squeezing and massaging them.

"That feels good", you whisper, hips still working as you drag your drenched clit along his cock. "God, Eddie I've— I've wanted this for so long", you sigh dreamily, the truth spilling out much faster than you can try to swallow it all back down, all because you're so weak for the way those big, wide cinnamon eyes of his are staring back at you.

Your core's all sticky now, panties practically pasted to your skin in that messy way that usually has you eager to peel them off. Though as much as you'd like for the both of you to rid yourselves of all the tacky cotton between you, to be completely bare with each other, you don't want to mess up the rhythm you've fallen into, your clit pulsing and throbbing as you ride Eddie's lap.

"Honey... are you telling me that we could have been doing this from the start?", he asks, slightly anguished. He continues to gently pulling and pinching at your nipples while he keeps his eyes locked on yours, hushed grunts and groans falling from his parted lips.

Your hips are moving faster now, bed squeaking beneath you both, not that you care about your family hearing it — not right now — not when you're so close.

"I— I guess. Yeah", you gasp out when he pinches your right nipple, his left hand falling back down to your hip to guide you.

"You know how many times I've thought of you like this? how many times I've had to picture you on top of me just to get me through the day?, he asks, pulling and pushing you along his length with fervor.

"Why didn't you say anything?", you whine back.

"C'mon. We both kno— know you can do better than—"

Despite almost reaching the peak of your climbing orgasm, you dig your nails into the hand Eddie's got fixed on your hip, forcing your knees into your mattress to bring you both to a halt.

"Don't ever say that. Don't ever say that because it's not true", you place your hands on his cheeks, caressing his face gently. "I only kept my mouth shut incase you didn't feel the same about me...I didn't want to spoil what we already had. I couldn't stand it if you didn't want to be friends anymore..."

"Baby—", it's his turn to cradle your face, thumb making gentle circles on your cheek. "You could never lose me", he tells you, soft but firm and then you feel a pull and you suppose he must feel it too because you're both leaning in, faces closer than they've ever been before, lips grazing each other before you're sharing a kiss with your best friend for the very first time

It's gentle at first, both of your fingers weaving into each others' hair, a soft nip here and there before growing more hungry when Eddie's tongue meets yours. Both of you moan and whimper into each other's mouths, sloppy and messy, your heartbeats turning rapid when you eventually have to break for air, Eddie in need of the same when your lips part with a sticky click and he leans back to rest against the headboard again, panting. Any longer and he'd have cum from the kiss alone.

You catch your breath first, the corner of your mouth picking up into a lopsided smile. "Now are we going to make up for lost time or what?", you challenge him, both of you beaming with bright eyes and brighter smiles.

You pick up where you'd both left off, your hands on Eddie's shoulders and him, one hand on your hip, the other on your right breast, squeezing your soft skin, flicking your nipple because it makes you gasp and he loves hearing the sound of it.

"Please tell me you're close" Eddie grunts, sure to leave marks behind on your hip in the shape of his fingers. You were looking forward to admiring them in the mirror later.

"G-getting there. Wanna go faster— is that okay?", you make sure to ask, his answer coming through when his left hand slips down to find space on your other hip, pulling and pushing you along his length quick enough to make you squirm on his lap as your clit drags on him just right.

"Eddie— feels perfect...I think I'm gonna-"

"Please—" he cuts you off quickly with a ragged huff, his eyes wandering away from the wet, sticky stains that'd developed on both your underwear and his, pausing on the way your breast bounce and jiggle before fixing on your your eyes. "Please cum. I wanna watch you."

Your body begins to move on instinct as it chases your climax, eager to reach it this time than let it slip through your fingers twice. You're closer than before because it feels even better when you begin to lean back, your hands coming to rest on Eddie's thighs behind you. Your chest puffs out while you start to bounce yourself on Eddie's clothed cock, your puffy clit grazing against the stiff underside of his shaft, dragging dragging dragging until your eyes squeeze shut and it happens. The force of it wracks your body, overcome as your whole body quivers, and shakes, your pelvis twitching and jerking — and Eddie watches it all closely and unblinking.

In all his years of settling for quick glances and sly peeks at your body like those times your cleavage showed above your neckline or your bare legs and thighs were displayed whenever the weather called for a pair or shorts or a skirt, Eddie's never seen a more beautiful sight than the one he's taking in now — The way a light sheen glistens on your face, neck and chest, your swollen lips parting, releasing whimper after moan, your hair a little wild and beautiful and your panties drenched and ruined.

Eddie reaches out and brings you close, wrapping his arms around you as your chests meet and you fold into him, burying your face in his neck, whimpering and whining as your clit aches with oversensitivity though not enough to ask him to stop.

He's close by the sound and feel of it, so you grit your teeth and let him buck up against your poor soaked cunt, over and over as you drink in every grunt and groan. You want him to feel good too, unable to resist helping him tip over the edge. You let your tongue slip out from between your lips, licking the salt by his pulse point and letting out a little whisper to unravel him completely.

"Go on, cum for me, Eddie."

A guttural groan rumbles out of his throat just seconds later. it's instantaneous the way pleasure flares white hot at the pit of his stomach, shooting all the way up and raining down on the rest of his body like fireworks.

Though you're yet to feel Eddie inside you, yet to have your walls stretch to accommodate his shape and length so that you don't miss every little jerk, twitch and throb before he spills hot into you, you're still able to feel the effect of Eddie's orgasm. His body shudders and twitches underneath your weight, your pussy feeling warmer and wetter where just under it, Eddie's cum spurts rope after messy rope into his underwear, the cotton becoming saturated with his spend and transferring to your panties.

In the moments following your intense mutual pleasure, the both of you remain entangled in each others arms, sitting in the damp mess you've made of yourselves while you fight to catch your breath. It's Eddie who manages to break the silence first.

"...Do I have to go?, he whispers to you, one warm hand stroking your back gently.

"Do you want to go?, you ask softly against his neck, nuzzling against his skin.

"Not if I can stay and be with you"

You smile hard, chuckling against his skin. "Then stay. I want you to stay too. Y' can hide out in here"

"Yeah? I'm your little secret, huh?", he teases, his lips kissing your temple

"Only for today", you reply.

"Oh?"

You gently unstick yourself from Eddie so you can look him in the eyes, brushing his sweaty bangs away from his bright eyes before you cradle his cheek with one hand.

"Tomorrow I'm telling everyone we know that you're mine"

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things smut #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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street-smarts00 · 6 days

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in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you.

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind.

“Do you know how old she is?”

“No, how old is she?”

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi.

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid.

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added.

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview.

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim.

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned.

“Three years,” Penelope answered

“What? Did she join right after college?”

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.”

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work.

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered.

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.”

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.”

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting.

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk.

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.”

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right.

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about.

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius.

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time.

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him.

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted.

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?”

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.”

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious.

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile.

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you.

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help.

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried.

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself.

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself.

Well, until your last case.

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man.

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took.

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go.

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk.

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.”

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked.

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word.

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes.

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.”

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?”

“I promise.”

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call.

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.”

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked.

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call.

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice.

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself.

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety.

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.”

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes.

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down.

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin.

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor.

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked.

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?”

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.”

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone.

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this.

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now.

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored.

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly.

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus.

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care.

He just needed to get to you.

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor.

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up.

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs.

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name.

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd.

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm.

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted.

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.”

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face.

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to.

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place.

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him.

He was wrong.

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for.

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you.

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you.

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled back.

“How are you feeling?”

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor.

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.”

“Fun,” you said sarcastically.

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them?

There is no casual way.

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out.

He wasn’t aware you heard it.

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.”

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response.

“If I crossed the line-“

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice.

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face.

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain.

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him.

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit.

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected.

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble.

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume.

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!”

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you.

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours.

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled.

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.”

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart.

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started.

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles.

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.”

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go.

The silence was deafening, plaguing him.

“Please … say something,” he begged.

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone.

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.”

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious.

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.”

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles.

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room.

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into.

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks.

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly.

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered.

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise.

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand.

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left.

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath.

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?”

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.”

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear.

“You’re an amazing profiler.”

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled.

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone.

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.”

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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tenth-sentence · 1 year

Text

Seed dormancy is an intrinsic temporal block to the completion of germination that provides additional time for seed dispersal over greater geographic distances, or for seasonal dormancy cycling in the soil seed bank (described later in the chapter).

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

#book quote #plant physiology and development #nonfiction #textbook #seeds #seed dormancy #dormancy #temporal block #germination #seed dispersal #seed bank #seasonal dormancy

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highvern · 7 months

Text

Work Me Out

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: working out, flirting, touching, almost car sex, making out, breast play, fingering, oral, face sitting, multiple sex positions, big dick mingyu, protected sex (gasp!), strength kink, dirty talk, choking, spanking :) lover boy gyu as always. let me know if i missed anything!

Length: ~5k

Note: y'all thought cheol rot was bad but the OG bias wrecker is back. dont come at me for gym terminology i go by vibes. replaced my gym crush with mingyu and this is what happened <3 i have a bonus/pt 2 in the drafts too but I'll wait to post it bc too much muscle pig mingyu is bad for the soul... and the [redacted]

to the anon that sent me a seok ask forever ago about his arms, im sorry i used it in this fic. but know i have a seok fic with exactly what you asked for in the works rn. everyone say thank you anon.

@bbychocolat do not hit my line about mingyu for at least 24 business hours i need to recover

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

read part II

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Figuring out the ins and outs of a new gym isn’t easy but it isn’t impossible. Go too early and you’re surrounded by creepy men old enough to be your grandfather. Right after work is a sure way to experience hoards of gym bros crowding around machines like they own them.

So you go as late as possible.

Only a handful of people are dispersed through the large space. A few run on the treadmills lined on the catwalk of the second floor, several switch through different weights in front of the mirrors. You make your way through the maze of equipment towards the leg press; your final sets before you can go home and wash away the grime of the day.

Or you would if someone wasn’t occupying the one machine you need.

Peeping your head around, you notice a black backpack and matching water bottle on the ground. You glance around, unable to find a clear owner since the next closest person is halfway across the gym doing a different exercise.

Would it be that rude to take the machine out from under someone if they’re not even using it? You could probably get in all your sets before the person even came back if you moved quickly.

You wait a few minutes. How embarrassing would it be to have the mystery person walk back up the second you sat down? But after five minutes pass and no one emerges to claim the spot, you set about changing the weights out.

And just when you slip into the seat, you look up and find someone approaching.

He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s barely ten feet away. Your saving grace is that he hasn’t spotted you yet thanks to his phone.

But that doesn’t last long.

“Oh! Sorry! Were you using this machine?” You ask, trying to sound cordial.

“It’s okay!” He smiles at you. “Do you need it?”

Yes.

“No, I can find something else to do.”

You rise to do just that when he stops you with a shrug.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I take long breaks between my sets anyway so it’s no big deal.”

So that’s where he went.

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

He moves to lean against the wall, face buried in his phone once again as you work through your set. Honestly you think he forgot you were even there until you start standing up and he pushes off his perch.

Exchanging polite smiles, you skirt around him and snag your water bottle before occupying the same spot against the painted bricks. You try not to be a creep but watching the way the muscles in his legs bulge and coil with each rep is impossible to look away from. Especially when there’s just so much to look at.

He racks up twelve reps with ease and switches back off with you before wandering out of sight.

You work through two of your sets before he comes teetering back.

“I tried putting it back to your weight.” You laugh, sipping from your water bottle.

“Three forty? Ouch.”

“What? Should I have made it lighter?”

“Try heavier. Like four hundred.”

“My sincerest apologies.” You mock, placing your hand over your heart. “I’ll remember that next time.”

He laughs again before slipping back into the seat and working through the motions.

This time you don’t bother hiding the way you watch him over your phone. He looks good, it’d be a waste not to watch the swell of his chest or the stretch of his thighs. The gym shorts and snug black t-shirt only exacerbate how cut his physique is.

And if he makes a comment you can always twist your not so subtle gawking into a compliment about his form.

When he finishes his set again, he snags his bag and water bottle off the ground before turning to you. “All yours. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And he’s gone.

Over the next few weeks, you learn mystery man works out at the same time you. He’s there when you arrive and remains when you leave after an hour and a half of sweating and gasping like a dying fish, only absent on Wednesdays when you manage the most last luster workouts of your life. The disappointment the first time you realized you were looking for the backwards cap sticking out amongst the free weights would have been embarrassing but what's wrong with a little eye candy while breaking a sweat?

And what a great view he makes. Your brief peeks into the mirrored walls are full of nothing straining muscles and glowing skin. The first day he did arms in a cutoff tee will go down in history as the worst day of your life. Only rivaled by all the other days he works his legs in shorts accentuating just how nice his ass is with every squat.

Your friends all ask when you’re going to talk to him again. As if you’ll just walk right up and interrupt the best part of your day. No, you’d rather watch him move across the gym floor from the corner of your eye, throw him a friendly nod, and go about your business than run the risk of making things awkward.

Unfortunately, doesn’t possess the same desire to remain a friendly nameless face like you do.

His name is Mingyu. Or that’s what the employee with glasses calls him while they joke around one night. You don’t mean to eavesdrop but they’re loud and the only exit takes you right past the U-shaped desk. Mingyu throws a grin as you pass by on your way out and the flash of teeth spikes your heart rate higher than any exercise you’ve done that night.

When he officially introduces himself at the water fountain the next night, you have to bite the urge to tell him ‘I know.’ Instead you snort at his extended hand, providing your own name over the firm shake like you won’t be haunted by the feeling of the calluses on his fingers or the heat of his palm for the next week.

What’s worse is how he says your name back, rolling the sound across his tongue and past his quirked lips.

And the final nail in the coffin is when you leave and you see the way he turns in the glass doors to watch, bidding you a goodnight with your name signed at the end.

Mingyu might be the worst gym crush in the world. Mostly because your thoughts of him extend beyond the brick walls he should only exist in. And partially because he’s caught you staring more times than you care to admit.

Not as many times as you’ve caught him, but the point stands.

No, the worst part, you find out, is Mingyu is an incorrigible flirt. And he knows it.

Tonight you’re off schedule, runny nearly half an hour later than usual.; work clothes sticking to your skin as you make your way towards the off shooting hall housing the entrance to the locker rooms. In a rush, you step around another body only to end up in front of one much more familiar.

“There's my girl.” Mingyu smiles. “Thought you were skipping out on me.”

My girl. My girl. My girl, my girl, my girl….

There isn’t a thought in your head beyond the bold casualness he drops that bomb on you with so you nod awkwardly and force yourself not to sprint the next twenty feet to hide.

Half an hour later, when you catch him watching you in the mirror over his own weights, the bastard smiles like the cat who caught the canary.

But you end up on top when Mingyu offers to spot you while doing weighted squats. He’s at your back, an appropriate amount of space between your bodies you wish he’d close. You don’t need his help. Your form is better than his (you would know, his ass and thighs give you tunnel vision when its his leg day). And the weight on the bar isn’t even enough to make you strain but why pass up on the offer? Especially with how Mingyu meets your eyes over your shoulder in the mirror with each dip.

And then he cheers ‘that’s my girl’ again when you re-rack the equipment with ease and it's over.

“Shit,” you grunt.

Mingyu pops up from his perch between your breasts under your shirt, hair a mess and eyes glazed. “Good?”

“No, your steering wheel is in my back.” You wince, attempting to wiggle away and ending up further up his lap.

“Sorry, let me just…”

The seat flies back under your combined weight, throwing your forehead right into Mingyu’s chin.

“Fuck!”

“Oh my god!” You gasp. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu’s head falls back as he releases a massive sigh. Each second that ticks by has you both coming to the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” you breath, sitting up. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“Oh…”

“I just mean like your car is small and you’re too big and I—“

The guffaw Mingyu tries to hide slips free too easily. “That’s what she said.”

“God, you’re gross.”

Your nose crinkles as you rise up, using his chest for leverage. It feels as nice as it looks and its the worst knowledge you’ve gained in you life.

“Sticks and stones,” he hums.

“Well this was fun. I’ll ugh… see you around?”

When you try to shift back into the passenger seat to exit, Mingyu’s hands flex over your thighs to keep you in his lap. His sweats do nothing to hide his semi. Something he doesn’t even seem to consider as a concern given the way he unconsciously curls into you.

“Or we can go back to mine.”

He’s trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Like he won’t go home and fuck his fist in the shower with the echoes of your sighs filling his ears if you turn him down. You can see it in his eyes. What hinges on his offer and how much you’ll both regret it if the tension fizzles and dies in his SUV.

From where you’re sitting, it’s incredibly difficult to think with your head and not your hormones. Mingyu is hot, he’s nice, he seems decent enough. His behavior doesn’t hint at him being a creep. If he’s normal enough to fuck in his car, is he not normal enough to fuck in the comfort of a bed?

The thumb stroking your thighs and the hopeful eyes staring you down make the decision for you.

“Yeah, okay.”

With his address in your phone’s GPS, you trail after his SUV in your own car. The roads are familiar because they’re the same roads you drive when you return to your apartment that turns out to be only three blocks closer to the gym than Mingyu’s.

All this time he’d been so close and you never even realized. Did he think about you the same way you thought about him when he drove home? If he did, you’re in for a night.

Rolling into a space only a few down from where he parks, you pause to hype yourself up.

People have sex all the time. It’s no big deal. I can do this.

A knock at the window interrupts your spiral, finding Mingyu smiling sheepishly through the glass. The muscles in your chest squeeze when he opens the door and holds it for you to exit; and threaten to explode when his hand finds the small of your back and guides you towards the stairwell.

Footsteps echo down to the hall, Mingyu only a fraction ahead to lead the way to a non-descript door with a seasonal doormat that's seen better days.

“Ugh, this is it.”

His apartment is shockingly clean for a guy your age. Not clean in the ‘I don’t own enough shit to even be dirty’ way. No, Mingyu’s apartment is cozy. There’s throw pillows and blankets on the couch. He has a lamp and bookshelf in the corner and the walls are adorned with a collage of artwork thoughtfully pieced together. Several personal photos are littered throughout, some with an obviously younger Mingyu propped next to what must be a sister or a cousin, a few of him with friends. One of him and a familiar man with glasses, their faces blurry but the glee clear as they’re frozen in time. Your lips lift with a soft smile at the personal touches bleeding into every corner of his space.

Turning over your shoulder you ask, “You and the guy at the gym are friends?”

Mingyu’s watching you with something unidentifiable in his eyes, stepping forward to figure out which frame you're looking at until he’s only a foot behind you.

“Yeah, we went to the same middle school.”

“And this one?” You say, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame.

“My little sister.” Mingyu follows, still only a step behind.

“And I’m assuming these are your parents?”

“Actually those are Wonwoo’s parents.” He chuckles. “These are my parents.”

Mingyu’s arm reaches around to point at the correct photo, his chest brushing against your back.

“Wanna give me the tour?”

Mingyu manages to show you everything in five minutes. The living room and connected kitchen you’re already standing in, the door of the hall bathroom, and finally his bedroom. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, discovering the new smattering of details that uncover more about the man waiting with baited breath in the threshold.

“Why are you over there?” You ask.

With arms crossed and shoulders up to his ears, Mingyu resembles a kid waiting to be scolded rather than a man who tried to hook up with you in his car less than thirty minutes ago.

“I’m nervous.”

You can’t stop the satisfaction from spreading to your face. “I make you nervous?”

Mingyu pushes off the door jam, shuffling forward until he’s standing a foot in front of you. “Yeah. I don’t really do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what? Try and fuck girls in your car?”

“Haha.” Mingyu mocks, face descending until he rubs his nose with yours.

Your eyes slip closed when his do, breathing each other's air. “Stuff like what, Gyu?”

Your hands find the material of his shirt stretched across his shoulder. Each brush of his lips across your cheek, down your jaw, until he finds your ear.

“I don’t sleep around with girls I’m not dating.”

Oh.

“We don’t hav—”

“Which is not the best way to ask you out.”

You press him out of your space, far enough that you can look him in the eyes and see if he’s serious. The tips of Mingyu’s ears burn red but he’s looking right at you despite how embarrassed he clearly feels.

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“Ugh, yeah. I think it’d be fun. But you don’t have to! If you just wanna do this that's fine t—”

Whatever words Mingyu was trying to say fizzle on the tip of his tongue as you pull him into a kiss. He curls over you, pressing you further into his bed with every fervent pass. Wedging one hand under the small of your back, Mingyu lifts you up and carries you while he crawls to the center.

Your mind wanders to all the other ways he can manhandle you into the mattress.

He settles flat against you, hips cradled between your own while delving into your mouth. You fill your hands with his ass, dragging Mingyu’s covered cock against your core. A groan backs apart your lips as Mingyu falls into the curve of your neck.

“This is a yes to the date by the way.” You pant now that he’s taken over, hands scratching up his back in an effort to get rid of his shirt. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Mingyu’s clothes disappear over his head and across the room, yours following shortly after. The heat of bare skin on bare skin is better than anything until he takes one of your breasts in his palm and the other in his mouth.

Every curse you know flies through your lips as he sucks and pinches until you're sore between the legs.

He takes the squeeze of your thighs and the rock of your hips as a greenlight, hands leading where his lips follow until it’s nothing but your panty clad core an inch from his face.

“This okay?” Mingyu asks in the fat of your thigh, tongue trailing fire across the skin.

You nod with a sigh, “Mingyu, please.”

He doesn’t need much more than that, the fabric barrier gone in a blink and his nose traces your folds until he’s dying for a taste.

Mingyu eats pussy like he doesn’t need oxygen. The path of his pointed tongue around your clit is nothing short of precise, meticulously tracing every ridge and curve until the sheets stretch under your fingers. When he flattens it to pay broader attention, your legs squeeze and Mingyu’s hands force them wide around his shoulders.

Your feet flatten on the bed and thrust up his mouth, wet and crude with fingers in his hair and your whines in his ears. Every suck of Mingyu’s mouth forces the muscles in your neck to lerch until they hurt and your head falls back. He takes pride in the way you drip for him, making the best mess he’s ever had the privilege to clean up.

You reward him with an lavishing praise at the next twitch of your insides, “Fuck, just like that.”

Taking advantage of the slight arch in your spine, Mingyu’s hand sneaks under your back, fingers unforgiving as they dig into your ass. He curls your hips up and buries a finger in your core with mortifying ease.

Between your legs, Mingyu catches your eyes. Pupils blown wide, mouths bruised around stuttered breath. A matching set of debauched expressions. He’s more familiar like this; skin glowing with sweat, and hair matted to his forehead. Next time you see him at the gym you know it's all you’ll think about. Next time you're alone in your room, or the shower, or the grocery store. Or anywhere you’ve day dreamed about him before.

He leans back to watch the digit disappear, only to reappear soaking. “Feels good?”

“Give me another and it will.”

You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you for what you felt under his shorts. His tongue is hard and wet at your clit, fingers stretching and spreading until your stomach dips and you nearly buck him off as your clit swells from abuse.

Your fingers pluck at your nipples and Mingyu apparently likes to watch because he manages more enthusiasm, forces his finger to crook just the right way, and continues to suck even after you start screaming.

“Oh fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant, voice cracked.

Something sounding suspiciously like a ‘thank you’ drops into the mix but Mingyu’s the only one to hear it. In his opinion, he should be the one doing the thanking; you just gave him enough spank bank material for the next six months.

You don’t dislike the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and even his chest when you flip Mingyu over and aim to return the favor. He blushes when you lap against the hollow of his throat; embarrassed from the way he goes boneless with such simple affection.

He sinks into the plush of the mattress, propped up by the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Mingyu’s stomach stiffens under your tongue and the twitch blooms a smile on your face. Predictable.

“Sensitive?”

Your nails raking up the shape of his thighs turn the denial falling from his lips into a whine, and it makes you wonder what other sounds Mingyu will make with his cock in your mouth.

The vein bulging along the underside of his length gives your tongue something to trace along as you lap from base to flared tip, sucking down until it shines from spit and pre-cum. You take all you can until the curve of your throat protests.

Mingyu’s big and he’s loud.

“Oh God, shit.” He babbles with abandon, hands fisted at his sides until his knuckles turn pale.

You focus on the cock in your mouth rather than how pretty Mingyu’s chest would look covered in bite marks. How a bruise on his hip would be just visible when he reaches over his head to do pull ups, and red streaks from your nails on his bicep would make a great accessory.

A hand lands on the base of your skull, gentle until it's not. His thumb dips to stroke the bulge of his dick through your throat as you take him deeper. And like some ridiculous porno theres still an inch you’ll never be able to take even if you do nothing but let him fucking your mouth until the only thing you taste is cum.

“Fuuuuck,” Mingyu groans from a harsh suck on the upstroke.

He distracts you with his tongue on yours, keeping you from diving back down and destroying his ego from how quick you almost made him cum. Your one solace is the lazy grip you have on the base of Mingyu’s length, fingers tightening around the head while he cants into the squeeze.

You think Mingyu is going to plant you on his cock and make you ride it until one of you is crying. But he keeps pushing and pulling until you’re kneeling over his face, knees cushioned in the pillows and hands against the wall to steady you while he dives in again.

His head shakes back and forth, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit as you grind into his face. The last grip of sanity you have gives you the mind to reach back, jerking Mingyu off while he eats it, a cycle of moans moving through you; him into your folds when you squeeze from a grating pass off his tongue that has you whining to the ceiling fan.

“Shit, need you to fuck me.” You whine but don’t stop curling against the latch of his lips, legs stiff with ache.

It’s Mingyu who brings things to a halt, raising you away from his mouth until you're left on your knees while he stands to rummage in the drawer for a condom. You listen while the paint of the wall cools your forehead.

The hand at the dip of your spine makes you melt when he checks in, “Still okay?”

Nodding, you find him over your shoulder with a thick swallow. Mingyu’s nose follows the slope of your muscles, lips untying all the knots he’s worked into them over the past few weeks.

“Want it like this?”

“Yeah.”

You drop until your chest meets the bed and arch until it hurts just to put on a good show. Mingyu shuffles behind you, knocking your knees wider with his own, palms molding to your ass and spreading it apart to take a good look like he wasn’t tongue deep inside your pussy already. The room is nothing more than the sounds of grounding breaths; Mingyu watching the way your torso moves around the air, releasing a long exhale before moving closer.

The feel of his chest against yours was great, but the hard muscle of it along your back, his chain caught between and leaving a definitive mark, is life ruining. It shreds the last bit of humanity you’ve been clinging to since you dragged Mingyu to the parking lot and tried to stick your hands down his pants while leant against the passenger door.

No matter how well Mingyu stretched you for his cock it was never going to be enough. Taking the first inch nearly splits you in half. But you're soaked and needy; nothing short of the end of the world is going to keep you from getting the satisfaction of feeling him in your guts. You take it with measured breaths and affirmations to relax. Slow arches of his hips work him in until he’s flat with your ass and whispering absolute depravity into your ears.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Arching your ass higher, you whimper, “You’re huge.”

Your ass stings under his punishing hand, thrown forward by an involuntary buck of his hips.

“Don’t say that.”

You turn until you can look over your shoulder again, meeting wild eyes. “You feels so good.” You moan, eyelids low and wrecked.

“Didn’t—shit, think you’d have such a dirty mouth.” He bites into the side of your neck, sucking a bruise like a depraved teenager.

“I knew you’d have a fat cock.”

You get what you want so easily it's almost insulting; Mingyu’s hand forcing your face into the sheets and his hips rushing into you with pure need. Every prod into your cunt has you wailing. It’d destroy your self respect if you could think of anything beyond how he’s ruining you for anyone else.

Pillows topple off the edge of the bed as you scramble for a hold. Anything to ground you against the burn in your veins with every tight squeeze around Mingyu’s cock. His balls slap against your clit teasingly, more degrading than the way he has you bent in half.

“Harder,” you beg.

Mingyu falls back on his haunches, pulling you with him until you're sitting up right. His arm comes into view, curling around neck until your throat sits in the crux of his elbow and his hand latches on your shoulder; a crude headlock he uses as leverage to keep fucking into you. You’ve been choked but this is infinitely better. Whatever Mingyu wants to take from you, he’s in a position to do so.

“Gonna cum?” He nips into your earlobe.

His hand shoves its way between your legs, swipe roughly against your clit before you can even hope to answer.

A pathetic nod is all you manage thanks to the muscles gathered under your chin limiting your mobility.

Mingyu let's go then and your hands prevent a crash into the headboard, putting you back in the same position as before but you have to work for it now; ass bouncing in his laps as you ride him. Finding your balance, you drop one hand to your clit as Mingyu’s pinch your nipples.

“Let me have it, let me make you come." Mingyu pants into your spine. "Fuck you look so good like this, shit.”

He keeps rambling, flying with you towards the edge hand in hand; both breathless from the slap of your thighs against his.

“Mingyu, feel so good. Oh my god, oh my g—”

The softness of the pillows greets you once again while everything flashes white. Mingyu scrambles behind, fucking you into the mattress while you soak his cock. Muscles twitching, teeth ground till they crack, you come and come and come while begging him to do the same.

Mingyu gives in without hesitation, all his weight behind his hips as he fills the condom; dragging you back with an arm around your waist. Every jerk of his cock against your walls from the force makes you vibrate until he’s slipping out, soiled and used against the back of your thigh.

The last thing you register is his lips finding your shoulder again, rubbing back and forth as he comes down.

You fall asleep under the heat of his body for who knows how long, content in the mind shattering numbness of what just happened. Mingyu seems to feel the same, dead weight hanging half off you so you can at least manage to breath.

When you wake, whether it's twenty minutes or two hours later, Mingyu is snoring into the pillow, still naked. His lips pout in his sleep and you swallow the urge to shower them with kisses thanks to the drool at the corner of his mouth.

Even without the covers, you're warm. The kind of heat that slips over your skin, sinks into your bones and keens for you to fall asleep and stay. But Mingyu asked you on a date, not to spend the night. And you’d hate to assume and ruin whatever this is before it as a chance to start.

“Where are you going?” He pouts.

You don't make it two inches out of his arms before he’s pulling you back, tangling them around you so there's no chance of unnoticed escape. Mingyu digs his nose into your cheek and waits for an answer like he has all the time in the world.

Something tells you if he knew you were attempting to head home, Mingyu would throw a fit. And what use is that when you want to see what a night sleep with a giant human furnace is like?

“Bathroom.”

Adding to the list of information you’ve learned, Mingyu is a stage five clinger. He latches on to your back, guiding you into the shower stall for a quick spray down that leaves half your face, part of your thigh, and almost none of him clean.

He falls asleep against the base of your skull while brushing your teeth, because of course he has a stash of extra toothbrushes under the sink just in case.

And when you crawl under the fresh sheets, he pulls you into his chest, leaves a kiss against your forehead, and tells you he can’t wait for your breakfast date tomorrow.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu

#svthub #ksmutsociety #kvanity #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu smut #🫡 highvern

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chososcamgirl · 5 days

Text

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER SIX: she’s my collar

masterlist

i made a playlist for this specific chapter! check it out

cw - very suggestive, mentions of alcohol/club scene, mature themes !

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Nobara muttered as she emerged from the sleek black Mercedes, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the pavement. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill that cut through the night air.

You pulled your faux cheetah-print coat tightly around herself, desperately seeking any warmth to stave off the biting cold. The regret of wearing a mini skirt settled heavily in your chest as the chill seeped through the fabric.

A biting breeze swept through the group as they piled out of the car, their breath visible in the crisp air. They made their way toward the building illuminated in vibrant LED lights, the name "Aphrodite" glowing in an elegant script above the entrance.

Your gaze fell on the line, a serpentine stretch of eager faces winding around the block and bending around a corner. “The line is so fucking long, bro,” you groaned, frustration lacing your voice.

“Don’t worry,” Panda replied absently, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, fingers tapping away with a rapid rhythm.

Maki arched an eyebrow, her attention shifting to Panda. “Yuta is here too,” she said, a teasing note in her tone.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if that meant anything significant, but your question was abruptly cut off by a loud, boisterous shout.

“BRO!” a familiar voice rang out, echoing through the night. A white-haired boy emerged from the shadows, his vibrant presence lighting up the crowd.

He approached Panda, effortlessly slipping into a familiar handshake that you had witnessed countless times before. Next, he turned to Maki and Nobara, greeting them with warm, polite hugs, each one filled with camaraderie.

Then, his gaze settled on you, his eyes assessing you from head to toe. He stepped closer, wrapping you in a longer embrace, leaning in to whisper, “You look good.” The words lingered in the air as he pulled away, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Turning back to the bouncer, he declared confidently, “They’re with me.” With a gentle tug, he took your hand, guiding you and the group inside, where the warmth and energy of the club settled, wavered to meet them.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warmth and pulsating music flooded over them, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your gaze was immediately drawn to a figure dressed entirely in black, standing near the entrance, seemingly lost in concentration as he studied something written on a piece of paper.

You noticed two beauty spots nestled just above his eyebrows, creating an intriguing contrast against his sharp features. “Huh,” you thought to yourself, curiosity piqued.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. A subtle smile curved his lips as he offered them a nod, granting approval for them to venture further into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue.

“Yuji’s been so excited to see you again, Yn,” Toge slurred, his words slightly fuzzy, hinting at the drinks he had already indulged in.

They navigated through the bustling crowd to the VIP booth, where three silhouettes lounged comfortably in deep, luxurious velvet seats, their relaxed postures radiating a carefree vibe.

“Yn!” the pink-haired figure shouted, bounding over with infectious energy. He enveloped you in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne mingling with the rich aroma of the venue. Behind you, the others dispersed, finding their place among the group with casual ease.

“God, it’s been so long! You look incredible!” he exclaimed, stepping back to admire her. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at the compliment. But as you turned to respond, your gaze inadvertently drifted over his shoulder. There, a familiar figure leaned casually against the wall, his eyes fixated on you. He drank you in, the intensity of his stare making her heart race, even as he casually swigged from his beer, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

“Come on, we need to take our traditional six shots!” Yuji said with infectious enthusiasm, grasping your hand and leading you through the thrumming crowd toward the bar. He slid onto a barstool, gesturing for you to join him with an inviting smile.

As he chatted cheerfully with the bartender, his energy radiated around you. He ordered the customary six shots for both of you, but your thoughts drifted back to Megumi and the way he had been staring earlier. Was it just the atmosphere, or did he really look that good? Hold on—were you actually finding him attractive? The guy who seemed like he spent too much time watching stepcest?

“...up.” You snapped back to reality at Yuji’s voice. Looking up, you were met with his bright, doe-like light brown eyes, sparkling with excitement. In front of you stood an array of colorful shots—twelve, to be exact each one a different hue, glinting invitingly in the bar’s dim light.

“BOTTOMS UP!” he shouted, already downing his first shot. A playful smirk spread across your face; there was no way you were going to let him finish first. You swiftly tossed back the first shot, the bitter liquid searing the back of your throat, but it was a thrill that sent warmth coursing through you. This was light work.

With each shot, the world around you faded into a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. You quickly moved through the shots, feeling the exhilarating buzz rise within you. Soon, you found yourself on your last one, placing the empty glass down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You glanced at Yuji, who was just finishing his own final shot.

“Still can’t outdo you yet, huh?” he said, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of admiration and playful challenge.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, a hand pressed firmly against your back, sending a jolt of surprise through you. The warmth of the touch felt intimate, and you turned slightly to find a figure looming behind you. A husky voice cut through the air, rich and smooth, as it said, “Can I borrow her for a second?” The tone was both commanding and playful, drawing your attention away from Yuji and into the mystery of the newcomer.

The air around you was instantly infused with the intoxicating scent of the mystery man’s cologne—a deep, sophisticated aroma that reminded you of Maison Margiela. You turned to get a better look, your heart racing as you were met with his piercing green eyes, which seemed to draw you in.

Meanwhile, Yuji sat there, momentarily confused as he processed the situation, glancing between you and the newcomer. But with a shrug and a grin, he waved goodbye, calling out, “Find me later!” before making his way to the dance floor, his energy lighting up the room.

As Yuji disappeared into the crowd, Megumi smoothly slid into the spot where he had just been sitting. You rested your chin on your hand, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

“I hope you’re here to apologise,” you said playfully, flicking away an invisible speck from the counter. He met your gaze with a smirk that seemed to reveal a mix of amusement and confidence. Was that his go-to expression? Because right now, it was definitely starting to look punchable.

“Apologise for what? The truth?” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence as he raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, eager for a shot.

“Slut-shaming isn’t a good look for your reputation,” you countered, letting out a frustrated sigh. He was undeniably attractive, but the way he spoke was quickly drying up your pussy and killing your mood.

“Intrigue me, Yn,” he said, his sultry tone wrapping around you like a warm breeze. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“If I fuck you tonight, what number will that make me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you silently pray he doesn’t notice. Just then, the bartender sets the shot down between you, and you seize the opportunity to reclaim the upper hand.

You grip his jaw, guiding his face closer until your lips are mere centimeters apart. You glance between his lips and his eyes, feeling the tension crackle in the air.

“Oh, baby, don’t you know? I don’t fuck virgins,” you whisper, releasing your grip on his face as you down his shot and head toward the dance floor.

You weave your way toward the dance floor, each step a little unsteady as the pulsating music and vibrant lights overwhelm your senses. The crowd swells around you, a sea of bodies moving in sync, but the energy feels like too much to handle. Frustration and anger churn inside you. Fuck that was your seventh shot. You were no longer thinking with your head but with your vagina instead.

You weave through the pulsating crowd, your gaze searching for the perfect target. When did you become so needy? Finally, you spot the familiar salmon-haired boy from earlier, and a smile flickers across your lips. “At least it’s not a stranger this time,” you think, navigating through the bodies that sway and jostle around you.

As you approach, an unexpected wave of self-doubt washes over you. Was he always this tall? His shoulders seem broader, more defined, and the tattoos that snake down his arms catch your eye—when did he get those? You dismiss the thoughts, blaming the alcohol for your hazy perception.

Raising yourself onto your toes, you gently tap him on the shoulder, but the moment he turns around, a rush of regret floods in. His imposing figure towers over you, and a sense of horror grips your chest as you realise this is definitely not Yuji.

“Doll?” his deep voice resonates, cutting through the din of the club, leaving you momentarily speechless as you look up, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. You freeze. You can’t move. Why can’t you move?

The all-too-familiar pet name washes over you, and a torrent of memories floods your mind, each one more vivid than the last. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Suddenly, you feel hands grip your shoulders, pulling you away from the man, away from the chaotic atmosphere of the club, and guiding you outside into the cool night air.

As you slip into the car, the reality hits you: Nobara, Maki, and Panda are all there, their concerned faces surrounding you. In an instant, the dam breaks, and you begin to bawl, the emotions you’ve kept buried for so long surging to the surface like a tidal wave. You lean your head into Maki’s lap, feeling the comforting weight of her presence as she gently brushes your hair back from your face.

Nobara’s soothing touch caresses your skin, her fingers rubbing your back in gentle circles. “Shhh, let it out,” she murmurs softly. “You’re safe with us now.” Their unwavering support wrapping around you like a warm blanket, allowing you to release the pent-up feelings that had been longing for freedom. And then, just like that, darkness fills your vision.

extras!

• the aphrodite nightclub was a reeference dedicated to my beloved ree and her hq series ‘poker face’ you should definitely check it out here! @aozui thank u once again <3

• omi sneak in there if you squint

• i imagine aphrodite having the same vibe as the percy jackson casino scene highkey

• hm what does spotify have planned out with tridant i wonder…

• madagascar 3 is my shit guys i would watch it RELIGIOUSLY (maybe i am yn guys idk)

• why does the whole band want us idk we’re just hot like that

• it’s all platonic though guys trust LMFAO

• solstice is a reference to my upcoming spiderman kuroo au btw shhhh #shamlesspromoter

• i threw in the toge and panda texts just for fun LMFAO

• a lot of tridant’s gc texts were actually me and abi’s twitter texts LMFAO (ily abi)

• toge is never crowd surfing again after tonight.

• their set was a total of 1 hour and 49 minutes long (yn secretly enjoyed it and was lowkey fangirling)

• guys i had a field day with the written portion SPECIFICALLY THAT ONE QUOYE

• i hope u all listened to the playlist <3 (pls it’s important)

• yn’s ex is…. SUKUNA?

• to beepboplorpz’s ask that’s still in my inbox currently abt when sukuna would debut HERE HE IS😭

• sukuna’s backstory will be mentioned in the next following chapters..

• panda saw yn going to sukuna and INSTANTLY went to intervene #truefriendeventhohesfat

• yn blacked out in the car if it wasn’t obvious

• megumi was lowkey searching for her on the floor because he thought he was too harsh on her (he cared)

a/n: sorry the chapter is a bit behind schedule but it’s so worth it😭 this was fan service for the thirsty megumi asks so i hope you all eat this up because it took me so long to perfect !! anyways it’s still sunday so it does count… see yall next weekend!! <3 (apologies to my beta readers i was in a rush and wanted this one out but trust im returning back to schedule next week!!)

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @anqelfries @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yomamablazeit @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

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ordowrites · 1 month

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kissing you

cw: very suggestive themes, slight yan content with wanderer, self indulgent, overall fluff, afab!reader in some parts (overall, gn! terms used, reader wears make up/dress), terrible flirting. minors dni, mdni. user has a vision.

characters: kaeya, diluc, wanderer, arlecchino, al-haitham

kaeya has been staring at your lips for awhile now - as you talk about something that you ran into while out doing some sort of investigation. it's starting to make you nervous, the way he remains silent, bent down, his eye on your lips and his head tilted to the side.

"captain? are you listening to me? this this hilichurl camp set up nearby and -"

"yes, yes." kaeya says with a wave of his hand. "i'll have some of my people get on it." he pauses now, leaning in closer. you can smell his cologne. "say, did you get a new shade of lipstick?"

"i-uh, yes?"

"hmm." he gently cups your chin with his fingers, tilting his head to the side as he gently kisses you. "aw, it's not flavored this time."

all you can do is stutter before he bends in to kiss you again.

the fall night is warm, you're warm as you wrap your arms around his as the pair of you exit the manor for the night - the party goers dispersing and it's time for you to head home as well. the abundance of wealth diluc has always surprises you, on top of all his connections. he tells you about something, maybe it's another compliment in the list of all the creative ways he tells you how much he loves you, you're not sure but you're tired.

"shall i accompany you home tonight, my love?" diluc asks as he helps you into your carriage. "you are certainly more than welcome to also stay the night."

"ah, but we certainly cannot have rumors flying around just yet." you say with a tired giggle. playing hard to get is one of your favorite things to do - he seems to enjoy the chase some, at least.

"then," he gently takes your hand into his gloved one, those red eyes that always look into your soul and beyond, look into your own, as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "get home safe, okay? if you encounter any trouble, do not hesitate to return."

you smile, taking your hand back and bend down (silently delighting into the new height advantage the carriage gives you) and kiss him on the cheek.

"have a lovely night, diluc." yet it takes one more kiss to pull you out of the carriage and back into his manor.

he is irritated, agitated more like, with his pacing back and forth. you sigh and watch him, legs crossed and elbows resting on your thighs. you're getting dizzy at this point, but his frustration is honestly really funny.

all that had to happen was someone complimenting you today and he loses his mind. the entire day, he's been sulking and pouting and grumbling.

"hat guy," you call to him, gently. "are you okay?"

he stops in his tracks, staring dead in your eyes. "no," he grumbles. "i am not." you huff a laugh and shake your head. it's like you blink and he's blocking your view of well - the rest of the living room. you're not exactly sure what's happening, but your shirt is being pulled down and his lips are pressing against the tender skin at the juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

and he bites. you yelp a bit, but he doesn't pull away until there is a bright red mark there.

"you're mine, don't forget that."

"you never let me forget." you grumble as he pushes you down, his teeth sinking into more of your neck.

you are wholly naked after getting out of the bath, and sitting between arlecchino's legs, on her bed, as she brushes your hair. she admires every inch of you, on a daily basis. whenever you ask about her doing your hair, she simply tells you that she enjoys it and should she not pamper her loved one? so you always drop the subject and lean into this momentary peace in her chaotic life. the candle flickers some, its flame casting a gentle glow in the bedroom.

a clawed hand rests on your thigh and you peek at the full length mirror, she's set the brush down.

warmth blossoms through you as she kisses the back of your neck, trailing kisses down along your spine until she reaches midback. after a moment, she's tugging at your hair, forcing you to lean your head back as she kisses you on the lips.

"you're very beautiful." she murmurs.

"you tell me that often." you tell her with a little giggle. she hums softly.

"not often enough." she declares, her hand reaching for the brush again. "i believe i should praise you more. you are a good girl, after all." your face reddens at that and she looks even more pleased. another kiss is pressed to the side of your neck before she resumes her previous task.

you talk too much, al-haitham has told you many times - you like to visit him in his office at lunch every day, just to ramble on and on. you like to think he's listening, but with his eyes always glued on his book, you're never sure. but that never stops you (nor does it ever stop kaveh, the poor man sometimes stresses himself out over his roommates indifference). oh, you do this to annoy him most of the time, but lately, it's just scheduled and expected.

"and can you believe-"

your words are cut off when his lips meet yours, your eyes widen when he pulls away. you're stunned as you sit down on the comfortable couch, trying to comprehend what just happened.

"do you hear that?" he asks you after a moment.

"no. what should i be hearing?"

"the sound of sweet silence." al-haitham finally answers, and you finally look at him, while his eyes are glued to the book, he has a smug look to his face. oh this asshole.

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obscure-entity · 1 year

Note

your shading is AMAZING specially when its conveying organic forms..... do you have any tips for people who dont know wrf going on (with shading)

ok so HI. hi. my old tutorial pisses me off so i will make a new one

i made a guy whose sole purpose is to be shaded so dont worry he likes it. and his name. his name will be mr. Boob. mr boob does not have to be blue

theres probably way better explanations of how to do it but unfortunately trying to "emulate" shading does ask you to somewhat understand ur character in a 3d way. like what would the 2d shape be if you "sliced" it? mr boob is made of so many circles. his tail also does a kind of weird perspective foreshortening thing because its pointing at you. is this being conveyed

you obviuously dont have to draw a horrendous grid on your characters skin to do this . BUT it helps you put down (or at least envision) the lines of the form shading :

dont worry about cast shadows or the shading color because this is FORM SHADOW time only. think about what surfaces of the character are obviously facing away from the light source and put down the "separation line" of the shading based on that. thr most important thing is that youre trying to separate light from dark

im going to pick the first one for cast shadows bc it will be the most obvious to me

ok so. his ears and snout are blocking other surfaces of his body from the light, which means a shadow is cast!!!! bam. i saw someone describe cast shadows as what the light's pov "can't see." his entire body is putting down a cast shadow on the ground too

im impatient so i blended the form shadows now. its usually the easiest to just NOT blend cast shadows as a way of conveying that they are still cast shadows. but you can still blend them if you want to show "distance" between the obstruction and the surface its blocking. but its just a way of saying form and cast shadows should not be treated the same even if their softness coincides

im going to lump reflection and ambient light together because theyre like. similar. reflections dont just happen in mirrors

since the sky is blue, making the ambient lighting, i tinged mr. boobs existing shadow to be a bit blue. (*this is kind of important because it can help you decide a shading color, which should USUALLY be based on the environment) (unless your character is just in the transparent void then it doesnt matter)

since the ground is pink, i made pink light bounce off of him. pointed and labelled. i dont rlly know how to go more in depth than that

contact shadows are literally shadows formed from direct-touching contact. very little light can reach in there, even from how reflections disperse, which means youre free to use the darkest color available (black). in this case mr. boob is making contact with the floor. because he is sitting on the floor.

i touched him up a bit and wow!!!!!!!!!! look at mr. boob!!! he is so beautifully sculpted.

and one more thing

thats right. i made mr boob PINK. hes fucking ruined now. just kidding i would never say that to him

what im trying to convey here (its the easiest with really light colors) is a transitional color. this can also show subsurface scattering depending on how you use it which is fun to look at. the mistake i made on my last tutorial was "Just pick a warm saturated color!" which is really wrong in examples like Blue mr boob. because it would be weird to use a warm color to transition from blue to blue.

if you have a character that isn't bright enough then obviously the shadows wont be as visible. its BEST to bring more attention to highlights and reflections to reveal the form a bit. they play the biggest role with darker colors

thats all i can think of. fun things to look up:

structuralization + contour lines + foreshortening etc. 3d lingo

form shadows

cast shadows

ambient light

contact shadows

subsurface scattering

im also just speaking out of my ass otherwise. i didnt look up any of these terms until the end now im inferring and hoping i got them right

and remember every time you shade mr boob will be rooting for you

#art tutorial #shading #lighting #long post

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nyxwoodstone · 6 months

Text

Televangelism | Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Simon offers Johnny a place to stay the night after a deployment, and Johnny gladly obliges. Much to his surprise, there's more to Simon Riley's home life than he previously thought.

TLDR: Soap doesn't know that Simon has a wife...he finds out when he goes to his Lt's house. :)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, female reader, pregnant!reader, Simon and reader already have a toddler..., maybe a little OOC Ghost but allow it, no smut all plot, still MDNI I swear to God, idk like minor swearing but if you're from the COD fandom I feel like you should know that, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: if you saw this previously posted to another account, no you didn't :) I don't really know what to call this type of fic, it is a Ghost x Reader, but it's got quite a bit of self-reflection and characterization from Soap. very little beta, but msg me if there's any horrendous spelling or grammar issues. i'm not American, hence the spelling differences. let's just ignore the fact that Ghost inviting Johnny to sleep at his house is more than a little too friendly for special forces guys, let's just ignore that plz!!!!!

Dictionary: SO - superior officer Civvies - civilian clothing NOD's - them night vision goggle thingo's Padre - colloquial name for Bristish Army Chaplains

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

It was done.

Another successful operation. A difficult operation.

The entire squad had returned with just minor scrapes and cuts, and more shit to compartmentalise. Not that there was much compartmentalisation these days, the missions just rolled into each other. Sometimes there was a week break in between, sometimes a few months. Never enough time for Soap regain his footing in civilian life. Never enough time to get past the 'disruption' phase of reintegration that the chaplains were always talking about.

Every time he flew back to base, he'd get the same bleeding rundown from a different Padre. Every. Time.

"Now, there are five stages of reintegration after deployment, Sergeant."

"I know that."

"Humour me."

He'd fight back the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, he'd just do it. The chaplain would continue.

"Pre-entry, you've done that already, psych evals and such. You know the drill. Then, reunion, you'll see your family again-"

Shit. He needed to call his sister.

"-and take some time for yourself. Next is disruption, you'll realise not everything is the same as when you left it, people will have new routines, new hobbies, it's normal to feel resentful during this stage-"

And they'd go on. Tell him about communication, then normalcy. But he never got that far. He'd go home to his apartment, visit his mother, go to coffee with his sister (she worried about him, always did), and then he would be off on his next operation. He'd get a visit, or a call, and he'd be off, with little word to family. There was never enough time. Soap wondered why the task force needed the same spiel every time they returned, it wasn’t as if this was new. It was old. This runaround was old now: United Kingdom, to some forsaken country, to back home, with more memories and less connections. It was what he loved. But it was also what he despised.

"Johnny."

Most of the squad had dispersed, each finishing psych evals and heading off to the on-base housing, their cars, or the mess hall. He didn't actually know if the mess was open at this time of night, he supposed it was only the wee hours of the morning, but God-knew. Johnny had just finished his packing, and was heading towards the unremarkable block of small apartments on the far side of the base. It was a fair hike, but he'd do it. There wasn't another choice, but his flight wasn't until tomorrow, and he staunchly refused to stay awake all night. He'd sleep tonight, then go to debrief, then go the fuck home.

"Johnny."

It was Ghost, in civvies, hands in his jacket pockets. Mask gone. Johnny supposed that was just the way it ought to be, he couldn't wear it everywhere, and wearing it in civvies would certainly give any onlookers, soldiers or not, reason to be curious. Attention was not what men in their position needed. Still, seeing his face was…almost unsettling.

"Lt.?"

*************************************

Simon hung up the phone and tucked it in his back pocket. He felt God-awful calling at this time of night, but he had to do it. He'd sworn to, every time he got back to base, he had to call. Johnny was staring out at the quiet base, the parade grounds just a few hundred metres away, still lit up in the night.

"Johnny."

He'd never really thought about where Johnny must go after operations, he didn't even assume anything, once they were back on the ground, once they were out of the shit, it wasn't any of business, or any of his concern.

"You're allowed to like the men you work with, love." His wife's voice rang in the back of his mind.

He did…like them. They were good lads. Got the job done. Stitched each other up. Didn't leave each other behind. But liking them outside of work? Their job was far too dangerous to make close attachments like that. In his younger days, when he wasn't in the special forces, he'd made…’friends’ wasn't the right word for it. He'd made…acquaintances with some of the soldiers on his unit, they'd go out for drinks, egg each other on in the pub, take each other home after a long night out. But special forces were another world. Here, everything mattered. Every little thing mattered. And perhaps he was just older now, he'd matured more. Back then, he hadn't had anything to lose. Now, though-now he had everything to lose. A family, a home - a life.

But despite all of that, he had grown to appreciate Johnny. He was a good man, in the shit, and out of it.

They'd talked a few times about their lives outside of the army. Nothing important, nothing below surface level. Soap had a mother who had health problems, and a sister who worked in a hospital (he hadn't told Simon what she did, or even told him her name), and who worried about him constantly. Johnny joked that she would end up a patient one day if she kept stressing so much. Simon had told him that he lived far enough from the base that he wasn't constantly thinking about work, he'd told him that he played football as a kid; that was it. Not a lick more.

Johnny gave up far more information willingly than Simon ever could. But they got along. That was enough.

The Scot stood across from him, still staring out at nothing.

"Johnny."

Soap turned his head.

"Lt.?"

"Going home?"

“Sleeping on base tonight, sir, then got a flight tomorrow night.”

On base? After that operation? Simon sighed inwardly and observed the bent hunch of his subordinate's shoulders. He knew that feeling. Finishing a mission alive, but with more red in his ledger. That was all good and well, but the final fucking straw was those damned prison cages that the military called bedrooms. It took a moment to debate, no longer.

"Mine’s 15 minutes from the airport.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised at the Lieutenant’s offer.

“It’s alright, sir, I’ll survive here.”

“After that shit? You need a real bed, Johnny.”

The sergeant ran a hand over his face and dropped his shoulders.

“Y-yeah, alright, Lt. If that’s alright with you.”

“Let’s go,” Ghost turned on his heel and began towards the car park, taking out his phone to shoot off a quick text.

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

****************************************************************************************

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

You groggily shot back a text.

'Get home safe, love you."

Simon had been due back for a few days now, but you'd been trying to get used to the unpredictability of his work schedule.

This was nothing new, though. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you got married to him. He had sat you down when you had first gotten serious, and showed you his will.

That had been an aggressive wake-up call. You knew how dangerous his job was. No one on the planet Earth was foolish enough to think that special forces meant 'safety.' You knew he could die any time he went away. But the long-term reality of that fact didn't set in until you sat beside him and scanned your eyes over that document. You didn't feel connected to your body. It was as if you were peering in on some other person's life, quietly staring through the looking glass to see some insane woman who was desperately in love with a man whose life meant very little up against the interests of international security. To your credit, you hadn't cried when he showed you. How badly you had wanted to. But you didn't. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists. He could die at any moment. So you had better make the most of every second you had with him.

You'd told him as much and he had accused you of not taking his job seriously. A method of self-preservation you recognized from your years of being with him. You had told him he wasn't going to push you away so easily. He had left in a huff and came back the next day with an apology on his lips, and a ring in his hand.

There was no pomp about it, just simple, and practical. So very Simon Riley.

Simon had never been a particularly romantic man, and God, was he difficult to read. But he loved you. He did. And you adored him. And you'd made it this far, a few years of marriage, one kid in, and one on the way; you'd done it. You would keep doing it until the day you dropped cold. So would he, he'd told you so hundreds of times.

No, he was not romantic, but he showed you in other ways. He would rub your back when you were tired, he would open doors for you, or kiss you gently when you needed it. Simon Riley was a man of few words, but frequent action. You loved him for it.

The first time you'd met him, you'd nearly gone weak in the knees. Cliché. He teased you for it endlessly, you never should have admitted that to him. But how were you to help yourself, he was a handsome, well-muscled man with a scowl that you found endearing. You still found that deep scowl endearing today, and on more than one occasion, you had gently pinched his cheek when he pulled that face. He would always chuckle and bat your hand away, biting the inside of his mouth so there was no looser skin for you to pinch again.

Simon Riley was, in your (biassed) opinion, the most handsome, most incredible, most loving man to ever live. And he was yours. Whenever he came shopping with you, or took you out somewhere, it was impossible to escape the stares that other women gave him. Part of you despised it, part of you basked in it. You'd lean in to whisper something in his ear, or pat him gently on the chest, anything to mark him as yours. See this man, he's mine. He'd swear other men did the same to you, but you didn't believe him. He certainly believed himself though, placing a hand on the small of your back or tucking a piece of hair behind your ear whenever he thought he saw eyes on you. It was sweet.

You two had this little…thing. This cocoon for just you two. The comfort and safety that flowed between the both of you had been years in the making, and had taken many, many arguments and discussions to solidify. And you had argued, sometimes into the night hours, going back and forth about trust, and patience, and understanding. You had often had to fight for his agreement, or for his trust, but you had never had to fight for his love. That had come without question, but you'd had to fight for him to show it to you, for him to allow himself one good thing in life. He was different now, all those years of being with you, and working on himself, and all the absolute hell that he had been through. He was different, and you loved the man he was, and the man he had become. No one at his job knew how gentle he could be, the softness he was capable of. No one.

Although, you supposed that was about to change. He was bringing 'one of the guys' to your house, to stay. You had told him before that you had absolutely no problem with him bringing his friends - he wasn't a fan of you calling them that - over. If they needed somewhere to stay, you were more than willing to house them, they were strong men facing down the worst of the world's threats, they deserved somewhere to feel safe, if only for one night. He'd told you he might - although you'd always suspected that he wouldn’t - allow one of his squad mates into his home, and you'd encouraged him to do so if it was necessary. Tonight was the night.

Simon had called you as soon as he could, like he always did.

"I've landed, love, I'll be heading home soon."

"Good. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Hungry?"

"Just ate here."

"Alright, I'll be in bed, please wake me up."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too. Drive safe."

He sounded exhausted on the phone, nothing out of the ordinary though, he was always tired when he came home. You were remiss to admit to yourself that you were tired too. You ran a hand over your stomach. It had swelled up in the time that Simon had been gone. What a difference just a few weeks made. You'd had to attend your scheduled scan alone, and had the photos in the drawer next to your bed, ready to show Simon when he got home.

This baby had been something of a surprise. Not an enormous one, though. Simon and yourself had been significantly less careful in the months leading up to when you found out, and you'd talked about it: another kid, the whole thing. He had been apprehensive to say the least, so you had waited without resentment. He needed time, and God knew, you needed time, so you had both taken time. It had taken a year or so of discussions, he was terrified to become his father. He would never be his father, never. He was nothing like him, nothing. And he had come to his own decision. Being a father would be new, terrifying, different, but he put an ounce of faith in himself, and-

- And then you were late.

You wished you could be like those women in movies who have no idea, and have a whole revelation about being pregnant. But you were not stupid, you were practical, it was one of the things Simon often told you that he loved about you. So practicality it was. You were sure you were pregnant. Three positive pregnancy tests later, and that sealed the deal.

Then you'd burst into tears in your bathroom.

God, who were you to think you could do this? He was due to leave for a three-week operation in two days. You'd be alone in your first few weeks, with a young toddler as well, who's needs were more important than your own.

You didn't hear Simon come home from his run, you'd hardly heard the jagged tone to his voice when he pushed the door open. What a sight it must have been for him. You, curled into the bathroom wall, crying hysterically and hugging yourself. He did well to hide his panic, the soldier in him must have taken over for a few seconds. He scanned the bathroom floor, then checked you over for injuries, asking what was wrong the whole time. Then he'd scanned the bathroom counter and found the three tests lined up. He knew what they were, but bless him, he didn't know if they were negative or positive, the lines meant nothing to him.

"You're pregnant?"

You'd barely managed a nod and to his absolute credit, he did not clam up. He did not shut his mouth, or grit his teeth, or sink back onto his heels. He had reassured you, pulled you into his lap on the floor and talked you out of your hysterics. He'd waited patiently until you could talk. And you had been fine. You loved him, he loved you, and you both loved this baby. You would be fine. It had never been so hard to say goodbye to him as he left for his next mission. You'd never been so panicked whilst he had been away. You had to call your friend to come and stay with you for the time he was away, so she could help you stay out of your thoughts and help with the little toddler who was always asking where her Daddy was.

But all of that panic always subsided when he came home, when he lay beside you and breathed quietly as he slept. Everything was better when he was there. And he would be in an hour or two, so you allowed yourself to get some rest until you heard his tires in the drive.

**************************************************************************************************************

Every few seconds, the car was forced into the dull yellow shine of the street lights. Soap wanted to ask how much longer they would be travelling, but for lack of better words than ‘are we there yet,’ he remained silent, watching identical rows of darkened townhouses amble by. It had been a long drive though, long enough that Johnny had glanced at the clock on the car's electronic display once or twice, just to make sure he wasn't losing his mind.

Suburbia was not quite what Soap had imagined when he thought of his lieutenant's home, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he thought Ghost might live. Far from base was all the information he had to guess from. Everyone has to stay somewhere, right? Guiltily, John realised he hadn’t much considered that Simon did in fact, live a civilian life. For weeks or months at a time. The task force wasn’t on duty 24/7, but Ghost, as a normal person? Someone you might see crossing the street? Carrying groceries? It hasn’t crossed his mind.

Strange.

Strange to think of such a deadly man in such a domestic sphere.

They were the same though, he supposed. Just as deadly as each other. Just as domestic, too.

The low rumble of a flight path ahead served to calm Soap, so used to noise as he winded down. Silence was deafening, silence was dangerous. Deep down, although he struggled to admit it, the long string of silence that met him in his own home terrified him. The emptiness, the void that greeted him when he first entered his flat, before the click of his fingers on the light switch, before he turned on the industrial fan beside his couch and before the kettle started to whistle. The silence would grip him around the neck, trying to pull him into his thoughts.

Close-knit housing soon dropped off into plots of land, with sparser houses and longer driveways. The expected pricing of these blocks didn’t escape the sergeant.

Another hour or so later, when the modern street lights had long since faded out into antiquated street lamps every hundred metres, the car began to slow.

“We’re here.” Ghost ripped the quiet in two with the gruff edge of his voice, turning off onto a lined driveway. In the dim light, the house stood modestly. Perfectly normal. Far enough away from other houses to be private, but close enough to be watchful of the neighbours. How fitting.

The ignition rumbled to a stop as Ghost turned the key and exited the car.

Boots hitting the stone, Soap immediately felt at odds with this house. It wasn’t his. It was Ghost’s, a man he knew very little about. It wasn't enemy territory, perhaps this was worse: friendly territory. Too friendly territory. A peaceful space, one that he shouldn't be encroaching on.

He followed said man to the door, crunching quietly up the drive and swinging his bag over his shoulder, a more comfortable hold for his exhausted muscles.

Ghost grunted quietly as he unlocked and pushed the door open, swearing and muttering something about getting it fixed.

“Boots off.” He spoke rather quietly and Soap responded immediately, shrugging out of his boots and sitting them next to a few others at the door. His first sign that something was…amiss, was that there were a few pairs of shoes far too small for Simon, stacked neatly on a wooden shelf next to the door.

He was greeted with a long hallway as he followed Simon through the quiet house. His second sign that something was amiss, was that this house smelled, to put it kindly, feminine. It did not smell like an empty house, nor one that was inhabited by a lone man. Unless of course, Simon Riley had a penchant for vanilla-scented candles. Soap suspected he did not.

A few photographs and decorations adorned the walls but they were impossible to make out in the dark. Soap’s fingers twitched towards his head a split second before he was pulled back to reality and realised that there were no NOD's to help him out here. A stupid instinctual move that he found himself doing more and more these days.

Compartmentalisation, his ass.

Ghost pushed a door to his right open, it creaked quietly in the silent house.

“Spare room’s in here, bathrooms to the left-“

“Thanks, Lt.”

“Take a shower, but keep it down, the missus’ll be asleep.”

And as if he hadn’t just flash-banged Soap, Ghost left, turning on his heel and heading further into the house.

Next Part

#ghost x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #Simon Riley #Simon Ghost Riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #idk how tags work

862 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 2 months

Text

FIRSTS ━━ paige bueckers x azzi fudd

☆ ━ summary: paige and azzi’s firsts.

☆ ━ word count: 12.9K (jesus)

☆ ━ warnings: slight smut, angst, fluff.

☆ ━ author’s notes: hiiii!!!! this is my first time posting on tumblr, even though i’ve literally been lurking on here for actual years… yeah! but i write on both wattpad and ao3 and decided that i might as well start publishing my work on here too. i hope you enjoy!!

I. MAY 2017

They're at the USA basketball U16 Trials, the gym buzzing with the energy of teenage girls and their need to prove themselves. The court echoes with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and bouncing basketballs. Two teams have been created—jerseys and no jerseys—for a practice scrimmage. The air is thick with anticipation, the scent of fresh sweat mingling with the sharp tang of floor polish.

Paige adjusts her jersey, fingers brushing against the cool, breathable fabric. She stretches her arms overhead, feeling the muscles lengthen and relax. Her eyes scan the court, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the game she loves. She's been here before, in this exact position, waiting for the competition to begin, and each time it feels like the most important moment of her life. The adrenaline hums in her veins, a steady current of energy that she channels into focus.

The whistle blows, sharp and clear, slicing through the ambient noise. It's not long before Paige's team is on defense, and she positions herself near the top of the key, ready.

Paige doesn't think much of anything when she first sets eyes on the girl she's guarding. The blonde made a few fast friends earlier in the morning and this girl surely isn't one of them. She doesn't know her; doesn't care about knowing her; doesn't think about knowing her. She doesn't notice the way her brown eyes are glazed over with focus, the slight crinkle in between her brows as she furrows them, the way her mouth hangs open ever so slightly. In fact, Paige's eyes barely scan the girl before they trail right back to the orange basketball set in her hands. She watches as the girl dribbles the ball with a practiced ease, focus unwavering.

Paige moves into a defensive stance, eyes never leaving the basketball. Knees bent, arms outstretched, the blonde is ready to react to any move the girl before her might make. She can feel the eyes of the coaches on her, the pressure of the moment heavy on her shoulders. But she thrives on this; the intensity sharpens her focus.

The dribbling of the girl before Paige is rhythmic, almost meditative, the ball bouncing in a steady beat that matches the thumping in the blonde's chest. For a short moment, the pair stay like that, testing the waters. And then the girl starts to move, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, gauging Paige's reaction. She fakes left, then darts right, the ball a blur between her hands. Paige follows, movements fluid and quick, matching the girl step for step.

The girl changes pace, pushing off her back foot and driving toward the basket. Paige is right there, her hand reaching out instinctively. Her fingers brush against the ball, and in a split second, she hooks it cleanly from the other girl's grasp.

Paige takes off down the court, her legs pumping, heart pounding in her chest. She hears the surprised gasps and murmurs from the sidelines, but she blocks it all out. All that matters is the basket ahead of her. She dodges a defender, movements a blur of agility and speed. With a final burst of energy, she leaps toward the hoop, laying the ball gently against the backboard. It falls through the net with a satisfying swish.

It's what she does best: steals, swifts, scores.

☆

The scrimmage ends with the final whistle and the players disperse, heading for their water bottles and towels. The gym slowly empties out as everyone make their way to the locker rooms. Paige follows suit, breathless and sweaty as she walks alongside Celeste and Jordan, two girls she made friends with at the beginning of the day. She takes slow, methodic sips from her water bottle as she does her best to return her heart rate and breathing back to what it was before all the cardio.

After a moment, Paige excuses herself from her new friends, heading to the bathroom. It's quiet in there, only for the faint hum of the ventilation system. Paige goes to a stall and locks the door behind her. She takes a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline that only basketball can bring her slowly ebbing away. It's not long before she flushes and exits the stall, heading to wash her hands.

As she approaches, she notices the girl from before standing at the sink, hands under the running water. Paige hesitates for a second, then moves to the sink next to her, the proximity making her suddenly aware of the dull silence between them. The blonde turns on the faucet, letting the cold water rush over her hands. She glances sideways at the girl, who's now drying her hands with a paper towel.

Despite Paige's initial steal on the girl, it turns out she's a total bucket-getter. She'd surprised Paige and certainly got her revenge on her, scoring four three-pointers right over the blonde's head. Each one had swished so perfectly that all Paige could think was: sharpshooter.

It takes Paige a moment to summon her courage and confidence—considering it's usually right on the surface and doesn't need to be summoned—but when she does, she speaks.

"Hey," she says, voice breaking the quiet of the sterile bathroom. "You were great out there. Seriously, like, one of the best shooters I've ever gone against."

The girl looks up, eyes meeting Paige's. There's a moment of surprise, followed by a small but genuine smile. "Thanks," she replies, voice warm and somehow smooth like butter. "You're really good, too. Surprised me a little bit, actually," she adds, a joking tone curling around her vocals.

Paige lets an offended yet amused smile overtake her features, putting a hand on her heart as she amusedly says, "Hey!"

The girl isn't on her own there, though. Paige knows that most people who look like her—skinny as bones and white as paper—can't play basketball like her. She's had people doubt her since she was little, but she manages to prove them wrong every time. Another case in point right here.

Before the other girl can retort back, Paige asks, curious, "What's your name?"

"I'm Azzi," the girl answers, her smile widening just enough for a dimple to appear.

Azzi, Paige notes, tucking it in the back of her mind, thinking it may be important one day. Whether that be sooner or later.

And now, for the first time, Paige lets herself really look at this girl—Azzi, she reminds herself. She's probably about an inch or so shorter than Paige, and she's got tan skin and dark, curly hair that's been pulled back into two braids. Her brows, without the furrow of intensity she held during the game, lay flat, smoothing her forehead and giving her a softer look. Her brown eyes are deep and expressive, framed by long lashes. Her lips are full and her jawline is sharp but soft, with a smooth curve to it. Her two front teeth are slightly longer than the others, a bit like bunny teeth, and the dimples digging into her cheeks are charming in a way Paige has never seen before.

And there, Paige realizes—with a slight sense of embarrassment—just how pretty Azzi is.

It's a realization that catches her off guard, and—humiliatingly—she stumbles over her words as she introduces herself, coughing out, "'m Paige."

Azzi nods, and Paige does her absolute hardest to try to push down the blush she can feel rising in her cheeks as the girl murmurs, "It's nice to meet you, Paige."

Azzi's slowly walking towards the bathroom door now, and as she opens it, she adds, calling over her shoulder, "Hopefully next time we can be on the same team."

Paige stands there by the sinks, slightly frozen as she responds, "Yeah."

Only after Azzi has closed the door behind her, leaving Paige alone there in the bathroom, the blonde adds, voice low in a whisper meant only for herself, "Hopefully."

II. AUGUST 2018

"Az, can you get my back?" Paige's voice echoes from the bathroom, where she's been applying sunscreen to her pale skin for the last few minutes.

Azzi hums in response, halting her movements of packing her small drawstring up. She glances at her bag, half-full with essentials for their boat outing, before heading towards the bathroom.

They're at the lake house, the last month of summer in full force. Azzi's grateful to get away from home for a little while, now in a different kind of home that she much prefers to the other.

The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar, and Azzi pushes it open gently. Paige is standing there, clad in her hot pink bikini—the girl sure does love her bright colors, Azzi knows that—with her back exposed, a bottle of sunscreen in hand. The sight of Paige is one Azzi has grown accustomed to over the past year, yet, especially more recently, it never fails to send a jolt through her. Paige's skin is a blank canvas, pale and soft, a stark contrast to Azzi's own tan complexion.

"Gimme," Azzi says, hand reaching for the bottle. Her voice is steady despite the unmistakable flutter of those butterfly wings she feels in her chest, her stomach, her everywhere. They've got the kind of pitter-patter that only Paige can bring her. And it only worsens when the blonde looks back at Azzi, meeting her eyes, baby blue on chocolate brown, hands brushing as Paige gives the younger girl the bottle, a stupid, beautiful grin of gratitude stretching her features. Azzi ignores the feeling, having grown accustomed to that, too, instead taking the bottle and squirting a generous amount of sunscreen into her palm.

Paige pulls her hair to one side, giving Azzi full access to her back. Azzi's hands hover for a moment—a stupid hesitation considering how much she and Paige touch each other—before she gently places them on the older girl's shoulders, starting at the top and working her way down. The lotion spreads smoothly, a thin layer of protection against the summer sun.

As her hands move across Paige's back, Azzi doesn't miss the silence. It's odd. Paige is such a chatter box that Azzi really never gets any silence when around her. Azzi remembers being a bit fed up with Paige last year because of it. It was in the earliest stages of their relationship, following them both securing their own roster spots on the FIBA U16 team. Paige was always talking and talking and talking, and Azzi was tired. Maybe it was because Paige was never talking to her. For some odd reason, that whole month of USA basketball, Paige had been such a babbler with anyone and everyone that didn't have the name Azzi Fudd. At first, Azzi thought Paige didn't like her. It made sense: Paige wouldn't speak to her, wouldn't make eye contact with her (on the off chance that their eyes did meet, Paige would immediately flit her own to anything that wasn't the chocolate color of Azzi's irises), and sometimes stared at her like she was something else completely. It made Azzi uncomfortable and even a little disheartened because they played so well together, and yet this girl wouldn't give her the light of day off the court. Of course, Paige was never rude to her. Azzi knows that Paige hardly even has the capacity to fulfill the word, ever the people pleaser. If Azzi spoke to her, Paige would respond kindly. She just never went out of her way to start the conversions on her own. And Azzi guesses she shouldn't have cared that much about it, except that Paige would start conversations with everyone else. In a way, it made her feel alienated.

However, it didn't take too long for Azzi to realize that whatever Paige's shyness around her was caused by, it wasn't that the blonde disliked her. Because whenever their team took group photos, the spot next to Azzi always seemed to be taken by Paige. The weight of the older girl's palm on Azzi's waist, the way their shoulders brushed as the camera would snap the shot, quickly became familiar nature between the two of them. And then, when they won the gold medal, Azzi was the first person Paige went to. Paige had let out a little scream of victory before launching herself into Azzi, arms wrapping around the younger girl's neck. They'd never been that close before, and Azzi recalls it making her head spin slightly. They had been sweaty and full of adrenaline, and Azzi had let herself hold onto Paige tightly, because they'd won. And then, in line while getting their medals, the pair held hands and Azzi got her first taste of what Paige's fingers felt like intertwined with her own.

Truly though, the turning point was the flight back to Minnesota. Azzi supposes Paige was feeling bold, because as soon as the blonde's eyes set on her, she made a beeline for the seat right next to Azzi. Despite the celebratory affinity they'd shared earlier in the week, it caught Azzi a bit off guard. And yet, as soon as Paige sat down next to her, all that chatter that Azzi had watched the girl bestow upon their teammates was suddenly entirely reserved for her. Throughout the whole flight, Paige talked and talked and talked, and Azzi listened and listened and listened. They shared grins and fought to hide blushes and when the plane finally landed, it sealed the deal for Azzi.

This chatterbox, bottle blonde, skinny white girl (that also happened to be one of the prettiest people Azzi had ever laid eyes on) was meant to be her best friend.

So, now that they're standing here, Azzi's hands on Paige's skin, and Paige isn't saying anything, and Azzi—true to her quiet, listening nature—isn't either, things feel strange. The younger girl doesn't know why Paige is silent. She certainly doesn't let herself get so far as to guessing, though, because she knows that her mind will only take her to places she shouldn't go. Places she knows Paige has never let herself go to.

But it's difficult. The silent air between them is thick, charged with a tension that's always there but never so predominant as now. Each touch sends a spark through Azzi, a reminder of the stupid fucking feelings she's been harboring for months now. It's maddening that Paige, her best friend of all people, has suddenly become the center of Azzi's thoughts, the place her mind always seems to be wandering back to.

But, really, Azzi thinks, if you knew Paige, how could she not? She's a vibrant hue in a world of grey, so full of life. She's got a laugh that lights up any (and every) room she walks in, and a smile that makes Azzi's heart skip a beat. For Azzi, being around Paige is like basking in the warmth of the sun—comforting, but sometimes too intense to bear.

Azzi's fingers brush against the nape of Paige's neck, and she feels a shiver run through her body. Her touch is careful, deliberate, but the closeness makes it hard to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. She takes a deep breath, hoping to steady her racing heart.

Azzi finishes spreading the sunscreen, her hands lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. In that brief moment, she's acutely aware of everything—the warmth of Paige's skin under her fingertips, the faint scent of the sunscreen mingling with Paige's own subtle fragrance, the soft rise and fall of Paige's breath.

She pulls her hands away, taking a step back. Paige turns to face her, a grateful smile on her lips. "Thanks, Az."

Az, Az, Az, Az. Azzi's mind replays the way her nickname sounds falling from Paige's lips.

"Mhm," Azzi hums, her voice more casual than she feels.

And, before anything else can be said between the two of them, Katie calls out from downstairs, "You girls ready yet? We're waiting on you!"

"Yeah, we're coming!" Azzi calls back, grateful for the interruption. She gives Paige one last smile before heading out of the bathroom, her heart still pounding in her chest.

☆

Azzi's tired, curled up under the quilt laid upon her bed. Her bones ache with exhaustion, her skin burns from the extra exposure to the sun, her eyes are red and sore from rubbing all of the lake water out of them. She scrolls mindlessly on her phone, knowing she won't be able to sleep until Paige is over whatever energy burst she's got right now.

The blonde girl is sprawled on the floor, digging through her duffle bag vigorously, searching for something she clearly needs. When she began the hunt a few minutes ago, Azzi asked what she was looking for and offered to help, but Paige had only waved her off, saying she'd find it herself. Azzi rolled her eyes and collapsed back onto her bed, trying to ignore the annoying sounds of Paige zipping and unzipping her bag, as well as tossing items along the floor.

Azzi notices when Paige finally finds what she's been so longingly looking for. The shuffling halts, and Azzi sees Paige stand from the corner of her eye. Azzi begrudgingly sits up in bed, eyes set on her best friend, raising her brows ludicrously as she sees Paige's hands holding something behind her back, almost as if she's hiding it from Azzi.

"Don't be mad, okay?" the blonde says slowly, smile full of suppressed energy. Azzi catches the spark that glints in Paige's eyes, a hint of mischief that usually means trouble.

The younger girl rolls her eyes, ignoring the comment. "What do you have, Paige?" she asks, feeling a little bit like a mother that's about to have to reprimand her child.

Paige, sheepishly, pulls a small object that's tucked in a ziplock baggie from behind her back, holding it up with a hopeful grin.

Azzi's eyes widen and her jaw drops in surprise. Whatever she thought her best friend was hiding, it wasn't a blunt. But there it is, and Azzi can't help but stumble out, "Where did you even get that?"

"One of my friends from back home gave it to me when I told her I'd never smoked before. Said it was good stuff," Paige replies, grin widening. "I brought it here and, well... thought we should try it?"

Azzi feels the familiar hand of anxiety wrap it's fingers around her rib cage. She gulps, asking incredulously, "Are you serious? What if we get caught? My parents will kill us!"

"It was a long day, they're knocked out," Paige reasons, her tone reassuring. "No one's going to catch us. Besides, don't you wanna try it? Just once?"

Azzi bites her lip, torn between the thrill of doing something forbidden and the fear of getting caught. Her mind races with the possible consequences, the weeks of grounding she'd face should her parents find out about this. But then she looks at Paige, who's watching her with those bright blue eyes, full of excitement and trust.

"C'mon, Azzi," Paige coaxes. "It'll be fun. Just you and me. We've never done anything like this before. Don't you wanna know what it feels like?"

The logic is flimsy, but Paige's enthusiasm is infectious, per usual. Azzi feels a thrill of rebellion bubbling up inside her, fueled by the day's excitement and the safety of her parents' sure exhaustion. She takes a deep breath and nods.

"Okay, fine. But we have to be careful," Azzi says seriously, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Paige's face lights up with a triumphant smile. "Deal. Let's sneak out the back."

They move quietly through the dark cabin, careful not to wake anyone. The night air is cool against Azzi's skin as she and Paige slip out the back door, making their way down to the dock. The lake is a mirror, reflecting the starlit sky, and the only sound is the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle splash of water against the wooden posts. It's comforting; no one is out here to catch them.

The pair sit on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water. Azzi watches, heart pounding in her chest, as Paige fumbles with a lighter, her hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

"Ready?" Paige asks, looking at Azzi with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Azzi nods, her stomach a knot of nerves. Slowly, Paige brings the blunt to her lips and flicks the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night. As the blunt is lit, she takes a deep drag, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling slowly. She coughs a bit, but otherwise does pretty well for her first time. If Azzi didn't know better, she'd think her best friend has done this before.

"Your turn," Paige says, passing the blunt to Azzi.

The younger girl takes it with trembling hands, bringing it to her lips. She mimics Paige, inhaling deeply. The smoke burns her throat, feeling like fire, and as soon as it makes contact with it, she coughs violently, tears springing to her eyes. Beside her, Paige laughs softly, patting her on the back.

"It gets easier, I think," Paige does her best to assure her, taking another drag and passing it back.

They continue like this, passing the blunt back and forth. Paige was right; each drag becomes a little easier than the last. The initial discomfort gives way to a strange, floating sensation. Azzi feels lightheaded, her thoughts fuzzy and her body relaxed.

The tension that Azzi has felt lingering between them all day seems to dissipate, dissolving into the lake air, replaced by a sense of peace and friendship. They giggle at nothing and everything, words flowing freely as the high takes hold.

"You know, I've always thought you were like, the coolest person ever," Paige breaks the silence, her voice dreamy and sincere.

Azzi laughs, feeling a warm glow spread through her chest. "Please," she scoffs lightly, rolling her eyes. That makes her feel a little dizzy; she notes not to do that again. "You're the cool one, Paige. You're so confident and, just, like, fearless. I wish I could be more like you."

Paige shakes her head, eyes bright and unfocused, irises tinted pink. "Nah, you've got this... quiet strength," she murmurs slowly, trying to find her words through the haze of intoxication. "You're always there, you know? Always solid. I really admire that."

The words strike a chord in Azzi, her heart swelling with affection. "Thanks, P," she mumbles, trying to keep her voice steady. "That means a lot."

They fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the night filling the gaps between their words. Crickets chirp, leaves rustle, the breeze ruffles the water slightly. Azzi feels a strange sense of peace, a connection to Paige that goes beyond what she can put into words. It's as if the high has stripped away all the pretense, leaving only the raw, unfiltered truth of their friendship.

Azzi's mind drifts to the past year, to all the moments they've shared. Late-night FaceTimes, endless basketball practices and 1v1s, and quiet moments like this one. She thinks about how much Paige means to her, how her presence has become nothing short of a constant source of comfort and joy.

And then, unbidden, comes the realization of just how deep her feelings run. It's not just some crush she's got; it's something more profound, more terrifying. Azzi thinks she feels that certain way about Paige. She can't think it, can't conjure up that certain word, but, deep down, in that corner of her heart that's reserved exactly for the blonde girl and no one else, Azzi knows. And, no matter how terrifying it is, it's real. It makes her heart ache with longing.

"Hey, Azzi?" Paige's voice breaks through the younger girl's thoughts, soft and curious.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought about... you know, like, what it would be like to be with someone? Like, really be with them?"

Azzi's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing. "Yeah, I guess I have," she murmurs. I imagine being with you, she fights the urge to say. Instead, she adds, "Why do you ask?"

Paige shrugs, looking out at the lake. "I don't know. Just wondering. Sometimes, I think about it, and it's weird, you know?" She pauses, and Azzi guesses it's to gather her thoughts. "Like, how do you know if you really like someone or if it's just... I don't know, a crush?"

Azzi swallows hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "I think you just... know," she murmurs, nearly choking on the words. "It's like, you can't stop thinking about them, and you want to be around them all the time. They make you feel... different."

Paige turns to look at her, her eyes searching Azzi's face. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just... confusing."

Azzi nods, her heart aching with unspoken words. "Yeah, it is."

Another bout of silence settles around them like a warm embrace, the lake shimmering under the starlit sky as the pair continue passing the blunt back and forth. Azzi's mind fogs thick with cannabis, the effects of the drug heightening her senses. Her anxiety is long gone, replaced by a much gentler buzz. She looks over at Paige, who's watching the ripples on the lake with a dreamy expression.

It's not long before Paige speaks again, unable to bear silence. Even high, she remains a chatterbox. Azzi would never admit it, but she finds it slightly endearing.

"You know," Paige begins, her voice soft and contemplative, "I've never kissed anyone before."

Azzi turns to her, nearly choking at the admission. She didn't think their conversation would take a turn like this. And... truthfully, she's quite surprised. She knows how sought after Paige is; she's witnessed it. "Really?"

Paige nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah. What about you?"

Azzi hesitates for a moment. She thinks about lying; she doesn't know why. However, all thoughts of that go out the window when she meets Paige's gaze. It's full of a tenderness that's beckoning her, begging her, to be honest. "No," she mumbles. "I've never kissed anyone either."

The words hang between them, a delicate thread of unspoken desires and uncertainties. Azzi dares a glance at Paige, meeting her eyes briefly before looking away, a blush creeping up her cheeks. She curses herself for it, wishing she were able to hide it better.

Azzi feels Paige shift closer, their shoulders brushing. Her breath hitches slightly at the contact, the warmth of Paige's presence sending a shiver down her spine. "Azzi," Paige whispers, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the lake.

Azzi turns to face Paige fully, her heart pounding in her chest. She feels slightly nauseous as Paige's eyes search hers. She can't tell what exactly is swirling in Paige's pupils. Azzi has an idea, but it's so ludicrous she thinks she should never let the thought enter her own head ever again.

"Have you ever thought about... what it would be like to kiss a girl?" Paige's words are soft, tentative, testing the waters.

It's safe to say they nearly make Azzi fall into the lake and drown.

The younger girl feels her cheeks flush with warmth, the question catching her off guard. She looks down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her shorts. She knows the answer. It's a simple yes or no question. And yet, it takes so much strength to say the words. Because it's terrifying. It's absolutely mortifying. Maybe if Azzi had thought about kissing literally any other girl, it wouldn't be so bad. But it's the fact that the girl she's thought about kissing, and liking to kiss, is Paige... that's what truly scares Azzi.

"Um," Azzi stumbles, coughing. She doesn't let the tears that she feel behind her eyes spring up. She's braver than that. "Yeah. I have," she finally admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige's expression softens, a tender understanding in her eyes. It makes Azzi know what's coming next. "Me too," Paige murmurs, her gaze lingering on her best friend's face. "Sometimes, I think about what it would be like."

(Azzi might actually die.)

There's a pause, a shared moment of vulnerability hanging between them. Azzi feels a knot in her stomach, a mix of fear and anticipation. This conversation feels like a threshold they're tiptoeing towards, a door they're both hesitant to open but curious to explore. Maybe every single little thing she thought was one sided... isn't.

Paige reaches out, her thumb gently tracing the indent of where Azzi's dimple is. It's a familiar gesture, one that Azzi has grown used to, but tonight, under the influence and with the weight of their words hanging in the air, it feels different. Paige's touch lingers, and it makes Azzi's lungs feel like they're going out.

Without a word, Paige's hand slides along Azzi's jawline and moves to cup her cheek, her touch warm and tender. Their eyes meet, and in that moment, every single little thing, every single line they've not yet crossed, seems to shift right before their very eyes. Azzi can feel the rhythm of her heart echoing in the silence between them, a steady drumbeat of anticipation.

Azzi closes her eyes, surrendering to the moment, the high helping her do so. It's a soft press of lips that starts it, barely a graze. Azzi feels their breath mingle, feels Paige's hand move from her cheek to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. And then she deepens the kiss.

Azzi's hand finds Paige's waist, holding her close as she leans into her, their bodies fitting together as if they've always belonged. If Azzi could get any closer to Paige, she would. The world around them seems to fade into the background, leaving only the sensation of Paige's touch, the taste of her lips against Azzi's.

When they finally pull away, Azzi's heart might as well be failing, her mind buzzing with the fact that she just kissed her best friend, who she may also be a little in love with.

She feels Paige lean her head against Azzi's shoulder, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers. It's familiar; something they do so often it might as well be second nature at this point. But as Paige's thumb rubs circles on Azzi's hand, the younger girl thinks this might be a little different. She hopes it's a little different.

"I'm glad it was you," Paige whispers, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

Azzi smiles softly, feeling something she's never quite encountered before. "Me too, P," she murmurs, heart swelling with affection. "Me too."

III. MAY 2020

It's baking night, they've decided. A little after dinner, Paige's stomach began growling, and she'd complained to Azzi that she was hungry once more. Azzi wouldn't hear it, considering this was an everyday occurrence. So, Paige had begrudgingly rolled her eyes and gone to the kitchen, searching for a snack. The cupboards were mostly bare if not for ingredients; the Fudds needed to make another grocery trip. But Paige was hungry now, so she began searching into cabinets she'd previously left untouched. Eventually, she reached the smaller ones above the microwave and stove. What she found there made her face light up in an excitement that's been dull for a few days now (what with her and Azzi's family having exhausted most of their quarantine activity ideas). In the cabinet was a litany of baking mixes, frosting, piping bags, and sprinkles.

And, of course, when Paige begged to make cupcakes, Katie and the others were all ears. (What else can they do?)

Paige isn't very good at baking, she's found. They'd had to throw the first batch away after the girl had accidentally spilled far too much milk in, effectively ruining it. It's not her fault; she swears she's out of practice. And she is. The last time she baked was when it was just her and her mom in that apartment, when Paige was still living half-and-half with her parents following their divorce. It was before her mom moved over to Montana, met Paige's step-father, and had two more kids. They'd been cramped in a tiny kitchen, in what Paige's mom called her "temporary apartment" (it was), and it would be too cold outside to take Paige to the playground or let her shoot hoops on the concrete. So, they'd decided to try baking. It was something they loved doing together, but Paige has watched it slowly fade away because now whenever she's in Montana, Ryan and Lauren get their way and they decidedly don't like baking. So, Paige thinks it's okay that she's a little terrible at it considering she hasn't done it since she was practically still in pull-ups.

But here, with Azzi's family, Paige also thinks she can learn to be better at it. Because it's just so easy with them. It's not as if being at home in Minnesota, or being with her mom in Montana, is difficult necessarily. She loves her dad's little house in Hopkins, where the basketball courts freeze over and there's snow more often than not. She loves her dad, who's always pushing her to be better, coaching her even though it's not his job anymore. She loves Drew and his wild need to be just like her, her own personal mini-me. She loves her step-mother and step-brother, who have raised her in more ways than one. And she loves her mom's house in Billings, with its family-fun pool and sprawling backyard. She loves her mom, who will always be her biggest supporter, no matter what. She loves Ryan and Lauren and the endless stories they always have to tell her when she's visiting. But it never quite feels whole, on either side. Almost like there's a little cavity that won't fill, no matter how much amalgam is used to try and whisk it away.

Paige doesn't feel that here with the Fudds. There's no missing puzzle piece, no hole to fill. And she's somehow managed to worm her way right into their welcoming arms. There's this sense of utter belonging she feels here, with them, with the rhythm they've created, and she's grateful. She's grateful for Katie and Tim, who treat her nothing short of another daughter. She's grateful for Jon and Jose, who are a constant source of entertainment and chaos, poking fun and making Paige laugh until her sides ache. She's grateful for Azzi, who's her best friend, her anchor, her constant.

Paige is just grateful to be apart of something so loving and warm, especially now when the world outside is so uncertain.

"Paige, can you pass me the vanilla extract?" Katie's voice echoes from behind the blonde girl's back, pulling her from her thoughts.

Paige's ears perk up at the sound of her name, and she reaches for the small bottle. "Here," she calls, tossing it to her best friend's mother. Katie catches it easily, sending the girl a grateful smile.

Paige then returns her focus back to Azzi, who's focused on mixing the batter, brows furrowed in concentration. It's the same crease she gets when she's playing, Paige realizes easily, having committed every corner of Azzi's features to memory. The blonde feels a rush of warmth when her best friend's arm lightly brushes hers, as if they haven't been practically living in each others skin for weeks now. Paige, entranced and unblinking, watches as Azzi continues mixing, taking note of the way the reflecting sunset highlights her best friend's features through the kitchen window.

Apparently she's been staring for too long, though, because Azzi, exasperated, asks, waving a hand in front of the blonde's face, "Hello, earth to Paige? You good?"

Paige snaps back to reality, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Yeah, just thinkin'," she mutters absentmindedly, shrugging as she tries to play it off. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to lick the spoon," Azzi teases, holding out the batter-covered utensil.

Paige smirks, responding, "Nah, I'll let you do the honors."

The blonde watches as her best friend raises her brows at the rejection, surprised. Paige just shrugs, still smirking. Azzi repeats the action, and then slowly, maybe a little too slowly, brings the spoon up to her lips. She makes eye contact with Paige, keeping the same pace as she licks the utensil, tongue flicking against it before putting the whole thing in her mouth, sucking it clean. Paige feels herself freeze as she watches, breath hitching at Azzi's actions and the look on her face as she does it.

Jesus Christ, Paige curses in her head. It's an anomaly; she's not one to usually think or say the Lord's name in vain. But, seriously, Jesus.

Azzi's smirk is wide as she drops the spoon in the sink. As Paige's eyes scan the younger girl's face, she decides she wants to get her back. She's about to stick her finger in the batter, ready to make a show of licking it clean just as Azzi did to her. But as her finger hovers over the bowl, she feels Katie smack her hand away, effectively ending Paige's plan and the moment she was sharing with Azzi.

"Enough of that," Azzi's mother scolds Paige, but the girl can see the hint of a smile on Katie's lips. "The cupcakes are ready for the oven."

The next half hour is spent cleaning up the mess they've made, with plenty of giggles and a few playful splashes from the sink shared between the two teenage girls. It doesn't take too long for the cupcakes to finish, and the whole family relocates to the back deck to start the decorating process.

"These look amazing," Jose says, eyeing the cupcakes hungrily.

"Wait until we decorate them, fatty," Jon replies, elbowing his brother in the ribs as he picks up a tube of icing.

Paige begins decorating her own cupcake, picking blue and red colors. She hopes she has room for a husky and the word UCONN. She begins to squeeze a swirl of blue icing onto her cupcake, the air filled with the scent of vanilla and laughter as they all concentrate on their own cupcakes.

"I think you missed a spot, P," the blonde hears Jon say from across from her, his voice too innocent to be sincere.

Before she can even look up at him, she feels the cold spelt of frosting hitting her grey sweatshirt. Outraged, she turns to see Jon grinning at her, piping tube filled with hot pink icing still in hand.

"Oh, you are so dead," she says, scooping up a handful of icing and launching it at the younger boy. It hits him square in the chest, and Paige thinks the look of shock on his face is utterly priceless.

Chaos erupts.

Jon retaliates, and it's not long before icing is flying in every direction. Paige dodges a glob of frosting thrown by Jose and responds by smearing a streak of bright red icing across his cheek.

"Hey, stop! You guys are gonna make a mess!" Katie's voice rings out by the door, having backed away from the rambunctious food fight. Beside her, Tim is doubled over on his knees, lungs aching with his wheezing laughter.

The four teenagers pay neither adult a piece of mind. Instead, the deck becomes a war zone. Paige soon finds herself caught in a fierce battle with Azzi. They're both laughing uncontrollably, slipping and sliding on the icing-covered deck. Azzi manages to smear a handful of frosting onto Paige's face, and the blonde retaliates by tackling the younger girl, sending them both crashing to the ground.

They lay there for a moment, breathless and laughing, before Azzi attempts to crawl away. But Paige is determined. She scrambles after Azzi, finally managing to pin her down. As the younger girl squirms beneath the blonde, Paige nuzzles her face into Azzi's neck, smearing icing everywhere.

"Paige! Stop!" Azzi manages to squeal out between laughs; Paige knows her neck is where she's most ticklish. Azzi continues trying to wiggle free, but she's laughing much too hard to put up a real fight.

Paige grins and pulls back slightly, only to realize their faces are inches apart. As Azzi fights to catch her breath, her eyes sparkle with mischief and something else, something deeper. Paige's heart skips a beat at it. She knows they both look ridiculous, covered in icing and laying on the dirty deck, but there's something there, between them. And it makes her heart race and stop all at once.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. Paige feels a rush of emotions—affection, longing, confusion. The three that always seem to be associated with Azzi. She's acutely aware of the younger girl's breath against her skin, the way their bodies are pressed together. It would be so easy to lean in, to close the gap between them. They've done it a couple times before.

Katie's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. "Alright, enough! Go clean up, all of you. This is a disaster."

Paige, coming back to her senses, quickly breaks her stare and rolls off of Azzi, standing up and offering her best friend a hand. She helps Azzi to her feet, and they both glance around, seeing the mess they've made. A few feet away, Jon and Jose do the same.

"We outdid ourselves this time," Paige says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"No kidding," the three Fudd siblings say in unison.

☆

Paige stands under the hot spray of the shower, letting the water wash away the remnants of icing and the chaos from earlier. She closes her eyes, tilting her head back in the water, trying to relax. But all her mind can think about is her best friend, the feeling of her breath on Paige's face, her lips...

Paige is confused.

If only things with Azzi could be a straight path, one without all the twists and turns. She presses her hands against the cool tile wall of the shower, trying to ground herself. The water pours down her back, soothing her muscles but not her mind. Every thought leads back to Azzi, to the way her touch lingers, the way her smile lights up the room. Paige wants to scream, to cry, to laugh—all at once. She hates and loves and loathes and adores the way Azzi makes her feel.

When she and Azzi first kissed—out on that dock nearly two years ago—it had been spontaneous, a sudden burst of emotion that Paige attributed to the weed. It had felt right in the moment, but they had never talked about it, never addressed it. They had just continued as if nothing had changed, even though everything had. And then, each subsequent kiss after only deepened Paige's confusion. Trust her, she's tried to convince herself that they're just best friends who occasionally cross a line that most don't, but deep down, she knows it's more than that. Her feelings for Azzi... they're too much, too saturated, too bright of a burst that Paige can't label them as merely friendly.

It makes her heart and her lungs and her head ache, the uncertainty of it all. She's gone out with other girls, kissed other lips, but none of them compare to Azzi. None of them make her feel like she might implode from one look, one touch. None of them make her heart soar and plummet at the same time. For a while, Paige tried to chase that feeling, kissing all different people, searching for that high. She never found it. Because it always comes back to Azzi, to the way she makes Paige feel alive and terrified at once. It's almost like the younger girl has carved a piece of her heart and kept it, leaving Paige feeling incomplete without her. For Paige, the realization that she likes girls has been a difficult journey, fraught with self-doubt and fear. But coming to terms with her feelings for Azzi is an even greater challenge. It's one thing to accept her own sexuality; it's another to confront the possibility of loving her best friend.

And, of course the knowledge that—other than Paige—Azzi has only gone out with boys adds another layer to the blonde's confusion. It makes her feel like an outsider in Azzi's world, like she's asking for something Azzi can't give. Paige hates that thought, hates the idea of being a complication in Azzi's life. She wants to be everything to Azzi, but she's scared that she'll only end up being a burden. She tries to push those thoughts away, to focus on the present, but it's hard. The fear and longing are too strong, too deeply rooted.

When Paige finishes showering, she towels off and dresses into a Hopkins t-shirt and basketball shorts quickly, not bothering to dry her hair, letting it drip onto the floor as she walks back into Azzi's bedroom. There, she finds Azzi already settled in her bed, searching for something to watch on the TV. It's become basic tradition ever since Paige got here: watching a new movie every night (even though more often than not, they fall asleep during it). Azzi looks up and smiles warmly as Paige enters. It's a smile that makes Paige's heart flutter.

"Find somethin' yet?" Paige asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

Azzi shakes her head. "Not yet. Come help me look."

Paige smiles and climbs into bed beside her. It's almost automatic how they cuddle up together, Azzi's head resting on Paige's shoulder, Paige's arm wrapped around Azzi's waist. This closeness is familiar, comforting, and Paige finds herself shifting her weight into her best friend further, craving the feeling. She thinks she belongs right here, holding Azzi, Azzi holding her.

Eventually, they settle on Love, Rosie. Apparently, Azzi heard it was good on TikTok and decided they should try it.

As the movie starts, Paige's hand begins to move almost unconsciously, tracing small circles and patterns along Azzi's inner thigh. It's something she's done countless times, just another way she expresses physical touch. As she does it, she can feel the warmth of Azzi's skin through the thin fabric of her shorts. It sends shivers down Paige's spine, and she does her best to pay attention to the TV, to ignore the way her chest feels like it's on fire.

However, it's hard to do that when she feels Azzi shift slightly, spreading her legs just a little more. It could be a natural movement, unintentional. But Paige's heart skips a beat anyways, and she glances at Azzi, whose eyes remain fixed on the screen. Paige hesitates for a moment, unsure. And then, very slowly, she inches her hand higher on Azzi's thigh, testing the waters. When Azzi spreads her legs a bit more, Paige knows she's reading the signals right. It makes her heart stop and speed up in one go.

Paige's fingers move with the pace of a snail but ultimately continue their journey upwards until they reach the edge of Azzi's shorts. She leans closer, her breath catching in her throat. "Can I?" she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Azzi nods slowly, her eyes still locked on the TV. Paige slips her fingers under Azzi's shorts and underwear, her touch gentle but deliberate. She's done this with other girls, but it's never felt like this. The anticipation, the excitement, the sheer intensity of the moment is almost overwhelming. She's wanted this for so long, quite literally dreamed of it, and now that it's happening, it feels surreal.

Paige begins to slowly work her fingers on Azzi's clit, movements careful and measured. Her eyes scan the younger girl's face for any sign of discomfort, but all she sees is pleasure. Azzi's breathing slowly grows more ragged, her body responding to Paige's touch in a way that makes Paige's own lungs feel heavy. As she watches Azzi, irises locked on her features, the only word that comes to mind is beautiful.

Unable to resist any longer, Paige leans in and captures Azzi's lips in a kiss. It's only the fourth time they've ever kissed (yes, Paige may have been counting), but it feels like coming home. Azzi's lips are soft and warm, and the way she kisses back is so perfect, so desperate, that it makes Paige dizzy. The little noises Azzi makes underneath her only heighten the intensity, and Paige finds herself smirking against her best friend's lips.

The kiss deepens, becoming more heated, more urgent. Paige's hand moves with more confidence now, her fingers working Azzi's clit with increasing intensity. Azzi moans into the kiss, her body arching against Paige's touch. It's all Paige can do to keep herself grounded, to focus on Azzi and the present.

Paige breaks the kiss just long enough to tear Azzi's shorts and underwear off completely, her hands shaking with a mix of nerves and excitement. She positions herself between Azzi's legs, her fingers slipping inside with a confidence she's never felt before. The feeling of Azzi's warmth, her wetness, is almost too much to bear. Paige moves her fingers in and out, slow at first, then faster as Azzi's moans grow louder.

Azzi's hands grip her sheets, her eyes squeezed shut. Paige watches her, mesmerized by the sight. This is everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever dreamed of. She leans down, capturing Azzi's lips in another kiss, her free hand tangling in Azzi's hair. The kiss is fierce, almost desperate, their tongues tangling as their bodies move together.

"Paige," Azzi whimpers. Hearing her name on Azzi's lips like that sends a jolt of desire—of absolute need—through Paige. She moves her fingers faster, pressing deeper.

And, fuck, as Azzi repeats her name again, Paige can't help herself. She has to taste her best friend.

Paige moves down, her fingers still pumping in and out as she lowers her mouth to Azzi's core. The first taste is intoxicating, and Paige's mind goes blank with desire. She licks and sucks with a hunger she's never felt before, almost primal in a way, her fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony. All she knows is she wants Azzi to feel good, to feel perfect.

Azzi's hips buck against Paige's mouth, her moans growing louder with each passing second. Paige feels like she's drowning in Azzi, in the taste and the smell and the feel of her. It's everything she's ever wanted and more, a dream come true. She can feel Azzi's orgasm building, the way her body tenses and her breathing quickens. Paige redoubles her efforts, determined to make it good.

"Fuck—" Azzi gasps, her voice barely more than a whisper. "'M so close, don't stop."

Paige hums in response, the vibrations sending Azzi over the edge. She comes with a cry, her body shuddering with the force of it. Paige keeps going, prolonging Azzi's pleasure as long as she can.

Finally, Azzi collapses back on the bed, spent. Paige pulls back, her face flushed and her heart racing. She looks down at her best friend, who's gazing up at her with an expression that makes Paige's legs feel like jelly.

"Paige," Azzi whispers the girl's name again, the only word her mind can conjure. Her hands reach for her, and Paige lets herself be pulled in for a kiss. Their lips meet, softer this time. Paige sighs into it—she could kiss Azzi for hours on end and never get sick of it.

The blonde lays down next to Azzi, ready to sleep, ignoring the ongoing movie. However, before Paige can barely close her eyes, she feels them fly open as Azzi shifts so that she's on top of Paige now, straddling her.

Paige flushes pink, mumbling, "Az, you don't have to—"

"Shut up," the younger girl interrupts, effectively halting Paige's words. Azzi leans down, lips finding purchase on the blonde's neck. Immediately, Paige's hands fly up to Azzi's hips, gripping the skin.

However, Azzi stops far too soon for Paige's liking, pulling away. Paige tries to mask her disappointment at the lack of feeling, eyes feeling wide as she watches her best friend's every move.

Azzi leans closer to Paige, lips nearly brushing the older girl's as she toys with the strings of Paige's basketball shorts. Paige feels her breathing stop.

"Do you want this?" Azzi asks, fingers slowly undoing the tie.

Paige nods, probably a little too quick and a little too enthusiastically. "Yes."

Azzi smirks. "Good."

IV. MARCH 2022

Azzi stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking back with a set determination. It's been weeks since she's gone out with the team, weeks since she's allowed herself to think about anything other than basketball. Tonight, she's determined to let loose, to have fun, and to forget about everything that's happened with Paige, if only for a few hours.

"Az, you look great," Caroline says, standing beside her and applying the final touches to her own makeup.

"She's right," Amari pitches in from where she sits on the closed toilet seat. "If Paige doesn't take you home tonight, I will."

Caroline gives Amari a little slap on the arm for bringing up the "P word," as she's dubbed it. Since the fight and the ultimate end, or break, or whatever it is, of Paige and Azzi, Azzi has made it clear that she doesn't want to talk about the Bueckers girl if not necessary. And Caroline has respected that, doing everything she can to distract her friend from anything Paige-related (unless it came to basketball, of course).

Azzi lets herself smile a little, interjecting, "Carol, it's okay." But then she does give Amari a pointed look, saying firmly, "But I will not be going home with Paige tonight. That would only make things even more fucked than they already are."

Amari nods in understanding as Caroline glances at Azzi whilst putting her lip gloss on. "So, if not Paige..." she starts in a questioning tone, "will you be going home with someone else?"

Azzi sighs, shrugging. "Depends on what happens, who I run into," she responds. "Could be a good distraction, though."

She doesn't miss the worry that flashes in Caroline's eyes at that, but she also doesn't have it in herself to care about why. She's in college, fucking someone to get her mind off something isn't exactly uncommon.

Nonetheless, Azzi appreciates Caroline's support in more ways than she can express. She knows her friend has noticed the change in her over the past few weeks, the way she's thrown herself into training with an almost obsessive fervor. Basketball has always been her refuge, but, lately, it's become her lifeline, a way to drown out the pain of seeing Paige with other girls, of knowing she isn't enough for the person she loves most.

Azzi takes a deep breath and adjusts the strap of her top. It's a lilac number which truthfully could pass more as a bra than the cropped tank it's labeled as. She wears it with her new, perfect jeans which she knows hug her in all the right places. She hasn't worn anything like this in ages, preferring the comfort of sweatpants and oversized hoodies. But tonight is different. Tonight, she wants to look and feel her best (and maybe get someone to help her with that last part).

"Let's go," Azzi says, squaring her shoulders. She grabs her wallet and follows Caroline and Amari out of the bathroom and into the living room where the rest of their teammates have been waiting, Paige excluded. Azzi doesn't know where the blonde is. She tells herself that she doesn't care either.

As they walk to the bar, the chilly Storrs air nipping at their skin, Azzi can't help but think about the last time she went out with the team. She remembers the way Paige had laughed and flirted with other girls, the way she'd entertained their advances while Azzi stood by, pretending it didn't bother her. But it had. It had hurt more than she'd ever let on, and it was that night—where she watched Paige willingly leave the bar with another girl that wasn't Azzi, not even bothering to say goodbye to her best friend—that had solidified her decision to end whatever undefined thing they had between them.

Ted's is buzzing with energy and life when they arrive, music thumping and people crowding. Almost immediately, Aubrey and Aaliyah are pulling Azzi to the dance floor, getting swept up into the excitement. Azzi goes with it, swaying her hips to the music and laughing with her teammates.

Of course, it isn't long before Azzi sets eyes on her best friend, bright blonde hair sticking out in the sea of people. Quick after, Nika, from beside Azzi, catches sight of the girl, too, eagerly calling her name and waving her over.

When she approaches, Azzi doesn't even give her the satisfaction of looking at her. She is not letting Paige Bueckers ruin her night.

☆

And yet, despite her proclamation, Azzi thinks she may indeed be letting Paige Bueckers ruin her night.

The brunette girl leans against the bar, vision blurry as she tries to focus on the bartender, on the who-knows-what-number drink of the night in her hand, on anything that is not the corner of the bar on her left side. It doesn't work. Curiosity manages to get the best of her, and she finds her eyes sliding over. She watches as Paige flirts with some girl, smirking as she leans down and says something into the girl's ear. Azzi's stomach twists with jealousy and longing. She's been in that position before, knowing exactly how it feels to have Paige's breath warm against her skin, her words sending shivers down her spine. Now, all she can do is watch. It makes her want to die that she isn't the one with Paige, and that she's the reason she isn't.

You did this, she tells herself as she takes a sip from the glass in her hand, letting the alcohol burn down her throat, hoping it'll numb the ache in her chest. (It doesn't.)

"Hey, you're Azzi Fudd, right?" a voice sounds on Azzi's left side.

At the sound of her name, Azzi glances over, eyes landing on some guy probably a year or two older than herself. He's tall—taller than Azzi—with blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes that twinkle in the light. He's cute, she thinks half-heartedly.

"That's me," Azzi responds, managing a smile.

"I'm Sam," the guy introduces himself, sending her a grin of his own. It's charming, the kind that most girls would swoon over. Azzi hardly even blinks at it.

They chat for a bit, Azzi allowing herself to enjoy the attention, though admittedly pretending to be more interested than she is. He's funny, though, and she laughs at his jokes, letting herself put a hand on his arm flirtatiously. But even as she entertains him, a part of her can't stop thinking about Paige, especially because she's right behind Sam, talking to someone who isn't Azzi.

Azzi tries not to sigh, thinking about how many times they've done this. Gone out, had fun, flirted with other people, only to end up in each other's arms by the end of the night. Still, she knows she can't do that. She refuses to let herself get sucked back into that cycle.

However, as Azzi continues harmlessly flirting with Sam, she manages to catch Paige's gaze from across the bar. She watches as Paige takes in the sight of her and the Sam, eyes narrowing slightly, a challenge in them. Azzi feels a spark of defiance ignite in her chest. If Paige can flirt with other people, so can she.

Quickly, the conversation with Sam becomes a sort of competition. Azzi flirts more boldly, leaning closer, laughing louder, all while keeping an eye on Paige. Paige, in turn, seems to double down on her own flirting, making sure Azzi sees every touch, every smirk. It's maddening, and yet, it only fuels Azzi's resolve.

"Wanna get outta here?" Sam asks lowly, eyes trailing to the door.

Azzi smirks and nods, letting him take her hand. As they make a beeline for the exit, Azzi feels a rush of triumph in her chest. She's won this twisted game, if only for a moment.

But before they can leave, Azzi feels a more familiar hand encircle her wrist, pulling her away from Sam. It's Paige, of course. Azzi wants nothing more than to scream at the blonde as she gives Sam a short, apologetic smile, saying, "I'm so sorry, I really need to talk to Azzi for a second."

Anyone that knows anything about UCONN basketball knows that Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd are a package deal, so Sam, looking a bit disappointed but understanding, nods and lets go of Azzi's hand. Azzi mutters protests to Paige as she's practically dragged to the bathroom by the older girl.

Once inside, Azzi barely has time to process everything before Paige has her pushed against the wall, kissing her fiercely. The suddenness and intensity of it makes Azzi's head spin. Her body responds instinctively, hands reaching for Paige, gripping the skin of the blonde's waist. And then she remembers herself. Azzi's eyes fly open and she pushes Paige off, her anger flaring.

"Stop, Paige! What the fuck?" Azzi practically shouts, voice echoing in the small space.

Paige stares at her breathlessly, baby blue eyes looking foolishly innocent as they contort with confusion. "Why? We both want this."

Azzi shakes her head, trying to settle the fuzziness of the alcohol. "No, Paige, we can't. I can't."

"Why not?" Paige demands, stepping closer again. Azzi puts a hand on her bare stomach to stop her. It sends a jolt through her, and she's quick to remove it.

As they stand there, face to face, Azzi can't help but let her mind wander to their last real conversation that wasn't just a murmur here and there on the court or on the bench. It was a few weeks ago, the morning after Paige had left the bar with that girl. It was early, Azzi still half-asleep as she felt her best friend crawl into her bed, maneuvering herself into Azzi's arms. Azzi had welcomed the embrace sleepily, before her mind traced back to the events of the night before. How lonely Azzi had been at the bar while Paige outright ignored her, how she'd gone home early feeling nothing short of miserable. And it only got worse when Azzi's eyes flew open to see Paige sporting a UCONN volleyball shirt, no doubt from the girl she'd fucked last night over Azzi.

And then they'd fought. Azzi was uncharacteristically mean, words biting at Paige's every movement. She could tell Paige was confused, but when Azzi pointed out what she was wearing, everything seemed to click into place. Paige apologized, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, because—very clearly—Azzi wasn't enough for her.

Azzi didn't tell her that, of course. Instead, she'd ended it. Just like that.

And they haven't spoken since.

Until now.

"Why not, Azzi?" Paige demands again, voice raising slightly as her breath fans against Azzi's face.

Azzi takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the alcohol and her words pressing hard against her chest. "Because I can't keep doing this, Paige! I can't keep pretending that it doesn't hurt every time I see you with someone else! I can't keep acting like it's okay to be your best friend who you casually fuck when I'm in love with you!"

Paige's eyes widens, but Azzi presses on, the words tumbling out of her in a rush. "Yes, I've been in love with you for years, Paige. And every time you're with someone else, it hurts. I thought I could handle it, but I can't. I thought that maybe, when I came here, things would change. That we'd stop seeing other people, that we could be together for real. But I was wrong. Clearly, I'm not enough for you. And it fucking kills me. I can't keep watching you with other girls and pretending it doesn't hurt. I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with just being your friend. Because I'm not. I want to be everything to you, and it hurts that I'm not. And it hurts even more that I know you don't want me to."

Paige stands there, speechless, her eyes wide with shock. As she stares, Azzi realizes exactly what she's done. She's just spilled all of her well-kept secrets and feelings, and it makes her feel sick. She is going to be sick.

"You're in love with me?" Paige asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before Azzi can answer, she feels the familiar bout of nausea rise up. She rushes into one of the stalls, puking into the toilet, all the drinks from the night spilling from her guts. Almost immediately, Paige is right behind her, holding her hair back, ever the best friend.

When Azzi is done, there's a long, quiet moment. The reality of what she's just confessed hangs heavily in the air. She doesn't know whether to cry or scream or run away. Maybe all three.

Maybe none.

"You need water, and some carbs, too," Paige murmurs softly, voice gentle as she swipes a hand through Azzi's hair in an attempt to comfort her.

Azzi doesn't say a word, too drained and emotionally spent to respond. She lets Paige help her up, and together, they leave Ted's, Paige's steady hand on her back as they exit the bar. Azzi's body trembles with the aftereffects of alcohol and the intense outpouring of emotions. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling utterly drained. Paige tries to guide her, but Azzi steps away, keeping her distance, needing space.

Azzi follows Paige's lead in the night air, walking alongside her. It's cool outside, helping to clear her head a little. They walk in silence, the only sounds the occasional car passing by and their footsteps on the pavement. Paige stays close, but Azzi can feel the tension between them, an invisible barrier that she can't bring herself to cross.

Eventually, they arrive at a small diner. The neon sign buzzes softly, casting a warm glow over the entrance. Paige holds the door open, and Azzi steps inside, the smell of greasy food and coffee hitting her immediately. It's oddly comforting.

They find a booth near the back, away from the few other patrons scattered around. Azzi slides into the seat, her body feeling heavy and sluggish. Paige sits across from her, and for a moment, they just look at each other, the weight of the night hanging between them.

When the waitress comes over, Paige orders for both of them, getting burgers and waters. Azzi doesn't have the energy to object. She just needs something to settle her stomach and clear her head.

As they wait, Azzi stares at the table, tracing patterns in the worn Formica surface. Her mind is a hurricane of thoughts and emotions, the confession she made to Paige replaying over and over again. She feels raw, exposed, and utterly vulnerable. She hates it.

At one point, she glances up and catches Paige staring at her, her expression a mix of concern and something softer, something that makes Azzi's heart ache. Paige's lips part, and she murmurs, her voice barely audible, "Azzi—"

"Don't," Azzi interrupts firmly, her voice trembling slightly. "Please, just don't."

Paige's face falls, but she nods, looking down at her hands. The silence between them stretches out, heavy and oppressive. All Azzi knows is that she can't bear to hear whatever Paige has to say. She doesn't want to know if it's pity, regret, or something else. She isn't ready for any of it.

The waitress brings their food, and Azzi takes a bite of her burger, the familiar taste grounding her somewhat. She sips her water, feeling the cool liquid soothe her throat. Paige eats in silence as well, and Azzi occasionally catches her glancing up to watch her, though never saying a word.

As they eat, Azzi's mind trails back to their time together, the stolen moments and secret kisses. She thinks about the mornings spent tangled in each other's arms, the way Paige's touch made her feel alive and cherished. But those moments were always fleeting, overshadowed by the reality of their situation. They were never truly together, just best friends who blurred the lines and hurt each other in the process.

Azzi's chest tightens as she reminds herself about all the girls Paige has been with, the countless nights spent in other beds. It hurts to think about, to know that she isn't enough for Paige, that she can't be the one to make her stay. The jealousy and pain are like a constant thorn in her side, a reminder of everything she wants but can't have.

She sneaks a glance at the blonde, who picks at her food, lost in thought. Azzi wonders if Paige feels the same, if there's any part of her that wants more, that feels the same ache and longing. She thinks there has to be. There have been too many moments that seem so domestic, so intimate that some corner of Paige's heart has to feel something other than friendship with Azzi. But she can't bring herself to ask. Not now, not when everything feels so raw, like a fresh wound.

The rest of the meal passes in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. When they finish, it's Paige that pays the bill. And then they leave the diner, stepping back into the cool night air. Azzi still keeps her distance, heart heavy.

When they reach Azzi's apartment, she fumbles with her keys, the silence stretching unbearably. She opens the door and steps inside, ready to close it behind her. But then Paige's small voice halts her movements and she pauses.

"Azzi?"

Azzi turns, and she feels her heart clench at the sight of Paige, eyes filled with unshed tears. Azzi stands there, unable to speak, her breath catching in her throat.

Paige takes a hesitant step forward, her voice trembling. It's very un-Paige-like. "Can I say something? Please?"

Azzi nods, throat tight. She can't refuse Paige anything, not when she looks so vulnerable.

She watches as Paige takes a deep breath, before her words begin spilling out in a rush. "I'm so sorry, Azzi. For all the other girls, for everything. If I'd known how you felt, I never would have done any of it. I was scared. Scared of how strong my feelings are for you, scared of what it would mean for us. We're so young, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship and everything we have. And even if it didn't ruin things, I was scared that one day it would all fall apart. My parents divorced, my mom and dad both divorced from my step-parents... I don't know how to believe in something lasting."

Paige's voice breaks, and she wipes at her eyes. "But, Azzi, even though I'm scared, I want to try. If you still want to, I want to try. Because I'm in love with you, too. So fucking in love with you. And I have been since I met you at those basketball trials. You were so perfect and beautiful and it's like as soon as you told me your name, I knew I was a goner."

Azzi's breath hitches, and she feels wetness on her cheeks from tears she doesn't register shedding. Paige's words cut through her defenses, melting the walls she's built around her heart. This is Paige, her Paige, standing there with her heart in her hands.

Without thinking, Azzi reaches out, pulling Paige inside and kissing her hard. Paige responds immediately, her arms wrapping around Azzi's waist, pulling her closer. The kiss is fierce, desperate, and full of all the emotions they've kept bottled up for so long.

In between kisses, Paige murmurs against Azzi's lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Azzi giggles and her heart feels like bursting. Finally.

V. APRIL 2022

Considering everything they’ve gone through after all this time, it’s a little odd that this is their first real date.

Paige can’t help but smile as she watches Azzi get ready in their hotel room. The sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over Azzi’s face. It’s nice to have a moment together without all the stress of the past month. No basketball, no fans, no pressure—just them.

Paige has been planning this date for weeks, determined to make it perfect. She wants nothing more than to create a memory that’ll belong to just the two of them, something that’ll mark the beginning of their new chapter. Sure, it’s a little bittersweet that it came the day after losing the national championship, but maybe that’s fitting. Paige knows they can both use a little joy after the disappointment.

“Ready?” she asks, grabbing her keys and their jackets.

Azzi nods, excitement and curiosity shining in her eyes. “Definitely. What’s the plan?”

Paige grins, her heart pounding. “It’s a surprise, but I promise you’ll love it.”

They leave the hotel together, walking through the crisp air of Minneapolis. It’s a city that both of them are rather familiar with. However, Paige can tell as they continue walking that Azzi doesn’t know this particularly part that they’re in. It makes her glad; more of a surprise.

Finally, they reach it. Paige stops walking, letting Azzi take in what they’re doing. They’re in front of a small, charming theater. The marquee reads: “Private Screening — Welcome, Paige and Azzi.”

“You rented out a theater?” Azzi asks, eyes widening in surprise.

Paige nods, now a bit nervous that the moment is finally here. “Yeah. I thought it would be better to go somewhere where it could be just the two of us, no interruptions. No distractions.”

Azzi smiles, that smile that Paige will never be able to get enough of, and murmurs, “It’s perfect, P.” And then, she adds, as they enter the building, “What movie are we watching?”

Paige just shakes her head, letting that be a surprise, too. Besides, it shouldn’t be hard for Azzi to guess: they share the same favorite movie, after all.

The staff greets the pair, leaving them to the theater they’re watching in. Paige anxiously watches Azzi’s face as they enter, wanting everything to be perfect. Inside, there’s blankets and snacks—and, on the screen, the opening credits of “Love & Basketball” begins to play.

Azzi lets out a little laugh at that, muttering into the skin of Paige’s shoulder, “I should’ve known.”

Paige grins down at the younger girl, glad she’s happy with what they’re doing. And, as they watch the movie that both of them can probably quote word-for-word, she continues stealing glances at the girl, her heart swelling with affection. Azzi looks completely at ease, her eyes glued to the screen, a soft smile playing on her lips. This movie had always been special to them, their favorite—and, after all, the first movie they ever watched together.

As the movie continues, Paige’s thoughts drift. She lets herself think about the journey that had brought them here, the highs and lows, the moments of doubt and certainty. She thinks about the first time she realized she was in love with Azzi, the fear of ruining their friendship, the countless nights spent wondering what could be. She thinks about how she had been terrified at first, afraid of the intensity of her own feelings. But, eventually, she couldn’t deny the truth any longer. She was—she is—in love with Azzi, deeply and irrevocably. And, after Azzi had confessed her feelings that night in the bar, everything had changed.

Paige reaches over, intertwining her fingers with Azzi’s. Azzi turns to her, eyes locking with Paige’s, nothing but deep, true love in them. Paige feels a rush of emotion at it, overwhelmed by the depth of her feelings. It’s nothing new; Azzi manages to make Paige feel like this every single day.

“I love you,” Paige whispers, her voice barely audible over the movie’s dialogue.

Azzi’s eyes soften, and she leans in to kiss Paige gently. “I love you, too.”

Eventually, the movie ends and they leave the theater, going to get dinner. And, as the sky begins to darken and their date begins to end, Paige can’t help but think that she wants every first to be with Azzi, as well as every last. There’s no one else, and there will never be anyone else ever again. And, even if she’s getting ahead of herself, even if this is their first “real” date, Paige knows she wants to spend the rest of her life with Azzi.

And she fucking plans to.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #uconn #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi fic #wcbb

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sleepinghypnos · 6 months

Text

The Creed...

Chapter 1 - Penthouse

Genre: Smut

Tags: F/M, F/F/M, F/F/F/M, Facefuck, Throatfucking Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Harem, Self-degradation, Masochism/Sadism(?), Cum Play, Piss Play

(The things in the tags will be present when the time needs for it.)

Disclaimer: This work is a fan-fiction and does not depict the person/people mentioned in the story.

A/N: You can self-insert if you want...

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

"What is it? I'm preoccupied, so make it quick." Vlad answered the call.

"Fine. Just send them to my house... but I will not be responsible if something happens to them." He replied with his slightly deep voice and end the call.

*Silenced Gunshot*

"Blame your competitor, not me." Vlad immediately packed up his sniper rifle and fled the scene while remembering what one of his close associates in the entertainment industry said few moments ago, he begged him to accommodate a number of female K-pop idols for the purpose of strengthening the bond between idols through a experimental project wherein they live together as Tenants, cameras will not be present just them living together and at the end of their time as tenants they will do an interview regarding the way of life living with other k-pop idols aside from their respective members. In this way, the fandoms of each k-pop group will stop fighting over trivial things on the internet and support other idols.

Vladimir Creed was a 26 year old Half-European and Half-American man. His parents died in a car accident when he was still a child and only his grandfather is his only family left. He's living a lavish lifestyle full of money, expensive cars and women...

His family or more like his grandfather founded a huge company in America and owns many stocks in the entertainment industry in Korea and since Vlad is not someone who actively makes himself noticeable or well-known, he parties without revealing his true identity to anyone with a few exception of course, he has few actual friends and all of them are also young masters of their own families just like he was and he rarely expresses his emotions so he has a hard time managing it.

In his typical days, he spends most of his time just relaxing in his penthouse, in which he bought himself with his own money. though it may seem strange since he parties every chance he get, he has a very unique talent and that is being a hired gun that even his grandfather didn't know.

And while relaxing, he usually goes naked after a shower because there is no one in the house, It's is personal space after all. His maids and butlers will only come if they were asked for and he cooks for himself.

His penthouse is in a small island near the coast and there is only one bridge connected to it. So, guests who'll visit the island can use the bridge without the need of boats.

...

Vlad arrived at his house but welcomed by cars parked near the main gate. "What the fuck is this?" He said to himself, he got out of his car to check what's going on then he remembered Eunseok, one of his close associates said few hours ago. "Now it makes."

Then he called one of the guards to let him pass, and so they did. He drove and the people blocking the path dispersed and he got in smoothly.

"Let them in, they are going to live here indefinitely." Vlad announced to the guards and went inside to change.

Most of the people outside the penthouse are already inside the living area, he saw the k-pop idols waiting for the master of the house.

"I'm Vladimir Creed, but you can call me Vlad. I'm the owner of this house, my friend already told me what you guys are going to do. So feel free live here." and he looked at managers of each of the group "There are places in the house that is not available, I don't care if they used the swimming pool, drink at the bar." Pointing at the wet bar near the kitchen. "Or anything, but, all of third floor is off limits because that's where my room is located."

The producer nodded and introduce the idols that will be living with him in the house.

He extended his hand for a handshake to ITZY's Yuna and Ryujin, Aespa's Karina and Winter, (G)-Idle's Soyeon and Miyeon, Red Velvet's Irene, Seulgi, and Joy, and Twice's Sana, Mina, and Nayeon which they received with a smile.

One day has passed, the girls are eating lunch in the long refectory table since they woke up late just like Vlad was and the maids and butlers were there to assist them.

After lunch, the Red Velvet and Twice members were gathered in the backyard, enjoying a beautiful sunny day by the pool. They were relaxing and chatting about their recent performances, when they suddenly heard a splash from the pool.

Curious, they all turned to see Nayeon filling up a water gun and aimed at them. Panic set in as they scream and run around the pool to avoid getting wet since they just want to enjoy the sun.

Running made them exhausted and they decided to have a friendly water fight. Joy and Seulgi teamed up against Sana and Mina, Nayeon and Irene. Laughter and screams filled the air as they chased each other around the pool, trying to get each other wet

In the living room, Ryujin and Karina were sharing a bucket of ice cream while watching a romantic K-drama. They were joined by Soyeon and Miyeon, who couldn't resist the delicious smell of the popcorn. They all cuddled under a blanket, enjoying the show and teasing each other about their favorite characters. Yuna and Winter are busy doing some tiktok challenge.

As the sun set, the members of ITZY, Aespa, and (G)-Idle joined their sun-kissed Seniors in the pool. They all gathered around the pool, sharing stories, and having a heart-to-heart conversation. For a moment, the backyard was filled with the sound of their laughter and friendship.

As the night came, they all gathered in the living room to watch a movie together. They munched on some snacks and cuddled on the couch, enjoying their time together. It was a perfect day off for all of them, a day filled with laughter, bonding, and memories that they will cherish forever.

Karina asked the butler where Vlad was and she was led to the study where he spends time if he's not doing anything.

When Karina entered the study, she was met with a tall, imposing figure staring at her from behind a large oak desk. Vlad's dark hair was slicked back, and he exuded a sense of power and mystery. Karina couldn't help but feel a pull towards him, she already know that this man is handsome the moment she land her eyes on him earlier in the morning.

"Um, Sir? I just want to asked if we can have some of the liquor in the wet bar." She asked while slowly approaching him.

"Didn't I told you girls that you can do whatever you want with the wet bar?" He answered and walked to towards her. "And you're asking me when you already half drunk."

Karina got embarrassed but it faded when a faint smile appeared on Vlad's lips, she was mesmerized. "Are you sure that's the reason why you're here?" he was close to her, Karina needs to look up just to meet his eyes.

Karina pulls him for a kiss and reciprocated it with the same intensity. It started as vanilla kissing until in turns into something like animals in heat and eventually began to make out with insane passion. Vlad grab her waist to pull her closer, her hands were hugging his neck.

He noticed she wanted more and so he obliged and brought one hand to feel up her breasts which made Karina moan between their kisses.

Their kiss was passionate, Vlad keeping her in his arms while she let herself be consumed by him. It lasted for few minutes until they both stopped quietly staring at each other.

"D-did you like it?" Karina said while catching her breathe.

"I did, your lips are sweet with a hint of whiskey... you really were half drunk." Brushing his thumb on her lips. "Want me to lead this time?" he asked her while caressing her face.

"Yes, please." Karina said.

“Do you think could handle it?” Vlad responded seemingly showing concern.

Karina nodded. “I did have my own few boyfriends before...”

“I won't doubt it but... I get rough. Really rough. I'm sure it's something you haven't experience before..."

“You are worrying about me and that's sweet but I think I'm gonna be fine... please don't hold back and just give it to me.” She said while making a serious face.

Vlad's hand roam towards her neck and stayed there and slowly gripping it. Her cunt throb as they kiss again and slowly stripping each other’s clothes off, his hands still in her neck slightly choking her.

As their bodies got liberated from their clothing, Vlad immediately attacks Karina's big breasts making her moan, her hands couldn't resist to push his head closer. His other hand goes to Karina's precious treasure and starts invading it.

"This fucking slutty tits of yours keeps leering people on." Vlad said while groping her breasts and assaulting them with his tongue...

"Fuck! Yes! It feels good, sir." Karina said.

Which made Vlad riled up even more. "Sir?" He stopped groping her breast.

"You don't like being called like that? I'll change it." She said while pleading to continue to pleasure her.

He doesn't like getting called Daddy/Oppa. The women he's been with keeps calling him that and he got bored by it, now he prefers to called by his name but this time around is different.

Sir? of all the things that someone can be called... Sir is the one getting him riled up.

"No, keep it that way... now get on your knees whore." Vlad said with a commanding aura. “I’m going to use your mouth as a fleshlight. Pull my cock out.”

Karina didn't expect the monster hiding beneath his pants. She could see the bulge of his massive cock. Now she knows why he said 'Something she haven't experience before.' because it's true. He is much bigger than the guys she's been with. So much bigger. She feels hotter and hotter than usual.

Vlad's dick stands proud at 10 inches and is almost girthy as a water bottle.

“You are so massive, fucking massive!” Karina said as she freed his cock and hit her in the face. She stare at his huge member mesmerized by it.

“My god! Why are you so big? Can you even use this?” She said as she grabbed his cock with with both hands. "And you're going to use my mouth with this thing?"

"What? Are you scared? I told you I'm rough and I mean it." He said seriously. "You are going to take every inch of my cock in your throat whether you like it or not."

Karina got nervous but her lust towards him is much heavier.

She showered his cock with kisses, admiring every inch, as if she's worshipping his massive member.

"Suck it." And she did, she gives him a slow and sensual blowjob, keeping her eyes on him.

"You came in her just to do that?"

“What do you mean, Sir?”

He grabbed her by the hair she opened her mouth and swallowed as much of him as she possibly could.

COUGH COUGH COUGH

Relaxing her throat as she let his girthy cock push through her throat. She struggled for a minute and he's watching her giving herself to him.

Vlad guides her and she bobbed her head up and down to see how deep she could take him over and over and over again. Her eyes were tearing up, saliva dripping down as she takes his girthy cock in her throat.

She taps his legs but Vlad ignored her protests and stayed in her throat. "I told you, I'm rough... you don't know what you get yourself into."

He is fucking her throat with reckless abandon and not caring if she can still breathe. Few seconds more and he let go and she breathe hastily. "Sh-shit! I almost passed out." She coughs. "Fuck!"

"Just accept your role as my slut from now on." He slaps her face with his massive heavy cock.

He forced his cock back into her throat. She gives in, letting this man use her mouth and throat as a fleshlight. Her eyes were rolled back into her head.

GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK

Her moaning and gagging sounds filled the study, the moonlight touches her silky white skin enhancing her beauty further while her throat is getting violated. Even though she already accepted her fate, she still needs to breathe and she tried to struggle for air but failed.

“MMMPPHKKKK!” She resists and got ignored.

“Just stay there, don't regret your decisions now.” Vlad said and spent another three seconds before letting Karina go.

She chokes and gags even though she's already freed from that monster of a cock. “Did I... do a good job, Sir?” She asked noticeably exhausted. She then received another batch of throatfucking and this time, it's much easier but it still hurts.

GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK

She's taking it like a good little slut, moaning and groaning every time Vlad thrusts too deep in her throat. Karina became accustomed to the massive rod destroying her tight throat and she slowly but surely loving the way he manhandle her without any care about her well-being.

"I'm cumming you little slut!" He said and starts speeding up in his assaults. After all of this, he gave her some leeway and pull his cock out of her mouth. "Want to drink it?"

“YES! T-thank you, feed me your c-cum! Please sir, I'm begging you!!!” She said before he shoved his cock back into her mouth again.

Vlad reached his climax and poured it all in Karina's throat, he releases an obscene amount of cum like he's been holding it for long while. She willingly swallow every bit of it. Few ropes of his cum left in her mouth, she put on a show by gurgling, swirling her tongue cover of his cum then swallowing it.

“Oh my god... fucking hell... that was heavenly!” She said as she crawled over to him and started to lick his shaft cleaning it. “I need to be treated like that again, Sir. Please! You are right, I never experienced that before..”

"Oh, That's only the beginning little slut." He said while grabbing her in the neck and pulling her up.

A/N: Another Series that I might abandon but... oh well. I planned on doing the Bodyguard EP. 6 but idk when to actually do it.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fic #itzy smut #aespa smut #kpop #red velvet smut #twice smut #(g)-idle smut #karina smut

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 months

Text

The Rite: Consequence (VI)

A link to The Rite Masterlist is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (6) It's the day of The Rite 🙈And whether Loki succeeds or fails in capturing your pleasure (and your heart) - there will be consequences. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. Smut. I am begging, pleading for your trust. (w/c 5.6k)

Loki blocked the fall of the blade with a hanging guard, catching his brother’s wild stare through the angle of his arm.

Dust scraped across his eyes from the training ring, but he blinked it away. They both glistened with mid-afternoon sweat - muscles straining; all hard veins and gritted teeth.

Loki licked his lips, tasting salt, and his arm began to quiver beneath the press of his brother’s blade – but he wouldn’t relent. He never did.

The Rite was only hours away.

It began at sundown. He wasn’t allowed to see you, and beating his brother into the dirt was as good a distraction as any. Better than the ones I’m used to.

And besides, after the two of you had talked until sunrise – about everything and anything that avoided the question of love – there was nothing more to be done.

If Fandral had told you about the second part of The Rite, he was glad you hadn’t raised it. He didn’t think he could bear knowing its outcome in advance. Better the short, sharp shock of shame than its clammy shadow. Better to whisper in your ear and devour your lips and feel your hand searching the angles of him until he was sick with painful desire.

“Yield,” Loki grit. A thick strand of hair had come loose, trailing over his vision. The furrow of Thor’s frown grew deeper.

“Why would I? I have you on the run, little brother.” A soft grunt broke in Loki’s throat. He flexed his shoulder and parried Thor’s sword to the side with force, kicking the blonde’s left foot from under him in the same movement. Thor slammed down into the sand; sprawling and sword clattered against the stone beneath.

“You don’t fight fair, Loki” “Maybe you should fight better.” Thor scrambled to his feet, sand sticking in clumps to the sweat gathered on his chest. “I am the greatest warrior this realm has ever known because I fight with honour.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Honour,” he spat. “At least you shan’t have your ill-gotten reputation in the histories as its greatest lover for much longer.” Thor hacked a wad of dust-gritted saliva and spat it to his feet. He looked up with a twisted smile. “I don’t know about that, Loki. Of the two of us you’ve always been seen as the bigger whore. A talented one for certain, but a whore all the same. And soon enough, your Rite partner will join the throng; be forgotten like the rest.” Before he knew it, Loki’s dagger was at Thor’s throat.

His vision flashed white, and behind him came the jangle of armoured guards, circling them with their spears readied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thor’s hands rise to steady them.

“Brother…” Thor said slowly, “I know you’re nervous, but killing me really would remove any chance you have at the succession—”

“—I won’t take insult from those who wax lyrical about honour and leave their loin’s fruit to the vultures.” Thor frowned. “What are you talking about?” He tried to look down at the blade glinting by his thorax and only succeeded in nicking his skin. “Ow.” Loki released a withering sigh, flipping the dagger away and kicking Thor’s foot from beneath him. The other one, this time. His brother crumpled like a wet towel. He turned, seeing several of the guards’ facial expressions flinch between the gaps in their helmets.

“Disperse,” he muttered, striding past them and wondering mildly how long it would be until Odin found out. He needed to bathe. He needed to be alone. I need to be with her. But he couldn’t have that; so alone, it would be.

“Don’t worry brother,” he said dryly as he scraped sweat-soaked hair off his face. “I’m sure none of father’s spies will impart that you were bested by a whore.” Thor’s blustering protestations made a smirk curl the corner of his mouth. He must remember to tell you about this, when all was said and done: when the succession was set in stone, when the home for abandoned children was secured, when he knew that you loved him. And as he exited the training ring, Loki realised with horrifying clarity that one of those possibilities hung around his neck like a millstone: heavier than the others – threatening to collapse him to his knees.

If she loves me, he re-worded in his mind, beginning to walk a little quicker to the safety of solitude.

You’d been woken in late morning and bustled with minimal ceremony to the private baths on the upper floors of the palace.

Once there, your day-gown had been stripped by a flurry of exquisitely beautiful maids; each dressed in blue fabric as thin as gauze, hair like pure, precious metals. How you hated them.

You hadn’t realised you wouldn’t see Loki until The Rite itself until he’d told you last night before you parted ways. You’d kissed him so roughly against the wall, fingers digging into his scalp, that you’d almost passed out from lack of oxygen.

And now…here, with the most impossibly beautiful nymphs in all of Asgard – it felt like there was no time. You need to be near him. Isn’t that how love works? But then, you wouldn’t know. You suddenly wondered if absence before the ceremony was really part of the tradition, or if Odin and the rest of them were trying to keep you apart. Hoping he’ll fail. —Stop being so paranoid.

Steam rose from the hot spring, undulating like flame as one of the nymphs massaged your shoulders. I wonder what Loki’s doing. Does he miss me? Is he nervous…? You lifted one calf out of the water where you’d perched at the edge of the baths, the scent of orange oil thick in your nostrils. Suddenly the fingers stopped working, and she leant down. “Loki’s very good, you know. Everyone knows it’s his favourite thing to do to a woman, or a man. You’re so lucky.” She giggled, and your stomach tightened with a wave of inexplicable anger. “I’m jealous. They say he does this thing with his tongue that—" “—Oh hush, Mavor.” You winced as Frigga’s chide sparked like a lit match. She settled, dangling her feet in the pool beside yours. “Leave the poor girl alone, I’m sure the past few days have been much to contend with.”

You turned fractionally, almost blinded by the golden assault of her sunlit hair. She’s staring at you, faint crows-feet scrunched from the vaguely discomforting smile on her lips. “What happened last night with Fandral was improper. What must you think of us?” “I don’t think it of you,” you lied, memories of the sick little girl cinching tight around your mind; the fact that Fandral and all the other court-wankers had no clue that Loki was the one clearing up their mess, doing any real good. But it was a secret, and a secret it would remain.

And then you remembered what Lagertha said when the nurse had thanked the gods. ‘Not the gods,’ she’d said, beaming with pride as Loki blushed. ‘This one’s the only one worth having.’

Frigga’s close-lipped smile grew. “We can’t blame Fandral for being in love with Loki, even if his methods were…”

Your eyebrow rose. “Petty? Spiteful? Unforgiveable?”

Frigga laughed: a practiced, twinkling chirp. “When you live as long as we do, dear…nothing is truly unforgivable.”

You frowned, vision blurring as you stifled an eyeroll and Freya continued. “Perhaps you understand how he feels…now that you’ve gotten to know my second son a little better.” “You want to know if I love him, is that it? Well, I don't know.”

Shame swelled under your thin bathing gown, and Frigga inhaled quietly. “I of all people in this palace understand that words matter less than what we feel in here-” she said, pressing a fan of fingers to her chest. “You may think our customs strange, but they were born from centuries of upheaval and selfishness of our rulers. Markers needed to be set. It’s important that the general populace knows nothing of the second requirement of The Rite. It’s sacred.” You let out a petulant sigh. Don’t sass the queen, you willed, staring ahead at the water spilling over the edge of the balcony to a waterfall below.

Frigga cleared her throat. “The Rite ensures that those in line for succession can put another before themselves, represented through giving pleasure – and can capture their heart, their love—” “—Yes…I know that now,” you spat, eyes blazing towards her. “No thanks to any of you. Fandral had to tell me, of all people. Couldn’t resist rubbing it in my face that I’d fail Loki.”

Frigga’s face fell. But now you’d started, you couldn’t stop.

“And besides…Odin, Thor…they cheated the system, didn’t they? You and Odin were engaged! Sif was pretty much raised on a diet of Thor-infatuation.” You shook your head, heat flushing up your neck. “I didn’t say it was perfect,” Frigga said. “But the succession cannot be risked. And despite your current ingratiation, you are an outsider; you cannot understand these things.” “Oh,” you said, choosing to ignore her honey-drenched barb. “It can’t be risked, I see…unless it’s Loki, the one no one cares about?”

Despite her mask of diplomacy, irritation rippled on Frigga’s face.

“He had many options, and every opportunity,” she said through perfectly straight, gritted, teeth. “And he squandered every one of them. But something’s changed these past centuries in him. Something in these past weeks, too. A mystery, certainly.”

She stood, and the wet length of her glittering gown slopped across the floor. “Although I’m pleased to see you feel so strongly in his defence – it bodes well for his performance. Perhaps he’ll succeed after all.”

Your snorted. “And if I fail him, Fandral can step in: problem solved.” Frigga sighed, waving away an approaching nymph who skittered gratefully backwards.

“That’s not how it works,” Frigga said with a cloying sweetness, "- Loki would fail you: he would have failed to bring you pleasure, and capture your heart in a meaningful way. He only has one chance at fulfilling The Rite, at joining the succession. I did urge him to wait another 500 years but..."

She gave a delicate shrug. "And besides, in his haste to tarnish you…Fandral excluded himself from ever being eligible. The arousal of a god touched his skin. You should have seen his face when he realised he’d neglected to don the gloves in his pocket: pompous little oaf.”

A whirl of butterflies erupted in your gut. “So, you see, my dear…” Frigga tipped your chin up to meet her eyes. “You are my son’s only chance…”

You looked up at her: the glint in her beautiful irises – and for the first time you saw something more than the performance she presented to the court. Mischief. “My son’s…and those sweet little children.” A smile curled at her wine-stained lips. “And I hope you are prepared for the consequences of that.”

The silent, unbroken stare shattered as the doors burst open and Lagertha hobbled inside with an entourage of three. They held something in their arms like a dead snake, spread between them, covered in thick cotton and secured with the Asgardian royal seal in five places along its length.

Lagertha clapped her hands twice and you couldn’t help but smile at the irreverence on her face as she cast an imperious glance around the room. “There she is,” she said, waving you towards her. “Come, come – we haven’t got all day. Sun will be setting soon.”

You jumped up and scooted over, and immediately her surprisingly iron grip fastened to your bicep. “Loki sends his well wishes,” she hissed abruptly, “hopes his mother ain’t been too much of a cow.”

You pressed your lips together. “He’s alright? He’s not…” “Nervous? Course he is, dear. Near-on shitting himself. Not that he’d say that out loud, but I’ve known him a long time…the real him, like you do. Bless his silken hose. But now…we need to focus on you.”

Minutes passed in a blur as one of Lagertha’s deputy Weaving Crone who wasn’t quite so nobbled rolled out a small podium. You mounted it, following instructions to raise your arms and soon the dress was pulled over your head and in a heap on the floor.

A mirror was wheeled from somewhere, and behind your naked body you tried not to look at Frigga perched on a chaise, supping from a goblet.

Over your shoulder, the assistant crones were unpacking the snake-like thing. It must’ve been twenty feet long, and as it unfurled, your breath hitched. They held up the part which went over your arms, pacing forward reverently. It was as sheer as cobweb, tiny golden flecks weaved into the impossibly fine threads.

It slid up your skin like liquid moonlight. The fabric kissed your flesh like the graze of a lover, and beside you, Lagertha smiled.

You eyed your reflection warily. “How many people will see me in this?” “Just focus on the prince, dear.” “How many, Lagertha?” Her eyes flickered up to yours before taking a renewed interest in straightening the sash. “No more than twenty.” “Twenty?” you hissed. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Norns. Who are they?” “Odin, Frigga, Thor…some of the high gods; selected nobles to witness. It’s an honour, remember that. For them, as well as you.” You could swear the outline of your heartbeat was visible. “Oh my god…will they see everything?” “Not everything, child,” Lagertha whispered, untying the sash loop and re-assembling it; buying time. The robes sides covered your breasts but left a gap of bare skin in the centre, gathering at the naval before the flowing, split skirt began.

“It’s all very hush hush beforehand, so the participants can’t…skew things.” “Skew things?” You saw Lagertha’s lips roll together as she tried to dampen a laugh. Her eyes darted to Frigga and quickly back to you.

“Touch ‘emselves,” she said with a straight face.

“Focus on Loki, dear.” Her voice was as calming as poppy-seed tea. “I know what I see when I see it.” She ran a nobbled hand down the curve of your waist, smoothing the fabric.

You swallowed, looking at yourself in the mirror. “How will they know if I…if I love him? How will they know if I don't know?” Lagertha spun out the silence, fussing with the fabric at your breasts. “Focus on Loki, dear,” was all she said.

And soon, you were on the move again.

After his father’s ‘motivational’ speech, Loki felt no better. Although admittedly, he did feel slightly lighter when he’d left. Lagertha’s arrival had been the only bright spot in the darkness of his mood. She’d clothed in him in the same style of ceremonial garments expected from all participants in The Rite – far less grand than yours would be, but Loki’s held more elaborate stitching than his brother’s had done centuries before: tiny runes and charms woven into the hem with wishes that whispered when he moved. “Tell her…” he’d started, realising that he didn’t know what to say. He grumbled out some inane quip about his mother. Lagertha raised an eyebrow. “I know how you feel about her, silly boy,” she said under her breath, eyeing Thor snarfing down a third plate of cold meats like he’d been raised on the streets and not in a palace. "You can't fool old Lagertha."

Loki’s chest tightened: fighting the urge to deny it, fighting the urge to let his persona of bravado take hold. “I can’t love. Everyone’s always told me I’m not…made for it.” Lagertha’s laugh caught in her throat. She made a face. “Who? Him?” She yanked her head towards Thor leering covetously at a wheel of cheese. “Please,” she added under her breath. “And if she doesn’t love me?” Loki asked, voice crackling under the weight of the words.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “It was a big ask in such a short time – any fool could see that, even your brother. But if you can…then maybe she can too.”

She shrugged, and patted his bare pecs twice. “I saw the way she looked at you when you came to get measured, and she couldn’t look away when you were playing with little Grisyna.”

Her eyebrow rose again. “Besides…if what she feels isn’t strong enough to fulfil The Rite…doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth exploring, tending.” “But the children," Loki hissed, ensuring he was out of Thor's earshot. "If I’m not in the succession, then if father finds out, he’ll—” Lagertha flapped a hand. “— We’ll figure out a way. We always have. Odin isn’t going to sweep in and decimate them – Frigga wouldn’t allow it…they’ll be shifted out somewhere, all nice and quiet so no one finds out what a bunch of unworthy vagabonds his court is.”

She reached up his neck and instinctually he stooped so her hands could cup his jaw.

“You are worthy of love, Loki Odinson. Giving and receiving,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “No matter what some daft Rite says.”

“Brother you simply must try these prunes.”

Thor belched, pressing a fist to his mouth too late. Loki and Lagertha looked at him with matching expressions of disgust, and her hands fell from his jaw. Thor chuckled.

“Seems like your partner has competition for her place tonight,” Thor said, throwing a prune up and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hit off his eye and bounced to the floor. “I’ve been laying with gods since Odin was a sparkle in your grandfather’s eye, boy…I wouldn’t possibly qualify,” she said, gathering her things. She looked at Loki a final time, sharing a conspiratorial nod as Thor flushed pink. “Boy?!” Thor balked, as she shifted from the room with a quiet, purposeful grace. “Boy!?” he said again, marching to Loki. “That old witch is too familiar. I should have her removed from royal favour.” “You’ll do no such thing, brother,” Loki drawled, picking up a goblet of wine before setting it down again, untouched. “Who will make the garments that enchant your groin to look larger?” Thor’s cheeks began to turn violet. “That was supposed to be in confidence.” “Oh, dear.” Loki spun to his reflection, tilting his head. “Well, you’re lucky I’m very good at keeping secrets - if I choose to.”

Thor's lips pursed tight. Clearly, today would not be the one he’d break the habit of a lifetime and concoct a witty response. Loki’s gaze shifted back to himself.

The ceremonial Rite garment clung to every line of muscle like shimmering skin. It rippled at the merest breath; whether it was silver, or gold, or white depended entirely on the angle of the light. Bell sleeves draped from his wrists, hanging down to his mid-thighs and melting against his skin like dregs of foam into sand.

The fabric was split down his torso; cock on full display; sheer fabric leaving no inch of the skin beneath to the imagination. The hem of the robe brushed the floor as his bare feet shuffled, inspecting himself. He looked resplendent.

Loki sighed. “Fix my hair, will you? Or try, at least.”

A box rattled as Thor combed through a variety of pins. Loki rolled his eyes. “The gold one, with the emblem.” “Which emblem?” Thor asked, bored. “My emblem, you cretin.”

Thor worked in silence, and Loki was glad of it. His brother managed to gather the hair in a serviceable knot at the top of his head: fastened with the golden snake pin at its base. Loki’s cheekbones slashed deep shadows into his face, highlighting faint blue shadows under his eyes. The sun had almost set, and soon enough, there was a knock at the door. Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you fortune, brother. May her heart be open.”

Loki waited for the quip about her legs being open too, but it didn’t come. And unlike the cowing pleasantries at last night’s feast, he felt a shiver of gratitude wrench up his spine at the sentiment.

“Thank you, brother,” he whispered, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. “I need it.”

The stone seemed to pulse beneath your feet.

You walked in procession: Frigga at the front, the Asgardian nymphs flanking you each holding a clutch of your train as the golden door grew closer. Goosebumps needled your arms beneath the silk-chiffon. ‘Just focus on the prince’, Lagertha had said. ‘Just focus on him’. Finally, the procession stopped. Frigga beat a fist on the door three times, and inside there was the muffled sound of trumpets.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Heraldry? Be serious.

The doors swung open. The hall was narrow, with padded benches lining the walls like one of those Midgard chapels and torches throwing throbbing amber hues on the floor. It was so polished that the gemstone stars set deep into the dark ceiling reflected on its surface, and your feet wobbled as the world slewed around you. “It’s alright,” the nymph to your side whispered, staring ahead. “Just keep walking.” You tried not to look at the shaded figures who populated the benches, but the curiosity was too much. Fandral sat with a sullen expression, glowering at your progress, the centre of his face marred with a purple bruise which spread to his eyes. You smirked. Frigga stopped, and stepped to the side.

And then, you inhaled sharply. Loki stood with his hands clasped behind his back: posture impeccable, body tight with braced muscles and his raven hair swept up in a devastating knot.

He wore a robe made of the same material as yours. In torchlight, it looked like pure gold – rippling with opacity in time with the flames. But still, his alabaster skin was visible beneath it. The god’s bare form was as flawless as you remembered from the night in the baths – it felt like a lifetime ago.

And yes, his cock really is that big, that perfect. You thought you might have imagined it. His face was set in ceremonial stiffness, but those eyes sparkled. He isn’t embarrassed. You decided – fuck it – you weren’t going to be embarrassed either. You opened your mouth to speak but, regrettably, Odin got in first. “Gods, nobles…you are welcome to the attempt of my second son – Loki of Asgard – at fulfilling The Rite of Successional Pleasure, and taking his place as one of the realm’s true-royal sons.”

Loki sidestepped as you found yourself guided by the nymphs holding your train, nudging you towards a raised platform at the end of the hall. A firm looking cushion sat on top of it: the deepest navy blue, scattered with silver thread.

You climbed each of the four steps, turning to the crowd of shadowed faces occupying the pews and trying to ignore the graze of your hardened nipped against the fabric. For Loki, you reminded yourself.

Looking up, you could make out a golden railing suspended from the ceiling, thin bunches of material hanging from it in thin sections. Loki mounted the steps with easy grace, cock swinging, drawing your hand to his lips when he reached the top.

“You are well?” he murmured against the skin, looking up through his lashes. Your stomach roiled with the need to kiss him, but all you could muster was a nod. A silent understanding passed between you of how fucked-up this was. “It will be over soon,” he said, brows peaking. Your lips rolled together, but as words shaped your lips—

“Loki Odinson: God of Mischief and Lies, Son of Asgard.”

Odin’s voice rang around the cloisters like a war-cry. “I command you to prove yourself worthy of the people you seek to rule by bestowing unrequited pleasure on this woman. By doing so, you prove that you can put those you rule above yourself; that if you can cultivate their love, you may one day hold the crown.”

Cultivate their love. The phrase made a shiver tighten your shoulders.

A woman even older than Lagertha shuffled up the steps, and beside you, Loki stiffened. Red markings smeared down her face, paste crusting into deep wrinkles. She gathered your hands. Her eyes closed, face tipped to the feeling. The very air seemed to sharpen. “She is untouched by a god: she has known no seed, she is eligible for the ceremonial Rite,” the woman announced. Beside you, Loki’s muscles relaxed. A nymph tapped your shoulder and you drew your eyes from Loki’s. “My lady- we need to—” “—I can do it,” Loki cut in. He observed her visible panic with clear irritation. “Nowhere does it specify this in the ceremonial texts, I assure you.”

There was a hum from the crowd, but no objections. Loki ushered you to the bed. He leant down to your ear, and the warmth of his breath ignited fierce, obscene desire in your core. The crowd, forgotten. “Lie on the bed, so that your head rests near the top," he whispered, shivers running down your limbs. "Those two women will fan the train of your robe. It’s very important that you let them arrange it how it needs to be. You’ll be restrained, but don’t fear…it will not hurt. It’s only so—” “—I don’t touch myself,” you finished. Loki smirked. “Skew the results,” he replied, eyes glittering like the gems in the ceiling. His knuckles trailed down your bicep and for that moment, there was only you and Loki in the room. “Shall we?”

You did as he’d asked, settling on your back. True enough, the two nymphs spread the train of the robe until its huge length spilled down the steps and halfway up the narrow aisle. The rest of it pooled across the bed, pearling weave undulating in shadows. When they were done, your arms were spread and satin tied to your wrists; fastened somewhere down the sides.

And all the while, Loki stood where you’d left him – facing the crowd with what you imagined was a thousand-yard-stare.

One of the nymphs approached the long material draped from the ceiling. Loki brought a hand up, clicking his fingers. The material sprung to life, metal rings scraping on metal as it worked around the railing; surrounding the bed in a circle of thin, voile fabric.

You’d been prepared to repeat Lagertha’s mantra in your head at this point, but it turned out it wasn’t only easy to focus on Loki – it was impossible not to.

He drew a portion of the curtain to the side and slipped through: utterly beautiful in his regally-repressed lust. That lithe body shifted beneath the sheer robe as he knelt on the bed: one knee, then two. You squirmed, unable to help yourself. You were already wet, arousal sliding between your thighs.

“Kiss me?” you asked quietly.

His brow furrowed, eyes falling to his crotch. He was hard. It was the first time you’d seen him erect without any clothes on. Even in the baths, he’d been underwater. Saliva welled in your mouth, heart thumping. A bead of pre-cum had already swelled at the tip. “This is rather unorthodox,” he muttered. Whispers were audible from the world beyond the curtain. Loki swallowed. “But you look so…” He swallowed again, eyelids fluttering closed and hands falling to the mattress. “I’ll get seed on you. And we can’t have that. Not now.” “Not now,” you agreed as your legs parted.

Loki’s breath hitched as he drew the sliver of fabric covering your crotch to the side. The god lowered, lips fastening to your thigh as his hands scooped under your legs. You felt like you might catch fire.

He kissed up to the knee, lingering on each inch of skin like you might vanish. Your nerves were wild, and it wasn’t until the whine of his name had left your lips you even realised you'd done it. There was a ripple of amusement from the crowd, and one of Loki’s brows rose. “As you desire,” he murmured, before fastening softly to your clit.

A moan ripped from your throat.

The touch was almost nothing, but it was a lit match to sulphur. All the desire, the longing, the denial – it came rushing up your throat in that moan.

Loki’s tongue was silk. It smoothed over the folds of your sex, coating you in his wet enthusiasm. Every long, languid lap coupled with a groan of approval in his chest; the sharp angles of his jawline slotting perfectly between your spread legs.

“Loki,” you gasped, back arching while his fingers spread against your hips.

He suckled your clit, eyes opening with calculated precision to lock with your own. “Loki,” you chanted again, reaching to tangle a hand in his hair and failing. His mouth broke from your pussy. “Yes, little owl?” he hummed, chin glistening with your arousal, a playful dimple winking at the corner of his mouth. You huffed.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as the god chuckled against you thigh, wet, lazy kisses bitten into the flesh. His eyes met yours as he kissed over your mound, lowering completely before dragging his nose through your cunt and covering your clit again.

“Gods, yes….f-fuck,” you gasped.

There were more titters of mirth behind the curtain. But you couldn’t hear them – you could only hear Loki’s desperate sighs of need as he worshipped you, only feel the coil winding in your belly as orgasm began to crest; only sense the press of his fingertips pulling your hips deeper into his open mouth.

Suddenly someone shouted: another, and then another. They were hushed by a voice suspiciously like Frigga’s.

You turned your face unwillingly to the side, craning up, straining against the binds. The end of the train was just visible were it ended down aisle. You squinted. Where before it was a kind of white, now it was… “Green?” Loki’s palm pressed against your chest, sliding to cup your breast with a squeeze as you lowered.

“Ignore it,” he breathed: wet, hot. And then, he pushed your knees back. Your eyes widened as he towered above you, fingers spread on your calves like a chariot-rider. A single curl had come loose from the top-knot. Loki lapped from the base of your slit to the tip.

His movements were fluid, and wild – yet perfectly controlled. You’d heard tales of how he swept through battlefields like a whirlwind; slicing enemies down like they were paper; harnessing madness with the absolute precision. And this was like that. Except his battle was your pleasure – and gods, he was winning.

You’d begun to pant, and nonsensical words shaped your tongue as his movements became slower, massaging your cunt with slow, methodical licks. “Loki…” you pleaded, chest heaving, lips parted. And then, you came.

It was like nothing you’d ever known. Everything else had been a pebble of pleasure scattered on a beach – this was the cliff. It slammed into you, spine arching as he shifted to your thrashes; holding your hips fast to his lips as you spilled into him.

Somewhere, people were clapping – but all you could feel was him, guiding your sizzling pussy from its high with gentle, careful licks.

The binds at your wrists loosened and the moment they did, you sat up – audience be damned – and collided with his mouth.

The kiss was deep, wild: fingers digging into the tight hair at the base of his skull, his lips teased open by the demands of your tongue. The taste of you was thick: sweet, hot, dark with your deepest needs. It tasted like love - like trust.

Loki’s moan as you shifted onto his lap and dragged your pussy up his cock: scorching your insides with an unquenchable drive to have him buried inside you. “It’s done,” a creaking voice announced. You squinted through the curtain, panting. The old woman from before with red crusted on her face was standing, facing the crowd. “Loki Odinson has completed the Rite of Successional Pleasure.” A roar erupted through the darkness. Loki shook you by the shoulders, his face smeared with your cum a picture of fierce delight.

I did it, those eyes said.

For a reason you couldn’t explain, your stomach dropped.

The curtain was torn aside and you toppled from Loki’s lap, pulling bundles of the robe’s length to cover your modesty. And then, you saw it. The train spilling down the steps and onto the aisle was almost completely green: a deep emerald, like it had been dipped in ink which soaked its material like the tide. As you watched, the stain grew closer, starting an ascent of the steps. “He has proven himself able to give pleasure to those who serve him,” the woman’s voice cut through the din. “He has proven himself able to earn their love, their allegiance.” Loki stood from the bed, his arms spread wide to the applause: robe open, cock still hard. You frowned, shuffling forwards and tugged the back of his robe. He glanced over his shoulder, expression faltering.

You loved him. He knew that now. Everyone did. So why did it feel like… A mob descended and suddenly Loki was absorbed into a mass of congratulatory back slaps and cheers. Thor stood at the side, clapping all-too-slowly. His eyes darted towards you, before falling to the ground.

‘A triumph,’ the voices in the crowd around Loki said as his smile widened. ‘Never seen anything like it…magnificent.’ They pulled him down the steps. 'One for the histories.'

“Loki." Your voice broke, and you shuffled forwards and stumbled over the tangle of your train. You thought you saw the flash of Loki’s profile; you thought you saw him trying to lurch back through the throng.

But fingers curled around your arms and pulled. The mossy perfume of the Asgardian nymphs stung your eyes and you wrenched against them, hearing a rip from below as someone tore the delicate robe with their feet.

More fingers fastened to your wrist and you yanked away before meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. Sad eyes. “Let him go,” Frigga whispered firmly. “He has much to celebrate.” Everything else was white noise. Only the memory of Fandral’s smarmy voice loud in your head. ‘He’s trying to make you fall in love with him,’ he’d said. ‘And afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be.’ You faltered at the scrunch of Frigga’s brow, strength leaving your limbs.

Her pitying gaze said more than platitudes ever could. Glancing at the door, shouts of jubilation faded in echoing wisps as the green spill completed its ascent up the enchanted fabric.

Loki’s colour: proof that he held your heart in the palm of his hand, proof that you were willing to give yourself to him body, and soul.

And Loki was gone.

A/N. Just trust me, okay? Please? 🙏❤️ Please please. Tags in comments x Next Chapter : Marked (Finale) The Rite Masterlist is here

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