#but I think it's necessary to throw this up now

[dirtypuzzle]

well, i hate to be the one to say it, but they burnt their political capital on something that was both incredibly necessary and unbelievably insufficient, further entangling american healthcare into unprecedented levels of tomfuckery. if you actually go digging into the myriad ways our healthcare systems is fucked, i don’t even think M4A would fix it without the kind of backend policywork that a) makes terrible campaign copy, and b) is really fucking hard to get right.

like. M4A is the end goal, in that i think single payer is the most likely thing to work once we get there, but getting from A to B isn’t just difficult, it’s fighting against all tenets of systemic and bureaucratic inertia in ways few people are really appreciating. if we were to slap M4A on this steaming pile of horseshit, it would probably fail hard, and then we’d be even farther away from decent healthcare.

the ACA is very similar. it did some of the backend work that nobody ever wants to explain or talk about, and no matter how good a tourniquet, those aren’t meant to stay on longterm. the ACA’s requirement that insurers spend 80-85% of every dollar on medical payouts, for example, while intended nobly, ended up incentivizing providers to jack up prices and insurers to allow it bc 15% of a big number is still more than 15% of a smaller number. most providers, especially hospitals, don’t even know what their prices should be, that’s how skewed it is, and they have no incentive to find out. hospital costs jumped 159% between 1997 and 2012. i don’t have the numbers off hand, but i’m sure even post-COVID costs have fucking skyrocketed.

the fight i’ve been fighting, and mostly losing, is convincing people to see both the macro and the micro, the newtonian politics and the quantum. you’re fighting on two fronts, and as with any war on two fronts, you can lose by losing either, but you can’t win without winning both.

you’re fighting a global wave of fascism, which is aided by wealth inequality not seen in centuries but whose bigotry becomes self-sustaining and which cannot be only solved by improving material conditions. you’re also fighting the corruptive force of late-stage capitalism, whose biggest players have incentive to fuel right-wing extremism and whose influence taints most aspects of society’s mainstay institutions.

on one side, the rhetorical fight to convince the populace to support you while protecting vulnerable populations and containing the spread of fascism. on the other, unknotting decades of bad policy, republican sabotage, and bad law—what to keep, what to throw out, and what to rewrite to be more tailored or targeted.

you have to be right, and you have to sell it; you have to be looking at the big picture, but that can’t come at the cost of day-to-day governance and politicking.

which is mostly moot now anyway bc trump won. we’re gonna be in survival mode for the forseeable future. but let it be said that leftists fight on one front, and liberals fight the other, but they rarely coordinate; both have sabotaged efforts to coordinate in the past, the macron situation in france being the most recent. of course, liberals in power aren’t the same as the liberal populace, but i think i’ve gotten off-topic enough on this post already.

I have more than one person in the notes of my post saying they did not in fact know that the ACA stopped insurance companies from being able to deny coverage for a pre-existing condition in case you were wondering where we're at. People don't know the ACA and Obamacare are the same thing, they don't know it's why they have healthcare, they don't even know what it does. How do you even deal with that?

[pbaz7]

CROSSING THE LINE — PART SEVEN ♡

paige x azzi

word count: 6.8k

A/N: Here's a cute little fun fluffy chapter for the holiday's, I couldn't do any angsty with Christmas spirit around 😭. Please let me know what you think and if you have any ideas of where you'd like to see things go. I'm not sure how much longer it'll be because I don't know if I have anymore routes to explore for them in this one.

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

New Years Eve 

It was currently New Year’s Eve, and Azzi sat at the vanity in Caroline’s room applying her makeup. The soft glow of the mirror lights highlighted her steady hand as she blended the edges of her liner with ease. Behind her, Caroline shuffled around, pulling clothes from her closet as she got dressed.

The tension in the room was a little thick, but it definitely wasn’t from Azzi’s end and she barely acknowledged it. Caroline had brought this up before, and Azzi wasn’t particularly interested in having the same conversation again.

"You know," Caroline started, her tone slightly sharp, "this whole thing with you and Paige is starting to get... noticeable."

Azzi hummed noncommittally, her focus fixed on the mirror as she added a final touch of mascara. "Noticed that, did you?" she said lightly, not bothering to turn around.

Caroline huffed, pulling a shirt over her head. "I’m serious, Azzi. Since your date, you two have been practically inseparable, and yet—" She waved her hand vaguely. "Still no label. So what…you guys are just friends with benefits now?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head without pausing her work. "No, Car," she said easily, "we’re not."

"Then what are you?" Caroline pressed, her tone sharper than before.

Azzi’s hand stilled briefly as she traced the edge of her eyeliner, then resumed as she answered smoothly, "We’re us."

Caroline groaned, turning to lean against the edge of the vanity. "That’s not a title, Azzi. It’s not enough."

Azzi paused, her hand hovering mid-air as she paused applying her makeup. She turned slightly to glance at Caroline, her lips a faint smirk. "And that bothers you…why exactly?" she asked, her tone light but with an unmistakable edge.

Caroline rolled her eyes, undeterred. "I just don’t want you settling for something undefined because it feels good right now," she said, her tone more frustrated than before. "I know Paige. She’s not committing because she can’t. That’s just how she is."

Azzi’s jaw tightened, the irritation finally breaking through her calm demeanor at Caroline mentioning Paige. "Well, good thing I know Paige better than you do, Caroline," she shot back, her voice low but firm.

Caroline straightened, a spark of frustration flaring in her expression. "Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s just dragging you along while she figures herself out."

Azzi set her brush down with a little more force than necessary, her patience clearly wearing thin. "She’s not dragging me along," she said matter of factly. "You’ve brought this up like, what? Three times now? I keep telling you we’re fine and that I’m more than fine."

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Because I remember the first time you argued, she immediately started sleeping around to 'cope.' That didn’t exactly scream 'fine Azzi.'"

Azzi turned to face Caroline fully, her voice cooler now. "You know that was different. We were in a different situation then and you trying to throw it in my face is fucked up."

"How?" Caroline challenged, stepping closer. "What makes it different now?"

Azzi let out a short, exasperated breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the vanity. "Because we hadn’t discussed anything. We didn’t know where the other one stood and we do now. 

Caroline’s expression softened for a moment.  Azzi," she said, stepping closer, "you still deserve better than just sleeping around."

Azzi’s smile faltered, her grip tightening slightly on the makeup brush in her hand, exhaling as she turned fully to face Caroline. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice sharp now. "Caroline, do you even have any idea what Paige does for me? I’ll answer that for you actually. No, you don’t. So please stop."

Caroline opened her mouth to reply, but Azzi didn’t give her the chance. "She’s so much better than everyone thinks and it kind of sucks that you’re our teammate and don’t see it. She checks in on me constantly, even when she’s buried with her own pressure and stress. She’s Paige fucking Bueckers but she treats me like I’m the biggest star on earth. She looks at me like I put the stars in the sky. She makes sure I eat, that I take care of myself, that I don’t push myself too hard because she knows how I get. She surprises me with stupid little things she knows will make me smile even if it makes no sense to her. She knows exactly how to calm me down when I’m spiraling, she got me this damn necklace when we weren’t even speaking Caroline." Azzi’s voice softened slightly, but her conviction remained. “She’s so thoughtful and present. She treats me like I matter to her more than anything."

Azzi continues, shaking her head at the acquisition of deserving ‘better.’ "A title doesn’t affect how she treats me, Car. I promise you, I wouldn’t be with someone who only wanted me for sex if that’s what you're thinking."

Caroline hesitated, but Azzi wasn’t finished. She leaned back against the vanity, crossing her arms with a smile as she settled down. "It just so happens that it’s amazing," she said, her voice dropping into a teasing tone hoping this will end Caroline’s inquiry, "so we do it…often."

Caroline groaned, rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath as she turned away to grab her shoes. "That’s not the point," she grumbled.

Azzi let out a short laugh, returning her attention to the mirror. "You’re right," she said lightly, "it’s not. Because the point is, we’re fine. More than fine."

"But you’re still not official," Caroline pressed, her voice edging toward frustration again.

Azzi shrugged, her tone cool. "A title really doesn’t change anything so please just drop it. It’ll happen naturally.” 

Caroline sighed, her expression shifting to one of genuine concern. "I just don’t want you to get hurt, Azzi," she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed now.

Azzi finished applying her lip gloss, capping the tube before standing and turning to face Caroline. "And I thank you for that, Car," she said, her voice calm but firm. "But really—we’re great. So please, stop worrying about it."

Caroline gave her a long, searching look before finally nodding, though her concern hadn’t entirely dissipated. "Just don’t say I didn’t warn you," she murmured as she stood to finish getting dressed.

Azzi rolled her eyes slightly, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. "Duly noted," she said dryly as she moved toward the door.

Caroline watched her go, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Just at least think about what I said, Azzi it’s important to have clear expectations," she called after her.

Azzi didn’t respond, instead stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. She walked toward the common area, where Paige was lounging on the couch, scrolling absentmindedly on her phone. As Azzi approached, a goofy smile immediately spread across Paige’s face, her eyes lighting up.

Paige sat up straighter, her gaze sweeping over Azzi from head to toe. She licked her lips, standing as Azzi drew closer. "You look amazing," Paige said, her voice low and sincere.

Azzi smiled, her dimples showing, leaning in to give Paige a quick kiss. As she pulled back, she adjusted Paige’s collar playfully, smoothing it down. "Have I ever told you how much I love you in all black?"

Paige smirked, her eyes twinkling. "Yeah a few times," she teased.

For a moment, they simply stood there, soft smiles on their faces as they gazed at each other. The quiet moment between them felt private as the rest of the world faded away.

Paige eventually tilted her head toward the door Azzi had just come from. "You two good?" she asked, her voice casual but laced with curiosity. "You looked a little upset coming out."

Azzi glanced back briefly, then shrugged as she turned her attention back to Paige. "Yeah, we’ll be fine. She’s just being Caroline."

Paige hummed softly, her brows knitting together for a moment, but she didn’t press further knowing Azzi would’ve told her if she wanted her to know. Instead, she stepped aside, gesturing for Azzi to sit with her as she sat back down. Azzi flopped onto the couch, stretching out and draping her legs across Paige’s lap. Paige instinctively rested her hand on Azzi’s knee, her thumb brushing lightly over the fabric as they waited for the others to finish getting ready.

The quiet murmur of their conversation was soon interrupted by the loud arrival of Ice, KK, and Aubrey, who burst into the suite with their usual energy.

KK and Ice immediately broke into exaggerated cheers, clapping their hands and whooping loudly. "Look at ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ holding it down on the couch!" KK teased, grinning as she made her way over.

Ice joined in, pointing dramatically at Paige and Azzi. "Such a cute family moment! We love to see it!"

Paige groaned, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her amused smile. "You two are the worst," she said as Ice plopped down on one side of her and KK wedged herself onto the other, forcing Azzi’s legs off Paige’s lap in the process.

Azzi huffed in protest, crossing her arms as she scooted to the edge of the couch. "Do you mind?" she asked, her tone half-serious, though the corner of her mouth twitched with a smile.

"Nope, not at all!" KK said cheerfully, leaning back and putting her feet up on the coffee table.

"So," KK continued, glancing around the room, "who are we waiting on?"

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, Caroline stepped out of her room, adjusting her earrings. "I’m ready," she announced, her tone brisk as she glanced at the group.

"Finally," Ice quipped, standing up and stretching dramatically. "I was starting to think we’d never leave."

Caroline shot her a look but didn’t respond, instead grabbing her jacket and heading toward the door.

The group followed, making their way downstairs to where the rest of the team was already gathered. The energy was lively, with everyone chatting and laughing as they debated who would ride in which car.

…

By the time the team arrived at Ted’s, the place was already alive with the buzz of other UConn students. Laughter and music spilled out of the bar onto the sidewalk, and the energy was contagious. Inside, the familiar space was packed, but the team’s usual table in the corner remained empty—most likely thanks to the bartender, who always seemed to have them in mind.

As they walked in, the group naturally began to disperse. Ice, Aubrey, Ines, and Ashlynn peeled off first, making a beeline toward a group of familiar faces by the jukebox. KK, Caroline, and Aaliyah veered toward the table, where they could set up shop and claim their space. While everyone else including Paige and Azzi wove through the crowd toward the bar. 

“You drinking?” Paige asked, glancing at Azzi who nodded.

“Definitely,” Azzi said. “I need something to get through another night of Ice’s awful karaoke if it happens.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, it’s happening. She’s been hyping herself up for it all day. I heard her warming up in the bathroom this morning.” 

As they reached the bar, Paige leaned casually against the counter, immediately going into a story about something random that had happened at practice earlier in the week with her group. Azzi chuckled, listening with a fond smile as Paige animatedly recounted every detail, as if Azzi wasn’t there. 

“I’m just saying, who even thinks to do a behind-the-back pass in a half-court drill? It’s wild, right?” Paige said, her voice rising slightly over the noise of the bar.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. “I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Barely!” Paige shot back, gesturing emphatically. “KK almost lost it in the bleachers. But you should’ve seen her face—she acted like she just pulled off the play of the year.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Sounds about right for KK.”

As Paige continued, her voice full of excitement, Azzi found herself leaning closer, her eyes fixed on Paige’s face. It wasn’t the story that captivated her—it was the way Paige told it, her energy so infectious that it made Azzi forget the rest of the room entirely.

“...and then Geno was just standing there, looking at her like, ‘You done?’” Paige finished, snorting as she imitated his deadpan expression.

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head as the bartender approached. She ordered their drinks quickly, her attention still on Paige.

“You know,” Azzi said once the bartender moved off to make their drinks, “you have a way of making even the most random stuff sound important.”

Paige grinned, leaning against the bar. “That’s because it is important. You just don’t appreciate the art of storytelling.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, her smile softening. “Right. That’s totally it.”

Before Paige could respond, their drinks were placed in front of them. Azzi handed Paige hers, brushing her fingers against Paige’s briefly.

“Thanks,” Paige said, her grin never fading. “And for the record, I know you appreciate it. You just won’t admit it.”

Azzi smirked, picking up her drink. “Maybe I do,” she said, her tone teasing. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Paige just laughed, taking a sip of her drink as they turned to head back toward their table. 

…

The team had been at Ted’s for about an hour waiting for midnight, passing the time with a round of god-awful karaoke, just as Azzi had dreaded. Laughter filled the bar as they cheered for each other, the air filled with the light buzz of alcohol and their natural competitive energy. Ice was up next unfortunately.

Azzi, Paige, and the rest of the team were seated around the long table, some with drinks in hand, others snacking on appetizers. The table was alive with conversation, laughter, and the occasional groan as another off-key rendition of “I Will Survive” from Ice echoed across the bar.

“Okay, this is torture,” Azzi said, rolling her eyes playfully as Ice launched into her second verse.

“I think she actually sounds worse than she did this morning in the shower if that’s possible” Paige joked. 

Azzi smirked and turned her attention back to the room, her eyes scanning the crowd for anything that might interest her—or at least distract her from the chaos of karaoke. But as her gaze wandered, it landed on someone she hadn’t expected to see: the girl who always seemed to make an appearance at the most inconvenient times. What the hell even was her name? 

Her jaw tightened slightly, the easygoing smirk fading for a fraction of a second.

Paige, always attuned to Azzi’s shifts, noticed immediately. She followed Azzi’s eyeline and spotted the girl across the room who currently seemed blissfully unaware of them, laughing with a group of friends at the bar. Still, Paige recognized the subtle shift in Azzi’s posture, 

“Hey,” Paige said softly, her voice low enough to be lost in the noise of the bar but perfectly clear to Azzi. She lightly touched Azzi’s wrist, bringing her focus back. “You good?”

Azzi blinked, her features relaxing as she looked back at Paige. “Yeah,” she said, her voice calm but not entirely convincing. “I’m fine. Just… caught off guard, that’s all.”

Paige studied her for a moment, her lips pressing together in thought. Then, with a quiet confidence, she set her drink down on the table and reached out, gently pulling Azzi towards her by her waist.

“Don’t worry about her,” Paige said, her voice laced with reassurance. She positioned Azzi between her legs as she sat on the barstool, her hands resting lightly on Azzi’s hips. “You got better things to focus on pretty girl.”

Azzi couldn’t help but smile at Paige’s effortless way of grounding her. “Like you?” she teased, her smirk returning.

Paige raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a grin. “Obviously.”

Meanwhile while the two of them were in their own little world, the rest of the team was caught up in their own chaos. Aubrey was yanking the karaoke mic from Ice, asking the group, "Who's next?"

"Well, I vote for Paige," Ice said with a mischievous grin. "You were judging me way too much this morning—your turn!"

Everyone erupted into playful cheers, and even though Paige groaned and shook her head, Azzi could see the challenge in her eyes. Paige was never going to back down from Ice, the two of them probably the most competitive on the team.

“Yeah, come on, P boogers, show us your moves!” KK shouted, her voice carrying through the room.

Paige shot Azzi a look. “Fine, fine, I’ll do it. But only because I can’t let Ice win.”

Azzi smirked, leaning back in her chair as Paige stood up, finishing off her Dirty Shirley in one smooth motion before confidently striding toward the stage area. The rest of the team burst into cheers, egging her on with shouts of encouragement. “Let’s go, Paige!” Ice hollered, clapping her hands.

As Paige grabbed the mic, her grin widened, the thrill of the moment already lighting up her face. She glanced back at the table, her teammates watching eagerly, and locked eyes with Azzi, who was sitting comfortably, her brow raised in amusement. Paige’s gaze lingered on her for just a beat before she turned to the karaoke screen and scrolled through the selections.

“Oh no,” Ice said with a laugh, leaning toward Azzi. “She’s scheming. You can see it.”

Paige finally settled on her song and stepped back, the opening beats of I Invented Sex by Trey Songz featuring Drake blasting through the speakers. A collective groan and cheer erupted from her teammates. “She’s not serious,” KK laughed, shaking her head.

“Hey girl, hey girl, hey girl… This goes out to the beautiful girls,” she sang, her voice smooth and sultry. The bar erupted in cheers, her teammates the loudest of them all.

“Which one of y’all goin’ home with Trigga?” Paige teased, pointing to a group of strangers near the bar. They whooped, leaning into the attention, but Paige’s smirk showed she was just warming up.

Her energy was infectious as she worked the room. She stepped off the stage, weaving between tables, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Paige locked onto Nika first, throwing an arm around her neck as she sang, “Bottles of the Ace got me with a lil’ buzz… You leaned over and said you want me.”

Nika burst out laughing, raising her hair off her neck and fanning herself dramatically as Paige winked and moved on.

Next, Paige made her way to Aubrey, leaning in close as she sang, “Girl, can we take it upstairs… My bed’s waitin’ there.” Aubrey’s jaw dropped as the rest of the team howled with laughter.

But Paige wasn’t done yet. She circled back to Ice, tapping her shoulder to the beat of the song. “You know I live a magnum lifestyle,” Paige sang, flashing her trademark grin. Ice tossed her head back, raising her drink in mock surrender.

Paige’s playful teasing reached Aaliyah and KK, both getting their own share of her attention as she danced between them, her moves deliberately over the top. The bar ate it up, cheering louder with every step she took.

But when Paige turned to Azzi, her energy shifted.

Her teasing smile softened into something more deliberate, her steps slow and purposeful as she approached. Paige’s voice dipped lower, her eyes locking on Azzi with a bit more intensity.

“Girl, when I pull back them sheets… And you climb on top of me,” Paige sang, standing in front of Azzi now.

Azzi tried to hold her ground, smirking up at Paige with her arms crossed, but her resolve cracked when Paige reached out and took her hand, gently pulling her to her feet.

The crowd roared as Paige sang directly to Azzi, her free hand lightly brushing Azzi’s jaw. “You gon’ think I invented sex,” Paige crooned, her voice dripping with intention and playfulness.

Azzi’s smirk faltered, a deep blush creeping up her neck. Paige wasn’t letting her off the hook, though. As the music swelled, Paige spun around, standing behind Azzi now, her hand lightly resting on Azzi’s hips. She leaned in close, her voice soft in Azzi’s ear.

“It’s a celebration clap, clap, bravo…” Paige sang, her words carrying just enough heat to send Azzi’s blush into overdrive.

Azzi laughed, shaking her head, but her flushed cheeks gave her away. 

By the time the song ended, the whole bar was on its feet, clapping and cheering. Paige bowed with exaggerated flair before walking back to the table, her eyes still locked on Azzi.

"Wow, I'm impressed," Azzi said, her tone amused as she sipped her drink.

“What can I say? I’m a natural,” Paige replied, sitting down beside her. The two of them quickly fell into their usual rhythm of playful banter, Azzi teasing Paige about her exaggerated performance and Paige pretending to be offended as the rest of the team chimed in with their own commentary.

The table was buzzing with laughter and conversation when the same girl from earlier—the one Azzi had clocked near the bar—made her move. She approached confidently, a drink in hand and a smile that suggested she had more than casual conversation in mind.

Paige spotted her from the corner of her eye, her instinct telling her to ignore the interruption. But then she glanced at Azzi, who gave the subtlest tilt of her head, signaling she had it covered. Paige leaned back in her seat, her posture relaxed as she let Azzi take the lead.

The girl stopped in front of Paige, setting the drink down on the table with an audible clink. “I couldn’t help but enjoy your performance tonight,” she said with a coy smile, her eyes lingering on Paige. “Thought you deserved a little something for the effort.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi reached for the drink, her movements deliberate as she plucked it off the table and took a slow sip through the straw. Her gaze never left the girl, her smirk growing as she set the glass back down. “Thanks,” Azzi said casually, leaning back in her chair.

The girl blinked, clearly thrown. “Uh, that was for Paige,” she said, her tone faltering.

Azzi glanced at Paige through her lashes, her voice dropping into a playful purr. “Baby,” she said, her tone laced with teasing affection, “do you mind?”

Paige tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a small smirk. She licked her lips slowly, her eyes locking with Azzi’s. “Of course not,” she murmured, her voice low and easy.

Azzi’s smirk deepened as her fingers brushed Paige’s neck, her attention returning to the girl, who was now visibly unsettled. The girl shifted her weight, attempting to regain her footing.

“You know,” the girl started, her tone taking on an edge at Azzi’s constant presence, “I’m surprised Paige has stuck with one person for so long. That’s not exactly her reputation.” Her eyes flicked to Azzi, testing for a reaction like last time.

But she didn't get one, Azzi just chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Reputation?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “You mean that phase when she was keeping herself entertained when I wasn’t here yet?” Her gaze flicked to Paige for a moment, her smirk sharpening. “Everyone experiments in college, right, baby?”

Paige, leaning back and watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, nodded slightly. “Something like that,” she murmured, letting Azzi steer the conversation.

The girl narrowed her eyes slightly, sensing Azzi wasn’t fazed. She straightened up, doubling down. “I wouldn’t call it a phase. Some of us,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “leave a lasting impression.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, clearly unimpressed. “Ahh yes, I remember you now,” she said, snapping her fingers as if the memory had just clicked. “You were the one that threw yourself at Paige at a basketball party on campus right? I think she’s told me this story. You kinda just invited yourself to her room. Didn’t she ghost you after though? I remember you asking about it when we were on the way to dinner.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her words landed with precision.

The girl’s face reddened slightly, but she forced a smile. “Maybe,” she said, her voice tight, “but we had fun. She couldn’t keep her hands off me that night.”

Azzi’s grin only grew as she tapped Paige lightly on the shoulder, interrupting her conversation she started with Nika. Paige turned, her brows lifting slightly in question. “What’s up Az?”

Azzi gestured toward the girl with a casual tilt of her head, her amusement clear. “Do you remember her name?” she asked, her tone sweet but undeniably teasing.

Paige frowned slightly, genuinely trying to recall. Her gaze flicked toward Jade for a moment, her lips pressing together in thought. “Um...” She hesitated, searching her memory. “Jessica? Jasmine? No, wait... Jade?” She glanced at Azzi for confirmation, her expression apologetic as she didn’t know what was going on.

Paige’s lips curled into a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry,” she admitted, leaning back against her chair. “I used to get things mixed up a little.” She shrugged lightly, her tone casual but not unkind, as if this was just another awkward interaction to brush past like she used to.

The girl blinked, her confidence visibly cracking. “It’s Jade,” she muttered, her tone defensive.

Azzi chuckled softly, clearly enjoying how effortlessly Paige had diffused the moment. She leaned in closer, her fingers trailing lightly down Paige’s arm before stopping to give her hand a gentle squeeze. Azzi’s voice dropped, just loud enough for Paige to hear. “Go on, don't let me keep you from your chat with Nika.”

Paige’s lips quirked in a subtle smile as she glanced at Azzi. “Oh wow, thanks for the permission,” she teased lightly, her tone playful.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled with humor as she looked back at Jade. “So…now that we have that figured out Jade.” She leaned back, casually resting her hand on Paige’s thigh. “It was nice of you to stop by. I always love a good chat with one of Paige’s old friends.”

Jade looked between them, clearly unsure how to proceed. Paige, finally chiming in as Azzi’s fingers squeezed her thigh, glanced at Azzi. “You having fun, huh?” she asked, her tone warm and teasing.

Azzi grinned, brushing her lips against Paige’s temple. “Always, baby.” She turned her gaze back to Jade. “Thank you for the drink,” Azzi added with a dismissive smile.

Jade hesitated for a moment longer before stepping back. “Well… maybe I’ll see you around,” she said, her tone hollow as she directed a few last words at Paige.

“Maybe,” Azzi replied smoothly, her attention already shifting back to Paige as Jade walked away.

Paige watched her go before breaking into a soft laugh, shaking her head as she leaned into Azzi’s space. “You really are a little crazy,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

Azzi’s lips curved into a slow, confident smile as she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I think you like when I do that,” she said, her tone low and teasing. “You like seeing me put girls in their place.”

Paige bit her lip, her cheeks warming as she let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean,” she started, leaning closer so only Azzi could hear, her voice dropping. “I can’t disagree. It’s definitely sexy.”

Azzi’s grin widened, satisfaction evident in her expression. She leaned in just enough to brush her nose against Paige’s cheek before whispering, “Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping.”

Paige shook her head with a smile, her gaze lingering on Azzi before finally settling back into their conversation with the team. 

…

The final moments of the year started to tick away and the energy in the room was electric. The entire team had moved into the crowd, drawn by the anticipation of the New Year's Eve countdown. Laughter and excitement filled the air as everyone squeezed in together, ready to welcome the new year. Paige and Azzi, of course, were right next to each other, their fingers intertwined and their hands resting comfortably against each other’s bodies. The closeness between them felt natural, effortless, as if the countdown itself was a part of the rhythm they'd already established together.

The countdown began, the voices of friends and strangers alike filling the bar as everyone joined in. “Ten! Nine! Eight…” The cheers grew louder with each passing second, but Paige’s focus was entirely on Azzi. The way the dim lights glinted off her hair, the way Azzi’s eyes shone when they met Paige’s, everything about her pulled Paige in deeper.

“Three! Two! One!” The room erupted in cheers, the sound of laughter and shouts filling the air as fireworks erupted outside. But for Paige and Azzi, time seemed to slow as the world around them disappeared. Azzi’s hands found their way to Paige’s neck, her fingers lightly tracing the skin as she pulled her in close. Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s hips, drawing her in, as the two of them shared a long, slow kiss.

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity, neither of them willing to let go. The taste of Azzi lingered on Paige’s lips as their bodies pressed closer, as though the kiss itself was a promise—one they had already made and couldn’t break.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Paige’s heart pounded in her chest. She blinked rapidly as her hand found Azzi’s cheek, still feeling the heat from their kiss. And before she could stop herself, the words slipped out—soft, breathless, and entirely unintentional.

“God, I love you.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Paige froze, her eyes wide in shock. Her stomach dropped in a mix of panic and realization, as if she’d just said something irreversible. She felt the air in her lungs stutter, unsure whether she should take the words back or let them linger. Her chest tightened with nervousness, the sound of the countdown still echoing in her mind as she waited for Azzi’s response.

But when Paige met Azzi’s gaze, the look on her face was pure awe, like the words she’d just said were the most precious thing she’d ever heard. Azzi’s lips parted slightly, her eyes softening, drinking in every second of the moment.

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She simply stared at Paige, almost as if she were taking in the weight of those words, letting them settle into the space between them. But Paige, still reeling from her own confession, began to pull away, her nerves getting the better of her. She couldn’t believe she’d said it—couldn’t believe she’d just admitted it out loud. She fucked everything up.

But before she could pull too far back, Azzi’s hands found her again, one gently cupping her face, the other sliding around her back. “Don’t run,” Azzi whispered softly. “You don’t have to run from me Paige.”

Paige met Azzi’s gaze, her heart hammering in her chest, her voice caught in her throat. She tried to breathe deeply, to steady herself, but Azzi’s words were like a soft balm to her panic.

“Be my girlfriend,” Azzi said, her voice steady but full of warmth and tenderness. “Please. So I can tell you every day how much I love you.”

Paige blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. She wasn’t sure how to respond, her thoughts swirling, but Azzi’s eyes were filled with sincerity, and there was no question in the way Azzi was looking at her—only the desire to make her feel safe, loved, and wanted.

“Huh?” Paige managed to say, her voice soft, surprised, and a little nervous. She hadn’t expected this—not like this, not yet.

Azzi laughed gently, her laughter soothing Paige’s nerves. “I said,” she repeated, her voice dripping with affection. “Be my girlfriend. I want to be with you. I want to love you. Let me do that.”

And that was it. In that moment, everything else fell away. There was no more hesitation. No more fear. Paige’s heart swelled, her mind quieting, and she smiled, finally, with a soft, relieved laugh. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but clear as day. “I will.”

Azzi’s smile stretched across her face as she pulled Paige back in, kissing her again. This time, it was softer, gentler, but no less full of emotion. Their kiss lingered, the pressure of it tender as if they were committing the moment to memory, holding it close for the future. When they finally pulled apart, neither of them wanted to speak, but both knew that everything was different now.

Paige, her heart still racing, looked into Azzi’s eyes and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She nodded with a soft smile, her fingers lacing effortlessly with Paige’s as she let her lead the way. Together, they wove through the crowd, their hands tightly clasped. Paige caught Nika’s eye from across the room and gave her a small nod, signaling that they were leaving. Nika smirked knowingly, nodding her approval as Paige and Azzi slipped out the door.

The crisp night air hit them as they stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth and noise of the bar. The snow-dusted streets sparkled under the streetlights, and the faint hum of the city surrounded them. Paige’s hand stayed firmly in Azzi’s, her thumb brushing lightly over Azzi’s knuckles here and there, an unspoken gesture of reassurance.

They walked in companionable silence, the warmth of their drinks still lingering in their systems, though it was quickly overshadowed by the buzz of simply being together. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by or laughter echoing faintly from another nearby bar.

As they strolled, they passed a brightly lit Dairy Queen. Azzi’s steps faltered slightly, her gaze lingering on the building. Paige noticed immediately, a small laugh escaping her lips.

“You want ice cream, don’t you?” Paige asked, her voice filled with playful amusement.

Azzi tried to feign innocence, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Who says I want ice cream?” she teased, a smile tugging at her lips.

Paige shook her head, already tugging Azzi toward the entrance. “You don’t have to say it, Fudd. I know you too well.”

The bell above the door jingled softly as they stepped inside, greeted by the warmth of the shop and the sweet smell of waffle cones. Azzi’s eyes lit up as she scanned the menu, her focus shifting to the options in front of her. Paige leaned against the counter, her gaze fixed on Azzi with a fond smile.

“What’re you thinking?” Paige asked, her voice soft, almost teasing.

Azzi didn’t look away from the menu. “Chocolate fudge brownie,” she said with mock seriousness, as if it were a life-changing decision.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Solid choice. I’ll get mint chocolate chip, but fair warning—I’m stealing some of yours.”

Azzi shot her a playful glare. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, my girlfriend now” Paige countered, smirking.

Once they had their ice cream, they continued their walk through the quiet streets. The faint crunch of snow underfoot accompanied the occasional bump of their shoulders as they strolled side by side, their breaths visible in the cold air. Paige glanced at Azzi, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“You’re the only person I know who’d want ice cream when there’s snow on the ground,” Paige said, her tone teasing.

Azzi turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re literally eating ice cream right now.”

Paige laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Yeah, because if I didn’t, you would’ve refused to get any.”

“That’s not true,” Azzi argued, though her expression betrayed her.

Paige gave her a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Both of us know better.”

Azzi shook her head, a chuckle slipping from her lips as they fell into a comfortable silence. The streets were deserted, the only sounds coming from their footsteps and the faint hum of the city in the distance. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, adding to the quiet beauty of the night.

For a moment, Paige just enjoyed the simplicity of being with Azzi, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill in the air. But as they continued walking, her thoughts began to spill out.

Paige began, her voice softer now, “I really love you, you know I meant it when I said that right?”

Azzi glanced over at her, a small, dimpled smile breaking across her face as she took another bite of her ice cream. “I do know that,” she said warmly.

Paige’s cheeks reddened slightly, but she pressed on, her words tumbling out like a confession she couldn’t hold onto anymore. “I just..I want you to know that I want this…I want us to be more than just something we look back on from college Az. I want a future with you. I was daydreaming about you walking down the aisle the other day, and I thought I was insane. She paused, glancing at Azzi, who was watching her intently as she talked. “I just…I don’t know what I’d do without you anymore. You’re it for me.”

Azzi slowed her pace, turning to look fully at Paige. Her expression was filled with awe, her eyes shining under the soft glow of the streetlights. “Paige–” she began, her voice full of emotion, “I want a future with you too…I want nothing more than to come home to you everyday for the rest of my life.” 

Paige blinked, her heart swelling as Azzi continued.

“I’ll admit, it scared the hell out of me at first,” Azzi said, her voice quieter now. “We’ve only known each other for half a year and I would do anything for you. It feels like I’ve known you my whole life. Like…a part of me was waiting for you, and I’m discovering so much about myself the more I get to know you.”

Paige’s steps faltered slightly as she processed Azzi’s words, her chest tightening in the best way. She stopped, turning fully toward Azzi and searching her eyes for any hint of doubt—but all she saw was warmth and certainty.

“You mean that?” Paige whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle hush of the falling snow.

Azzi nodded, her dimples deepening as she gave Paige a soft smile. “Every word,” she said.

Paige’s breath hitched, and she reached out, her fingers brushing Azzi’s cheek. “You make me feel like I can do anything, like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.”

Azzi leaned into Paige’s touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “That’s because you are,” she replied.. “And if I have anything to say about it, you always will be.”

Paige’s lips quirked into a small smile as she stepped closer, the space between them vanishing. “How did I get so lucky?” she asked, her thumb gently tracing along Azzi’s cheekbone.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled as she tilted her head, closing the remaining distance between them. “I think we both got lucky,” she murmured before pressing her lips to Paige’s in a kiss that was soft. 

The world around them seemed to fade as they melted into each other, the warmth of the kiss cutting through the cold air. Paige’s free hand settled on Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer, while Azzi’s fingers threaded through Paige’s hair, anchoring her in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads pressed together, their breaths visible in the chill of the night.

“I used to think I didn’t have time for this. That I didn’t want anything like this,” Paige admitted, her voice low.

Azzi smiled, her hand sliding down to rest on Paige’s shoulders. “And now?” she asked, her tone gentle.

Paige let out a quiet laugh, her heart feeling impossibly full. “Now I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to imagine it.”

They stood there for a moment longer, wrapped in each other’s arms, the snow continuing to fall around them. The quiet streets felt like their own little world, one where nothing existed but the love they shared.

Finally, Paige broke the silence with a playful grin. “Come on, we’re going to freeze out here.”

Azzi laughed, her dimples reappearing as she reluctantly stepped back. “Okay, but only because I don’t want you blaming me if you catch a cold. You’re a nightmare when you’re sick.”

Paige laced her fingers with Azzi’s, her grip firm and reassuring as they resumed their walk. Their shoulders bumped again, but this time it was intentional, a silent exchange of affection that needed no words.

[literatureloverx]

N A K A H A R A C H U U Y A

Guns and Roses

“Out of all the others… you were the honest man…

…He loved guns and roses, guns and roses…”

Chuuya x fem!reader

NSFW content, mdni, suggestive themes, dom!Chuuya, sub!reader, swearing (I don’t usually include swearing—it’s outside my comfort zone—but since Chuuya canonically swears and someone encouraged me to step out of my comfort zone, I felt it was fitting to include it here).

Chuuya is utterly obsessed with his darling because, let’s be honest, no one can convince me he wouldn’t be. I hope this feels realistic! Also, some parts are more descriptive than usual for my writing, but I did some research to write it properly, so… I hope you appreciate it, lmao.

Consider this my Christmas present to you. 🧡

The sleek hum of the engine gradually fades as Chuuya pulls into the underground garage, his hand lingering on the wheel longer than necessary.

He lets the car idle for a moment, as if savoring the final seconds of silence before facing you. The yearning to see you forces a shaky breath from his lips. His gloved fingers tighten instinctively, the soft creak of leather breaking the stillness. The ache in his chest deepens, a gnawing emptiness that only you can soothe.

He parks the car, his fingers brushing against the bouquet of deep red roses on the passenger seat—perfect, elegant, a silent confession of emotions too intense to be spoken aloud. With a sigh, he tugs off his gloves with his teeth, runs a hand through his hair, and steps out. Each stride toward the elevator feels heavier than the last, drawing him closer to you—the only thing that truly matters.

When the elevator doors slide open, Chuuya crosses the penthouse lobby with single-minded determination. His heart begins to race as he steps into the kitchen, finding you there, moving with the grace that makes everything in the world feel right.

He is home.

He places the roses gently on the table. After that, without hesitation, he closes the distance, his body drawn to yours, as if the very air between you calls out to him. When you turn to meet his gaze, the breath catches in his throat. And then, he's reaching for you—his arms enveloping you, pulling you close. His face buries in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of you like a lifeline, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

"I’m back, doll,” Chuuya murmurs, his voice low and thick with the familiar ache of desire.

You pull away just enough to look up at him, but the concern in your eyes stops him in his tracks, an invisible weight settling between you.

"Chuuya..." you whisper, throwing your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

His hand tangles gently in your hair, memorising the feel of it, before sliding to the small of your back. His heart pounds beneath your touch, a frantic beat that matches the ache in his chest.

You recognise the roses placed on the table, right behind Chuuya.

“Roses?”

“These are for you,” his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmured, looking up at him with a softness that made his chest ache.

“Thank you.”

“Figured I owed you something,” he said, his fingers gently tracing a pattern on your back. “I’ve been gone too long.”

Your lips, warm and soft, press against the pulse in his neck, sending a shiver through him. You linger there, your kiss gentle yet full of intent, and the weight of the world falls away, replaced only by the heat of your touch.

Oh, how you’ve missed him.

“You think flowers will make up for it?” you teased gently, though there was no bite to your words. You take his jacket, your eyes never leaving his. He gulps. You really can’t behave.

“No,” he admitted, “But it’s a start.”

You glance at the stove, ensuring it’s turned off. Nice. Perfect for what is about to come—you wouldn’t want to serve your love an overcooked meal, right?

“Where were you, my love?” you murmur against his skin, your voice a low whisper, laced with need.

His breath stutters, the sharpness of your words striking deep. A smirk tugs at his lips, but his eyes—those eyes—betray the depth of something more. He leans closer, voice rough with desire.

"Here and there. You know how it is. But I always come back to you, don't I?"

"You do..." you reply, but there's a smirk tugging at your lips, and the audacity in your tone doesn't go unnoticed.

Chuuya quirks a brow, a soft, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He pulls you closer, his thumb brushing lazy circles on your side. He's playing along, keeping his tone dangerously patient.

"What's wrong now, doll? Got something to say?"

You meet his gaze, shrugging with a nonchalant air that only fuels the tension. "I feel uneasy whenever you're away..." you admit, though your lips brushing his neck again feel more like a power move than an act of comfort. "But you already know that."

His grip tightens on your waist, not to control but to ground you, though there's a flicker of annoyance at your little game. "I know, doll. But I'm careful. Always. I'll come back to you, in one piece."

You scoff, leaning back just enough to shoot him a pointed look. "I don't care how many pieces. As long as you're alive and with me."

The words hit him hard, but instead of melting under their weight, he lets out a low, shaky laugh, his hands sliding possessively to your hips and pulling you flush against him. There's a raw intensity in the movement that leaves the air charged.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?" His voice is thick with amusement and something darker. "What did I do to deserve you?"

You tilt your head, fingers teasing the hem of his breeches, your grin downright smug. "Probably something terrible. Lucky for you, l've got low standards."

His gaze drops to your hands, his pulse quickening at your boldness, and when his eyes snap back to yours, they're dark, dangerous, and hungry. "Keep it up, doll," he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. "See what happens."

You trail your fingers up his chest, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “What happens if I don’t keep it up? You’d miss me too much, wouldn’t you?”

His laugh is low and almost predatory as he pulls you even closer. “You make it sound like you can’t live without me, doll.”

Your lips curl into a teasing smile, a glint of challenge in your eyes. "You misunderstand," you whisper, leaning in closer. "I depend on your existence.”

His lips curl into a smirk as he steps closer, the space between you evapora-ting. His breath brushes against your ear, warm and deliberate.

"Depend on me, huh? Does that mean I'm all you think about, darling?"

The metallic clink of his gun as he sets it down on the table punctuates his words, a subtle reminder of the control he so effortlessly wields. His eyes remain locked on yours, unyielding, daring you to say more. You hold his gaze, a playful defiance dancing in your eyes.

"Yes?"

The single word hangs in the air, laced with a challenge that only stokes the fire simmering beneath his composed exterior. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers pressing into you as though grounding himself. His lips part, and his voice drops, carrying a low, dangerous edge.

"You're playing with fire, Princess. You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a featherlight touch, your taunting reply barely above a whisper. "I do, my love. And I think you like it."

A quiet growl escapes his throat, his jaw tightening as he struggles to keep his composure. His hands slide up your sides, firm and commanding, each movement deliberate, as if daring you to test his limits further. The air between you is charged, every second stretching longer than the last.

When you smirk, so confident, so teasing, it shatters his resolve. He groans, low and guttural, as the tension finally snaps.

With one swift motion, he lifts you over his shoulder, your playful laugh melting into a startled gasp. The sharp smack of his hand against your backside echoes through the room, drawing a shocked cry from your lips.

"Behave," he growls, his voice thick with authority, dripping with unspoken promises.

"Y-yes, sir.." you manage, your breath hitching as he strides purposefully toward the bedroom.

The door slams shut behind him, the sound a declaration. He lowers you onto the bed with deliberate care, his darkened gaze tracing over you like a touch. The air shifts, heavy with intent, as his fingers move to unfasten the leather choker around his neck, each motion slow and purposeful.

"Wrists," he commands, his voice rough yet controlled, the single word sending a shiver down your spine.

Your pulse races as you offer them to him without hesitation, his thumb brushing over your skin, the gentleness in stark contrast to the storm brewing in his eyes. He leans closer, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice a low, intimate rasp.

"Good girl.”

Your lips meet softly, a slow, lingering kiss that deepens as his hand cradles your face, drawing you closer. The world around you fades, leaving only the warmth of your breath mingling, the taste of longing and quiet affection.

Every touch, every movement, speaks of the unspoken desire between the two of you, tender yet consuming.

Chuuya pulls away, his lips leaving yours reluctantly, his breath shallow as his eyes flicker between hunger and something…darker, irresistible even. He studies you as though trying to imprint every inch of you in his mind, the way you look beneath his touch, the rise and fall of your chest. The heat between you both is undeniable, crackling in the air as if each breath could set everything ablaze.

He stands, towering over you, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver through your spine.

His hands move slowly, deliberately, as he tugs at his waistband, each motion calculated yet charged with a simmering energy that makes the air thick with anticipation. The restraint he's holding onto is evident, but it feels like a colled spring, poised to snap at any moment.

"Want me, Princess?" His voice is low, slow, and purposeful-heavy with need, dripping with authority. "Say it. Say you want me."

Your pulse spikes, the commanding tone of his voice vibrating through you.

His gaze doesn't waver, leaving no room for hesitation, and though part of you wants to resist, the other part is completely lost in him. His words, his presence-everything about him commands you, pulling you in like gravity.

"I want you, Chuuya," you breathe, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. It feels almost like a confession, as if saying it aloud shatters whatever barrier you had left. "I want all of you..."

Chuuya's lips curl into a smirk, satisfaction glinting in his eyes as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. His hands grip the edge of the bed, leaning down to hover just above you. The heat of his stare makes your breath catch in your throat, his intensity bearing down on you like a physical weight.

"You're so fucking perfect for me," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a subtle rasp in his words that makes your pulse quicken. His hands trail down your sides with slow, possessive touches that ignite every nerve in your body. "I can't wait to see how well you take me... you will, won't you, doll?"

A shiver runs down your spine, the rawness of his words leaving you trembling. You nod, almost impatient, the urgency building in your chest. You reach for him, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin against yours. Chuuya doesn't hesitate—his shirt is off in an instant, and his hands are back on you, tracing your body with a hunger that makes your head spin.

His lips crash onto yours again, urgent, demanding, as if he's starved for you.

His hands slip beneath your clothes, the searing heat of his touch making you ache for more. You arch into him instinctively, pulled closer by his unrelenting force.

The world outside ceases to exist.

There's only the two of you, the tension, the need that pulses between you, thick and undeniable.

His fingers graze the lace of your underwear, sending a shudder through your body as he teases, barely brushing against you-just enough to drive you wild with longing.

"You feel that, Princess?" he growls, his lips brushing against yours, his voice low and rough."You're already so fucking wet for me."

A soft moan escapes you, your hands gripping his shoulders as your breath catches in your throat. You need him, you need more.

"Chuuya... please."

He chuckles, dark and seductive, his lips brushing your ear. "Patience, sweetheart," he whispers, his hands sliding down to free you from your pants completely, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll give you what you want, but you have to earn it."

A frustrated groan escapes you, but the thrill of his words sends a rush through your chest. The way he speaks, so sure of himself, makes the anticipation unbearable.

"How?" you ask, your voice shaky with both desire and defiance.

His smirk deepens, and he leans down to nip at your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin in a way that makes you tremble. "You need me to spell it out for you, pretty?"

Your heart races, a mix of longing and impatience building in your chest. Your hands move to his pants, undoing the buttons quickly, the urgency of the moment pulsing through you as you push them down, revealing the hard muscles of his body. His breath hitches slightly, and a feral grin spreads across his face, satisfaction mixing with raw desire.

"You really do want me, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "You're making it harder for me to resist you."

Your trembling body responds to his gaze, the tension between you so thick it feels almost suffocating. "I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, Chuuya," you admit, your voice unsteady but unwavering.

He rolls his eyes, chuckling cockily. "That's what you always say. Every single damn time."

The room feels heavy with the tension now, unbearable and all-consuming. Chuuya's lips crash back onto yours, urgent, demanding. His hands pull your legs around him, pressing his body fully against yours, the heat between you suffocating yet intoxicating.

His hands roam your body, caressing and exploring, each movement dragging you deeper into the desire that's consuming both of you. It's almost maddening, the way he moves, knowing exactly how to push every single button. But just as you think you might shatter, his voice cuts through the haze, his breath hot against your ear.

Your pulse quickens as he positions himself above you, his gaze locking with yours. His fingers trail along your thigh, deliberately slow, each touch igniting a spark that spreads through every nerve in your body. His gaze never leaves yours, dark and piercing, as his touch lingers with a teasing lightness, like he knows exactly how to make you come undone.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a mix of awe and desire.

"So desperate for me, doll. You don't even realise how much l've missed you like this."

The weight of his words crashes over you, leaving you breathless. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin, grounding yourself in the intensity of the moment. But he doesn't let you settle. He leans in, pressing his lips to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine.

"Chuuya," you breathe, his name escaping your lips like a prayer.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin, before his voice turns commanding once more. "Say it again," he growls. "Let me hear you say my name like that."

You shiver, the sheer demand in his tone making your resolve falter. "Chuuya," you whisper again, softer this time, but no less desperate.

His response is immediate. His hands slide under the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down in a fluid motion. His movements are precise, almost painfully slow, but full of hunger, every touch making your body ache for more. His lips find yours once again, the kiss searing, possessive, all-consuming.

The heat radiating between you is unbearable now. Every touch, every movement draws you further into him, until all you can feel is his presence, his hands, his lips. He presses closer, his body melding with yours as his hands roam, exploring every curve, every inch of skin, mapping you out as if you're the only thing that matters.

"I've missed this," he whispers against your lips, his voice rough with emotion.

Your breath hitches at the weight of his words, the yearning in them making your heart race. "I've missed you too, Chuuya," you murmur, the confession spilling from your lips without hesita-tion. "I've missed you so much."

His lips twitch into a smirk, but there's something deeper in his gaze now— longing mingled with a hunger that matches your own. "Good," he says, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he pulls you closer.

The world outside fades into nothing-ness, leaving only the overwhelming heat between you, the sensation of him, and the way he makes you feel as though you're the center of his universe. In this moment, you are.

Nothing else exists but him, his touch, his whispered words, and the overwhelming desire that consumes you both.

Every movement, every sound, is electric, each second stretching into eternity as he takes his time with you, savoring every reaction, every shiver that runs through your body. He's careful yet relentless, knowing exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of you, the parts you didn't even know existed.

"Chuuya," you gasp again, your voice trembling as his forehead presses to yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between.

"I've got you," he murmurs, softer now, but still intense, his gaze never leaving yours. "Let me take care of you, baby."

And as he moves, each touch and each word ignites something deeper within you. You realize that you're utterly and completely his, in a way that words could never fully convey.

The air is thick with anticipation, the promise of what's to come hanging between you, until his grip tightens once more. You gasp as the pressure around your limbs intensifies, the choker around your wrists-more than a restraint-tightens, pulling you deeper into his control. You can't move. Can't struggle. And yet, you don't want to.

"Fuck, baby... look at you," his voice slices through the haze, his eyes devouring you. The choker snaps, yanking your arms above your head with a sharp tug, pinning you to the bed beneath you. The straps dig into your skin, the pressure creating a delicious, raw sensation that leaves you breathless.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk, more taunt than genuine concern.

You shake your head, lips parting slightly as the pressure that holds you now moves lower, pulling your body closer. Your back arches into the window, your right leg dangling helplessly, the rest of you suspended in his unyielding grasp.

The air grows thick in your chest, as if the very space around you is closing in with the weight of his gaze. His fingers twitch, drifting toward your legs as though they've come alive with their own intent. Slowly, agonizingly, they hover just above your skin, the tension humming within your skin.

You can feel the heat of his stare, cataloging every reaction, every involuntary tremor of your body. "Every damn inch of you gets me harder than you can imagine," he growls, his hands finally landing on your thigh, ripping the fabric of your clothes effortlessly, fingers pressing down to trace your folds through your underwear before sliding up and down your inner thighs, worshiping every inch of you. "And yet... here you are, hiding from me. You said you missed me, didn't you, doll?"

Your breathing quickens, shallow, desperate, and you hate the way you tremble beneath him-not out of fear, not exactly, but from something deeper, more compromising.

His fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it off with maddening ease, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air.

"Wanna know what's so damn unique about your body, doll?" His palm slides over your lace bra, fingers curling possessively as he squeezes softly.

You gasp sharply, feeling his hot mouth against your skin, trailing open kisses down your collarbone, sharp teeth nipping before his tongue soothes the sting.

You can't move, can't think—only feel him, feel his possessive grip on you tightening as he groans low in his chest.

"Your soft skin drives me wild..."

"Ch-Chuuya, stop teasing, please." You whimper with a trembling breath as you arch into him, desperate for more.

More of his touch, more of his kisses, as if each fleeting moment only leaves you craving the next. He growls low in his throat-that sound that makes your heart race, pumping blood faster as he deftly undoes the buttons of his vest and dress shirt. Your hands ache to roam, to trace the hard lines of his body, to feel the muscles beneath your palms that have haunted your dreams during your time apart. Honestly, you can't deny it—not even for a second —how much you've missed him, how every inch of him feels like a need too urgent to ignore.

"Let me use every piece of you until you see what I see." Chuuya rasps, unbuttoning his belt urgently. He couldn't stop the way his length twitched the second it was freed from his uniform slacks. He moves closer, already palming it.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, instinctively parting your lips, thinking he'd claim your mouth, but he has other plans.

Chuuya leans down to kiss you, his mouth hot and eager, pressing against yours as his tongue slips inside, swirling with yours in a slow, deep rhythm.

He sucks harder than usual, his movements growing more deliberate as he aligns himself perfectly with the right spot. It feels like a fever dream-you can hardly remember how quickly he shifted positions, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and securing them with his ability. Then, you catch it - his gaze, half-lidded and full of that tenderness he only gives before pushing into you. It's not just lust; it's something deeper, something full of love and adoration, like he's already lost in you.

His jaw slackens as he sinks into you, the feel of your tight walls around him undoing him completely.

"Ah... Chuuya~...mmh~" Your desperate gasps are swallowed by his mouth, the kiss messy and urgent, his tongue and lips eager to claim you.

You feel his pace pick up, a shift from his usual slow, tender rhythm-he's insatiable tonight. His thick length fills you, and even though you've done this countless times, it always takes a moment to adjust to him, the stretch never quite losing its intensity.

He breaks the kiss, teeth gently grazing your collarbone, your breasts, your shoulders, leaving a trail of bruises that will bloom into shades of violet, soft grey, and deep green.

"Oh, fuck...~ you see what you do to me?

Look at you-perfect." He can hardly form a coherent thought, consumed entirely by the sensation of you. His words are rough, slipping out in a haze of desire. Every inch of you drives him wild, and as his mind fogs, all he can focus on is the way you make him feel - like he's drowning in pleasure. He was going to say something... but the weight of you, the way your body moves under his, has him reduced to nothing but soft, desperate moans.

A few beads of pre-cum roll down his shaft, making your soft skin slick, and the feeling of it only fuels his urgency.

His gravity manipulation keeps your wrists above your head, pinning you in place while his other hand grips your thighs tightly. The other traces over your body, making your breath catch. You arch against him, desperate for more.

"I'm so lost in you, baby," he groans, his words low and ragged as he pulls you even closer. The words are barely more than a whisper against your skin, but they sink deep inside you, fueling the fire in your chest. "You want me to show you just how much I adore you? Make love to you like you're mine?"

His voice shakes with the raw emotion he's trying to control. You feel every inch of him as he drives into you, deeper with each thrust. "Because you are... every part of you..." His breath is quick, labored, and his pace intensifies, pushing you to the edge.

You gasp in response, the intensity of his words, combined with his body's movements, filling you with an overwhelming sense of connection. "Yes, please... don't stop, Chuuya... I need you... more, please..." you whisper desperately. His body responds with a ferocity that matches your need, yet there's a tenderness in the way he holds you, in the way he moves. He's not just taking you; he's worshiping you, as though each thrust is a promise of devotion.

The bed shakes with each powerful thrust, the sound of your moans and the movement of your bodies filling the room. He's completely consumed by you, but even in the frenzy of it all, you can feel the tenderness in his touch, the quiet reverence with which he cherishes each moment. "You missed me, didn't you? This... it's driving me crazy.." he mutters, his voice strained with love and lust alike.

The room fills with breathless moans and the sound of skin on skin, a sweet, rhythmic symphony of desire and love. Everything outside the moment slips away as your bodies move together in perfect harmony.

He presses his forehead to yours, the weight of his breath matching the intensity of his feelings. You both breathe heavily, trying to steady yourselves, yet everything feels too overwhelming to hold back. He softly brushes his lips over yours, each kiss lingering like he's savoring every second.

When you murmur "I love you, Chuuya," your voice is tender, full of the raw emotion you've been holding back, and he smiles at you, his eyes softening as he traces his fingers over your cheek.

His lips curl into a playful grin, eyes shining with affection. "Say it again, baby," he whispers, his voice low and full of yearning. "I need to hear it."

You smile back at him, your heart full, and as you whisper "I love you," your words are like a promise between the two of you. A soft laugh escapes him, and he pulls you closer, holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

Neither of you notices that the hours have passed by, the world outside forgotten.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Your seasonally available secret-agent roommate got too into the holiday punch this year, and he's bursting with a secret you're not too keen on coming to terms with.

secret santa fic for @crsssie!! roommates + mistletoe + one serving of cuddling <3

HUGE thank you for setting up Leon Secret Santa 2024 and a HUGER apology for messing up the time 😭 i love you LOADS cressie and i hope this fic has banter that lives up to the wonderful dialogue in your fics <3 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

gn / m, romance, fluff, BANTER, leon is SO BAD at feelings, roommates au, angst / slight miscommunication trope + drunken confessions, close your eyes and ignore canon for me <3 no mention of pronouns but reader has bobby pins in their hair cw: alcohol / drunkenness

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

“Shit, I didn’t-”

“Open your eyes, Leon! You’re going to fall, just hold on to me, we’re almost-”

“...don’t need you to,” he slurs, “I got it!”

Leon, of course, has got nothing at all besides shitfaced drunk. Your key is currently deciding not to fit into the convoluted lock he’d decided was absolutely necessary for your shared apartment. It was something about you having the fighting talent of a bedbound sloth (completely subjective opinion, you’d argued) and him being out of the country every few weeks.

The snow must’ve frozen it over while you two were out tonight, and between shouldering 165 pounds of muscle mass while manifesting a bobby pin into existence from your now-bedraggled hairdo to work into the keyhole, the start of Christmas Day is starting to look like Mission Impossible. 

“Don’t make this harder for me,” you plead to both your problems. 

The lock seems to be the only one to listen. Please, please – yes! The mahogany door to the apartment swings open, and you shoulder in your precious cargo, tracking snow all over the floor that’s sure to melt into sludge come morning. Luckily, the chore chart’s on your side tomorrow: Leon’s due for mopping. 

Once he wakes up from his alcohol induced nap, that is. And then you’ll have your fun. 

You deposit him on the couch faster than your paycheck, and your lungs inflate three sizes once his back makes contact with the cushions. “God, you’re heavy,” you pant, wiping your forehead.

“‘Cause you don’t go to the gym with me. Gotta get stronger.”

“I’ll quit my job and get buff once you start paying more than a third of the rent, yeah?”

Leon snorts. “‘m only here a third of the time anyway,” he says under his breath. 

He’s right, of course. The rent split was your idea, fair and square. But you pretend he isn’t. Pretend that it doesn’t hurt, either, like his punches when he tries to teach you self-defense whenever he’s free.

A cherub ornament must’ve fallen from the Christmas tree in the kitchen and crashed on your couch. Frosty blue eyes flutter open to gaze up at you from the cushions. There’s roses in Leon’s pale cheeks, flushed from the outdoors combined with him drinking his head off tonight, and when a wistful, angelic expression spreads across his face, you wish the snowstorm outside would’ve frozen over your heart instead of the door lock. 

He crooks a finger at you. Whispers like it hurts him, “Got somethin’ to tell ya.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“‘s goddamn freezing in here.”

Unbelievable. You throw a couch cushion at his chest and he has the nerve to giggle while you stomp away to shut the front door. “You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk, Leon, what were you thinking?” you scold the subzero air. 

“I can handle my drinks!” he shouts back.

“Then why are you passed out on my couch?”

And despite having your back to him almost ten feet away, you can practically hear his brow scrunch at your words. “Thought it was our couch.”

You wave a flippant hand. “You know what I mean.”

“But you’re right,” he barks out a laugh. “Should be yours. All of it, I…I shouldn’t be here.”

He might be the one drunk tonight, but you’re the one feeling that telltale nausea all of a sudden. Leon’s laugh never makes your stomach roil like this. Screw all the little catches and springs – you twist the biggest one on the door’s lock closed and power walk back to the living room, taking a kneel on the couch next to Leon’s head. He’s turned to the other side now, broad back facing you. Tit for tat. 

“What are you talking about?” Digging your fingers into his right delt, you pry him back to look him in the eye, barely keeping the alarm out of your voice. 

“Uh, coins. Lotsa coins in the couch.” Leon fishes out a dime, shoots you a plastic excuse of a smile like you were born yesterday, “Yours?”

You shake his shoulder. “Don’t play dumb with me, come on. What did you say about you not being here?” 

“Mistletoe too, so much stuff in here…” 

You don’t even spare it a second glance, snatching the sprig out of his fingers. “What’s going on?” you ask, voice trembling. 

Because truth be told, security obsession and his pain-in-the-ass work schedule besides, you really can’t imagine living with anyone else. 

It’s been a year with Leon, your mysterious government agent roommate, the one who you’d spent nights hunched over the kitchen counter with corner store ramen. You’d gripe over your shitty coworkers, he’d threaten to tear them each a new one, and you’d half-pretend to beg him not to. And then you’d both couch surf until the sunrise, with you ending up cuddling into his chest and magically tucked into bed the next morning with your share of the chores done before Leon left for the day.

Leon’s shoulder was always there for you to cry on after failed first dates. It was the one favor you couldn’t pay back in kind; the man seemed to have zero interest in dating with a curious tendency to grow quiet whenever the question got brought up. But for him, you kept your first aid kit stocked. You’ve lost count of how many times you’d stayed up past two AM cleaning his cuts and icing his bruises upon his return home. 

It was a shared agreement. He kept his secrets, you got a built-in best friend. Or at least you thought you did before now.

Your throat stings. “Is this why you drank so much? You didn’t have the guts to tell me you hate living together?” You crumple the hem of his sweater in your fist.

The faraway look in Leon’s eyes clears instantaneously once he registers what’s starting to spill down your cheeks. 

Your next demand comes out riddled with cracks. “You have to be h-honest, Leon, promise me. Why don’t you want to stay?”

“Then you’ll stop crying?” 

Leon’s hands clumsily drift up to cup your cheeks, but the world’s gone full snowglobe through your haze of tears. You don’t pay them any mind, nodding fervently. 

“It’s you,” he breathes. 

You smell the mulled wine in his breath. Your holiday once-favorite, sweet and and now sickening. You’re a bruised peach, frostbitten and smashed under his Timberlands. Leon had it all wrong; it wasn’t the front door that needed to be padlocked, it was your stupid heart and the creeping realization that you’d tried to stave off with all those horrible dates and more excuses to fall asleep in his arms. 

The thing Leon did get right, though, was that you had no fighting chance. How could you let him break his way so completely into your life? He wasn’t even here half the time and here you are, fighting the clock to greet him home like he even wanted you there. 

You shake your head, interrupting the thumbs trying to wipe away your tears. “That’s fine. Yeah. Totally fine,” you sniffle, putting on your customer service brave face.

“No,” Leon frowns. 

“If I’m such a horrible roommate, we can sto-”

“No,” he repeats firmly. “Don’t…ugh,” he claps a hand to his forehead, the alcohol headache hot on his heels. 

“Don’t what?” you cry.

“Not helping,” Leon grits.

“Sorry for being sad that I’ll miss my best friend? I don’t know what you want me to-”

There’s a sharp pull on your wrist. With an exasperated sigh, Leon lifts the fist at your side with the sprig of mistletoe still in it above your head. You get one, maybe two seconds to wonder how he remembered it was there before his lips collide with yours, his calloused palm guiding your cheek towards his cherry-flavored mouth. The wind knocks out of you – more than that time you dared him to throw you over his shoulder.

The mistletoe falls out of your fingers. Leon’s thumb brushes the last tear out of the corner of your eye and mulled wine becomes your favorite again.

“Didn’t have the guts to say I liked ya,” he mumbles, and your heart skips. Leon’s smiling. 

“You’d rather move out than admit you like me?” you tease, breathless, arms circling around his neck the way they always do when he princess carries you. 

“Sweetheart, y’know me.”

And yeah, you do. Nobody else does quite like you.

“Stupid.” You let him kiss you a moment more before pulling away; you can’t help that his frowny face is your favorite expression on him when he’s drunk. “And you know what happens when you pull stupid stunts like that?”

Leon blinks at you, the consequences of bad backflipping flashing through his head. “Don’t want plunger duty!” he groans, flopping back onto the couch.

He’ll be wishing the toilet rats a Merry Christmas, poor guy. Your guy. You’ll just have to wait to cuddle him after he takes an hour-long shower.

@leonsecretsanta MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL!! link to my masterlist lol

dividers by @/strangergraphics!

[mandalhoerian]

forced proximity | baking | wild west au ❅ Leon Secret Santa ( @leonsecretsanta ) ❅ gift for @bonesnplywood !!

summary: When a wagon mishap in the middle of a snowstorm leaves the new sheriff Leon Kennedy stranded at the local bakery, he’s reluctantly pulled into a lighthearted afternoon of decorating gingerbread cookies with the town’s spirited baker, you.

word count: close to 5K, read on ao3

note: AMBER ITS ME!! YOUR SECRET SANTA!!! THE WORST PERSON THESE TROPES COULD POSSIBLY FALL INTO THE LAP OF!!!! I've never in my life joined an event like this or written about christmas (jingle halal everyone), and i was doomed from the start because wild west is something i know absolutely nothing about 😞 so i had to make insane research on the topic for this, and i mean, "insane" research <2 me>, because i've had to look up things such as sugar, icing (did it exist? what about hot chocolate. plot twist, IT DOES), what they baked, how non-commercialized christmas was like back then, and overall about frontier towns, and i swear i was on the verge of tears about to drop out THIS 👌 CLOSE 😭😭😭 I hope I was at least able to catch the vibes and it's enjoyable, please excuse any mistakes or weird stuff overall that doesn't fit, i tried.... merry christmas!

Christmas around these parts was a quiet affair, mostly celebrated by children and the devout few who filled the pews of the old church on the hill. There were no garlands or ribbons strung up, no carolers wandering door to door. Folks didn’t have the time or money for all that fuss.

Instead, Christmas was something simpler. Something humbler. A rare pie cooling on a windowsill, the smell of woodsmoke mingling with fresh bread if a family could spare the flour and sugar, stockings, little more than patched-up socks, hung over fireplaces with faint hope... Sometimes, if the weather allowed, neighbors gathered for a pot of stew or shared biscuits, squeezing together at too-small tables and swapping stories to warm the room better than the fire ever could.

And yet, you, neither a dutiful churchgoer nor a small child any longer, cared more about this holiday than most. Actually, scratch that. “Cared” didn’t begin to cover it.

You lived for Christmas.

Always had. Ever since you were small, the holidays had lit something in you. All of them mattered, but Christmas? That was special. It wasn’t just the crisp air or the smell of pine needles in the bakery where you grew up. It was the whole season, the way December turned the world into something softer, kinder. Your father had seen to that.

Every year, he’d throw open the bakery doors to the orphanage down the lane, baking for the children who had no family to celebrate with. The evenings were loud with laughter, warm with the smell of bread and cakes, and rich with your father’s tall tales spun at the dinner table. He’d send those kids home with free loaves to last them through the winter, and no matter how much the townspeople complained about the expense, they’d show up to help--eventually. Even the grumps couldn’t resist the sight of those kids, faces bright with joy, or the way the bakery felt like the heart of the town in those fleeting weeks.

Of course, none of that magic happened on its own. The ingredients alone were a fortune, especially now, and it had taken some creative wheeling and dealing to keep things running smoothly. Mayor Irons had been easy enough to bribe, an extra haul of your famous sweets for his office, a special stash of sugar sticks just for him. The old sleazeball had learned long ago not to ask questions, especially when the end-of-month "bonus" arrived. It was a necessary evil, one you barely had to think about anymore.

This year, though, was different. The snowstorm had rolled in fast, blanketing the town in thick, sparkling drifts that clung to rooftops and piled high in the streets. It was beautiful in the way all fresh snow is, softening the edges of a hard world. But this wasn’t the gentle, picturesque snowfall from a child's drawing. This storm had teeth. Roads were already impassable, and while the bakery’s ovens burned bright and warm, you couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if the storm kept on. Business had slowed to a crawl, but you weren’t about to close the shop, not with so much left to do before the Christmas festival. The Mayor needed his payment. 

Your gaze drifted to the empty shelf behind the counter where sacks of flour and sugar were meant to sit. Supplies that should have arrived hours ago. Supplies you needed for the dozens of gingerbread cookies and other desserts.

Your father had thrown in the towel hours back, muttering that it was pointless to keep the place open when there was nothing left to sell. You, stubborn as always, refused to leave. The wagon train will come, you’d insisted. You weren’t about to trek home in this snowstorm, anyway, and someone needed to mind the fire. But as the wind howled against the windows and the blizzard thickened to a near whiteout, you were beginning to think your father might’ve had a point.

Then, the bell above the door jingled.

You jolted, spinning around.

"Finally," you muttered, brushing flour-dusted hands on your apron as you turned. "Come on in! You're lettin—"

The words caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the deliveryman standing there, but the sheriff—Leon Kennedy—silhouetted in the doorway like a figure out of legend. His wide-brimmed hat, damp and battered, was barely clinging to his head thanks to the string knotted beneath his chin. On his shoulders, six sacks of supplies were stacked so high it made him look almost absurd in the middle of your little bakery. Snow clung to his coat like he’d wrestled a blizzard and won, but that didn’t stop him from nudging the door shut with the heel of his boot and stepping further inside. The quiet thud of those sacks hitting the wooden floor sent a plume of cold air swirling around the room.

You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Sheriff?”

Leon straightened, dusting snow from his coat with broad, deliberate swipes. “Sorry I’m late.” He nodded to the sacks, as though hauling half a wagon’s worth of supplies on his back through a blizzard was the most normal thing in the world.

“Where’s the wagon?” you managed, trying to peer through the frosted window before turning back to him.

“Broke down a mile back,” he said, his voice roughened by the cold. “Axle snapped.”

Your stomach dropped. “A mile? In this weather?”

“Figured I’d at least bring what I could carry.” He kicked the snow from his boots, each thud matching the quickening of your heartbeat. “Rest will have to wait.”

You stared at him, then the sacks of flour and sugar piled on the floor. He’d walked through a goddamn blizzard. A mile, uphill, no less—you didn’t even need to ask to know that was the case. You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a breath of air. Finally, you croaked, “I… Thank you.”

Leon just nodded, like gratitude was something he shrugged off the same way he shook snow from his coat. “What needs doin’?” he asked, glancing toward the empty shelves. “Looks like you’re behind.”

You’d just watched the man shoulder a blizzard and a mile of snowbanks, and now he wanted to help you restock?

Your gaze flickered to him—to his reddened cheeks and the tips of his nose, glowing like embers from the cold. The dark leather of his duster was soaked through, clinging to him like a second skin, and the snow gathered on the brim of his hat had begun to melt and drip onto the floorboards.

“Hold on a second,” you said, recovering your wits as you marched around the counter. “You’re half-frozen, Sheriff. Give me that coat before you catch your death.”

Leon’s brow quirked faintly, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” You grabbed the hem of his coat, already tugging it off his shoulders before he could protest. The leather was heavier than it looked, soaked through and frigid to the touch. Jesus.

Leon let out a small, huffed laugh, raising his arms in surrender as you worked the coat free. Cedar, you thought absently, catching the scent that clung to him, warm and woodsy even beneath the chill.

“Sit down and warm up,” you ordered, pointing toward the small table near the fire. “You're not going anywhere in this weather.”

“And the shelves?” he asked, ever the dutiful sheriff.

“None of your damn business. You just carried half the territory’s worth of flour through a blizzard—I’d say you’ve earned five minutes.”

Leon’s smile turned genuine then, soft around the edges, and for the first time since he’d walked in, you saw the faintest hint of color return to his face. He nodded, boots thudding against the floor as he made his way to the chair.

As you turned back toward the sacks of supplies, already mentally calculating how much work lay ahead, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. Leon was sitting by the fire now, elbows resting on his knees, hat in one hand and gloves dangling from the other, his gaze distant as he watched the flames. He looked tired. More tired than any man who’d just hauled a mile of flour and sugar should look, but there was something steady in the way he sat there, unshakable, like no storm could ever touch him.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head as you rolled up your sleeves. Christmas was comin’ whether the snow liked it or not.

You busied yourself at the counter, half-focused on the dough you were rolling out and half on the quiet presence of the man. After a while, the silence stretched like the dough underneath your hands, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft thud of your movements against your work surface.

He wasn't very talkative in the first place, you knew as much, thinking that perhaps you could have accomodated him better instead of throwing yourself immediately into work the moment you'd gotten what you'd been waiting for the whole morning. The awkwardness that stifled the bakery was bothersome enough that you chanced another glance at Leon, and caught him watching you, eyes briefly darting to the counter before returning to the oven. 

“You decorating all those yourself?” he asked finally, nodding toward the trays of fresh-out-the-oven, undecorated gingerbread men to the side that were cooling off.

You blinked, pausing mid-roll. “I was planning to, yeah.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing how much energy he had left after the trek. “You’ve got a lot of work left. Might as well make myself useful.”

Your brows rose in mild surprise, but you quickly recovered. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said simply, moving closer to the counter. “Might as well pass the time doing something.”

He put as much intensity into the staring match that followed as he would into a gunfight. It was inevitable that you'd lose. 

Finally, you reluctantly handed him an icing bag, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Sheriff. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Leon took the bag, turning it over in his hands like it was a tool he needed to get a feel for. “Fair warning,” he said, “I’m better with a six-shooter than whatever this is.”

“It’s just icing. Start slow and gentle. No sharpshooting required.”

“Good,” he replied dryly. “Would hate to accidentally take out a gingerbread man.”

Was that... a joke? Did he just make a joke? 

You stepped closer to him, catching the way his hands dwarfed the small icing tube as he held it. His brow furrowed in concentration, the usual stoic expression on his face betraying just a smidge of uncertainty. There was something endearing about seeing him like this, someone so strong and sure reduced to puzzling over frosting.

“Here,” you said softly, placing your hands over his fingers, which twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stilled, letting you guide him. The warmth of his skin seeped into your palms, and you found yourself acutely aware of how close the two of you were.

“Hold it steady,” you murmured, your voice dipping low and deliberate, as if sharing a secret. “The trick is even pressure. Like this.”

You shifted your grip slightly, your thumbs brushing against his knuckles with a deliberate slowness. His hands, so large and steady, seemed to falter beneath your touch, the tiniest twitch betraying his awkwardness. You caught the faint hitch in his breath and felt the way his shoulders stiffened, as though unsure whether to lean into your guidance or escape it entirely, yet together with you, he squeezed the tube gently, a neat line of icing trailing onto the cookie below. He wasn’t focused on the cookie, though—not really. The way his hands followed your movements made it clear he was hyper-aware of the closeness, unsure but not resisting. Feeling the heat rise to your face, you quickly changed tack, pulling your hands away with a light laugh.

"You’ve got it from here," you said, stepping back slightly and gesturing to the cookie in front of him, your tone bright and easy.

Leon exhaled slowly, his breath brushing the side of your face. “Guess I was pressing too hard.”

“Most people do,” you replied, glancing up at him briefly. His focus was in front of him, but his jaw was tight. You could feel the tension in his shoulders despite him admitting what he'd been doing wrong. “Relax your grip a little.”

You adjusted his hold, guiding his hand through another clean line of icing, your bodies aligned as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. When you finally released his hands, the absence of contact felt oddly stark... Thanks to the cold weather, no doubt. 

“Think you’ve got it now?” you asked, stepping back slightly, though your heartbeat had yet to slow.

“Think I’ll need a little more practice.”

That sounded suave at the time, but he was right, in the end. Leon’s first attempt at decorating was, to put it kindly, a disaster.

The icing tube seemed to have a mind of its own, spilling a shaky, jagged line across the gingerbread man’s torso. His frown was growing deeper by each passing minute, and he was constantly adjusting his grip, but it only got worse. By the time he set the tube down, the poor cookie looked more like a battlefield casualty than a festive treat.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. It bubbled up, light and genuine, as you reached over to inspect his handiwork. “Well,” you said, biting back a grin, “it’s… unique.”

“It’s terrible,” Leon muttered, a touch of color rising in his cheeks as he glanced at your much neater designs. “Maybe I should stick to chasing outlaws.”

“Aw, come on,” you teased, nudging his arm. “You’re just gettin' started. Besides, this is supposed to be fun, not perfect.”

He gave a skeptical huff but picked up the tube again, determined to try. How earnest. You leaned closer, pointing out how to apply even pressure, your hands brushing his as you demonstrated even though you didn't really need to do all of that. Something about enjoying a skilled grown man being awkward about something you were good at and wanting to enjoy moments of making him fumble. 

“There you go,” you encouraged as his next attempt turned out… well, marginally better. “See? Not bad for a first-timer.”

"I feel bad for whoever this will be eaten by," he muttered, referring to the misshapen abomination in his hand that could hardly qualify as a 'person.'

"It's the Mayor," you blurted out without thinking, causing a choked laugh escape past his lips, surprise lighting up his handsome features.

"Really?"

"Yep," you grinned, winking conspiratorially at him. "You're helping me bribe the man to invest more on Christmas. Gotta throw in some of your... specialties in there for good luck."

"You're trying to get me fired," he deadpanned, as dry as the wood stacked by the hearth. "And blacklisted."

A loud laugh tore itself out of your throat, warm and melodious in nature. He looked oddly pleased at having brought it out of you, the corners of his lips twitching up minutely before returning to its neutral position. God, how cute! You wondered what other expressions you could draw out of him if you tried. It wasn't fair how handsome he was when he smiled like that, a real smile, with actual emotion. That tiny change softened the harsh line of his mouth and eased the shadow of exhaustion from his face, making him look like a completely different person, like another version of himself who existed behind closed doors. The image stayed burned into your mind's retina as you resumed decorating the cookies with your nimble fingers, sneaking glances every so often, studying him from beneath your lashes.

You wanted to know more about this man. In a way, this snowstorm had been a good thing. 

“So,” you started, reaching for another cookie to decorate, “what made you take the sheriff’s job? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t strike me as the type who’d want to babysit a town like this.”

Leon glanced at you, his hand pausing mid-squeeze. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, ya know.” You gestured vaguely at him, smirking. “That look. Like you’ve seen too much of the world already and don’t trust any of it.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re not wrong.” For a moment, he focused on his cookie again, the silence stretching between you both. Then, quietly, he added, “I figured it was time to slow down. Maybe try something simpler.”

You arched a brow. “Simpler? Sheriff in a town like this? You must not have heard about all the trouble this place sees.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, glancing your way with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Still beats the alternative.”

The weight in his voice gave you pause. You didn’t press, sensing there were things he wasn’t ready to share, and not your place to know in the first place. Instead, you held up one of your finished cookies. “Well, here’s to slowing down. Even if it means spending your days wrestling with icing.”

“I’ll take it over the wrestling I’m used to,” he said, his lips twitching into a soft smile as he picked up another cookie. "Already like this better. It's nice working with someone like this. Having a calm evening instead of the usual shit I'm doing. Christmas cookie decorating. Who'd've thought, right?"

"That sounds lonely, Sheriff."

A strange, distant look crossed over his face momentarily, something melancholic and longing flitting across his face before it vanished again under the cool mask you were familiar with.

He let out a small, sad sigh. "...Yeah. S'pose it is."

"You know... Christmas is all about coming together. Starting fresh. And sometimes taking a little break from reality to enjoy yourself," you added thoughtfully, trying not to be too on the nose about what you were trying to convey. "We all need a little grace. Especially around this time of year."

He snorted softly at that, amused.

Your hand moved quicker than your mind could react, bringing the piping tip dangerously close to his mouth. "Care to repeat that?"

Leon blinked, momentarily stunned. "Christmas suits you," he repeated, more brazenly this time, daring you to follow through with the implicit threat. "All warm and welcoming." He leaned forward, almost challenging in nature. "Like this bakery of yours."

"Oh, well—" your ears burned hotter at the implications. If anyone saw you like this now, you would've been done for.

You cleared your throat, attempting to keep yourself composed even as Leon's stare bore a hole through your skull. The damn man was just teasing you, looking smug as fuck for figuring out how to make you flustered for once.

"You better watch your pretty mouth, or else I'll decorate it shut instead."

Leon threw you his most innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt smile, and oh—was he laying it on thick just to rile you up. He seemed to have recovered from earlier, all broody and cold-shouldered as he usually was. This new, playful side of him was going to kill you before the day was over, you were absolutely certain of it.

"Maybe next time," he said simply with a nonchalant shrug. 

The man had some nerve. Just the mere implication made your head spin. Did he mean it? Was he flirting? What did that mean for him? For you? You thought back to the few times you'd seen him around town—the polite smiles and nods exchanged at a distance; the brief conversation when your order went missing; the sudden appearance this afternoon that saved your day—and wondered why things were so easy between you despite how limited the interactions. Maybe because you knew each other well enough in name only, without the addition of many personal details beyond those spoken on a passing basis. Or maybe there was something deeper and unspoken that existed between you two ever since that first interaction at the saloon several weeks ago. Maybe you weren't imagining the subtle, shy looks, the hidden smiles, the way he tended to linger by the doorway to watch you work long after he ran out of excuses to be there anymore.

You shook away such thoughts and returned to decorating, not sure what to say in response.

"...Do you ever get the temptation to have any while you do this?" He asked all of a sudden, changing the topic abruptly. "Or wait til the last batch gets done and then have them?"

"These are for Christmas!"

"They are for the Mayor."

You couldn't help but giggle, especially since he said that like someone else would talk about some slimy thing on the bottom of their shoe. "For Christmas's sake."

"Would you eat one? Any of these ones I did?" There was something almost like playful disappointment there, in his tone. "I think we need to do some... quality testing before deciding to send them off to my employer and risk my job while we're at it."

There were very few times Leon Kennedy was described as an optimist, even fewer times he could be considered amusing (the townsfolk seemed convinced he wasn't capable of joy), but hearing him make a joke regarding his 'employer' with you made something flip inside your tummy. It didn't take long for you to cave, popping the partially iced gingerbread man into your mouth.

And that's how both of you ended up sitting down and devouring the whole batch, with two cups of steaming hot chocolate courtesy of yours truly. In true Christmas spirit, Leon even suggested making a gingerbread house from scratch in the shape of the mayor's office (complete with a gingerbread dog) and helping you with the baking process.

At this point, neither of you cared about decorum—the sheriff's sleeves were rolled up high on his arms, and you'd shucked your apron ages ago. Between the pair of you, you had enough raw dough in your mouths to sink a ship, but it was delicious, and your stomach was full of warm gingerbread and sweet cream. All that was missing was eggnog and a roaring fire, and it really felt like Christmas. His company, too, was surprisingly pleasant. Though Leon was quiet—always quiet—he listened attentively to your chatter while you kneaded the dough and he mixed the sugar and eggs while occasionaly going in for the hot chocolate, which was quite endearing for a man you hadn't seen with any beverage other than some sort of alcohol at the saloon.

You leaned against the counter as Leon poured another mug of hot chocolate, his sleeves still rolled up and his hair slightly mussed from pushing it away too many times so it wouldn't get in his eyes while he worked. The snowstorm had calmed some, but the wind still howled outside, leaving little to do but bake another batch of cookies and fruitcakes to pass the time—and keep the shop warm.

“So, about that axle,” you started, reaching for the bowl of flour. “No one told you it was shot?”

Leon shook his head, his expression almost sheepish. “Guess I didn’t ask the right questions. Higgins just said it was ‘good enough.’”

You snorted, scooping flour into the mixing bowl. “‘Good enough’ by Higgins’ standards means it’s one bump away from falling apart. The man’s been patching that wagon together with spit and stubbornness for years.”

Leon’s lips twitched in a faint smile as he leaned against the counter across from you. “Noted for next time.”

“You’re lucky it lasted as long as it did. But you’ll get used to that around here. Everyone’s got their quirks, and most of them involve cutting corners where they shouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Leon’s tone invited more, his eyes steady on yours as he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Oh, definitely,” you said, grabbing the sugar. “Take Mrs. Winslow, for example. Sweet old lady, bakes pies for half the town out of the goodness of her heart that it's bad for my business, but did you know she’s the reason the post office closes early every other Thursday?”

Leon blinked. “I… can’t say I did.”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s been having a years-long feud with the postmaster’s wife over some quilting contest back in ‘64. The poor postmaster just shuts up shop early to keep the peace whenever she’s around.”

“Jesus…”

“And then there’s Old Man Miller. Nice fella, always has a good story to share, but he’s also the same guy who thinks it’s a bright idea to milk his cows at midnight to ‘beat the rush’ at the market in the morning.” You laughed, remembering the sight of Mr. Miller stumbling bleary-eyed into the bakery, smelling distinctly of barnyard. “And let me tell you, that man’s cheese tastes like the butt crack of dawn on a Monday morning itself.”

Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds charming.”

“It is. Charming and... a little crazy, to be honest. But that’s the kind of place this is. We’ve all got our stories, and we’re all a bit touched in the head. Except me, of course. I’m the picture of sanity. Why, just yesterday, I had a completely normal, rational conversation with my sourdough starter as I fed it. It agreed wholeheartedly.”

“I see the resemblance,” Leon joked, his posture relaxing as he took over the task of adding eggs to the bowl, his fingers moving deftly and confidently. “Did the sourdough give you any tips for dealing with the townsfolk, or is that a trade secret?”

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know," you teased, laughing along. "But honestly, the best advice I can offer is to roll with the punches. This place will drive you nuts if you try to understand it. Just let the weird wash over you, and eventually, you'll feel at home."

Leon paused, considering your words. "That might take a while."

“Here's some secrets to keep up... There’s old Tom over at the smithy. He’ll fix your horseshoes for half price, but only if you promise not to bring up the time he accidentally set fire to the mayor’s porch.”

You glanced up to find his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

“And let’s not forget about the Reverend,” you continued, emboldened by the sight. “Bless his heart, but he’s been known to sample a little too much of the communion wine. You’ll know it’s happened when he starts quoting Shakespeare in his sermons.”

Leon nodded wisely. “Duly noted. Blackmail Tom, steer clear of the reverend during happy hour. Got any other wisdom to impart, town sage?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Well, if you ever need a favor from the schoolmarm, remember that her favorite flowers are peonies. And whatever you do, do not play poker with the Doc. The man can cheat like no one's business, and no, he's not above using his medical degree to his advantage. Also, avoid the butcher on Tuesdays—he's extra cranky after haggling prices with the ranchers. Oh, and never, ever bet against the blacksmith in an arm-wrestling match. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. Poor Billy. That boy won't learn his lesson anytime soon."

"What about the town baker?" he asked, his tone light, a hint of curiosity in his question, his focus on the dough in front of him, his fingers kneading the mound of flour, butter, and sugar. "Any secrets worth knowing?"

You quirked a brow, a sly smile playing at the corners of your mouth at him taking the first step that he'd been circling for quite some time. What would he have done if you weren't good with signals? Nevermind, though, you liked this brand of shy men. "Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing..."

Leon paused, his hands buried in the dough, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt sleeves. He looked at you expectantly, a glint of intrigue in his otherwise impassive demeanor.

"The baker," you said in a hushed tone, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, "has a weakness for a handsome, helpful sheriff who knows his way around a bag of icing. Especially one who's willing to brave a snowstorm to deliver her supplies personally."

The blush that crept up Leon's neck was immediate, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, finding his flustered state absolutely adorable. His grip on the dough tightened momentarily, and he averted his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tried to compose himself.

"Ah," he managed, his throat bobbing in a nervous gulp.

You nodded, the grin on your face growing wider. "Mhm. She would love it if on Christmas Eve, that certain sheriff stopped by the bakery to pick up her special order. Maybe even have a drink together. To thank him for all his help, of course. If he's not busy, that is."

Leon cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his attention still fixed on the dough before him. "I... I'll be sure to check my schedule," he managed, a slight tremor in his deepened voice.

"Good," you replied, straightening up, satisfied with his response. "Now, enough chit-chat, Sheriff. Let's get these gingerbread men in the oven so they can rest and bake, and we can have more hot chocolate and relax in the meantime. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan," Leon agreed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat, though his ears still burned a rosy red.

[heliswife]

𝖎'𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘 🎄 s.coups x reader

for: @cxffecoupx (I was ur secret santa ehe ;3)

warnings : kys jokes, enemies to lovers, roommates to lovers, i project my student council election trauma on yn, I also don't know what both college and snow are like, making out but nothing further

wc: 1.6k + 0.3k epilogue ; 1.9k total ♡

It hasn't even been a month in of your second year of college and you were already about to kill yourself.

Why exactly? Because you and your roommate, who had grown to be one of your best friends, have to leave the dorms and be separated.

“What do you mean I need to move dorms? What's wrong with this one?” You complained to your RA.

“Sorry y/n, but your dorm has a high chance of having a mold infestation, we're going to need to get mold remediation.” The RA answers with the most bullshittiest reason you could think of. Why would there be mold in your dorm? 

Okay, maybe your roommate forgot to throw away the expired cheese that's been in your fridge since last school year, but still! It was complete bullshit!

What was worse than that was that your new roommate was none other than the student council president himself, Choi Seungcheol.

If it was just any ordinary student council president, you wouldn't mind that much. But this was the guy who you ran against and lost to. By a lot. This was like rubbing salt in a reopened wound to you.

“You're y/n, yeah?” He asks as if he doesn't remember who you are once you appear on his doorstep with all of your stuff.

“Yeah. Guess we're roommates now.” He takes a few steps from the doorway, allowing you to enter.

“Mhm, guess we are,” Seungcheol carries some of your bags in the dorm for you, a kind gesture for someone like him.

“Say, Seungcheol, how's student council treating you? Would've been better with me in it.” 

His eyes narrow at your remark. “Being student council president is really fun, actually! Everyone loves me, maybe that's why I won the elections,” He taunts, a wide smirk on his face.

“Whatever, Seungcheol,” You snap, giving up on the battle you started. “Where's my room?”

“Are you usually this much of an ass? You should be lucky I offered to take you in, otherwise you'd be on the streets.” Seungcheol guides you to your room, which is also… his room? “I only have one bedroom. I wasn't expecting to get a roommate, I'll sleep on the floor.”

“I don't need your pity, I'll sleep on the floor. At least until we get a new bed.” You sit yourself down on the carpet of your new bedroom. 

You look around, and it's a pretty normal bedroom. It's decorated with some posters of bands and pictures of him and his friends, but it’s not overly decorated to the point where it's cluttered.

“This bed is uncomfortable anyways, I think you should sleep on it,” Before you could respond, Seungcheol picked you up and threw you on the bed. You bounced up a little from the impact, and Seungcheol took your place on the floor.

“I despise you.”

“The feeling's mutual, y/n. Now, what do you want for dinner?”

You were going to strangle this bitch.

Months had passed since you started living with Seungcheol, and the atmosphere was still thick (though not as tense as before) with you two. 

It wasn't as bad as before, though. The two of you found a routine and stuck to it. You two would stay away from each other, only talking when necessary. 

It felt a little odd though, seeing Seungcheol in such a domestic light. He was sort of attractive while making dinner, a silly thought in the back of your head that you'd only keep to yourself.

The air has been getting colder lately, and the snowflakes whirling to the ground, covering the once green grass in a thick sheet of white.

“The snow is nice, isn't it?” Your roommate asks, appearing by your side completely out of the blue. You perk up and turn your head to him. Though he was talking about how nice the snow was, he was looking directly at you.

“Yeah, it's pretty,” You awkwardly reply. “Are you going back home for the holidays?”

“I'd love to, but can't. You?”

“I am, it'll be a nice break, two weeks without you.” As if the world hated you, your phone dinged. You checked the notification and your smile dropped. “My flight back literally got canceled.”

“Karma's a bitch,” He says, but takes it back once he sees the sad expression on your face. “Sorry. I guess you're staying here?”

You sigh, “Yeah, I guess so. It's going to be snowing a lot today, weather told me there would be at least 20 centimeters of snow today.”

“So we can't go outside either. Meaning I'm stuck with you inside the house.” Seungcheol's conclusion was your worst nightmare. Being stuck at home alone with him for two long, long weeks. “The snowfall is getting more intense.” 

You look outside the frosted window, the trees dancing in the heavy winds. 

Then, an odd sound from somewhere in the house. “I'll go check it out.” Seungcheol offers, and comes back a minute later with a frown.

“What was it?” You start biting the inside of your cheek anxiously.

“Our heater broke.” He states. “I'll tell the RA and ask them to fix it.” 

“What do we do in the meantime? Oh god, I hate this, why did I have to move out that day..?” You pace back and forth around the living room, but you're suddenly stopped by Seungcheol's hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n. We're going to figure this out, okay? I just texted the RA and I'm waiting for a response. Go get all the blankets from our room, ‘kay?” The way he ordered you around was kind of hot though you'd rather die than tell him that.

You gathered all the blankets from the bedroom and threw them down on the floor. “Now what?”

 Seungcheol organizes the blankets so they're all in a neat stack and lifts them up for you. “Get in the blankets, and we'll huddle together for warmth.”

“I am not going close to you.”

“Do you want to die?” You don't say anything and just crawl in the pile, Seungcheol following after.

You lean to your side, resting your head on his shoulder. “You're warm…”

“Weren't you complaining about this a second ago?” Seungcheol says, but really, he likes the affection you're giving him right now. 

“Shh, you're making me feel colder by yapping,” You wrap your arm around his. 

“Good grief.”

The next few minutes are silent. Then, a few tears start to spill out of your eyes. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” Seungcheol's tone is different from the other times he's talked to you. It's more heartfelt, more sincere. Almost as if he didn't hate you. 

“I don't know,” You sniffle, “A lot has happened in the past few months, huh?”

His arm is now around your shoulder, rubbing your arm up and down in an attempt to soothe you. “Yeah, I know you didn't want this to happen, but-”

“Cheol?” You interrupt him. You move the arm that was wrapped around his to wipe a tear from your cheek.

“Yeah?”

“I think I might like you.” The words come out as a shock to the both of you. Even you hadn't expected yourself to say that.

“That's surprising. Think I might like me too,” Seungcheol deadpans, but the glare he receives from your teary eyes makes him realize: this is serious. You're being serious. “Oh shit, y/n, I like you too. Seriously, I do.”

“For real? I thought you hated me?”

“I thought you hated me?” 

You're about to say something in response, but then it hits you. You did hate him. “I did at first because I was jealous, but then when I moved in with you I started liking you and so I kept covering my feelings up and-”

“Y/n. It's alright.” It's Seungcheol's turn to interrupt. “I get it.” He smiles at you before bringing you into a hug.

“Can we kiss?” You're half-joking, half-serious, but you're really hoping Seungcheol takes it seriously. 

And he does. His lips on yours feels like a dream come true. You can feel his smirk against your lips as he slips his tongue in.

It's messy, a passionate embrace of two lovers, but it's just what you need to warm you up.

Before one of you two could take it further, there's a buzzing from Seungcheol's phone. He ignores it the first and second time, but on the third, he moves his lips and checks his texts.

“It's the RA,” He informs, wiping the mixture of yours and his drool from his mouth, “They're going to come once the snowstorm gets less intense. We still have some time.” He winks at you, butterflies getting sent to your stomach.

For once, you're not mad about it. “Okay then, let me just tell my parents something.” You take your phone out and open the family group chat you have pinned to your contacts.

“Flight got cancelled,” You write, “I won't be coming home for Christmas.” You end the text message with a frowny face before turning your phone on do not disturb. “Now, where were we?”

Maybe being moved to a different dorm was a good thing after all.

“Finally, it's Christmas,” You say, putting the star up on the Christmas tree that you and your roommate (now boyfriend since the events that day) share. “Ta-da! We finished!”

“It looks great, doesn't it?” Seungcheol replies. He's currently holding you up so you can reach the top of the tree. Once he puts you down, both you and him marvel at the sight of the heavily decorated tree.

“Mhm, I got you a present too,” You go over and dig through your bag, handing him a bunny plushie holding a heart. “D'you like it, Cheolie?”

He inspects the cherry red rabbit in his hands, “It's adorable. I got you something too.”

“What is it?” Seungcheol gives you a gift bag in your favorite color, decorated with hearts. 

You open the bag in eagerness, revealing a book you've wanted for ages. “You knew what I wanted? I love you so much,” You thank him, hugging him tightly.

“Of course I remember what you wanted,” Seungcheol gently ruffles your head, “How's your family doing?”

“They're doing good, they really want to meet you,” You tell him, and he grins in response.

“We could do that next break, but let's hope that your flight doesn't get canceled again,” He remarks, laughing at your pouty face, “Even worse if our AC breaks.”

“We wouldn't be able to huddle for warmth like last time though, I'd distance myself from you.” You punch him in the arm. 

He retaliates by putting you in a loose headlock, only letting go once you start frantically apologizing. “No matter the weather, I'd want to stay close to you, cause I love you.”

“How romantic, I love you too, darling.” You had always believed winter was your least favorite season, but starting this year, it would be your favorite.

(hohoho! 🎅 merry xmas to everyone who celebrates!)

[mander3-swish]

Don't Stop Me Now

Alex and Michael having a little bit of fun together at Planet 7. Sprinkling a little offering of smut into the RNM universe. (1080 words, PWP)

Written for @jocarthage as part of the 2024 exchange for @rnm-secret-santa

AO3

“We’re in public, you know.”

"I know, that's what makes this hot." Alex might be a little drunk, and they were at Planet 7, a place that Alex had grown to love and feel comfortable at. It also helped that most eyes landed on Isobel and whatever she was up to during any given evening they were there.

But tonight, it was just Alex and Michael, dancing in each other's arms, if you could call what they were doing dancing. More like grinding, or giving a lap dance standing up.

But Michael was certainly not complaining. When Alex decides to throw his inhibitions aside for a night, it was all Michael could do to just hold on for the ride. 

Alex had his thigh pressed in between Michael's legs, so everytime they moved to the music, the pressure to Michael's groin increased the sense of urgency that maybe they should move this to the bathroom, or at least his truck. 

"Fuuuck, Alex," Michael managed to groan into Alex's ear. He could feel a smile form on Alex's face, their cheeks pressed together. 

And then that fucker slipped two fingers into Michael's mouth. "Gotta keep you quiet," he whisper-yelled into Michael's ear. It was as if being quiet out on a noisy dancefloor mattered. What mattered was whatever Alex had in store for his increasingly wet fingers Michael was licking and sucking and getting as spit soaked as possible. 

“It seems you forgot to wear any underwear tonight.” Alex's other hand dipped beneath the waist at Michael's back. If Michael didn't have those fingers in his mouth, he certainly would have been able to reply with some sort of dirty comeback. Alex teased the skin at the top of Michael's crack and just along the inside of his waistband. There was this one spot just at the swell of his ass that made Michael shudder with anticipation that Alex couldn't stop himself from finding each and every time they were together.

One song bled into the next, a slower beat this time, and it appeared that the dance floor cleared out a little bit. This left Alex and Michael and their shenanigans a little bit more exposed, and Alex could feel leering eyes on them. As Alex slipped his fingers from Michael's mouth, Michael let out a groan that more people than absolutely necessary heard.

Michael grabbed Alex by the wrist, tugging him towards the door, and signalling that he'd had enough teasing and was ready to burst. After all these years, it was sometimes still amazing that their relationship could have so many facets and certainly not for one second was it ever dull. 

"But the tab," Alex protested as Michael pulled him outside into the crisp night air.

"We'll go back in later, don't worry about it," Michael replied, unlocking the truck and yanking open the door. Alex clocked that Michael did this manually - his brain must have been too loopy on beer and lust to use his powers, but he somehow still managed to find his keys.

By the time Alex walked around the truck and climbed inside, Michael's jeans were bunched around his ankles, and his hand was fisting his cock like he didn't even need Alex's help.

“Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that, darlin',” Alex drawled, a pretty good imitation of Michael.

"Haaaay," Michael whined, "that sounds like something I'd say. Don't steal my schtick." Michael's head lolled back against the cab seat. He was so far gone.

"Well then don't come without me," Alex countered. "Let me finish what I started," he said, slapping Michael's hand away.

A whisper of “fuck, that’s good” permeated the cab as Alex licked around the head of Michael's cock. He then slid his mouth around and down, down until he could feel the soft tickle of pubic hair. Alex moaned then, the vibrations like shockwaves coursing through Michael's whole being. 

He had one hand firm on Michael's hip, holding him in place, as he worked his mouth over the head. Every little flick of the tongue, stroke of his fingers, or slide of lips had Michael both gasping for more and begging for his release. Alex was an expert at teetering Michael at the edge of ecstasy, knowing just the right combination of stimulation while also keeping him guessing. Michael's fingers in his hair urged him on and turned him on that he himself was closer to coming than he wanted in that moment. He palmed the bulge of his jeans, hoping to ease some of his own building pleasure so that he could focus on Michael, but it barely helped. 

Micheal pulled Alex's free hand up to his mouth and slipped a couple of fingers back in, sucking on them until they were spit soaked enough for what he wanted Alex to do next. He spread his legs as much as could in the cab of the truck, then released Alex's fingers, directing them down until they found their way between Michael's legs.

Alex continued working his mouth and tongue over Michael's cock as he massaged a finger over his hole. He pressed in experimentally hoping there was enough spit. Luckily there was, and he alternated working in his index and middle finger until Michael started rocking his hips on the brink of orgasm. Alex then pressed one finger in as far he could, rubbing over Michael's prostate.

Michael came with satisfied moans, his cock pulsing in Alex's mouth. Alex kept stroking him until Michael's cock was spent, while he licked up every last drop of come.

"And who said romance was dead?"

It was Isobel. It was always Isobel. 

At least Michael had managed to pull his jeans back up and they hadn't started to resolve the predicament in Alex's own jeans. They should have just left. They should have just left and texted Blair they'd pay their tab tomorrow. But no. Now Alex had to suffer through a few more uncomfortable moments and be nice when all he wanted was for Michael to bend him over and fuck him. Hard. There was something about being free and dancing without a care that made him feel and want more. 

“Is there anything you can’t do with that tongue?” Michael whispered in Alex's ear as they stumbled back into Planet 7.

"Not. Helping," Alex replied through gritted teeth. Hopefully they could slip away to the bathroom for round two without Isobel or someone else interrupting. 

[hexarcana]

Olive whoops and laughs when Stan hits the guy and sends him sprawling.

“Serves you right, jerk!” She laughs, her expression staying bright when Stan runs to her. “I’m great! He folded likens deck of cards!” She grins up at him “I coulda, maybe.. But it was cool watching you do it.”

She leans over the crumbled man, hands on tiny hips. After a moment’s thought she winds up and kicks the guy in the shin like she’d planned.

“That’s for calling me runt, you creep!” Satisfied she goes into his office to snoop around. “Good idea, I bet she can fix it.” She hops into the guys chair and peers at the computer and its many screens. She reaches down to the floor and grabs the man’s discarded cellphone. She props her feet up on the the unconscious con’s desk as she dials a number in and waits.

“Hiya Gran. You will NOT believe the night we’ve had.”

—

Aggie took virtually no time to get there once she had the whole story, first from Olive and then from Stan because frankly she wasn’t sure if she believed the twelve year old. Upon her arrival she met them at a back entrance.

“Well you certainly look like you’ve had quite the night.” Her hands are on her hips as she eyes Stan up and down and then Olive. “Is that blood?” She asks.

“It’s not mine, honest.”

Aggie sighs, and is led up the back stairway. When they reach the top o and they have to step over the still very wounded shyster Aggie looks at Stan.

“Was caving his face in really necessary?” She asks as Olive ushers her into the office. She bristles at the sheer amount of dark energy the place seemed to give off. When she made her way to the desk and sat, she took in the monitors. She watches the indentured spirits flit about the screen. She sees what are almost certainly child ghosts in a few of the rooms.? She scowls. “Actually, I take it back. I think caving his face in was too mild of a punishment.”

She rifles through his desk, unsure of what she’s looking for until she finds it. From the bottom drawer she lifts out a book. It looks pretty ordinary, almost like one of the old business books Stan has laying around in his office. Apart from the fact that it’s glowing, and has a picture of a skull on the front along with the phrase “The Dead And Your Workplace, 1984 Edition”

“If I had a nickel for every book of the dead I found that was dolled up to look like this…” She mutters, flipping open the pages. She allows both of them to come close to watch if they so desire, which Olive does. She goes right up to the desk and tries to peer into the book but a lot of it looks like gibberish.

“You can read that?” She asks. Aggie nods and flips a couple more pages until it she lands on one with a diagram of a retro computer, just like the one sitting on the desk. She looks between it and the diagram a few times before she laughs to herself. “You didn’t really need me for this but-“. She finds the plug-in for the computer and follows it to the wall. “This oughta do it.” She tugs it free and the computer shuts down with a mechanized boop. Nothing happens right away but about gen seconds later the entire building seems to erupt with distorted shouts and hollers as well as screams from the few patrons still roaming the halls. The trio watch as multiple intangible ghostly balls of light shoot up from the floor and up through the ceiling, undoubtedly the now free spirits getting the hell out of there. Two actually stop and materialize in the room. It’s the little girl and the morgue lady, though they look more like normal people now, less bloody and horrible.

“Oh, it’s you!” Even her voice sounds normal now, not so high and sing song. “Thanks for letting us out. Sorry about throwing you in the basement!” She nods at the morgue lady who honestly just looks like your average nurse now. She addresses Olive who had involuntarily moved close to Stan, and grabbed his arm fearfully at the sight of the woman.

“Yeah. Sorry for grabbing you and trying to dissect you. I don’t know what came over me.” She laughs, “Do us a favor and destroy that book, hm?” She takes the little girl’s hand and they vanish, leaving the room still and absent of any magical doings. Even the book has stopped glowing. Aggie looks at her granddaughter, still clutching Stan’s arm.

“They’re gone, Junebug.” She explains, getting up from the chair. “Poor things, that was a pretty nasty spell that creep roped them into.” She taps the book before tucking it under her arm. “Books like these let normal everyday people use stupidly powerful magic. So irresponsible.” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly in the direction of the slumped con in the hallway who is now cowering in fear from the spirits that had just shot up around him in just about every direction. She walks over to him, leaning over his battered form. “You best get yourself to the hospital, get your ugly mug fixed, and get out of this town. And if I hear of an operation like this cropping up again, you’ll WISH it was my guy with the brass knuckles and my granddaughter wailing on you. You got that?”

Stan sits back and lets the chaos unfold. He’s about to step into the office himself to lay into the guy, when he steps out into the hallway, red in the face and bellowing. As he rounds on Olive, he seems to be so blinded by rage he doesn’t know he’s left his back exposed to Stan.

This was almost too easy.

Tapping the guy on the shoulder, he turns around. A brief glimmer of recognition of what he’s allowed himself to do and BAM.

Stan punches the guy square in the jaw with his brass knuckles. He falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes. A gold filling lies on the floor next to his mouth in a pool of blood. He’s definitely out for the count now.

Turning away from the groaning sleazeball lying on the floor, Stan rushes over to Olive, paternal urges rushing through him.

“You okay kid? You did well there y’know”- he smirks. “Honest, I think you coulda handled this guy yourself. I almost got in the way.”

He looks back to the necromancing con-man.

“No idea what we’re gonna do with you now bub…” Stan said, cold spite etched in his voice. “I’m honestly kinda tempted to just hand you back to the poor souls you resurrected to work in your crummy tourist trap.”

The amateur necromancer groaned, either due to his broken jaw, or at the prospect of being tossed to a bunch of vengful spirits.

“Think we should get your grandma involved. No clue what we’re going to do with a bunch of dead people who don’t know they’re dead yet.” Stan said to Olive.

“One thing’s for sure anyway, next year, we’re stayin’ in.”

[muffin-snakes-art]

cof.........

[shsl-analyzer-guy]

hey this is the opposite of what I wanted from season 6, actually. Why do these writers hate me personally

[ao3fujoshevik]

is it that i miss my ex or that i miss having a girlfriend

[navxry]

(real talk utc)

I'm thinking about moving blogs soon (for my yandere writing acc), but I'm not sure if moving is a good idea.

I had this in my mind for a while now, and considering how things are, it's always been haunting me. With college stressing me out and my own interests shifting from point A to B with @/yxstxrdrxxm, I had too many to worry and it's starting to wear itself on me.

I don't know when I plan on moving. I don't even know if I want to. But I've always been interested in rebranding, and... I think I want to start off my new blog with the permanent series I've been on and off in writing.

It's gonna suck, because I had a good amount of people there, but I'm really out of ideas. And honestly, I've been thinking abt archiving it with my old main blog, anyway.

So yeah. I don't know when that's happening, but... expect that to occur. maybe for 2025 I can redeem myself from my failures.

[giantkillerjack]

Ya know. I spent most of my life with horrible painful soul-crushing social anxiety.

And after about 25 years of continuous hard work, suddenly, people started pointing out - to my utter bafflement - that I had, in fact, achieved my lifelong dream of being charismatic. I'm 29 now; I feel comfortable in most social situations, and it is a very rare person whom I cannot make laugh.

I am, undoubtedly, finally, charismatic.

But do you know what I found?

I found that now that I have an understanding of which social rules serve which functions -- Now that I have an understanding of just how much damage my awkwardness was doing to people, well,

I found that, actually, my awkwardness never really hurt anyone at all. People were just judgmental dicks to me about it.

Now that I have the skill-level to (most of the time) creatively vocalize what is in my head as soon as I think it and without fear, I can confirm once and for all what I had always suspected:

I was worth talking to when I was quiet.

I was worth talking to when I was awkward, and when the words in my head took time and patience to hear, and when most of my jokes didn't land. I was worth talking to the whole time.

So I just... I hope that if you've ever wondered whether you are worth communicating with, the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. Each of us has a soul worth sharing - and if you and I were talking, I would happily wait for you to speak (or communicate in other ways) without condescending, and I would never shame you for that harmless awkwardness that so many people feel the need to violently stomp out.

You are worth talking to. You just are. And you deserve people who will speak to you with kindness, with patience, and with the basic immutable respect owed to all people.

(I talk about this with some frequency, both on tumblr and in real life. At some point, maybe I'll gather all my thoughts on the matter into one post. At some point, I wrote about my personal experience trying to build my social skill. But I felt the need to say at least a little bit tonight after seeing this other lovely post, and I'm glad I did. It will happen again.)

[weed-cat]

.

[qumiiiquinnquin]

ill never be good enough at anything

[arolesbianism]

Ok so I need to rework my Wendy skilltree concept because klei heard ppl complain abt the combat and went alright then time to completely rework combat but very slowly one update at a time so no one realizes until we straight up give Willow spells