#for a quick little thing this turned out really good

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 STAR A WAR kim minjeong x reader

❝If I need to start a war, I'm gon' try for you, I'll fight for it, go off for you, I’ll start a war❞

౨ৎ warnings: president x vice president, school!au, mild insults not much, swearing

the classroom was quieter than usual. the hum of idle chatter had died down, leaving just the sounds of rustling papers and the clinking of pens against desks. jimin sat in the back, her eyes fixed on yn, who was sitting in the front of the room with that perfect posture, writing something down with quick, precise movements.

yn was always like this sharp, proper, perfect. she looked like she stepped out of a magazine ad with her crisp uniform, tailored to absolute perfection. her hair was sleek and neatly parted to the side, held together by her signature expensive hair clip. everything about her screamed money, power, and control.

“how does she even do it?” jimin muttered under her breath to no one in particular, though minjeong, sitting beside her, heard her clearly.

“do what?” minjeong’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as if she was always careful not to draw too much attention.

“be so... obnoxious,” jimin replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “like, she’s the class president and she’s really good at it, but she’s so... passive aggressive about it. doesn’t even thank anyone for anything. and her whole ‘I’m too cool for you’ vibe is just... ugh.”

minjeong glanced over at yn, who was now talking with a few classmates, her tone polite but distant, like she was doing them a favor just by acknowledging their existence. 

“she’s... not that bad,” minjeong said, though it was clear from the way she looked at jimin that she wasn’t really convinced by her own words.

“oh, c’mon, minjeong. how can you even work with her?” jimin said, exasperated. “I mean, I get it, you’re vice president, but how do you stand being around her all day?”

minjeong shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes downcast. “yn’s... really good at her job. she gets things done and she’s not someone you want to go against.”

“I don’t care if she’s good at her job or not,” jimin shot back, shaking her head. “it’s her attitude. it's unbearable.”

minjeong sighed, clearly trying to avoid making things more complicated. but jimin had made up her mind.

“you know what? I’m running against her,” jimin suddenly declared, slamming her hand on the desk. “this whole school deserves a new class president. one with a little humility, you know?”

minjeong blinked, clearly taken aback. “jimin, I don’t think—”

“too late, I’m doing it,” jimin said with a determined look on her face. “this place needs a change. and I’m going to be the one to give it to them.”

“but—”

“no ‘buts,’ minjeong. I’m doing it, you need a new president by your side.” jimin stood up, suddenly energized, and started toward the front of the classroom where yn was gathering her things, already preparing to leave. “and you’re coming with me,” she added, grabbing minjeong’s wrist and pulling her toward yn.

“wait, jimin, no—”

before minjeong could protest any further, they were standing in front of yn’s desk. yn looked up at them slowly, her expression unreadable as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“can I help you?” she asked, her voice polite but carrying an edge of disinterest.

“yeah,” jimin said, crossing her arms defiantly. “I want an election. I’m running against you.”

there was a long silence. yn blinked, looking between jimin and minjeong, who was standing awkwardly beside her, her head lowered.

“an election,” yn repeated, her voice almost too calm. “you’re challenging me?”

“yep,” jimin replied without missing a beat. “i’m done with you, yn. I’m tired of your attitude. it’s time for a new class president.”

yn’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. she glanced over at minjeong, her eyes lingering for just a moment before she turned back to jimin. “sure,” she said, her voice cool and collected. “if you really want to waste your time.”

jimin’s brow furrowed at how effortlessly yn had agreed, as if she didn’t care at all. but yn’s eyes gleamed with a knowing look, like she was already playing some game that jimin wasn’t fully aware of.

“we’ll see how this turns out,” yn added, before walking away without another word.

the next few weeks were a blur of campaigning, speeches, and endless debates. 

jimin, with the help of aeri, yizhuo, and minjeong, worked tirelessly to build a case for her presidency. but no matter what she did, it always felt like something was off.

for every speech jimin made, there was some technical issue. for every poster she put up, they somehow disappeared. even when she thought things were going well, she could feel the shadow of yn hanging over her. it was like everything jimin did was being sabotaged from the shadows.

“this is ridiculous,” jimin groaned one afternoon, throwing her hands up as she stared at a broken microphone. “why does this always happen to me?”

aeri, who had been quietly filing her nails in the corner of the room, looked up. “maybe she’s got someone working behind the scenes. like, you know, bribing tech support or something.”

“that’s insane,” jimin muttered, rolling her eyes. “there’s no way yn’s going that far.”

“you’d be surprised,” aeri said, smirking. “she is rich, after all. she probably has a whole team working to keep her in power, she’s rich dude, just like minjeong lately.” 

minjeong, who had been quietly helping with the posters, paused for a moment, her eyes flicking to aeri. “what do you mean ?” minjeong asked, her voice almost too soft.

aeri raised an eyebrow. “I mean, come on. have you seen you? designer clothes, accessories every week... it’s not exactly a secret.”

minjeong shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening around the corner of a poster she was holding. “it’s just... gifts from my dad,” she said quickly.

“gifts from your dad?” yizhuo said, clearly skeptical. “your dad can afford all that?”

“yeah, he can,” minjeong replied quietly. “it’s not a big deal.”

jimin, sensing the tension, quickly changed the subject. “let’s just focus on getting this campaign going. we need a new class president.”

jimin and the others sat at their usual table, catching up and discussing their next campaign move. 

it was just another normal lunch until yn walked by. she was flanked by a couple of her loyal followers, her posture impeccable. her gaze flickered over their table, but it was her voice that made jimin’s blood boil.

"oh, look," yn said, loud enough for them to hear, "the losers are still trying to make a name for themselves. such a waste of time, not even my vice president can help.”

the words hung in the air like ice, and jimin shot a glare at her, but yn didn’t even acknowledge it as she continued walking, mary jane’s clicking against the floor.

"she’s unbearable," jimin muttered under her breath, glaring at the back of yn’s head.

"don’t let her get to you," minjeong said quietly, though it was clear she was looking at yn’s retreating figure with a complex expression.

but the damage had been done.

jimin was hanging up the campaign posters when she noticed yn standing in the hallway with a couple of her friends. yn's gaze fell on one of jimin's posters, and without missing a beat, she walked over, her steps confident. her eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else jimin couldn't quite place.

"oh, jimin," yn cooed, her voice dripping with faux sweetness as she stopped in front of the poster. "I see you’re trying to make a difference. too bad this is going to be a waste of time. no one here wants a class president who’s all over the place like you."

jimin clenched her fists at her sides, her jaw tight, but she held her ground. "can you shut up for once?" she shot back, her voice steady "the election is not over yet."

yn smirked, her eyes flicking to minjeong who was standing beside jimin, watching the exchange silently. "we’ll see," yn said smoothly, "but you’re really not cut out for this. it’s cute though, watching you try, just because you don’t like me.”

before jimin could retort, yn’s gaze shifted to minjeong. her smirk widened as she casually addressed her, her voice suddenly colder, sharper.

"and it’s cute that you think you can betray me, your partner, to help her," yn said

minjeong stiffened, her eyes flicking nervously between yn and jimin and she instinctively took a small step back.

yn’s eyes lingered on minjeong for a moment longer, as if daring her to speak, but minjeong remained silent. 

yn turned away with a dismissive wave, her mary jane’s clicking against the floor with each step as she walked off, leaving the air thick with unspoken tension.

jimin glared at yn’s retreating figure, but her eyes quickly darted to minjeong, who had fallen into an uneasy silence.

"min, are you okay?" jimin asked, her voice softer now, trying to gauge her friend’s reaction.

minjeong hesitated before she nodded, though the uncertainty in her eyes was unmistakable. "yeah, I’m fine," she said quietly, but there was something fragile in her tone that made jimin’s stomach churn.

"don’t listen to her," jimin said firmly. “ she’s just a bitch"

but even as they worked, jimin couldn’t shake the feeling that yn was always one step ahead. and when the election results came in, it was no surprise, yn had won.

jimin’s stomach sank as she stared at the results, feeling a bitter taste rise in her mouth. “this doesn’t make sense,” she muttered under her breath. “she sabotaged me, I swear.”

the others comforted her, but jimin could barely hold herself together. she had fought hard, but it hadn’t been enough”

“you did your best, jimin,” yizhuo said, her voice kind. “it just wasn’t meant to be.”

jimin leaned her head back, “I really wanted to get you a new partner min, yn must be unbearable to work with.”

minjeong, who had been unusually quiet, stood up. “it’s okay, I’ve been doing this for a year, this is a bad time but I’m leaving early. my dad is picking me up.”

jimin barely registered the words. “alright, you’ll call us later?” she asked,

minjeong glanced at her, then at aeri and yizhuo. “yeah, of course.”

outside, minjeong made her way to the parking lot, her thoughts a tangled mess. she didn’t want to think about the election, the tension, the constant complaints about yn.

as minjeong reached the curb, a sleek black van pulled up. the door opened, and yn was sitting inside, her face buried in her phone. when she looked up and saw minjeong, a smile tugged at her lips.

“aren’t you going to congratulate me?” yn asked, her voice playful yet laced with something else something almost predatory.

minjeong hesitated, then finally smiled. 

“congratulations,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

yn leaned forward and kissed her, soft and lingering. “thanks, baby,” she murmured against her lips. “thanks for helping me with all of this. I don’t know what your friend thought she was doing, going up against me.”

minjeong didn’t say anything right away, her hand slowly finding yn’s. “she thinks you sabotaged her,” minjeong finally admitted.

yn laughed softly, kissing minjeong’s hand. “little did she know, her best friend was behind it all,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement.

“did you like the gift?” yn asked, nodding toward the prada keychain that now hung from minjeong’s bag.

minjeong smiled. “thank you. you don’t have to get me gifts all the time, you know.”

“I like treating my girlfriend well,” yn said, her voice light but with a hint of something more serious beneath it. “besides, I always get what I want.” she smirked. “how do you think you became vice president?”

minjeong rolled her eyes playfully. “you’re impossible.”

“yet you still almost started a war for me, all that sabotaging, who knew you were so sneaky?”

yn laughed, her fingers intertwining with minjeong’s. “I can’t believe she thought she had a chance against me,” yn continued, leaning back in her seat. “I always get what I want. always.”

minjeong’s smile softened as she watched yn rant, enjoying the rare moment when it was just the two of them. “she’s still my friend, yn,” minjeong said quietly.

“unfortunately,” yn replied, her tone teasing, though there was affection in her eyes.

“you need a new dress,” yn suddenly said, shifting in her seat. “for that family event. I’ll get you one.”

minjeong smiled as yn continued to rant about the event. in moments like this, with just the two of them in the back of the car, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. 

just her and yn, class president and vice president, side by side.

it felt... perfect.

[skiesuconn]

all the ways i stay

paige bueckers & azzi fudd യ notes: it took me a while to find satisfaction with this, but i’ve finally settled on it. i figured i’d jot something down quickly while i work on chapter 3 of the argent. fic. it’s still in the making, but trust me, it’ll be worth the wait. in the meantime, i hope you enjoy this quick blurb i had in mind. also, i highly recommend playing the song mentioned later on—it really brings the moment to life. happy reading, lovelies.

paige never thought she’d be sitting through a rom-com marathon with azzi, yet here they were, limbs tangled on the couch, a half-empty popcorn bowl wedged between them. the air smelled like butter and whatever candle azzi had burning—something warm, vanilla, a little too cozy for a night where paige had fully intended to roast every movie choice.

but azzi was taking this seriously. too seriously.

the notebook had been playing for all of five minutes, and already, azzi was watching like it was a high-stakes thriller, arms crossed, one perfectly manicured hand occasionally reaching up to twist a curl between her fingers. paige, meanwhile, was sprawled out, one socked foot nudging azzi’s thigh, head tipped back against the armrest like she was suffering.

“this is the dumbest shit i’ve ever seen,” paige muttered, watching ryan gosling pull off some grand romantic gesture. “like, imagine a guy hanging off a ferris wheel, threatening to let go unless you agree to a date. that’s not romance, that’s blackmail.”

“he’s being dramatic. it’s supposed to be sweet,” azzi countered, eyes still locked on the screen.

paige huffed a laugh, shifting so her shoulder knocked against azzi’s. “oh, so if i dangle off a balcony and demand you take me to chipotle, that’s sweet? good to know.”

“you wouldn’t last five seconds. your upper body strength is—” azzi let her gaze flick down to paige’s arms, the definition obvious even under her hoodie. she cleared her throat. “never mind.”

paige smirked. “oh no, finish that thought, princess.”

“no.”

paige, who lived for this kind of thing, propped herself up on one elbow, getting close enough that azzi’s perfume curled around her senses. she smelled expensive, like warm florals and a hint of something soft, maybe honey. she should be paying attention to the movie, but instead, she was studying the way azzi’s lashes brushed her cheek when she blinked, the exact shade of brown in her eyes. totally normal. not a problem at all.

“admit it,” paige drawled. “you just got distracted by the guns.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“i do. i hate you so much.” but azzi’s mouth twitched, and her hand, traitorous thing that it was, had found its way to paige’s wrist, fingers pressing absentmindedly into the skin there.

paige noticed, but didn’t comment. instead, she shifted again, nestling further into azzi’s space like she had every right to be there. “okay, but you have to admit this movie is trash. a seven-year breakup over a letter she never got? and then she gets engaged to some other dude just for funsies?”

“it’s about fate.”

“it’s about bad communication.”

“well, not everyone’s an oversharer like you.”

paige grinned. “first of all, rude. second of all, if you ever fell in love with me and wrote me letters for a year, i’d totally read them.”

“good to know,” azzi said dryly, but her fingers curled slightly around paige’s wrist, like she was holding on without thinking about it.

paige caught it this time. dragged her thumb over the inside of azzi’s wrist, slow, lazy. “you’re holding my hand, princess.”

“no, i’m not.”

paige laced their fingers together, making it undeniable. “yeah, you are.”

azzi let out a long, suffering sigh, but didn’t pull away. instead, she rested her head against paige’s shoulder, like it was easier than fighting whatever this was.

“shut up and watch the movie.”

paige smirked. “yes, ma’am.”

azzi groaned. “don’t call me that.”

“whatever you say, sweetheart.” paige turned her head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to azzi’s temple. it was casual, effortless, like second nature. azzi’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move. didn’t push paige away.

paige still thought the movie was ridiculous, but if it meant getting to sit like this, wrapped up in azzi’s space, maybe rom-coms weren’t so bad after all.

paige stretches out on the couch, head sinking into azzi’s lap like she owns the place. which, technically, she does. well—half of it, at least.

"story: five out of ten," paige announces, dragging a lazy hand through the air. "sure, it's the usual love story. boy meets girl, they fight, they make up, they cry… whatever."

azzi snorts, idly combing her fingers through paige's hair. "so poetic."

paige tilts her head up, grinning. "what can i say? i have a way with words."

"yeah," azzi deadpans. "like a drunk guy at karaoke."

paige gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "wow. that was personal."

azzi hums, twisting a strand of blonde between her fingers before flicking it back into place. "well, i’d give it an eight."

paige jerks up like azzi just said something blasphemous. "eight? for that?"

"it's a classic." azzi shrugs, like that explains everything.

paige squints. "so is canned tuna, but you don't see me crying over it."

"maybe because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon," azzi muses, lips twitching.

"okay, rude." paige flops back down, arms crossed. "also, i think we’re ignoring the real issue here. you, azzi fudd, are a rom-com crybaby."

"i am not."

paige smirks. "oh, really? then explain why you sobbed over that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You last week?"

"because heath ledger was singing in the bleachers, and that’s a valid reason!"

paige hums, tapping her chin. "mm. i dunno. seems a little wimpy to me."

"i'm emotionally intelligent," azzi corrects, flicking paige’s forehead.

"mm. tomato, tomahto." paige closes her eyes, perfectly at peace, until—

"you know," azzi starts, voice all sweet and innocent, which immediately puts paige on edge, "when we're old, you’ll be the one looking for your eye contacts only to realize you’ve had glasses on this whole time."

paige's eyes snap open. "excuse me?"

"just saying." azzi grins, all dimples and mischief. "you give off that energy."

paige sits up, pretending to be offended. "i do not give off ‘losing my own glasses while they're on my face’ energy."

"you so do," azzi counters, biting back a laugh.

"i'm literally the most capable person you know."

azzi raises an eyebrow. "paige, last week you spent ten minutes looking for your phone while you were on a call."

paige squints. "…that proves nothing."

"and two days ago, you left your car keys in the fridge."

paige huffs. "that was one time."

"mm-hmm." azzi pats her cheek, eyes sparkling. "sure, babe."

paige flops back down, grumbling, but as azzi goes back to running her fingers through her hair, she lets the thought settle.

growing old with azzi.

being with her through all the ridiculous, mundane, beautiful little moments life throws their way.

paige isn't sentimental. not really. but the idea sticks, burrows into her chest in a way she can’t shake.

she smacks azzi’s thigh, lightly. "you're annoying."

azzi just laughs, warm and soft, and yeah—paige thinks—maybe she wouldn't mind losing her glasses if it means azzi’s the one to find them for her.

the room still smells like buttered popcorn and the faintest hint of azzi’s vanilla-scented lotion. the air’s a little stuffy from them being curled up on the couch for hours, so paige cracks a window while azzi smooths out the blankets, fluffing the pillows back into place.

"teamwork makes the dream work," paige announces, dramatically tossing a handful of snack bags into the trash like she’s steph curry sinking a three.

except—

clunk. one of them bounces off the rim and lands just outside the bin.

"except when you miss." azzi deadpans.

paige squints. "i meant to do that."

"mm-hmm." azzi picks up the stray bag, dropping it in as paige gathers up the cups. she takes a final glance around, making sure everything's set for the next movie marathon.

when she's satisfied, she turns to paige, a little smirk playing at her lips. "good job, partner."

paige barely has time to process before azzi leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her lips. it’s barely a second, but it’s enough to make paige's brain short-circuit.

"oh." paige blinks, a slow grin creeping onto her face. "so i get kisses for cleaning? noted."

"don't push it." azzi nudges her toward the kitchen, but there’s no real bite to it.

paige busies herself grabbing the cupcake cups while azzi starts setting out ingredients. she fills a few with nuts—strictly for herself, since azzi's allergic and she’d rather not spend the night in the er. then she loads up the rest with fruit, especially kiwi, because azzi swears it tastes like happiness. she adds pineapple and strawberries too, then tosses in some dark chocolate and a generous amount of gummy bears.

azzi watches, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "so… you’re just making a personal charcuterie board of sweets?"

paige shrugs. "some of us like variety."

azzi snorts. "some of us just like sugar."

"pot, meet kettle." paige gestures at the chocolate chips azzi’s been sneakily snacking on.

azzi flicks a marshmallow at her, and paige, never one to back down from a challenge, pops it into her mouth midair with a smug look.

"show-off," azzi mutters, but her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.

they settle into a rhythm, prepping ingredients for the ultimate snack session. paige, of course, insists on making s’mores, because what’s a cozy night without them?

azzi leans against the counter, watching paige work, arms brushing every so often. the night is easy, familiar, filled with little moments like this—bickering over snacks, stolen kisses, the kind of comfortable chaos that only comes with knowing someone like the back of your hand.

and honestly? paige wouldn’t trade it for anything.

azzi pads over to the kitchen, where stewie is curled up in his usual spot, breathing slow and steady. he looks peaceful, like he doesn’t have a single thought in that fluffy little head of his.

she crouches down, rubbing his ears, voice soft. "he’s literally perfect."

"mhmm." paige barely glances up, focused on skewering a marshmallow.

"paige, look at him," azzi insists.

paige, still hunched over the stove, murmurs, "kinda busy making s’moresess right now."

azzi squints. "s’moresess?"

"shhh." paige waves a hand, half-heartedly. "it’s a process."

azzi shakes her head, muttering something about her girlfriend being a lost cause, and moves behind paige, arms slipping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

paige stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop what she’s doing—at least, not until azzi exhales slow and warm against the shell of her ear.

paige’s brain? fried.

her grip on the skewer slips, and the marshmallow nearly meets a fiery demise.

"azzi." her voice comes out a little strangled.

"what?" azzi hums, feigning innocence as she straightens up, leaving paige standing there like a malfunctioning robot.

"you—" paige exhales sharply through her nose. "you almost made me burn the s’more."

"tragedy," azzi deadpans, already moving toward the kettle.

paige glares, but it’s weak at best. instead, she focuses on plating everything while azzi makes herself a cup of tea and grabs some coconut water.

the dorm is spotless, the only sound the occasional clink of dishes and the low hum of the kettle. the candles caroline gifted azzi flicker gently, their scents—vanilla and lavender—mixing in the air, making the whole space feel warm, intimate.

it’s just them. no distractions.

azzi leans against the counter, stirring her tea, watching paige with something unreadable in her eyes.

paige, finally done, turns to face her, a cocky little grin playing at her lips. "so, did you come over here just to sabotage my s’mores, or…?"

azzi takes a slow sip of her tea, gaze steady. "maybe."

paige squints. "that’s evil."

"you love it."

paige sighs, defeated, but she can’t hide the way her smile softens just a little.

azzi kneels beside stewie, fingers ghosting over his soft fur, careful not to wake him. his little chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm of deep sleep, curled up on his uconn-themed dog bed—matching blanket and all. of course azzi had to go all out. paige swears this dog has more school spirit than half the team.

paige finishes up in the kitchen, setting the last plate down before making her way over, dropping onto the floor beside azzi. but while azzi’s watching stewie, paige is watching her.

azzi looks peaceful, more than she has in weeks. this semester drained the hell out of her—paige saw it firsthand, the late nights, the stress, the way azzi pushed herself through it all. and yet, right now, in this tiny little moment, she’s soft, calm, just existing.

paige leans back on her palms, studying her, a quiet sort of pride settling in her chest. that’s her girl. the girl she had all her firsts with.

and tonight? well, she’s about to have another first with her.

azzi really should stop making paige feel like her heart's a metronome—this can't be normal.

paige’s thoughts swirl for a second as she watches azzi, completely unaware of the storm brewing in paige’s head. “if Azzi asked me to climb a mountain right now, i'd probably do it just to see her smile. how much do I need to pay for her to stop being this cute?”

“this is why I’m not allowed near dogs,” paige thinks, watching stewie snooze. "one pet and suddenly I'm invested in a team of athletes who can't even talk."

azzi shifts, catching paige’s gaze. there’s that smile again—the kind that makes paige feel like the world stops for just a second. “Not that I mind,” she thinks, "but damn, this girl has me wrapped around her finger."

and honestly? paige is okay with it.

they’re talking about nothing and everything all at once, voices low, lazy, like the world outside doesn’t exist. sitting cross-legged on the floor, the snacks long forgotten, azzi’s hand moves in slow circles over stewie’s ear, careful not to wake him.

paige, propped up on one elbow, watches her with that look—soft, amused, completely gone. azzi catches it, and for a second, wonders if she needs to take notes because damn, paige's stare is next level.

azzi meets her gaze, smiles, something quiet passing between them.

paige leans in first, and azzi follows, her free hand slipping to paige’s side, fingers pressing just enough to ground them both. she smiles into the kiss before it deepens, slow and sure, like every time they kiss, it means something more. because it does. because it always does.

when they pull back, paige, still close enough that azzi can feel her breath, grins.

“hey az,” she murmurs, voice teasing. “remember that night a few years back when we slow danced on the porch and i stepped on your feet like… fifteen times?”

"of course i do, paige," azzi says, voice soft but sure. "that memory’s engraved in my brain."

she remembers everything—the exact date, the thick warmth of summer, the way the night unfolded like a scene straight out of one of her movies. “And honestly? The embarrassing foot stomping was just part of the charm,” she thinks. the way it led them here, to something that feels eerily similar to what’s about to unravel.

paige raises a brow. "woah, was i really that bad?"

azzi grins, playing with paige’s fingers absentmindedly. "kind of."

paige groans, leaning her head back dramatically. "well, i was nervous, okay? i was dancing with the girl of my dreams."

azzi snorts. "oh yeah?"

"yeah," paige says, eyes locked on hers now. "you were wearing your mom’s pearls that day. that dress i thought was pretty on you, though—let’s be real—all of them were. swear, you could wear a trash bag and i’d still go crazy." she shrugs, lips twitching. "doesn’t even matter what you wear. you are your outfit. if that makes sense."

azzi flushes, her smile growing. she tugs paige closer by her hoodie, pressing their lips together. paige grins into it, hands finding azzi’s waist as the kiss deepens.

when they break apart, azzi hums, eyes playful. "i think the romance movies really got to you, huh?"

paige scoffs. "hey, i’m not the one who wants to watch them."

"that’s true."

"but i wasn’t finished with my little speech, actually," paige adds, tilting her head.

azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. "oh? go on, then."

paige squeezes her fingers, something shifting in her expression—something softer, something certain. "wanna dance?"

azzi’s face lights up instantly. "right here? right now?"

paige nods. "right here. right now."

“Oh god, we’re doing this,” azzi thinks, trying not to grin like an absolute fool.

without hesitation, azzi takes her hand. paige, playing the gentleman, offers it with a dramatic flair, one hand behind her back like she’s in some old-timey movie. “Oh yeah, I’m totally swooning now,” azzi thinks, trying to keep her cool. azzi laughs, but she takes it.

they step into the open space in the kitchen, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge. the soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, filling the room with something unspoken. something warm. something that feels like them.

as they settle in, azzi tilts her head. "are we doing a silent slow dance, paige?"

paige blinks. "my bad." she pulls out her phone, scrolling for a second before pressing play. the soft, melancholic notes of my love mine all mine by mitski fill the air.

azzi raises a brow. "since when do you know this song?"

paige smirks. "since sarah put me on."

azzi laughs, shaking her head. as the first seconds of the song settle over them, paige—who’s just a little taller—takes azzi’s hands. azzi sighs, already knowing how this is going to go. "please don’t step on my feet."

paige grins. "can’t promise that."

azzi smiles, and they fall into place like they always do. her head finds paige’s shoulder, her hands finding her waist, and paige isn't forcing a thing. they just fit. like they were made to be here, in this moment, like this.

the song is calm, and so are they, just swaying together. the stillness, the trust, the years of knowing each other—it all settles between them like a quiet understanding. azzi closes her eyes, memorizing every movement, the way their breaths sync, the way their heartbeats seem to fall into rhythm.

paige looks down at her, eyes soft, full of something deeper than words. she presses a gentle kiss to azzi’s head and whispers, "i love you more than you’ll ever know."

azzi lifts her gaze, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. "i love you more than i ever thought i could love anybody."

paige swallows. their bodies are so close, and as the second verse starts, azzi wraps her arms around paige’s neck, resting her chin on her shoulder. her curls brush against paige’s face, tickling her cheek.

"you can put your feet on mine," paige murmurs. "i’ll lift you with ease."

azzi snorts. "you’re ridiculous."

"and yet, here you are, playing into it," paige teases.

but azzi does it, stepping onto paige’s feet, letting her take the lead. it’s ridiculous, yeah, but it’s them.

paige smiles, eyes slipping shut, and this time, azzi’s the one watching her. with nothing but love.

she presses a soft kiss to paige’s cheek, and paige’s lips curl into that cocky smile—the one that always makes azzi feel something she can't quite name.

the way paige’s whole face lights up just from being near her… that’s the kind of love scientists should be writing articles about.

as the song fades out, azzi’s fingers trace lazy circles on paige’s back. they haven’t moved, still molded into each other, warm from the dance, from the love they just shared. they were always meant for this moment.

"can we just stay like this forever?" azzi murmurs.

paige chuckles, looking down at her, at the soft smile on azzi’s face. "and who’s gonna break ankles if we do?"

"kamorea can handle that," azzi says, completely serious.

paige laughs, shaking her head. as azzi pulls her hands back, she really looks at paige. paige is holding her hands now, thumb brushing over her skin, absentmindedly tracing small circles—no, actually tracing azzi’s name on the back of her hand.

azzi bites her lip. "gotta say, you improved. you didn’t step on my foot once."

paige nods, all cocky. what azzi doesn’t know is that paige spent her free time watching dance tutorials. even asked tim—azzi’s father—for tips.

"thank you," paige smirks. "i’m a natural."

azzi scoffs. "sure."

"should we go back to the movies?" azzi asks.

paige stretches. "yeah, just gimme a sec. gotta use the bathroom."

"okay." azzi leans in, pressing a quick kiss to paige’s cheek before heading back to the room.

but paige doesn’t go to the bathroom. instead, she crouches by stewie’s bed, quietly filling his bowl with water, making sure he’s set for the night. she grabs a few dog treats and places them beside him, scratching behind his ear as she whispers—(keep in mind, it’s a dog):

"i’m gonna marry that pretty girl someday. i know you’re her #1, but i’m never gonna stop loving her."

stewie snores in response. paige grins, giving him one last pat before heading back.

when she walks in, azzi’s already curled up, waiting for her with a look of love and safety. paige jumps into bed, and azzi immediately rests her head on paige’s chest.

"let’s do frozen again," azzi mumbles.

paige laughs, pressing a kiss to azzi’s head. "i’m covering your eyes when olaf loses his head."

azzi gasps and smacks paige’s leg. "rude."

as the movie starts playing, the soft glow of the screen flickering against their faces, azzi reaches for a s’more, breaking off a piece for paige. she turns to her, eyes warm, lips curled into a soft smile.

“open,” she says, holding it up.

paige laughs, tilting her head back slightly, and obliges. azzi stuffs the piece in her mouth, giggling as paige tries to chew through the marshmallow, cracker, and chocolate all at once.

“i love you,” azzi murmurs, almost absentmindedly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. because it is.

paige, still chewing, looks at her with the kind of softness that makes azzi’s heart ache in the best way. she swallows, then leans in, brushing her nose against azzi’s.

“i’m right here,” paige whispers, voice thick with certainty, “not going anywhere. always gonna take care of you.”

azzi blinks, the words settling deep in her chest, something warm and overwhelming blooming inside her. she presses closer, burying herself into paige’s arms, where everything feels right.

paige holds her like she’s never letting go.

[finsplurtz]

i want to touch puppet scara so bad pls waiter

puppet scara & sex

“I’m not capable of feeling those…. disgusting desires you people get.” Scara, once again, shut down your ideas of wanting to make him feel good.

he was a puppet. and fully convinced he wouldn’t feel any type of pleasure from any kind of sexual act. 

Having fingers shoved up his ass was not how he expected things to turn out. There was a small argument in which you probably won after saying “you’re scared I’ll make you feel heavenly.”

He hates being wrong.

Just to prove to you that he wasn’t easy, here he was on your guys shared bed, legs propped open as he watching you finger him. Sure it stung a little but, it was definitely not the feeling you were striving for.

He’d let out dramatic sighs of boredom as you stretched him out, poking his walls here and there. There were small occasions where he’d flinch when you hit a certain spot, you’d try to keep stimulating it but he’d kick you and say it hurt. 

He had a look of pure disgust looking at your aching cock, dying to be inside him. This was all just to prove a point. “I’ll turn around, that way I don’t have to see your ugly face.” You just shrugged in response as he got in his doggy position. 

Slowly pushing your tip into his tight entrance, he gripped the sheets at the pain of being stretched even more. How could this ever feel good to anyone?? All he’s felt is crazy stinging from being opened like this. You gave him some time to adjust, you were a little more than half way in, maybe you’ll hold off going in all the way for today…

You begin to thrust in and out of the smaller, your bigger hands easily dragging his hips on your cock. The feeling of feeling so full really itched the puppet’s brain. His mouth fell open when your cock hit that certain spot, once again. He rested his head on the pillow in front of him, arching his back some more.

You thrusted quicker and rougher, paying close attention to the guy underneath you who was biting his lip to stifle any noises. His face getting a bit pink the more you stared at him. You brought your hand down to grip his jaw. “Careful, you’ll pierce yourself if you keep biting yourself like that. Don’t be ashamed~” You tease grinning, his eyebrows furrowed, you were really pissing him off. 

“Fucking.. get on with iT—“ He had pushed himself back on you, fulling taking your cock which was nicely presses against his prostate. A pathetic moan left his mouth, his eyes widening. 

“Oh shit- you good?” You check up, too scared to move in or out, staying right there but the tightness was making your cock twitch inside him, driving him all the more insane. 

His arms gave out on him quickly, he didn’t say anything. “…..can I … move…” You ask hesitantly. He only made a humming noise in response, staring at the wall in a daze. You slowly pull out and go back in, this time all the way in. Scara couldn’t help but roll his eyes back, a knot forming in his stomach, you went back to your quick pace noticing no noises being heard underneath you. Was he biting himself again? 

You pulled out and scoffed, flipping him on his back, you paused at the sight of blood dripping out of his mouth, a small amount of tears leaving him. He gave you an annoyed look. You huffed out a laugh before roughly kissing, licking up the blood he drew from himself. You re entered him, grabbing his smaller cock and stroking as you fucked into him. 

He moaned into the kiss like a whore, his sharp teeth biting on your tongue occasionally. Your huge cock kept grinding against it, the pleasure flowing through his whole body, it had his back arching off the bed, hands gripping your hair. You pulled back to see his face, it looked like porn and it turned you on so bad..

“Look at you…. gonna make you go cock drunk.” He whines in annoyance at your dirty talk, you have his eyes rolling back, he’s drooling and moaning without a care in the world. After long enough, he starts to beg for more, beg for your cock to keep drilling inside him. He’s cum so much, the sheets are nasty but he just can’t get enough. Put your big cock to use and stuff his tummy just how this puppet likes it.

[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark | #2

a/n: I hope I didn't make reader too unlikable :P I’m literally just pulling these out of my ass with no outline. Also I just wanna keep these silly hsdhah

potential ooc warning cause I’m not confident I portray characters correctly ;;

#1, #2, #?

WC: 2.4k

“Mark, why are you whining about spending some time with your mother? You should be ecstatic, you know.” His mom playfully nudged at him as she pulled into the parking lot of the mall, the parking lot completely packed left and right with cars. “I’m getting scared you’re forgetting about me. I thought you’d be momma’s boy forever.” Debbie sighed, shaking her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt. A light smile on her face.

“You’re using me as a porter, mom.” Mark flatly replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m happy to spend time with you but it’s obvious you’re using me as free labor.”

“And that’s my right! I carried you for nine agonizing months, I get the perks of having you. Besides, you can think of this as—I don’t know—training.” She shrugged.

“Training?” He deadpanned. “Training for what?”

“Weight training or whatever you want to call it. It’s not like you’ll get tired from a couple of bags.” She nodded, pointing out his viltrumite strength. Debbie pushed the car door open, exiting and Mark simply sighed as he followed his mom’s lead.

His mom suggested (more like she demanded) that he accompany her to the mall. Apparently, a couple of stores were having a sale, and she wanted to check out the potential good deals. Mark is completely fine with this, but it’s pretty evident that he’ll be stuck carrying around all the things she’ll most likely purchase.

“What are you even looking for?” Mark asked, walking next to his mom.

“Anything! So many things are on sale right now at Always21 and f.a.e. We can get some stuff for your dad, couple of my coworkers, and you.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Don’t say that so soon, we aren’t even in the mall yet.”

His mom was standing next to the escalator, with Mark just right beside her. Just as he had predicted, he was being used as his mom’s personal porter as his hands and wrists were full of different bags of different colors and sizes. 85% of the items were for people Debbie knew like her coworkers or friends while the rest were for her, his dad, and him.

Mark eyed the bags, raising his brow. “How many babies is your coworker having again? This seems a lot for a baby shower.”

“She’s having quadruplets. She’s going to need all of those things—babies grow out of their clothes in a blink of an eye.” Debbie chuckled as she looked at her son’s face, being reminded when he was a chubby little baby who would outgrow his clothes practically every week.

Suddenly, her phone began ringing in her pocket and she was quick to check the caller ID. She released a small groan, shaking her head. “Mark, I have to take this. It’s work. You can put those stuff down and go walk around, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Okay, choosing work over spending time with your son—got it.” He quipped, the corner of his lips raising as Debbie swatted at him. Mark rolled his eyes playfully, setting down the bags near the bench that his mom took a seat on as she brought her phone to her ear with a furrowed brow.

He strayed away from his mom, walking as his eyes passed various stores. His eyes lazily bounced from one store to another, not really paying close attention to the people in them.

An elderly man sitting at the edge of the wall of a Vicky’s Secret.

A mom struggling to get her two screaming children off the floor of a Smallso

A bald guy staring a little bit too hard at a mannequin who was only wearing underwear inside an Aged Navy

You staring at an anime figurine inside Trendy Topic

A kid trying to reach their hand inside a gumball machine—wait, you?!

Mark Grayson immediately halted, tripping over his feet. His sudden action caused some people walking behind him to curse at him, but he pushed past them as he turned to poke his head back to look inside Trendy Topic. Rubbing his eyes, he saw that you were squinting at a figurine as you stood still like a statue. Obviously deep in thought. The punk rock that was playing in the speakers of the store surrounded you while you softly bit your lip, staring at the figurine—searching for an answer to your problem.

Wow, you looked great. You were wearing a casual baggy shirt and pants, the articles of clothing mismatched and contrasting each other in the ‘worse’ ways—yet is it weird to say that you still looked amazing?

Mark could’ve sworn that he heard his brain take a picture, saving it in his memory files with the rest of the mental images he saved of you.

Blinking, he realized that his feet were already moving towards you. His pounding heart matched with his footsteps as he walked closer to you, his body immediately acting on a weird impulse while his brain tried to come up with things to do once he finally got to you.

Shit, what do I say? Hello? Hey? His mind raced as his eyes flickered from your face to the figurine you were looking at. Thinking of buying that? Is that weird to say? Is that a good opener? Oh man, this is actually the first time I’ve ever seen her outside of school as just me. Me, Mark. Not Invincible.

Grayson had seen you multiple times around the city as Invincible while fighting or simply flying around the city. It was a coincidence that he would see you a few times then and there—totally not because he would keep an extra eye out for you and find any excuse to talk to you.

He totally didn't make sure whenever there was danger nearby he wouldn't be the first one to warn and whisk you away to a safer area, hearing you sing praises in his ear about how much you loved him. He also totally didn't pretend not to notice you as he stayed afloat in the sky yet close enough to the ground so you could point him out and call him with that sweet voice of yours.

No, pfft, totally not. What kind of superhero would he be if he did those down right pathetic things?

"Holy fuck! How long have you been standing there you creep?!" You yelped in surprise, shocking him too as he snapped out of his trance. You looked up at him with your gorgeous eyes, clutching your purse close to you as you stared at him as if he had two heads. "Did you stalk me? Fucking pervert." You hissed, taking a step back as if he had the plague.

"What? No! Uh—I saw you just for a second and wanted to say hi."

"Hi, now buzz off. Don't you have a loaded gun that you should be pointing at your head right now?"

Mark felt a chuckle swell in his throat, his lips quirking up in an amused grin. He should be offended at the harsh things you verbally threw at him, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind how you were all over him as Invincible yet so guarded off toward him as Mark. If he were to reveal his secret identity to you right here and now, how would you react? Embarrassed? Flustered? Hell, what if excited?

He quickly raised his hand to cover it, if you saw him smiling you'd get pissed—

"What are you smiling for? Eugh."

Never mind, you noticed.

"Are you interested in that figure? Uh, I saw you looking at it through the window." He smiled, his eyes shifting to look at the anime figurine that was out on display with the copies underneath it.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy." You scowled, eyeing him as if he was going to mug you at any second. Mark really couldn't help but continue to compare how you act towards him and his superhero alterego Invincible in his head.

You acted so outgoing and bubbly whenever he was dressed up in his hero costume, shamelessly fangirling over him by saying things like, "please sign the marriage papers already!" or "let me take you out on a date, I'll give you my whole college fund!" Yet acted like Mark was the dirt on your shoe whenever he was in his civilian attire.

"Is that a no?"

"... I might be interested in it." You teared your eyes off of him, looking back at the figurine. You glanced at your wallet, and Mark noticed how your eyebrow twitched just slightly. He pursed his lips as he took a second to piece the puzzle pieces together before speaking again.

"Don't have enough money for it?"

"!!!"

You coughed, your cheeks tinting slightly in embarrassment as you took a look at Mark's face—a sly smirk on his lips as he stared down at you. You shivered, he's so freakishly tall. "None of your business, jackass. Go die."

He hesitated before seizing the opportunity to take this as a chance to get closer to you. In school there was never opportunities since you refused to be in any group in him, never needed help with studying, declined exchanging notes—but this? Mark knew you were weak to obtaining new items.

"I can buy it for you." Grayson smiled innocently, trying to appear as friendly as possible. He picked up a box, turning it over to see the price tag. 24.99. "I've never seen this anime before. I'm more of a comic book guy."

"Why the hell would you buy that for me?" You barked, raising a brow as you took a step forward. "What are you tryna get at?"

"Nothing! I just want to do a nice thing for you."

"Your trying to get in my pants, aren't you. Your not getting this fucking cookie, it's for Invincible."

"W-What, no?!" He yelped, his cheeks flushing at the fact you accused him of trying to get into your pants and the fact you were so shameless about basically saying your—uh, as you put it, 'cookie,' was for Invincible aka him. "I, I just want you help you! Nothing weird!?"

"Your a pathetic pervert, I bet you were cooking that up while salivating behind the window, huh? Diabolical."

"No!"

"Then why!"

"I—you—" he stumbled over his words, his eyes darting to the Invincible phone charm that dangled. "Your a huge fan of Invincible—I'm a huge fan of him too! Two Invincible fans got to stick together, right?" He chuckled, sweat dropping at how stupid his reasoning sounded.

You stayed silent for a moment, quirking your brow. "... Your a fan of him?"

"Y-Yeah! A huge one!"

“Prove it.”

“I have pictures of him I can share with you.” Pictures?!

You blinked, and he internally screamed as he was certain that he just screwed up and made him look like an even bigger loser in your eyes. “… What kind of pictures?”

“Like, uh, so many of them. Up close ones, pictures of him back when he just started it without his official hero suit, um, and y’know the works!”

“…How up close are they?”

“Practically selfies?”

“…”

A pregnant silence passed between you, the punk music playing in Trendy Topic filling the air as you stared into his sweating face hard like you were dissecting whether he was telling the truth or not. You took a step towards him, your hateful eyes having a sparkle of something else inside them.

“Really?” Your voice chirped. He immediately recognized the tone of your voice being the same as the one you use toward Invincible, so sweet and filled with admiration. Shivers ran down his back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You coughed, turning your face away. “I guess even losers can recognize peak.” You mumbled to yourself, but with his heightened hearing he heard it loud and clear. “How many of those pictures do you have?”

“Multiple?”

You squealed, jumping towards him. “Show me them, show me them!”

Oh no. “I don’t have them on my phone—I only have physical copies.” Nice one, Mark!

“That’s even fucking better.” You were practically shaking. With no warning, you grabbed on his arm, holding it tightly as you led him to the cashier register, Mark having a firm grip on the figurine box. “I’ll let you buy that for me if you give me some of those photos!”

Mark sat with you on a bench outside Trendy Topic, the figurine he had just bought in your lap. “I’ll only kind of believe you’re not trying to sleep with me if you prove that you actually have those photos,” You squinted, “If you don’t, let’s just say whenever you see me walk faster.”

“I did not buy that to sleep with you! I am… a super big Invincible fan.” He cleared his throat trying to pretend enthusiasm for himself. “And when I found out you were also one weeks ago, I figured you’d finally want to be friends with me.”

“In your wildest dreams. I’m only tolerating you right now for the photos that you may or may not have.”

“I do have them!” I don’t.

“Well whatever it is, I’ll believe it once I see them.” You huffed, reaching your hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He handed it over and watched you open his phone and into his contacts, entering a series of digits.

“I have to go so text me when you can hand the goods over. Don’t jizz your pants just cause you have my number.” You harshly pushed his phone back in his hands. “My hatred for you is on a slight pause, so don’t mistake this for friendship. Merely an alliance.”

His ears perked up at the acknowledgement of you profound hate towards him. “I don’t understand, why do you hate me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” You huffed, standing up. You jabbed a finger in the air, “I know it must come easy to you, but don’t act dumb. Unless you’re a secret blond under that thick hair of yours.”

“I seriously don’t—“

Before he could interject you already turned on your heel and walked off, leaving Mark sitting on the bench staring at your disappearing silhouette.

He internally groaned at himself—as soon as he gets home he needs to take pictures of himself.

Though, he couldn’t help but get giddy at the fact he had your number now.

Always21 = Forever21

f.a.e = e.l.f

Vicky’s Secret = Victoria Secret

Aged Navy = Old Navy

Trendy Topic = Hot Topic

Smallso = Miniso

[its-avalon-08]

helloo so apparently you’re back? i hope so, i really like ur work! are u taking requests for yuki? if not just ignore this but if u’re can u pls write a fic where he’s kind of neglecting reader because he’s focused in his home race and all the changes happening so reader almost breaks up with him but they ended up working it out?!

{ im back and thank you so much <3 ! I had something so similar in my drafts, so I posted this rally quickly, spelling mistakes might be there. enjoy }

Fading Into You (yt22)

✦ pairing - yuki tsunoda x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, fighting, happy ending

At first, it was just little things.

monday

Y/N woke up to an empty bed. Hmm, strange. That never happened before.

She stretched her arm across the sheets, feeling the cold side where Yuki should’ve been. He must’ve left early. Again.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be up before her during race weeks, but he always made a point to wake her—pressing a sleepy kiss to her temple, whispering a quiet "See you later, baby.” It was routine. Comforting.

But this morning, there was nothing.

She checked her phone. No message. No "Good morning" text. Just radio silence.

Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he forgot.

She shook it off but a part of her realised that this wasn't Yuki.

tuesday

He came home late. Again.

Y/N had been waiting, their usual dinner-for-two going cold on the table. She told herself she wouldn’t be upset. That he was working hard. That she understood.

But when the clock hit 11:30 PM and he finally walked through the door, she still felt that pang of disappointment.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, standing up. “I made dinner—”

“Uh I already ate so like.....”

The words were quick, dismissive. He didn’t even glance at the untouched plates on the table as he dropped his bag by the door and collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his eyes.

Y/N swallowed. “You could’ve told me y'know? So I wouldn't waste my time?.”

He sighed, finally looking at her. “God it's not a big deal. Sorry. It was just… a long day.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

wednesday

Yuki had always been affectionate.

He kissed her absentmindedly when he passed her in the kitchen. Held her waist when they brushed shoulders in the hallway. Squeezed her hand when they watched TV.

But now?

The kisses had turned into quick pecks. The pecks had turned into nothing.

Y/N watched as he scrolled through his phone at the dining table, his untouched breakfast in front of him. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his for him to curl his fingers and intertwine them with hers.

He barely reacted.

“Yuki?”

“Hm?” His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

She hesitated, then sighed. “Nothing.”

She wondered if he even noticed how much had changed.

thursday

Y/N woke up to the sound of Yuki’s voice.

Still half-asleep, she smiled, expecting to hear him talking to her.

But when she blinked awake, she realized he was on the phone.

“…Yeah, I’ll be there at seven. Wait actually when will Max be there?” A pause. “No, let’s push that to later—actually, just text me, I’ll figure it out.”

He was standing by the window, his back turned to her. He hadn’t even noticed she was awake.

Y/N sat up slowly, the blanket pooling around her. “Yuki?”

“Y/N one sec I'm busy,” he mumbled, still on the phone.

Her stomach twisted.

Before, he would’ve ended the call just to kiss her good morning. Before, he would’ve at least acknowledged her.

Now, she wasn’t even sure if he realized she was there.

She laid back down, staring at the ceiling.

This felt different.

friday

She barely saw him.

He had left before she woke up, and by the time he came home, she was already in bed. She heard him moving around in the dark, pulling off his hoodie, plugging in his phone.

She wanted to say something.

Wanted to roll over, grab his wrist, and ask if he even missed her.

But she didn’t.

Because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

saturday

Y/N wasn’t even mad.

She was tired.

Tired of waiting. Tired of being an afterthought.

She had followed Yuki around the paddock all morning, feeling more like a lost assistant than his girlfriend. He barely spoke to her, barely looked at her, completely immersed in briefings and media obligations. She stayed close anyway, hoping—just once—that he’d turn around and reach for her hand, or check if she was keeping up.

He didn’t.

And then, just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, he left without her.

One minute, she was answering a question from a Red Bull staff member. The next, she turned around and his car was gone.

Gone.

What the actual fuck?

Like she wasn’t even there.

Like she didn’t exist.

She didn’t realize how frozen she was until she heard Max’s voice.

“Where’s Yuki?”

She turned to see Max and Kelly standing a few feet away, both watching her with concerned expressions.

“He left.” Her voice barely came out.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “Without you?”

Y/N exhaled sharply, pushing her fingers through her hair. “Yeah.”

Max muttered something in Dutch under his breath before shaking his head. “Come on Y/N. We’re not leaving you here like some people.”

She didn’t argue. She let them lead her to Max’s car, let Kelly rub soft circles on her back, let the silence of the drive back sink into her bones. She saw Max and Kelly just co-exist so beautifully in the car, Max's hand on Kelly's pregnant belly, Kelly humming a soft tune and Max joining in. She missed it all with Yuki.

She had put up with the unread messages. The rushed conversations. The loss of affection. She had told herself to wait. That things would get better after the race.

But this?

Being forgotten?

That was the final straw.

Y/N wasn’t even shaking when she walked into their apartment. She thought she would be. Thought she would be angry, would be crying. But she wasn’t.

She was numb.

She locked the door behind her, kicked off her shoes, and walked straight into the bedroom without bothering to check if Yuki was home.

Except—

He was.

Sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t spent the last hour being driven home by Max and Kelly because he forgot her.

Like she hadn’t felt the most humiliated she had ever been in their entire relationship.

Yuki barely looked up when she walked in. “Hey, you’re late,” he mumbled.

Y/N froze in the doorway, gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“I’m late?” Her voice came out eerily calm, but she felt the storm brewing inside.

Yuki finally looked at her properly, brows furrowing. “Yeah. I thought you left before me?”

She laughed. A sharp, humorless sound. “You fucking thought?”

Yuki blinked. “What?”

She dropped her bag onto the floor. “You- you just left me there!”

His expression flickered. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “I—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“You forgot me, Yuki.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t let herself break. “I was standing there like an idiot, waiting for you, while you just—fucking left.”

“I—I wasn’t thinking, I was just caught up in—”

“You weren’t thinking because you don’t think about me anymore! That's just the truth. You don't care and I'm just a task now aren't I? ”

The words hit the air like a gunshot.

Yuki’s mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t.

Because he knew she was right.

Y/N scoffed, shaking her head. “This whole week, Yuki. It wasn’t just today. I’ve been right here, watching you pull away from me like I don’t exist. Like I’m just… background noise in your life now.”

Yuki stood up suddenly, like he wanted to come closer, but she took a step back.

“Baby, no—”

“Don’t even try and "baby" me right now.” Her voice was sharp, a warning.

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“But you did Yuki. I don't really give a shit on if you meant it or not. This is not how you treat someone you love.” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly now, the numbness breaking apart, making way for all the emotions she had buried.

“Y/N—”

“You don’t kiss me anymore.” Her voice wavered. “You don’t talk to me. You don’t see me, Yuki.”

Yuki ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not true.”

“Really?” Her eyes burned. “Then tell me the last time you asked me how my day was.”

Silence.

Yuki’s jaw clenched.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, pressing her fingers against her forehead. “I don’t know why I even waited this long. I kept telling myself that you’d remember me eventually. That after the race, you’d come back. But maybe… maybe you’re already gone.”

Yuki’s head snapped up. “No. No, don’t—”

“I can’t keep waiting for you, Yuki,” she whispered.

Panic flickered across his face. “Baby, please, don’t say that. I—I know I fucked up, but I can fix this—”

She turned away. “I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

Yuki stepped forward quickly, grabbing her wrist. “Y/N, please.”

She pulled away like his touch burned her. His heart shattered that very moment. The woman he loved didn't want his touch anymore.

For the first time, Yuki’s eyes glistened. “I’ll do better, I swear. Just—don’t walk away from me.”

Y/N met his gaze, and the heartbreak on her face killed him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me all week,” she said quietly. “You never did.”

She turned and walked away.

Yuki felt his chest cave in.

sunday

Yuki barely slept.

He spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, every single word Y/N had said playing on loop in his head.

He had done this.

He had pushed her so far away that now she was actually leaving.

And he couldn’t fucking breathe.

By the time he got to the paddock, his mind was only on her. Not the race. Not the pressure of performing in front of his home crowd.

He needed to find her.

But when he finally did, his stomach dropped.

She was standing near the Red Bull hospitality, talking to Kelly. Her arms were crossed, her shoulders tense. She looked—different. Done.

And Yuki broke.

He walked straight up to her, not caring who was watching, and grabbed her hands.

“Y/N.” His voice cracked.

She stiffened. “Yuki.”

He could see it in her eyes. She was already gone.

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out hoarse. “I—fuck—I know I don’t deserve you after this week, I know I’ve been the worst fucking boyfriend, I know—” His breath was shaking. “But please. Don’t leave me.”

She swallowed, her fingers twitching in his grip. “Yuki, I—”

Before she could finish, he dropped to his knees.

Right there, in the middle of the paddock, in front of everyone.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Yuki—”

“I love you.” His voice was desperate, raw. “I love you so much, and I forgot to show you that. I got so caught up in my own shit that I—I left you behind.” His hands were gripping hers tightly, like he was afraid she’d disappear. “But I seeyou now. And I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes.

People were watching. Journalists. Other drivers. Team members.

But Yuki didn’t care.

Let them see. Let them see how much he fucking loved her.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he whispered. “Every fucking day Y/N. Just—just give me another chance and I promise I will never let you feel like that again..”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek.

Yuki reached up slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her. His fingers brushed her wrist. “Please, baby.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. “You hurt me, Yuki.”

His throat tightened. “I know.”

She hesitated, staring at him—at his wide, pleading eyes, at the way he was gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.

She had spent the whole night convincing herself she was done. That she had nothing left to give.

But Yuki was right there.

Begging.

And despite everything, she still loved him. He was IT for her.

She sighed, dropping to her knees in front of him. “You have one chance, Tsunoda.”

Yuki’s breath hitched. “You mean—”

She nodded. “Don’t waste it.”

His arms wrapped around her instantly, burying his face in her shoulder as he let out a shaky breath. “I won’t,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

Y/N let herself sink into him, holding him just as tightly.

For the first time in weeks, Yuki finally felt whole again.

[urcoolgf]

thought i wouldn’t find out?

pairing. frat¡rafe && reader

content. fluff. suggestive content/thoughts. language. blood. violence(?)

summary. you’re the designated ‘frat girl’, but when rafe’s ‘brothers’ start getting too close, he’s gotta remind them who you belong to psa i have nooo clue about frats so i just used names i found on the internet (yes, i’m in college and still have no idea about them)

“so i told the idiots at kappa sigma that they can suck my dick! i’m not working with them for the annual formal, and if they wanna run their mouths to whoever the fuck’s in charge– i really don’t give a damn,” was the first thing you heard as you walked through the door of rafe’s frat house, pi kappa phi. him and some other ‘brothers’ were scattered about in their messy living room. it was friday afternoon, so they were all just hanging out before frats opened at 11pm. almost all of them had a beer in their hand, including rafe.

he turned once he heard the sound of the door, a smile subconsciously forming on his face.

“there’s my girl,” he said, moving his arm up, waiting for you to take your place next to him. his eyes panned over your body– cropped white t-shirt with a jean skirt, and some country looking belt that hung off you, proving it was just for looks– his eyes landed on the pack of beer in your hand. it was pretty customary for you to bring drinks for the weekends– not for the parties– just for him, and the other guys.

he rested his arm on the back of the couch, telling you to put it in the refrigerator– as if this wasn’t routine.

once you returned from the kitchen, you took your spot in his arm. he craned his head to give you a quick kiss on your cheek, moving his mouth to ghost over your ear.

“how you doin’ baby?,” his voice was low, almost slurring as if he was a bit tipsy– he wasn’t, you knew that he was just getting started.

“‘m good,” you nuzzled into his touch. after a long day of classes, rafe’s presence was calming. it grounded you in a way you craved throughout the stress of your day.

he continued to talk to the guys in the room, his fingers rubbing little circles into your soft shoulder with the hand that was slung around you. your head rested between his chest and the under part of his arm.

“be right back,” he said to the other guys, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before wandering somewhere in the house.

you suddenly felt a lot of eyes on you. you were used to these guys, but something about this exact moment felt… uneasy. you didn’t make it known that you were slightly uncomfortable though. you knew who you were– you knew how crazy your boyfriend was. they wouldn’t try anything if they knew what was good for them.

“so, y/n… long day?,” jake asked with a smirk before taking a swig of his beer. you knew all of them– unfortunately– it’s not like they were all bad, just a majority. jake included. you tried to hide the discomfort in your face. you thought you were doing a good job…

“dude. what’re you doin’?,” cam butted in before you could answer– apparently your discomfort wasn’t that hidden. he was one of the only ones without a beer in his hand, and he was probably your favorite of the guys– besides rafe, of course. he was the nicest, and he never really made you feel out of place, or uncomfortable. he kept all the other guys in check when rafe was gone– mainly because he was rafe’s right hand man, and his best friend.

“jus’ askin’ pretty girl how her day was,” his smirk still glued to his face, turning from cam back to you, still awaiting your answer.

“cut it out jake,” his tone was serious. you just sat there awkwardly, but you wanted jake to know he didn’t bother you– even if he did.

“no, no cam… it’s fine,” you began, a fake smile on your face, “my day was long. jus’ happy to come home to rafe, y’know?”

jake was clearly tipsy, maybe even already drunk. that’s the only thing that would explain the next words that came out of his mouth.

“rafe… rafe is a little bitch. wouldn’t know a pretty girl like you if it hit him,” cam gave you a look– should i jump in?– you shook your head gently, intrigue plastered over your face. you wanted to see how far jake would go. the other guys surrounding him watched him with bated breath as if he was actually making a valid point. it almost made you laugh.

“bet he can’t even make ya cum… ya ever need a real man you come to me sweetheart,” the words made you cringe. did he really think shit like that would make you… what? swoon? cam’s jaw was slacked, in utter disbelief of what just came out of his ‘brother’s mouth. you went with it– kind of.

“well, jake that is a very kind offer, but i gotta tell ya…,” you stood up from the couch, moving toward the chair he was sat on. you leaned down, right in his face– close enough for him to not just hear the words you were about to say, but feel them too.

“you shouldn’t be concerned about me getting off. rafe’s got plenty of photo proof of that,” your smile was evil, challenging. just as you moved away from jake’s face, walking back to your spot on the couch, rafe reentered the room.

“what’d i miss?,” he was clueless, you knew cam would try and tell rafe, but you didn’t want to cause even more of a scene. you weren’t jake’s biggest fan, but the things rafe would to do him if he found out were… probably illegal. and it’s hard to run a frat from jail.

“not much,” you shrugged, plopping yourself back on the couch. the look on cam’s face was just pure confusion and shock. jake’s on the other hand… well, his was just shock. you smiled to yourself while rafe made his way to sit next to you.

—

the house had so many bodies, loud music, flashing lights that would make anyone’s head spin. you were currently fighting your way through the crowd of people to get to the bathroom. once you closed the door behind you the music was a little more muted, giving you some peace. not for long.

“so i told her– if she wants a real man she can come to me. probably come for me, too,” jake’s agitating laugh could be heard from the other side of the door.

“so she got all up in my face– hot as fuck– told me not to tell rafe. that i’d be hearing from her real soon,” whatever group of people he was talking to began ‘ooo’-ing and laughing. little did you know, cam was in that group– observing. you stayed in the bathroom until their voices faded away, giving you a clear to exit.

you needed to find rafe.

luckily, he hadn’t really moved from the spot you left him in, but once you saw rafe, cam came into view too.

cam was turned away from you. you could see rafe’s face, and he was furious. his face was basically turning red, jaw locked, eyes wide and narrowed at the same time. you watched his hold on his beer bottle tighten, knuckles turning white.

even over the noise in the house, you could hear the sound of rafe’s bottle thud against the counter, followed by a “fuck no. oh, he’s fucking dead. they’re all dead.” he was about to walk away, leaving cam to himself, before his eyes caught yours. suddenly, rafe was right in front of you– towering over you.

“we gotta talk,” was all that he said before grabbing your hand, and dragging you upstairs into his room. he closed the door behind him. most of the noise was muted now, giving you a chance to talk privately.

“what did cam tell you?,” you weren’t scared of rafe when he was like this, but you were still a little concerned. he looked like he could break just about any and every thing in his room right now.

usually rafe would play mind games– ask you what you thought cam told him– but he was in no mood right now.

"told me what that jackass jake said. ‘bout how i couldn’t make you cum?,” breathless laughs were breaking up his sentence, like he couldn’t believe what he had to repeat right now.

“told me what you said…,” he leaned toward you. you swallowed hard, big eyes looking up at him. you weren’t sure how he was going to take you basically telling jake that he had explicit photos of you on his phone.

“‘nd as hot as that was…,” he began, smirking spreading across his lips, “i gotta ask– why didn’t you tell me, babe?”

“‘s not a big deal, rafe. y’know how jake is…,” you started before he cut you off. backing away from you as if he was astonished by your answer.

“yeah. i do. that’s no excuse f’r him to say the shit he did, and then go around tellin’ people you’d actually leave me for him. actin’ like you’re gonna hook up with him behind my back,” how the fuck did he know about that?

“tryna tell people my girl would go anywhere near his tiny dick. it’s laughable,” he ran his palm over his mouth like he genuinely couldn’t stifle his laugh.

“rafe…”

“no, no. he wants to play that game? we can play that game,” suddenly he grabs your wrist again, dragging you downstairs. you didn’t know what he was doing, but before you could process anything he cut the music off. everyone in the house either complaining, or looking around confused. rafe’s loud voice was the next thing to reverberate through the house.

“HEY! LISTEN UP, ANYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE– TIME TO GET THE FUCK OUT! PARTY’S OVER, ALRIGHT?,” his voice boomed in your ear, making you flinch at first. after some frustrated groans, and some ‘what the fuck’s, people began to flood out of the house.

your confusion was evident, staring up at rafe– his hold on your wrist still there, but looser now.

“what’re you doing?,” you whispered to him, his eyes not moving from the crowd leaving the house.

“don’t worry ‘bout it, baby,” he mumbled back to you before walking away from you to close the door as the last few people trickled out.

“rafe, man– what the fuck?!,” jake was walking up to rafe like he was trying to intimidate him– obviously he wasn’t. the look on rafe’s face was lethal. all rafe’s ‘brothers’ gathered around him, everyone confused except cam. not that he knew what was going on, but he did know rafe, and whatever was going on wasn’t going to be pretty.

you were still stood where rafe left you– just a few steps behind him.

“my bad bro… jus’ got some things i wanna address,” rafe’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and a sense of humor. jake tried not to seem worried, tried to have a poker face, but you could tell he was sweating under that dingy baseball cap.

“something so important you had to kick everyone out, bro?,” one of the other guys questioned. rafe didn’t answer, just gave him one look and the guy was backing off, hands up in surrender.

"jake… anything you wanna tell me? actually, anything any of you wanna tell me?,” rafe didn’t sound this serious most of the time, so the guy were rightfully scared– well, guys minus cam.

“man, i d’know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” jake tried to just shrug it off, make rafe think he was crazy for this.

“don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?,” rafe had that classic fake confusion on his face, walking closer to jake, getting in his face to utter his next words.

“just figured a real man would own up to what he did before i made him own up to it… take some responsibility y’know?,” he almost whispered. he squinted his eyes with a fake smile on his face. the whole room went deadly silent, and jake’s face was nothing short of entertaining.

"you are a real man, right? at least– that’s what you told my girl,” his aggravation was starting to break through his facade. jake just stood there– he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to come back from this.

"lemme ask you somethin’… how many people left this house tonight under the impression that my girlfriend was gonna hook up with you behind my back? hm?,” he was furious at this point. it was one thing to speak that way to you in the first place, but run around and lie? tell everyone rafe cameron couldn’t keep his girl satisfied? oh, his blood was boiling. you just stood still where you were. when rafe got like this there was no stopping him– it was no use, and you knew that.

jake was grasping at straws at this point, “listen man, i don’t know what y/n told you… but it’s a lie. okay? i didn’t say shit to her, rafe. and i didn’t say shit to anyone else.”

“jake… jakey boy! how stupid d’you think i am? you really thought i wouldn’t find out? as if the rest of this story wasn’t humiliating enough– i’m almost offended,” rafe had turned his back on him at this point, giving you that evil smirk one more time before quickly turning on his heel, and punching straight into jake’s nose.

a loud crack! sounded through the room, jake’s hand immediately coming to hold his bleeding– probably broken– nose, bending over in pain, droplets of blood hitting the floor. rafe leaned down to get on his level.

“get. the fuck. out. i see you anywhere near this house, myself, or my girl again. you’ll wish i had just killed you tonight,” he spoke quietly, but his message was clear as day. jake quickly exited the house, but not before muttering a quick ‘you’re fucking insane cameron’.

rafe shook his hand out, moving his fingers to combat the pain from direct contact with jake’s bone.

“oh, and just so everyone’s clear… i’m goin’ easy on those of you who let him say that shit– those of you who gassed him up after he said that nasty shit to y/n. you’re on thin ice, yeah? say shit like that to my girl again, and you’ll wish i only broke your nose.”

© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅.   est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @yktayy9669 @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls @icaqttt @lynoriax @hpboysslut2707 @stoned-writer @angvl3tears

[eyesfullofsttars]

headcanon of mine!! just something dumb, nothing too deep. 😞

abby’s a total sweetheart, literally such a good, kind person. she’s always joking around with her friends and grabbing random little things for lev if they remind her of him (like a shark plushie she saw once). she falls asleep reading whatever book she’s into at the moment. talking to her is actually so fun — she’s got this great vocab and somehow turns casual dinner or morning chats into deep, philosophical stuff without even meaning to, just by sharing her own thoughtful perspectives.

she starts her day walking alice at the park, gets her workout in, says hi to people she passes, then finishes her shift at the hospital and makes sure to say bye to every single one of her coworkers, even if she’s gonna see them the next day. abby loves greeting people and having quick chats, always genuinely interested in how her close circle is doing — or even ending up talking to an old lady in the grocery line about the price of blueberries.

she doesn’t really swear unless she’s really mad. when she is, she’d rather throw out a ridiculously specific, painfully accurate insult or just pull a face instead of cussing. not like ellie, who somehow says “fuck” ten times in two seconds while trying (and failing) to explain something.

abby’s totally the girl you’d bring home to your parents — polite, gentle and truly kind. even when she messes around with her strength, it’s never aggressive or mean. she’s just soft, with such a big heart. and the way she loves? yeah… her girlfriend’s soo lucky. (cough cough ellie cough cough)

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION VII.

(a/n: apologies apologies for ghosting everyone, I’m back fr so please don’t hate, I love you and thxxx for reading it 🫶❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 1.2 k

ALSO: @ttheggrimrreaper 🔥

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…33, Otoya Eita.”

The screen displayed your newly assigned player along with some of his basic information, but the whispering of the girls behind you made it hard to concentrate.

“I think I’ve seen him somewhere before” one said, turning to the others as they seemed to agree with the girl, inspecting the boy with a dark streak in his hair. Is he famous? Before you could turn around to ask them, somewhere among the back, a loud voice cut through the crowd.

“THAT’S MY EX BOYFRIEND!” she shouted, recognizing her old lover.

“Wait, wha—“ you didn’t even have time to react, because of your friend who pushed you through the exit door, muttering “Hurry, everyone’s staring, and I think someone is about to be attacked” as she closed the door behind you, leaving you dumbfounded.

Imagine being a ninja’s descendant, Otoya Eita’s manager.

——————

Otoya Eita, who you got to know is a famous name among the participants in the facility, at least 10 of them apparently having been in a relationship with the boy, before he texted them a quick goodbye saying he had to leave for a soccer program. Not to mention, how the moment you stepped onto the field and said his name out loud, a shadow immediately popped up next to you, his white hair with a green streak in the middle, confirming the identity of who you were trying to find.

“Let me guess, you’re Otoya…?” you said, extending your hand while taking a step back—he was a little too close for your liking.

“Yup, pretty girl. And you are…?” he asked, not even sparing a second to take your hand, complimenting how soft it is.

“Y/N. L/N Y/N, your new manager. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

——————

•Otoya, who is not so discreet about the fact he finds you attractive, flirting being one of the first things he does at 8 in the morning. He’s handsome, but you immediately turn him down, ‘cause no way you’re losing your job over a scandal.

•The rejection is still sour in his mouth, but he actually stops since you made it crystal clear that you unfortunately don’t want to do anything with him. Professionalism is a must and you’ll make sure to teach him that as well.

•He’s super chill otherwise, but can’t stick to schedule to save his life, and you will probably need a leash, because he tends to randomly disappear for 5 minutes, or half an hour.

•Frequently mixes up his to-do tasks for the day, resulting in him texting you to ask for instructions last minute, yet you will never catch him panicking.

•Otoya during matches is effortlessly skilled, his movements fast like a shadow showcasing a relaxed play style. However during practices it’s inevitable not to listen to his whining.

•“Do I really need to do this?” “I’m already doing good, my favorite manager so why the stress?”

•Takes training half-heartedly, does the drills, and simply stops when he thinks he did enough. Oh wait, you compared him to Karasu? Suddenly he jumps back onto his feet, showing you why he’s the best player you could ever get.

•Otoya, who NEVER arrives to practice on time, making the whole team wait, only for him to slowly walk onto the field with a quick “sorry, sorry.” The reason? He was chatting with players at the other end of the building without noticing the time.

•His favorite hobby is teasing you, but if anyone even attempts to badmouth you, he turns into this personal bodyguard. Beware, because someone is going to get hurt on the field.

•“He tripped on his own, I don’t know what you mean Y/N-chan.”

•The cause of trouble, the reason for drama, and the biggest supporter of random fights in the facility. A deflated ball? Someone’s missing shorts? He’s behind all of them.

•You two are practically known for getting called into Anri’s office at least once a month and sometimes you even get to visit Ego-san too.

•Otoya, who pulls out his flirting techniques despite your rejection whenever he’s in trouble, hoping you forgive him—does not work and he has to endure a loooong scolding.

•Overall, Otoya is not that hard to handle, though some effort is needed. His laid-back personality is a great part of your job, and if you pick out his pickles during meal time there’s nothing to worry about.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Otoya’s fanbase becomes 10x larger, going from local girls admiring his face to international fans sliding into his DMs, making edits of him, or just straight up asking him out on their social media accounts. And the worst of all?

•The moment he gets an official account, he responds to most of them making your head ache from the amount of calls and messages sent from the pr team, because what do you mean he almost leaked his own number—

•Looking at the positive (and less stressful) side, he’s quick to adapt to his new team, forming a close bond with Bachira. The two of them are like two peas in a pod and the amount of chaos you have to handle doubles.

•Tutoring Otoya is like babysitting. You have 2 minutes to convince him and make the Spanish language entertaining before he’s distracted with his pen’s spinning. Only option left is to watch films, cartoons and listen to music which works surprisingly effective.

•If you’re feeling sad or insecure as his manager, perhaps his fans have taken it too far, he will try his best to make you smile. Instead of words, his actions speak for themselves, when he sits down next to you, handing you a drink while he starts to talk about whatever comes to his mind.

•Perfect at distracting you from your thoughts and when he tells you about a badly went date making you chuckle, he feels like he has scored the final goal to the biggest match of his life.

•You two can bicker a lot, but when an actual argument happens (rare occurrence) he surprisingly apologizes first. Doesn’t like to hold a grudge against you, thinking he can’t make you leave him as well. As a peace treaty, he will also make you a personalized playlist.

•When you’re busy or stressed or both, he’ll leave a message or a funny scribble in your notebook that says something like,

Manager-chan, respectfully… go touch some grass. XO, ninja.

•To be honest, the only thing Otoya has ever been loyal to is soccer, but after months of working together he has grown quite fond of you, demanding a hug on a daily basis.

•DOES NOT tolerate other players hitting on you, but can’t say anything, because he literally did the same thing the first time you met. It’s not jealousy, he convinces himself after a particular player occupies your attention. It’s not jealousy…right?

[babytomatoes21]

WHERE DID YOU GO? - m.s.

wc: 1.3k cws: swearing, angst, death, car crash, self-blame

"where did you go? I should know, but it's cold, and I don't wanna be lonely, so show me the way home. I can't lose another life."

matt wakes up to sunlight streaming through the window, the warmth on his skin, and he stretches, feeling the familiar stretch of his muscles. he checks his phone—nothing urgent, just the usual. he scrolls through his messages, barely reading them, when he hears your laugh in the kitchen, that soft sound that always pulls him back from the fog of sleep, grounding him.

he grins to himself, rolling out of bed and pulling on his hoodie. he’s late, but it doesn’t matter. not today. today feels good, like everything’s just right. he’s ready to face whatever comes next, but for now, he’s content to be in this moment.

he stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, and there you are—making breakfast, humming along to whatever song’s playing softly on the radio. you turn to him with that smile, the one that never fails to make his heart skip a beat, the one that makes him feel like everything’s going to be okay. “hey, sleepyhead,” you tease, voice light and playful. “you’re really gonna stay in bed all day?”

“i wish i could,” he mumbles, half a smile forming on his lips. “you know i’m not a morning person.”

you laugh, pouring him a cup of coffee as he leans against the counter, still a little out of it. “i know, baby,” you say, the warmth of your voice making everything feel even more real.

he chuckles, shaking his head, his eyes still half-lidded from sleep but full of love as he watches you.

“breakfast looks good,” he says, his voice still a little groggy but full of affection. the familiarity of it all—the way you move around the kitchen, the way you make everything feel like home—is the kind of comfort he never wants to let go of.

you smirk. “don’t sound so surprised. i’m a natural at this shit.”

“alright, kid, i’ll believe it when I taste it,” he grins, his voice teasing, and there’s a hint of playfulness between the two of you that makes his heart swell.

you hand him a plate, and with a grin, nudge him toward the table. matt takes it, but there’s something about the way he watches you—his eyes soft and filled with an unspoken kind of love, the way you move around the kitchen like it’s the most natural thing in the world, that makes him feel at peace. everything’s perfect, the kind of perfect he didn’t even know he was looking for.

you sit down beside him, casually leaning your head on his shoulder, the simple touch making him feel like the world could end and he’d still be okay as long as he’s with you. the world feels right.

but then, something shifts.

it’s subtle at first. a slight tension, almost unnoticeable. you stand up to grab something from the counter, but when you pass the doorway to the living room, matt catches it—a brief pause. your shoulders tense for just a moment, like you were about to stop yourself from doing something. then, as if nothing happened, you keep walking.

“you good?” matt asks, his voice soft but full of concern, his brow furrowing as he watches you carefully.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say with a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. matt notices it, but he doesn’t push it. he figures you’re just tired, or something’s on your mind. he lets it go.

maybe you’re just tired. maybe you’ve got a lot on your mind. it’s nothing. he brushes it off.

but then, the silence. and the doorbell rings.

matt raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t think much of it at first. probably just a delivery guy or someone dropping something off. you get up to answer it, and when you reach for the door handle, you stop again.

“hey, i’ll be right back,” you say, your voice light, like everything’s fine. “just gotta grab something real quick.”

“okay,” he replies, not thinking much of it. he watches you walk toward the door, then grabs his phone, still distracted, scrolling through it absentmindedly.

and then you’re gone.

at first, matt brushes it off. maybe you ran into chris or nick outside. maybe you’re just going to pick something up, nothing big. no reason to worry. it’s fine.

but then, time passes. minutes. then hours.

he checks his phone, expecting a text from you any second. nothing.

the unease grows. he brushes it off playing fortnite, but even that can’t distract him. the clock ticks on, and the weight in his chest starts to grow heavier. where are you?

he stands up, pacing around the room, glancing out the window like maybe he’ll see you walking down the street, like he’ll see your familiar figure appearing around the corner, everything back to normal. but no. he grabs his jacket and heads outside.

she’s fine. she’s fine. he tells himself that over and over, but the words feel hollow, like they don’t belong to him anymore. something’s wrong. he knows it. the feeling gnaws at him in a way he can’t explain.

he walks through the neighborhood, scanning every corner, every place you always went to. but nothing.

his steps slow as the weight of it settles into him, heavy and tight in his chest. something’s wrong. he doesn’t know how or why, but he feels it, deep in his gut. his phone buzzes, and he sees it’s chris calling.

he picks up without thinking. “hey, have you seen her? i don’t know where she is.”

there’s a long pause, too long. and then, chris’s voice comes through the phone, quieter than usual, like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“matt…” chris’s voice breaks slightly. “she’s gone.”

matt freezes. the words don’t compute. it’s like the world has gone silent, like there’s a wall between him and the truth. it doesn’t make sense.

“what do you mean?” matt’s voice cracks, panic rising in his chest. “what do you mean she’s gone?”

there’s a long silence on the other end of the line. then, chris’s voice is barely a whisper. “matt... it’s been two weeks since the crash.”

everything goes numb.

“what crash? no. no, chris, no. she—she’s fine. she was fine. we—i was just with her. she was right there—” matt’s voice falters as his chest tightens, the words stumbling out of him like they don’t belong to him.

“matt,” chris says gently, his voice laced with pain. “you need to stop this. you’re torturing yourself.”

the world around matt blurs. the phone trembles in his hand, but his body doesn’t move. everything is spinning, a whirlwind of disbelief and shock.

she’s gone?

his mind can’t make sense of it, can’t process the reality of it. it’s too much. too sudden. he thinks back to that night—the way the car swerved, the screeching of tires, how the steering wheel felt in his hands when he tried to stop, but nothing worked in time.

he remembers your face—alive, full of life, full of love—and how it all slipped away so quickly, how his world was turned upside down in a flash.

he stands there for a moment, frozen. everything around him feels distant, unreal. his hands tremble as he lets the phone fall to the ground. slowly, he sinks down to sit on the sidewalk. his eyes sting, but the tears don’t come all at once—they’re slow, like they’re waiting for permission. his chest feels tight, every breath a little harder to take. guilt eats at him, sharp and bitter, the crushing feeling that he couldn’t do anything to stop it. couldn’t keep you safe. it’s too much to hold, too much to make sense of.

he rocks back and forth slowly, hands scratching up and down his arms, leaving red marks. he digs his nails deeper until spots of bright red appear, but he can't feel anything. his bottom lip trembles as his breaths come in short gasps. he looks up, tears spilling down his face, searching for an anchor. anything.

it's his fault. he should’ve been the one to go. and he was never going to forgive himself.

a/n: my shaylaaa 🥀

tags: @mattswifeyy @courta13 @p3sthoe @ivysturnss

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws 💗

© babytomatoes21

[starmieknight]

Stars Align

Dipper Vs. Manliness

17 Again AU: After a disastrous first day with the twins, Stan swears to do better as an uncle. But fate loves playing tricks on him and the magic 8-ball in the attic is more than it seems.

Now on top of having a pair of twelve year olds around the house while he tries to finish the portal and bring his brother home, Stan has to deal with being back in his seventeen year old body! Summer has never been weirder in Gravity Falls.

Prologue, The Legend of the Gobblewonker, Headhunters Pt. 1, Headhunters Pt. 2, Headhunters Pt. 3, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 1, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 2, The Inconveniencing (previous)

“So,” Wendy said casually, making Stan’s survival instinct scream in fear. The girl looked totally cool and at ease. Not a good sign. “Happy birthday, man.”

Stan jumped to shush her, slapping a hand over her mouth ― only to recoil in horror as she licked his palm.

“Ugh! Gross!”

“I got brothers of my own.” Wendy shrugged unapologetically. She fixed him with a look. “So, why are you keeping it a secret? You throw a party here every year, dude. Besides, you’re turning eighteen again ― plenty of reason to party hard.”

The pit in Stan’s chest yawned, opening invitingly with the intent to swallow him whole. 

Come in, it beckoned, just relax and forget all of this. Just quit and admit you can’t keep going, can’t keep up this farce any longer. Just tell her. Tell her you killed your brother ― your own twin ― and don’t deserve to celebrate your birthday anymore!

“Not real big on the party scene.” he scoffed instead, forcing the edges of the pit back together until he wasn’t in danger of being swallowed whole. He waved a dismissive hand at the girl and turned away, not sure if he could totally keep the despair out of his expression.

“You big liar.” He could practically hear the eye roll in the girl’s voice. “You love being the center of attention ― and you’re going out of your way to get every teenager in town out here!”

“For the money.” Stan insisted, palms beginning to sweat around the edges of his clipboard.

“And,” Wendy pushed on, ignoring him. “You suddenly being a teenager again and inviting a bunch of teens ― some of which really like you ― is a great chance to celebrate being young again!”

Stan made a face, the expression giving him the confidence to turn back around to face Wendy. “You’re makin’ it weird.”

“You’re being weird.” she countered with a smirk. Her face softened minutely. “Seriously, dude, I won’t make a big deal about it if you don’t want me to. No one else knows.”

He raised a brow at her.

“Speaking of ― how’d you figure it out?”

Wendy’s smirk returned in full force. “Stole your wallet.”

Stan scowled as he snatched back the offending item when she waved it in his face.

He wasn’t too annoyed, really ― he was even a little impressed by her stealth.

Besides, he wasn’t dumb enough to keep his money in an actual wallet. He kept it stuffed up his sleeve and down his socks. Safer that way.

And he could make a new ID whenever he needed one. Easy peasy.

“Fine.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s my birthday. And I don’t like to celebrate it, but―”

“Hey, man,” Wendy waved him off. “It’s cool. You and Soos are more alike than you think.”

Stan scoffed again, giving the girl a shove that barely budged her, but couldn’t stop the slight curl of his lips.

There were worse people to be compared to than Soos.

And she’d agreed to drop the subject.

He was able to start marking things off his checklist when Soos and the twins emerged from the storage room with the party supplies. Tambry joined them after a while, briefly snapping a picture of Dipper and Mabel mid-silly string war.

“You’ve got a ton of hits on the party tweet.” the brunette announced in her typical unenthused monotone. She took a quick picture of Stan too before returning to her phone. “This’ll help, too.”

Stan blinked, looking over his simple outfit of a white T-shirt and jeans blankly. “How?”

Tambry raised a pointed brow at her phone screen. “Cus’ you’re hot? S’like curb appeal ― people’ll come flying in just because you’ll be there.”

Stan burst into a belly laugh at the idea.

“Yeah, right! Pull the other one, kid. No one’s gonna come just to see this ugly mug.”

Tambry actually moved her eyes away from her phone to share an incredulous look with Wendy.

“Actually, dude.” Wendy said, looking physically ill with the words coming out of her mouth. “A lot of our friends think you’re… ugh, I can’t even say it.”

“You’re hot.” Tambry repeated, shrugging and returning to her phone. “With, like, an old timey vibe. Like that guy from Grease.”

“You talkin’ Zuko or Kenickie?” Stan asked absentmindedly before shaking it off. “Wait, what?! These kids need glasses!”

“Like you do?” Wendy grinned cheekily.

Stan rolled his eyes, but his rebuttal was cut off by the arrival of Mabel. The girl slammed into his side like a cannonball and then proceeded to climb him like a demented squirrel. Stan grunted when he got a knee to the gut, but planted his legs to keep them steady.

Tambry snapped another picture.

“Totally hot, strong boxer dude.” she confirmed with a thumbs up.

Stan felt his ears go hot.

“We should start calling you Hunkle Stan!” Mabel cackled, ruffling his hair.

Stan grumbled when she knocked his curls out of their gelled coif and grabbed the back of her sweater, swinging her around and dangling her in front of him like a kitten by the scruff.

“Alright.” he huffed, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Enough of that. How’s about you and Dipper make yourself useful and copy these flyers? And stop drinking all my party supplies!”

Dipper ― the aforementioned party supply thief ― took a pointed sip of his Pitt Cola, unafraid.

Stan narrowed his eyes at the little display of defiance.

About time the kid started growing a backbone.

“Oh boy!” Mabel squealed in delight, wriggling in her uncle’s grasp until he put her down. “A trip to the copier store!”

“Calendars, mugs, T-shirts and more! They got it all at the copier store!” Soos chimed in cheerfully, earning a round of laughter from the twins.

“Soos! What did I tell you about making slogans for other businesses?! And save yourself the trouble ― you know that old copier in my office? I finally fixed the old girl up! Good as new!”

He grinned at the twins’ looks of apprehension.

He was perfectly capable of repairing his (Ford’s) things.

Just look at the Shack ― still standing and all!

And now he could make photo copies of Dipper’s journal when the kid went to sleep. Considering actually getting the thing from the kid was proving harder than getting a newborn away from its mother. Seriously, the kid had some sort of separation anxiety going on with that thing.

It reminded Stan of how Ford acted all those years ago and he would have chucked all those damn books down the Bottomless Pit if he didn’t need them so badly.

Making copies of party flyers would be the perfect test run before he put the actual journal on the scanner.

What could go wrong? ____________________________________________________________

“Whaddya mean it copies people, too?!”

Stan stared at the gaggle of Dippers in front of him and felt a migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe deeply.

This was such a Ford-like scenario, he could hear his mother scolding them from the shadows of the hall.

Actually, if he thought about it, he was copying the same exact pose she habitually used on him and Ford when they were kids.

He tried to channel the energy of a middle-aged, Jewish Jersey woman when he finally looked back at the gaggle of Dippers.

Judging by their abashed expressions, it was very effective.

“Where’s the original Dipper?” Stan demanded.

The leader of the clones ― whose hat read 2 ― pointed sheepishly at the ceiling.

“We locked him in the closet.”

Stan pinched his nose again. “Lemme guess, you didn’t leave a guard, either, didya? I gave you lock picking lessons, Dipper.”

There was a panicked frenzy from the gaggle of clones before a pounding on the stairs preceded the real Dipper’s arrival.

To the boy’s credit, he only hesitated for a moment before throwing himself at his doppelgangers with a pitchy war-cry.

Stan stared at them blankly, wondering if he should let Dipper solve his problems on his own or step in and break the fight up. It’s not like he wanted the kid to get hurt!

Despite being outnumbered, Dipper managed to clock one of the clones in the chin with a perfect left hook.

Stan’s mind was made up.

“Good job stickin’ up for yourself, kiddo!” he called over his shoulder as he headed down the hall.

Dipper grinned, lip swollen and his teeth bloody from the fight, before diving back into the fray.

He was proud of that little gremlin ― and kind of impressed that he had taken to those boxing lessons so well.

Kid was a natural! Just like his old (young) Grunkle! A Pines through-and-through. Sure, Mabel was a bit more bloodthirsty and vicious when it came to hitting things, but Dipper’d catch up to her by the end of the summer!

Now, with the boy occupied, Stan had the perfect opportunity to invade the twins’ privacy and loot their personal belongings!

… wait. That sounded terrible.

He was gonna go look for the journal, okay? _____________________________________________________________

“Stan gone?”

“Somewhere upstairs, dude.”

“Twins distracted?”

“Yeah. Mabel’s partying with some friends and Dipper’s manning the counter! I think? I maybe saw him at the DJ booth… but then there was this awesome dot and I kinda lost focus. But someone’s playing music! It’s all… romantical out there, dude.”

“Then let’s do this.” Wendy cracked her knuckles as she and Soos stared down the vending machine. She wasn’t exactly sure what Stan was hiding behind there, but she was more than ready to pry the thing open and find out. Or punch it until it short-circuited and opened up. Either option would have a Dan Corduroy and Stan Pines’ stamp of approval.

“I dunno about this, dude. Stan’s gonna be so mad if he finds out…” Soos poked his fingers together, a nervous gesture he’d picked up from Stan over the years. Wendy had seen the movement all too often since Stan woke up as a teenager.

She couldn’t discount the inane magic of the town being the cause, but there was no telling what the man was getting up to in his secret basement. There was just too much about him that didn’t make sense.

Wendy needed to know the truth.

… dang, she was starting to sound like Dipper.

“Soos.” she said firmly, fixing the handyman with the infamous Corduroy glare. “I’m tired of being in the dark about my friend. I’m opening this door ― with or without you ― and going down there.”

Indecision and nerves flitted over Soos’ face before he settled on resignation.

“This’ll be a good plot twist for my fanfiction.” he finally sighed before bending down to examine the keypad. “Hey, dude, you don’t think this’ll go all explodey secret agent-like if we put the wrong code in, do you? Or if it needs you to give it money first? I only have, like, three dollars in my wallet right now, dawg. Do you know the code?”

Wendy groaned. “I know as much about this as you do, Soos! How would I know if Stan rigged it or where he keeps his secret codes?!”

“Probably in his office.” the handyman shrugged casually, tilting his head to think. “Like how he has that secret TV behind the jackalope head. Antbit? Rabalope?”

“The what, now?”

“Oh, yeah, dude! Totally all secret-agenty ― but Stan walked in right after I found it and sent me home for the day with full pay if I kept it hush-hush. I was like, fourteen? Only time he ever gave me the day off. I probably should pay him back now, since I said something…”

Wendy scowled at the revelation, frustrated that Soos hadn’t mentioned that tidbit before, but blew out her annoyance with a heavy sigh.

“Fine. Let’s look in his office.” _____________________________________________________________

First of all, Stan was not sneaking.

He didn’t need to sneak! This was his (brother’s) house and he could go anywhere he pleased. It just made more sense to walk softly and avoid the creaky floorboards in the hall. He didn’t want any nosy teenagers snooping around his house when they should be downstairs partying and paying the exit fee.

So what if he peeked around corners before continuing to his office? With Mabel and her glitter bombs, a guy had to be cautious. Besides, he didn’t want to run into any of those clones again. They creeped him out!

… okay, fine! He was sneaking.

He’d finally gotten his hands on the third journal and he didn’t have long before Dipper noticed it missing. He was so close to finally finishing the portal that he could taste it!

It tasted like salt air and toffee peanuts. Like winter air and pain and tears and thirty years of grief.

He’d be damned if anyone tried to stop him now!

“Don’t go in there, dawg!”

What the actual fuck.

Stan stared at Soos in exasperation, the journal suddenly feeling a hundred pounds heavier where he’d hidden it away in his new jacket’s inner pocket.

“Soos, move it.” Stan sighed, not even bothering to question the man’s motives. “I already know about the clones. Dipper handled it.”

“Clones?” Soos gasped, eyes widening with excitement. “I totally gotta get in on that!”

The handyman opened the door, only to have it slammed shut in his face.

“What the―”

“Oh, yeah!” Soos laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Totally forgot about W― someone being in there. Who is not Wendy.”

“What’s Wendy doin’ in my office?” Stan asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. Maybe he should use the mom pose on his employee.

He had money hidden in there!

“Dude, chill out.” Wendy rolled her eyes at him, an easy smirk on her face as she exited the office. She fastened the last two buttons of her flannel as she joined them. “I spilled some punch on myself and had to change shirts. Someone’s been hogging the bathroom ― might wanna check in on that.”

“Soos ― take care of it.” Stan commanded, still squinting at Wendy. When did she start keeping extra clothes in the Shack? Had she hidden them in his office? When did she even have time? “And both of you get back to work! No slacking!”

“You got it, boss man.” Wendy shot him a quick finger gun before dragging Soos down the hall.

Stan watched them go, something still not sitting right with him about the situation.

The whole thing was just off.

But there wasn’t time to speculate.

He had to copy this journal now.

Stan locked the door behind himself and flipped through the pages with horrified fascination. The pit in his chest grumbled ominously.

“Finally,” he mumbled, stopping on a horrifying collection of eyeballs peeking out of a page covered in black scratches. Like Ford had lost both his mind and control of his body when he’d drawn them. Harsh red letters took up most of the page, along with some codes Stan wasn’t looking forward to breaking. He swallowed thickly. “I have them all.”

The complete story of Ford’s descent into the unknown.

And the key to getting him back.

[sophiamagia]

Bad habits

-Pairing: Bat family x gn reader

-Sumary: You vape. What started from sharing one with a friend, had slowly turned into buying some for yourself. You stayed at the manor often. The Waynes were a found family to you, and if you weren’t already being taken care of by your own legal guardians, you would’ve been adopted by Bruce himself. You’d probably be a new Robin and everything. You spent a dinner shared with the whole family, a rare occasion for the busy bunch. You step away for a bathroom break, and just take one hit. Then a few. Then you got caught.

-Authoes note: this is a request by the same person as last time, and I was excited to write this one. Btw I don’t usually write a lot of angst so this is so light I’m sorry. Again, I apologize for taking so long, it’s just a religious thing going on right now, no social media. I hope you enjoy it, and requests are open as usual. Sorry it’s a bit short 😔😔🙏

-warnings: small angst, usage of a vape, addiction references, little conflict, I don’t really proof read

~><><~><><~><><~><><~><><~><><~><><~><~

Bad Habits

     It was a rather cold night; you could hear the gentle patter of rain against the walls and windows of the structure you currently took residence in. There was minimal chatter in the large dining room as everyone waited for the food to be delivered. You were relieved to be in this comfy place again. The warm lighting graced the large room with a sense of security and peace. 

     Alfred delivered everyone’s plates, and Jason was quick to start devouring his food, followed by Dick. You chuckled softly, watching as everyone else ate like royalty. Bruce spoke softly to you from the other end of the table.

     “How have you been, y/n?” 

     “Oh, uhm…” you hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t on your best days. But it wasn’t worth talking about during a nice dinner like this. You took a small bit of your food before replying, “good. I’ve been good.”

     He nodded, and Tim chuckled. You glanced at him, seeing he was just on his phone, typing rapidly. Bruce told him to put it away. 

     You sighed, glancing around at everyone at the table. The comforting silence slowly became itchy. The urge to take a deep breath of something else was getting stronger the more you tried to sit still. You suddenly sat up.

     “I’m using the restroom…” you announced, a bit of nervousness in your tone. Everyone looked up at your suddenness, before looking back to their food. Damian spoke with a bit of attitude he always had.

     “Ok?” He spoke, before rolling his eyes and taking a bite of food from his own plate. You let out a breath, and turned away from the table. You walked down the huge halls, a slow pace turning into a pretty much a jog to get there. You could feel your hand already pulling out the vape before you shut the door. 

     Pressing the button, you brought the edge of the pen to your lips, slowly inhaling the sweet nectar that promised to solve all problems.

1

2

3

4

     Then you put it back in your pocket, holding the vapor in your mouth for a while cracking open a small window. You exhaled, feeling a calm wash over you. Feeling a bit lighter, you took your time with a few more hits. 

     You thought it was just a few minutes. Just a few minutes of relaxation before resuming the dinner. But when you checked your phone, ten minutes had passed.

     Shit…

     You couldn’t lie and say it was the dinner; you had barely touched your plate. Maybe you could say you ate something earlier? No…you told them you hadn’t eaten before this. Maybe they would believe you were just doom scrolling. Yeah. Tim does that all the time; forgetting he has somewhere to be meanwhile scrolling social media endlessly. You nod, closing the window. 

     You take another hit of the vape as you open the bathroom door, only to be met with Damian. You froze, making eye contact with him as a flavored smoke leaves your nose and mouth. His face curls in disgust, and his hands sink into his pockets. 

     “Please don’t say anything…” you muttered, putting the vape safely away in your pocket. He spoke lowly in response.

     “So this is what you spent ten minutes doing? I thought you hated bad habits like that.” He muttered, shaking his head. You couldn’t help but feel irritated and shameful. He must’ve been sent to check up on you, and you could sense his disappointment.

     “It’s different from smoking cigarettes, and it’s not alcohol, or drugs.” You spoke in a mumble, hands fiddling with the vape in your pocket. He snapped back.

     “It’s the same, Y/n,” He shook his head, “you might as well be smoking cigarettes. You can’t seriously be trying to tell me vaping is healthy.”

     You opened your mouth to reply, but saw Dick walking up to you both. This was quickly escalating to something you didn’t want it to.

     “Hey, everything ok?” Dick asked with a smile, looking at Damian, then at you. You tried to speak first, but Damian interrupted .

     “Y/n is vaping.” Damian said flatly, and Dick gave you a confused look. His eyes drifted to your pocket, seeing the vape. His eyes shifted to more of a concerned look than anything else. 

      Does everyone in this family snoop around? No, it wasn’t their fault. You were stupid…walking out of the door taking one last hit. But it’s good. Similar to the feeling of licking a lollipop. Then taking another lick before the sweet taste is gone. Then you’ve eaten the lollipop and go to get another one. 

      Humiliatingly, the lung-killer was taken from you. Everyone was told, and could’ve curled in on yourself when you saw Bruce look at you; the same look a father would give you. A father you actually want to be around, no less. A long conversation was had with you instead of a warm dinner and game night. You were just focused on the fact that you’ve seen some of them smoke before.

      Oh, but you practically begged Bruce not to tell your guardians. You would rather die than face that on top of everything else. But they did anyways. Your room was searched, your bathroom and trash cans. 

Now every time you come over for dinner, Alfred asks you to hand over any “addictive products.” Good luck sneaking past the famous vigilante detectives next time. 

[blackdollette]

"HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU." ᝰ jj maybank

♬.ᐟ now playing: video games. - lana del rey

synopsis: alternative medicine, alternative payment.

⊹₊⋆ pairing: drug dealer!jj x female!reader

⊹₊⋆ word count: 2.5k

⊹₊⋆ contents: drug usage and mentions, sexual tension, situationship, slightly fluffy, blowjob, cum-eating, all that good stuff! (not proofread!)

a late night with a storm dimming the horizon called for a quick fix. a steamy, psychedelic one. and luckily, you had the perfect dealer right in the apartment above you. the man who dwelled there was nothing short of an enigma. he had a history as dark and deep as the tumultuous azure of his eyes. you had never liked to invade but wherever he came from and whatever he did, it landed him in an apartment in the slums of the city, selling LSD and molly for a living and being nothing but an inconvenience. a handy, devilishly handsome inconvenience.  

the lines defining the story between you and jj had gone blurry over the years but as far as you knew, you were the one thing that kept him sane while he was the only thing that kept you buzzed in the best way possible. 

and both of you were fully aware of that.

your faintly shivering fist sheepishly knocked that familiar pattern on the door of his apartment room. the hallway outside of his room always smelled faintly of green and stale fast food. before you could bring your hand back to your side, the doorknob turned, allowing the stained wooden door to creak open, bringing his icy, sleepy eyes and that smile into view.

“well, if it ain’t my favourite customer…” jj ran a hand through his sandy blonde tufts, allowing his gaze to run up and down you shamelessly. you were in his favourite get-up of yours. casual, simple, alluring in a frustratingly effortless way. god, you already looked like a real life wet-dream when he was sober. but when he was high, even just slightly, it was a different tale entirely… 

“...you look good. as usual.” he rasps out lowly, an arm going up against the doorframe to support his body as he leans against it. you respond with a coy smile, reciprocating his unleashed gaze along him.

he was shirtless, only clad in a pair of gray sweatpants that rode dangerously low on his hips .it wasn’t the typical attire for a drug dealer. nor was it professional in the slightest. but all need for formality had vanished the day you had experienced your first high right there in his “workshop”.

you smiled shyly, already feeling slightly light on your feet as the psychedelic aromas from inside were wafted toward you. “hi jj. sorry for showing up unannounced…” 

considering how quickly he opened the door and the lack of that lust-filled flush that covered his cheeks whenever he was getting some action, you could safely conclude that he was alone at the moment. he was typically on his own, save for the occasional druggies that dropped by to get their fixings. but you felt the need to ask anyway.

“is now a good time? i can come back later if you’re busy…”

he let out a little breathless laugh, shaking his head and dislodging a few golden strands from behind his ear. “when has it ever been a bad time? you think i’d ever turn your ass down? c’mon in. i just got some new stuff shipped in that you’ll love.”

he snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his cozy apartment room and shutting the door behind you with a swift kick.

he got right to business, almost like the professional facade wasn’t a mask after all. “you got your mind on anything specific today?” he asked as he ushered you to his overstuffed couch. you plopped down on the leather cushions, scanning the various piles of boxes with long medical names and numbers on them that you’d never cared to learn the meaning of. he’d usual dumb down the terms for you, sell you the good stuff, then you’d be on your way. 

you weren’t really the adventurous type when it came to drugs. you saw how badly it could screw someone’s life over, and you didn’t know if you had the willpower to “stop whenever you wanted to”. so a little marijuana had always seemed like the safest choice.

“just the usual please.” you watched as he playfully rolled his eyes at the predictability of your request.

“that’s my girl. i don’t know why the hell i still bother askin’…” 

he dug through a large cardboard box, bending over to do so. after a moment, he retrieves two dainty bags of weed and a pack of rolling paper, the cherry flavoured shit that none of his other customers would ever take a second glance at. but he could never help himself from picking up an extra supply just for you. he wrapped them up nicely for you in a nylon bag, knowing that the drugs weren’t all that you came for. presentation meant everything to you. 

“alright, a bag of mary jane for the pretty lady.” he handed the goods to you, the smile on your face tugging at his heartstrings. “that’ll be $50.”

your smile dimmed with almost comedic speed. you had almost forgot about the second, most important part of the transaction: the money.

your expression shifts to one of sheepishness, your fingers suddenly finding interest in picking at the loose threads in the couch cushion. “...you know i’ve never had that kind of money on me, jj. i’m barely making it by at the restaurant. i’m out looking for my third job this month.”

jj tossed his hair out of his face, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “don’t think i don’t know that times are getting hard around these parts. you know people have hardly been buying from me these days…”

you nodded, a guilt-ridden expression on your face as you cleared your throat to propose a suggestion.

“i doubt all those used-up strippers that come around here have the money. how do they pay you? blood money?”

jj laughs heartily. “the night usually ends in some cheap sex that i regret in the morning. but a deal is a deal. you thinking of spending the night with me to cover the fee?”

you shake your head. “it’s that time of the month. i know how you are around blood.”

jj grimaces, nodding with a chuckle. “no kidding. but you might be onto something…”

you looked up at him from your position on the couch debating whether or not to make your proposal.

“...want a blowjob..?” 

jj’s gaze snapped to your face, looking for any hint or humour or sarcasm in your question. it was too easy for him to get lost in your pretty eyes, to trace the sloped lines of your glossed lips with his wandering gaze. he tried to spot the usual tell-tale signs of you trying to catch him slipping up, but you were dead serious. you were truly proposing to pay him through a good, old-fashioned blowjob. and he thought he had seen it all. 

jj lets out a low whistle, a hand slowly rubbing the back of his neck as his pupils conspicuously dilate, swallowing his blue irises up. “well, that sure would be one hell of a payment, wouldn’t it?…”

you swallowed thickly, suddenly unable to meet those brazen eyes of his with your own as he swallowed you whole with his hopeful stare. you fidgeted with your thumbs. “so… do we have a deal..?”

he doesn’t hesitate, not for a single second. jj was a simple man. a simple man who always knew exactly the hell he wanted. and every since the day he had moved in, all he wanted was you. he smiles, extending a hand to you. “indeed we do.”

you hesitantly extended your hand to him as well, which he grabbed with laughable enthusiasm. he gave you a firm handshake, spinning you around and sitting down on the couch as you stood in front of him.

oh. so you were really doing this. sucking dick for some weed and cherry-flavoured paper. you never thought you’d stoop so low for a simple high, but you couldn’t say that you were mad about it. not after seeing the stupid grin that lit up his perfect face. you sigh deeply, muttering a curse under your breath as you slowly sank down to your knees, resting comfortably in between his partly spread legs. your gazes met briefly, yours primed and his eager. no, not eager. that was a gross understatement, especially considering how his imprint pressed against the soft wool of his sweatpants, betraying how much he was trying to keep his composure. he wasn’t eager at all. this was raw, unfiltered desperation. and you would be lying if you said you weren’t feeling the thrill buzzing through you as well.

you place your hands on his thighs, trailing them up until you reach the waistband. your fingers pried underneath the elastic, the feeling of your cold fingers against his skin making him shiver. it took a moment for you to navigate your way under you felt him against your palm. you pulled out his needy erection, the tip already red and angry with desire.

“...oh, shit…” he mutters, the deep whisper coming out louder than intended. his hand wastes no time digging in between the couch cushion, pulling out a half-full pack of cigarettes and his signature lighter. a moment like this called for a light, he figured. it wasn’t everyday he smoked a Marlboro, but it wasn’t every he got a girl as hot and perfect as the one in front of him giving him a show as good as this one. he slips a cigarette out of the pack and tucks it between his lips, flicking on the lighter and wasting no time taking a long drag.

now, if this wasn’t heaven, he didn’t think anything was.

jj let out a shaky exhale and released a thin ribbon of smoke from his lips, tipping his head back as your soft hands massaged his girth and teased the tip. his hips rutted up into your grip, desperate for more contact.

you swallowed hard, getting rid of the abundance of moisture in your mouth before slowly opening your jaw, your hot breath hitting the tip and you licked a long stripe up his cock. jj groaned deeply, his hand finding the back of your head as the other went down to cup your cheek.

you began to take him in, inch by inch as you salivated around him. you went down until your chin touched his balls and your nose tapped at the base of his length. you held back a gag as the tip hit the back of your throat. once you were secure, you bobbed your head up and down, creating suction in your cheeks to maximize his pleasure.

jj’s breathing grew laboured, a huge grin plastered on his face. “...oh man… you’re a natural, aren’t ya..?” your heart fluttered at his praise, urging you to go a little quicker. “...looks like y’aren’t such a good girl after all…” he doesn’t miss the glare you shoot up at him at his tip hits the back of your throat. he barks out a laugh, his hand going to pat the top of your head intently.

your tongue flicked against his tip with practiced precision, killing the last sliver of cheekiness that he held within him. 

jj whimpered as his hips bucked upward, forcing his length into you and out just as quickly. “...there you go… atta girl…” he murmurs thickly, his voice coming out strained and breathy. “...looks like you really want this shit, huh..?” the slightest ghost of a laugh escapes from him amidst his deep groans. leave it to jj to find humour in any situation.

you fondled his balls with your hand, massaging hypnotic patterns onto the soft flesh. the heat of your mouth, the feeling of your perfect touch, it was all doing things to his head. better than any drug around.

as his leg began to twitch and his breathing grew weary, he vigorously thrusted into your mouth as moans and dirty phrases spilled from his lips. “...y-you don’t fuckin’ play around, huh..? …who knew such a pretty thing like you could…— fuck…”

his breaths grow ragged, his little twitches becoming rash and his drags on his cigarettes becoming shorter and more frequent. he was getting there. you could tell from that damn little grin and the way his lid hung low over his glazed eyes. 

his balls slapped rapidly against your chin, saliva dripping down your supple skin as his hips bucked into your mouth. the apartment filled with lewd sounds of gagging and garling and moaning, all to the sealing with a pretty bow by the slurred praises he’d murmur to you.

“...you know what’s comin’, baby…” he managed to utter in between rough groans, taking a hasty drag of the cigarette just to distract his mouth from say the “i love you” that so desperately wanted to slip out. he caught one last glimpse of your pretty, watery eyes as you deepthroated him so flawlessly, and that damn did it.

“...holy fuckin’ smokes…” his voice comes out rough, straining as his jaw hangs agape to free a deep, rumbling groan. his hand grips the couch cushion firmly, his knuckles going white as his hot white ropes shoot to the back of your throat. his cock twitches violently as he busts his load, his mind only being filled with you as his body gets a sneak-peek of pure ecstasy.

his vision went hazy. “...that… was some real ‘better than drugs’ shit right there…” he rasped out, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your chin and cheek. he looked down at you, watching you struggle to swallow his excessive load.

he waited for you to get yourself steady, but it was almost as if your body was physically rejecting his cum. you gagged, a few drops spilling out of your mouth until he quickly held the bottom of your jaw. 

he tilted your head back gently. “...there you go, sugar… swallow, swallow. just like that, takin’ that shit like a champ…” he whispered, wiping away the stray drops as you finally managed to get the thick, salty solution down.

you panted heavily, gripping onto his thighs for support. “i did it…” you managed to gasp out as he gently held your face. 

jj pushed his hair out of his face, helping you get back to your feet. he stood up as well, still reeling over the aftershocks of his orgasm. “well, a deal’s a deal.” he picked up your bagged goods from the couch, effortlessly tossing them to you with a loose flick of the wrist. 

you murmured a quiet ‘thank you’, remaining in a slight daze as he guided you to the door with a lingering hand on the small of your back, opening it for you like the gentleman he was. but something deep within him, or maybe not so deep at all, wanted you to stay the night. or forever. but that was just a thought. 

“it was a real pleasure doing business with you, pretty girl. as usual.”

[whatitsdecending]

Is It Really You? (II Oneshot)

II x Female Reader

After a long shift you’re invited to watch a friend participate in something you’d never expect from him. Turns out, you had every right to be worried about it.

Word Count: 5.3k

Content warning: Violence, blood, descriptions of injury, some suggestive commentary, language

Edited by: @artificialstardust

“…let’s search the skies, for a while, you and I…”

—————————

Your keys jingled as you fought against the keyhole of the door, the twenty-something year old door is nearing its end of being a normal working item and definitely needs to be replaced. But you didn’t have much time for all that at the moment.

The door swung open and smacked the edge of the table just inside of your townhouse, making a loud noise as the heavy woods collided together. You kicked the door back after you stepped inside, tossing the keys into the ceramic bowl on the table and pressed the door shut with your back.

Four shifts back-to-back and all twelve hours long in the busiest ER in your city had to be one of the most draining jobs you’ve ever worked in your life. But also the most rewarding. When you went into nursing school, you knew the type of career you wanted to pursue was going to keep you busy and on your feet for long hours. Those medical TV shows always made it seem so easy… until you’re actually doing it.

You pushed off the door and hung your bag on the coat rack, taking a quick peek at the state of you after your shift. Yep, looks the same as last week.

It was 4pm. Night shifts were something you didn’t see yourself doing, but once you got stuck covering for someone, you sort of fell in love with it. Despite it getting absolutely insane sometimes, you still loved the chaos. Especially when you had the chance to help deliver a baby earlier today. You smiled at the thought, remembering how the mother lit up with joy at the little thing that you’d placed on her chest.

You were just about to head upstairs and start your shower when your phone began to ring. You pulled it from your scrubs pocket and gasped at the name that lit up your screen.

“No fucking way.” You said into the phone immediately after answering it.

The sweet voice of your dear friend filtered in through the other side, his accent thick as you sensed the smile in his words. “I did not expect you to pick up.”

“Why would I not pick up? You’re my friend, II.” You started up the stairs.

“I just didn’t know if you were working or not.”

“Oh I just got home from my last shift of the week.” You said, grabbing clean clothes to change into after your shower.

“Ahh okay. So I’m assuming you’d be too tired to go out tonight?” He asked.

You paused. “It depends on your definition of ‘going out’, since it tends to change each time you invite me.”

He laughed on the other end of the line. “You’re right about that. Would you like to come watch me participate in a fight?” That was the last thing you expected to hear from his mouth.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, I get in a ring with some dude and we punch at each other until one of us wins. Pretty cool stuff, done a few fights already and I think I’m getting pretty popular with people at the club.”

You raised a brow. “Club? What club?”

“Mortals Meeting Ends.”

“II!” You exclaimed. “We get guys coming in left and right who have been beat to a goddamn pulp because they thought they could be good money fightin-”

“Alright darling, save the lecture for later. Am I seeing you there or not?”

“What time?” You ask.

“Midnight.” Oh great, even more ominous than it already was. At least it gave you time to shower, eat and get some rest before you went.

“I’ll be there.” You finally say after thinking it over a little bit more.

You could hear that smile over the line again. “Wonderful, I’ll see you then doll.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “See you.” The line went dead after he hung up and you took in a shaky breath. What kind of deep shit has II gotten himself into?

You stripped from your scrubs and hopped into the shower. As you let the warm water soothe your muscles, your brain wandered to thoughts of II fighting these random dudes in a ring. Picturing your friend in your mind, you remembered him not being super built and rather a little more slim. And of course, he was a short guy.

But that was from a year ago. It’s been so long since you last saw him in person that he definitely could’ve built his body up into something worthy of being in a fighting ring. And especially if he’s been winning a lot of fights and becoming favorable towards the crowds.

Eventually you realized the water had been scalding your skin and quickly finished your shower, getting out and drying off. You wrapped your warm, fuzzy robe around your body and decided that a nap was more important than having something to eat. So, you laid down and fell asleep for a few hours in your robe.

Your room had turned dark when you finally woke up to the alarm blaring in your ears. It was hard to roll out of your bed, especially since it was currently 10pm and usually you’d still be asleep by now if you had work. Your grumbling belly is what got you to force yourself out of bed and go to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for yourself.

You checked your phone, seeing a text from II that was really just the same bullshit he spews from his mouth when he’s built up on adrenaline. Usually you’d get these texts when he was touring with his little band and was about to go on stage, but it seems like he’s got another thing to get him that worked up between touring.

The time neared closer to when you had to leave, making you quickly gather things you’d need and changing into something cute but casually comfortable. You did not want to dress to impress at that place.

You ordered yourself an Uber and waited until the car pulled up to take you to the fight club. Traffic was nonexistent at this time of night so it did not take long for you to arrive at the club. It was as menacing as a place called ‘Mortals Meeting Ends’ could look, and just as predictable. Dudes who looked like bodybuilders walked around looking like they’d punch anyone for looking at them the wrong way.

You thanked the driver and stepped out of the car, heading to the bouncer working the front door. “ID?” He asked as a way of greeting. You fished the plastic card from your purse and handed it to him, watching as he looked down a list of names. “Alright you’re all good. Be careful in there, sweetheart.” You nod as a response and walk into the club, holding your purse just a little tighter than before.

Yeah this place is a cliché of a fight club. It was dark, except for the circle of lights over the fighting ring. Which really wasn’t a ring like you typically see for WWE type of events, but more like two pieces of rope surrounding a three foot pit made of dirt in the middle of this dump.

You looked around for any familiar face in the crowd, but nothing so far. It felt like a fever dream being in this stuffy place. Perhaps you were still exhausted from the last four days of work and running on fumes, or you were in fact dreaming and none of this was real.

You walked around a bit more, trying to get a feel for your surroundings while simultaneously trying to find II. If he was even out in this part of the building. There was a bit of a clearing of bodies as you made your way through to the bar and released a sigh when you saw your friend leaning against the bar and talking to some man. II’s attention grabbed onto you as you approached, slowly to make sure you didn’t interrupt anything important.

“Well look who it is.” He says with the biggest smile on his face and pulls you into a tight hug.

You squeezed him back, noting that your theory from earlier was true. “Couldn’t miss the opportunity to watch you beat people up.” He laughed as he pulled out of the hug and turned to the man he was just speaking to.

“Vincent, this is my good friend Y/N. Y/N, this is Vincent, the owner of the club.” Oh, well no wonder he looked so important. Vincent put his hand out for you to shake and you gladly let him.

“Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve been hearing some things about you recently.” He smiled down at you, flashes of gold on his teeth distracting you from anything else.

“Oh- Well, I haven’t heard anything about you.” You became a little flustered and turned to II, who was rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I’ve just been telling him old stories, that’s all.” He gave you a toothy grin as he looked at you. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the owner in front of you.

“I hope you’ve been able to handle him, he’s a bit much when he wants to be.” You joked and earned a gentle elbow to your side.

Vincent smiled. “II here has grown from the weakest link to one of the strongest fighters I have working here. His growth was impressive and he learned quickly. I’m hoping he’ll put on a good show tonight since he’s got an extra special audience member.” He turned to II and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you alone, be sure to be in that ring in five minutes.” You watched as he left and cut through the crowd, leaving you to be with your friend.

After a few long seconds, you turned back to him. “What is wrong with you?”

“I-”

“You’re gonna get yourself seriously hurt doing this shit. And what if you end up so hurt that you’re unable to play with the band anymore?” He avoided your eye contact for just a moment. “Look at me, II.” He finally did and your heart hitched at the sight of his eyes, the most beautiful blue you’d ever seen and something you never stopped staring at.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know how you feel about this kind of thing, but I’m having fun and I’m able to work out some things I’m dealing with. I’ll be okay, I promise.” He says and places a gentle hand on your cheek.

“But-”

“I gotta go, it’s showtime.” He pecked your forehead ever so slightly and ran off to where Vincent had gone earlier, leaving you to find somewhere to view the fight.

You found your way to the edge of the crowd, sneaking between a few tall guys who let you in so you could see. People surrounded the ring, chatting loudly with excitement as the time neared for the fight to take place. You watched as II’s opponent entered the ring, a man who had at least four inches on him in height and maybe a good fifty pounds as well. Alright, not a fair fight physicality wise but it also depended on how skilled of a fighter II was.

That’s when he entered the ring and your eyes shot open at the sight. Yeah, your theory was extremely accurate as you stared at the muscles that now packed his whole upper body and shifted with each movement he made. He had bulked up so much in the last year that it was hard to believe it was him. But it was, and you were staring hard.

The referee stepped into the ring and the match began. You cringed when you realized neither of them wore boxing gloves and were bare knuckles for the fight. II already had so many scars that were on his knuckles from previous fights and it made you wonder how many times he’s broken one.

His opponent swung and swung hard, but luckily II was fast enough and dodged his fist, landing a punch into the guy’s ribs once they were exposed to his attack. You stood there watching the two men circle each other, the one seething for revenge against the hit II got on him. The anticipation of who was going to get punched next made your stomach twist and you nervously twirled your hair in your hands.

You noticed Vincent on the opposite side of where you were, watching the match intently as more punches were thrown and dodged. His eyes didn’t seem to be on II, despite him being such a ‘prized possession’ here. No, he watched his opponent and only seemed displeased when II dodged the hits, not the other way around. You didn’t know that much about fight clubs, but from the little bits you’ve heard when taking care of one of the fighters in the ER, you knew this was going to go badly for II.

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath when II took a hit to the gut and groaned at the impact. He took a small step back and held a hand to the spot, taking a deep breath and then moving back to his opponent. You watched as he got some punches and kicks in, noting how fast he moved and how agile he was. It was interesting, but it still felt wrong.

A minute goes by and the time seemed to slow as his opponent took an opportunity to punch II in the side when the area became exposed. This man hit him hard enough that you heard his ribs crack, gasping as he stumbled back from the force of the punch. Then the opponent was on top of him, landing hits left and right to any part that was exposed.

The crowd yelled and roared. Some with excitement and others were shouts claiming an illegal move in the ring. All of that you were unsure of, the only thing you were sure of though is the fact that II was bleeding heavily from multiple injuries on his body and the man wasn’t stopping. And Vincent wasn’t stopping him either.

Eventually, the referee stepped in and pulled the guy off II. People cheered as he was announced the winner of the fight, taking in the roar of the crowd and the money that was tossed at him. You stared at the man covered in blood and dirt on the floor, barely breathing but alive. Why was no one helping him? You frantically looked around for anything that could help him, the same guys that let you through earlier doing the same.

“Can you guys help me get him to the bathroom?” You shouted at them over the crowd. They all nodded and rushed to get II from the floor while you ran to the first aid kit you had spotted. You followed the group of men to the bathroom and they plopped II onto the floor, resting him up against the stall.

“You need any help, miss?” One guy asked.

“I’ll need you guys to stick around in case I need to get him to the hospital.” You glanced over your shoulder to the club outside the bathroom. “And also maybe to make sure no one comes in to try and finish the job.”

“Yes ma’am.” They say and went to stand outside the bathroom, leaving you to some quiet to take care of the bloodied man in front of you. His breathing was decent, better now that he was sitting up but you knew that broken rib was not letting him get a full breath in. You found gauze packets in the first aid kit and pressed them to the gaping wound on his forehead that was left by some knuckles.

“W-what are you doing?” His voice was quiet as you found tape to hold down the gauze.

“Making sure you don’t bleed out and die like they wanted you to.” You said, your voice catching in your throat as you said it out loud. They were going to leave him to die.

He pushed at your arm. “You need to go home, Y/N. I’ll be fine-” He clutched his side and groaned in pain.

“You are hurt and I’m the only one here that is capable of making sure your ass doesn’t die from blood loss.” You sternly say, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. “I don’t care if they want to beat me up too, I’d rather you be okay than walk away because of some threat like that.”

His blue eyes glistened under the dingy lights. “Don’t say that.”

“Too bad, I already did.” You examined his face that was swelling and covered in bruises, palpating his definite broken nose and cheekbones. “You are my friend II and friends don’t leave each other’s side in shit situations like this.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, cringing in pain as his lungs tried to expand with that broken rib. “I fucking hate that word.”

You stopped shuffling through the first aid kid and glanced at him. “What word?”

“Friends.”

You raised a brow. “What’s so wrong with it?” You organized the contents of the first aid kit more so they were in better reach in case you needed to change the gauze on his forehead quickly.

His eyes opened again, staring at you with a vulnerability you’d never seen before in him. “I hate when it comes out of your mouth to describe us.”

A pang of hurt cut through you. “Do you not like us being friends?”

“Why are you acting dumb?” He asked, coughing a bit after he spoke. He must’ve noticed the confused look on your face. “You don’t want to remember what we had for a moment, do you?” Of all times and places, he chooses now to talk about this? Well, could be the state that he’s currently in, you’ve seen it plenty of times that you can’t really blame him.

“Because you broke my heart, II. That’s why.” You say. “I need to wrap a bandage around your ribs to hold them in place, it’s gonna hurt so I need you to prepare yourself.” You sat up more on your knees and scooted closer to him, preparing yourself for moving him forward so you can wrap the bandage around him.

“At this point, the pain doesn’t really faze me.” He said as you pulled him forward, doing the familiar maneuver was so much more difficult without other staff to help you, but you managed. “I didn’t mean to break your heart, Y/N.”

You pulled the first portion of the bandage around his chest and he grunted in your ear at the pressure of it. You focused on getting this wrapped before speaking again, leaning him carefully back against the stall.

“Well, you did and that’s as far as I’ll go with this right now.” You replied. He just stared at you and didn’t mutter another word.

There was a knock on the door and one of the men from earlier popped his head in, bringing in the even more chaotic noise of the club with him. “Uh does he need an ambulance?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Good.” He said and glanced over his shoulder. “A huge fight just broke out, so it’s best you guys stay right here so you’re all safe.”

“Thanks.” You nod to him and he closes the door once again.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital?” II wondered.

You glanced back at him. “No. For now you’ll be fine, I just have to keep an eye on that forehead wound and clean it. Your rib is definitely broken, but that luckily shouldn’t kill you unless it shifts and impacts your lung. Which I doubt will happen, but there is always the chance.”

“God I’m glad you’re a nurse.”

You smirked as you stood to wash some of his blood off your hands and so you can cleanse the wound on his forehead now that most of the blood has been taken care of. “You lucked out there.” He chuckled softly as you gathered some supplies you could use to clean it up.

II had stretched his legs out, leaving a spot between them for you to sit as you cleaned. “Thought this would help you to get that spot better.” He says.

“You’re right, it will. Thanks.” You sit on your knees once again as you fold the gauze off the wound, eyeing the area for any signs of infection that may be starting to show. Luckily, nothing yet. You commended the club for having a decent first aid kit that had supplies you could use to patch up this wound, will it hold completely until it healed? Absolutely not, but it was the best resource available until he could get stitches.

You set everything up to your right, II watching your every move as you organized yourself again. You took alcohol swab sticks from their packaging and looked at II. “These might sting a little, but they’re gonna help clean the wound.” He nodded and you moved to his forehead, following the same old procedure you’ve done since nursing school. He winced as you rolled one swab directly over the wound. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He patted your thigh gently. “You’re doing your job.” His hand stayed on your thigh as you continued to work. You didn’t mind the contact, you knew it was probably something that might be comforting him at the moment. He won’t admit it, but you could tell he’s shaken up by everything and there is so much more to what happened that he doesn’t want to tell you. Not yet, at least.

You finished cleaning the wound and put some adhesive strips across, trying to close the wound together as best as you could with them. A fresh piece of gauze on top and tape to hold it down, and that wound was all taken care of.

“You more than likely have a concussion because of how hard your face got hit.” You say.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He mutters. You glared at him and went to scoot back, but the hand on your thigh gripped you just a bit. “Please stay here.”

You looked at him, his eyes sad as he believed you were ready to leave him here. “II I wasn’t going to leave you. I was just going to throw this all away.” You held up all the packets that had been emptied so he could see them.

“Do that later. I need you right here, right now.” He said. You stared at your friend and the clear agony he was currently in. His ‘tough guy’ facade had disappeared and now he was here, as vulnerable as ever and in so much pain.

You smiled softly. “I’ll stay.” You set the trash back on the floor next to you and leaned back on your heels.

“Come closer, please.” He whispered softly. “I need to hold you, Y/N.” Your heart ached at his words and you nodded, carefully climbing into his lap and gently wrapping your arms around his abdomen. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heart beating, the rapid thumps had slowed a bit as his body relaxed. This calmed him down, probably reminded him of older times when he had your heart.

After a moment of listening to the muffled sounds of the fight still going on in the club, II spoke again. “I’m sorry for what I did.” You began to make a shushing sound but he continued over you. “It was the last thing I ever wanted to do to you, Y/N. And it kills me every single day that I left you broken and-”

“Stop II, not here.” Your whisper was harsh and you pressed your hand to his chest, hoping he’d stop his rambling.

“I love you, Y/N. And I never stopped loving you.” He says. “I want us to search the skies together again.”

You sat up off his chest to get a better look at him. Tears rolled down his cheeks, making streaks in the blood that covered them. “You’re concussed II. You’re just saying things-”

“Will you stop that?” He demanded. “I may be concussed and shit but I know exactly what the fuck I’m saying to you right now.” Your heart stammered in your chest. The look in his eyes was truthful. And you knew damn well that II wasn’t the kind to lie to you about something like this.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything at all. I just needed to get that off my chest.” You sat there in his lap as he looked away from you, his eyes roving over the contents of supplies on the floor.

You couldn’t bear the sight any longer. The bullshit the two of you dealt with last year was something that you forbid to speak about. You forced the friendship back to how it had been after he left you. His reasoning? Being too busy to be a good boyfriend to you, claiming you only deserve the best and he couldn’t offer that to you at the time.

That devastated you. After spending months together, sneaking around with him and not admitting to your friend group that you two had something going on. It was exciting. The adrenaline you felt when he snuck a kiss at a party, and then when you tiptoed out of a closet to avoid being caught by anyone after you two hooked up in it. For the last year you ached for that kind of thing again, but mostly because you wanted it to be more real than anything it had been before.

You knew that you’d never be able to go back to being strictly friends after that. And you were okay with that fact.

II’s eyes eventually landed back on yours, the blue dimmed in the light and by the emotions he felt. Your hand reached out to caress his cheek as gently as you could, as if any kind of touch would be enough to fully break him. “I still love you too.” His eyes widened and suddenly he engulfed you in a hug, his body bent over to hold you tight to his chest. “Your rib.” You say as you hold him.

“I don’t care.” His words are muffled by your neck. He pulled away ever so slightly and looked down at you. You leaned up and closed the space between your lips, pushing them together so gently that you could barely feel his. He pressed you closer with his hand that rested against the back of your head, sealing the kiss more.

After a moment you pulled away. “You should care because I know that rib is absolutely killing you right now.”

He smirked. “Actually I don’t feel a thing. Looks like the best pain killer is kissing you.” He leaned in again and kissed you, more and more. “I missed you so much.” He whispered against your lips.

“I missed you too.” You said, running your hands through his blood caked hair.

“I want you to be mine forever.” His voice grew a little bit slurry, indicating that the concussion was making itself known.

“Let’s get you to the hospital before you start making any promises.” You kissed him again and climbed out of his lap, heading to the door and opening it. The club had gone quiet, most people had left and the mess of the fight was still covering the floors. You were shocked to see one of the men still hanging by the door, he was on his phone when he noticed you come out.

“How’s he doing?” He asked, standing up to his full height.

You smiled. “He’s okay but has a pretty bad concussion and a broken rib. So we need to get him to the hospital.” The man nodded and went into the bathroom, getting II up via your instructions to make sure he didn’t hurt his rib any further.

You lead them out of the fight club, soaking in the fresh air as much as you could. The guy luckily had driven himself here and was more than willing to drop you off at the emergency room, and even offered to stay around so you could get home and shower the blood off.

“I’m alright.” You said. “Thank you, though. I honestly don’t think I can thank you or your friends enough for helping me tonight.”

The man nodded. “It’s our pleasure. II is a good man and we hated to see him go down that way.” He turned to leave. “You take care.”

“You too.” You smiled as you watched him leave the ER. The doctor you usually work with found you and asked you to go over everything that happened. So you did, leaving the team to work on II’s injuries.

A few hours had passed and you sat beside II’s bed in the ER. Your coworkers were kind and got you a fresh pair of scrubs to change into, since your clothes had become caked with his blood and you refused to leave and go home. You had been right, II’s rib was broken and he had a severe concussion from all the punches he received earlier. The wound on his forehead was stitched up and already looking a little better.

“You look good.” His voice was raspy as he woke up. You reached for the cup of water that the nurses left for him, and helped him drink it. “Thanks.” He said.

“You’re welcome.” You put the cup down and rested your hands over his. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

You smiled. “Well yeah, you almost did in a sense.” He chuckled as you pushed back the hair that had fallen on his forehead.

“Thanks for taking care of me.” He whispered.

You smiled. “I’ll always take care of you.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You know I wasn’t talking out of my ass earlier.” He said, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“It’s okay, II. I know what you-”

He shook his head. “No. I mean, I do want you to be mine forever. Actually, I need you to be mine forever. I don’t think I’d know what to do if you weren’t.” You blinked back the tears that threatened to break, and stood up to lean over and kiss II.

“Then let’s search those skies forever, II.” He smiled against your lips and pulled you closer, to the point where you eventually climbed onto the bed with him and snuggled up to his side.

“I can’t wait to get out of here.” He said, kissing you more and more.

You smiled. “Why’s that?”

He poked your side. “So we could get back to what we were really good at doing.” He winked at you and you laughed.

“You’re ridiculous. Heal that rib first and then we’ll talk.” You say and poked him right in the spot you knew would hurt.

He flinched a little. “Alright, alright. You’re the boss.” He kissed your head and pulled you closer again. This time, your eyes grew heavy and the exhaustion weighed down on you. You fell asleep to the monitor that beeped, letting you know II was still alive and well, safe here in your arms.

[arzen9]

Can I Be Good? Chapter 9: Mist and Teeth - Lark

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 6.6k tags/warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Canon Compliant, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Redemption, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Original Female Character, Mentions of Trauma, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Blood, Blood Drinking, Alcohol summary: Centuries of pain, a ritual, (not) hunger, (not) desire, a lost soul, a search, a yearning, bodies, bodies... And a heart that changes everything.

"Something in me wants more. I can't rest." -Sylvia Plath

Thanks for reading, and as always, if you want to chat, my ask box & dm's are always open<3 Thank you @nerdallwritey for reading these over, always helping out, and being an amazing friend, ILY!!!

Can I Be Good? spotify playlist

Read on AO3

When Lark arrives at the Crimson Palace the next morning, everyone is already at the bar, chatting and hanging out. Upon seeing her all of their gazes fall upon Lark, as if she interrupted something important.

“Good morning,” she says, a little intimidated.

Astarion is the one to greet her first, with a toothy grin. “We were just talking, darling, about my confession to you yesterday—”

“You told her about the—” Shadowheart jumps, but Astarion is quick to continue.

“—the fact that I am a vampire, yes.”

Shadowheart eyes him suspiciously, and Lark catches it, but in a second the white-haired woman’s expression is replaced with a hesitant smile.

“Finally!” Karlach laughs. “Can I go back to calling you Fangs now?”

“No,” Astarion says with a pout. Karlach pulls him, rather violently, into a side-hug.

“I’m going to do it anyway.”

Lark laughs. In the tiefling’s embrace, Astarion looks… Small. Innocent.

Once she lets him go, he huffs and runs a hand through his hair to fix his perfect curls. Then, he clears his throat. The sort of appearance he holds is, as Lark has come to learn, of utmost importance to him.

“You are now truly part of our team,” Gale says with a wink. Astarion gives him a side-eyed glance, but doesn’t say anything more.

“Thank you,” Lark says. She means it. Astarion’s gaze falls upon her once again, something indecipherable in his expression. The intensity of it makes her blush and look away, thinking back to her dream from last night.

“Wait! Now that she knows,” Karlach says, almost jumping up and down in her place with excitement, “We have to take her to Mist and Teeth!”

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “Really? Must we?”

“It would be fun,” Shadowheart says, earning a glare from the vampire himself.

“What’s Mist and Teeth?” Lark asks.

“An underground bar for vampires,” Gale says with a mischievous smile.

“A shoddy excuse of a bar for those who think a vampire is the most desirable thing, you mean,” Astarion says with a particular venom in his voice.

Lark eyes him with concern and intrigue in equal measure. “We don’t have to, if it really bothers you.”

His crimson eyes search her, and the momentary softness of his gaze makes her heart ache.

Karlach gives a light punch on Astarion’s shoulder, making him lose that gentle expression Lark was so fond of. “Oh, he’s a big boy, I’m sure he can handle it. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Astarion says, nostrils flaring. “You might want to wear that dreadful perfume of yours,” he turns to Lark. “Not all who go to Mist and Teeth are as civilized as I am.”

----

It might have been a joke. It probably is. Because why would Lark’s scent, or rather the scent of her blood, specifically be more alluring than anyone else’s? In a bar where vampires mix with all the other residents of the city, no less?

Lark still douses her with the same perfume she wore the night Astarion took her to the Blushing Mermaid.

The rest of the workday went by pretty fast, consisting of helping Shadowheart again with the cocktail selections for the masquerade, talking to Karlach about the playlist she’s putting together (she also asked Lark about Wyll’s favorite songs, which she found cute) and going through lists of things that need to be purchased with Astarion.

Now, as Lark stands outside the subway station near the Upper City, waiting for the others, she can’t help but wonder why Astarion looked so taken aback by her concern for him. That softness in his eyes… It’s not something she gets to see often. She’d like to cause it more.

Lark’s phone vibrates, and she looks down at the bright screen, shining in the darkness of the night. It’s a text from Wyll.

Do you think Karlach will like sunflowers? Or should I get her a mixed bouquet?

She takes a deep breath before someone approaches her from behind, almost causing her to drop her phone with a yelp.

“Flowers already? Ravengard’s son is truly a hopeless romantic, hmm?”

“Astarion,” Lark says, relieved, but puts a hand over her heart to calm herself down still. “You scared me.”

“The others went ahead,” he says, ignoring her.

“Why didn’t you go with them? I could have found the place on my own.”

“Trust me, darling,” he says. “You could not.”

As Astarion starts walking towards the street on the left, she watches him— dressed in a black shirt and dark burgundy tailored pants that hug his features like a glove, hands in his pockets, gait slow and confident. Lark suppresses a sigh, and before following him down the dark street, she texts Wyll back.

Mixed bouquet. Something bright and colorful.

----

Astarion was right— Lark could not have found Mist and Teeth on her own.

The bar is concealed behind two alleyways, accessible by walking down a set of stairs that are so narrow, they almost look lethal— with no visible sign or marker to suggest that there is a bar anywhere nearby.

But of course, Lark would rather risk a fall down these very stairs than admit to Astarion’s face that he was right. So she strolls down slowly and deliberately, following Astarion like his shadow.

Once they reach the bottom, Astarion holds open the inconspicuous black door in front of them so that Lark can go ahead, all the while looking her up and down with one eyebrow raised.

“I see you took my advice with the perfume.”

“Wouldn’t want to distract you from all the fun that this place is supposed to offer.”

He looks at her with amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, something akin to approval on his expression. “You’re full of surprises, darling, aren’t you?”

She sneers at him while she walks inside, undoing the tie to her oversized puffer. After work, she had gone back to her apartment to change, and standing in the chilly entryway now, she curses her boldness in choosing the particular outfit she did— a distant part of her mind knows she picked it out because Astarion might like it. But Lark would never willingly admit to that.

She removes her jacket and folds it as Astarion comes to stand in front of her. He extends his hand to take the jacket from her— not without taking her form in.

After twenty-five minutes of deliberation in front of her mirror, Lark has chosen to wear a dark tangerine bodysuit with a deep neckline that reaches her belly button, paired with skinny black jeans and chocolate brown knee-high boots. She also put on a long silver locket in the shape of a heart to accentuate her décolleté.

Judging by the way Astarion’s eyes wander around her body, she picked well— although she’d be lying if she said his gaze doesn’t make her feel way more exposed than she is.

“Aren’t you going to get cold in that?” he asks. Lark tries to decipher the sharp edge to his voice— would he have preferred more modesty from her?

“Not while I’m indoors,” she says, ignoring his irritation. “Why?”

“We wouldn’t want you to get sick and miss work, would we?”

With that, Astarion turns for a moment to hand both their jackets to the coat check. Beyond the entrance, Lark can see another flight of stairs that, she assumes, lead to the actual bar area.

“Ready?” Astarion asks, and when she shifts her gaze back to him, she realizes he has changed into a different outfit too— the first three buttons of his smooth, black shirt are left unbuttoned, revealing the pale, broad and muscular plane of his chest ever so slightly. She tries to focus on the shirt’s fabric instead. Is it linen? It’s hard to tell in the dark— and Lark thinks it would hardly be appropriate to reach out and touch it.

“I could ask you the same question,” she says, peeling her gaze away from his midsection with difficulty.

“What, darling?”

“Aren’t you going to get cold in that?”

Astarion reaches out to tuck a strand of Lark’s hair behind her hair, possibly slow on purpose so that she can feel the coolness of his skin.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and Lark hopes he won’t be able to detect the uptick of her heartbeat over the sound of music coming from downstairs.

She sure can hope.

With that, he offers her his arm, and after a second of hesitation, Lark takes it— sliding her hand on his wrist. They descend the stairs together, and even without looking, Lark can immediately feel the turning of eyes on them. It’s even darker downstairs, but the place is not too big, or too crowded— out of a total of ten tables, only four of them are occupied, one of them being where Karlach, Gale and Shadowheart are sitting down. The tiefling waves both of her arms in the air at them with a wide, enthusiastic grin on her face. Lark can’t help but join her smile.

“So? How does it compare to the Crimson Palace?” Astarion asks as they walk together to their table.

“Well, this is a bar, for one.”

“Can’t you see I’m fishing for compliments here?”

Lark laughs, and that makes Astarion laugh, too. “Oh, great Astarion Ancunín, your club is simply the best,” she intonates dramatically.

“That’s better.”

“Do you always fish for compliments?”

“Usually I don’t need to,” he says with a frown, and Lark can’t be sure if he actually enjoys all the compliments he must get— he almost sounds conflicted that he is rarely, if ever, perceived as anything beyond the beautiful façade. Almost.

“You made it,” Shadowheart says as they approach the table. In her light blue sweater dress, she looks like a fairy, especially in the dark atmosphere of the bar.

“I’m so thirsty I could go for twenty pitchers,” Karlach says, rubbing her hands together. “Please, let’s order already!”

Astarion pulls out one of the chairs for Lark to sit, and she catches Shadowheart raising her perfectly arched eyebrows at the gesture. It makes Lark want to fold into herself.

“How do you like Mist and Teeth?” Gale asks her, hands clasped over his lap. Lark turns her attention to him, glad to avoid Shadowheart’s judging gaze.

“Fine so far,” she says.

“Give it a few hours,” Astarion says. Then he walks over to a nearby server to order their drinks.

“How does alcohol affect your condition?” Gale continues. Lark bites her lip, wishing he wouldn’t call it that.

“My magic? I’ve never had an adverse enough reaction that made me suspect a connection.”

“Do you think it could be serving as a numbing agent? If your magic is prone to show itself in moments of distress like we talked about, it would make sense for substances that numb the senses— such as alcohol— to easily become solutions for you.”

“Numb the senses?” Karlach chimes in with a high-pitched voice that suggests disbelief. “I’d say it can absolutely heighten some, if you know what I mean! What are you two talking about anyway?”

“You can think of Lark’s magic akin to your infernal engine when it comes to senses, Karlach,” Gale says, and the tiefling gives him a pensive look.

“Does she even know about that?”

The table goes silent, and Gale looks clearly distraught with his own slip.

“I apologize,” he says. “That was not my secret to share.”

Lark turns to Karlach, who eyes her and Gale with a smile that crinkles her face. It’s adorable.

“I trust Lark. I would have told her about it sometime, even if you didn’t.” When she sees Astarion come back, she adds, “If only Fangs didn’t keep her all to himself most of the time.”

He sits down with such elegance that Lark’s chest tightens at the sight. Looking at his nails, he says, “First of all, that’s a lie. Shadowheart uses her as a guinea pig for her cocktails far more than I take her time for anything else. And second,” he pauses to shift his gaze at the tiefling. “I really don’t like that nickname, darling.”

As the conversation shifts, Lark makes a mental note of asking about Karlach’s infernal engine when she has the chance.

“You love it,” Karlach booms with laughter. “Listen to yourself. Darling this, darling that, and Fangs is crossing the line?”

Shadowheart laughs. “Centuries later, still the same argument.”

Lark wonders— Astarion is a vampire, but the others are decidedly not. How have they been beside him for centuries without any physical traits to suggest ageing?

Gale seems to catch her puzzled expression, but even if he understands exactly what she’s thinking, he doesn’t say anything. He only gives her a somber smile, and before Lark can jump in, a server approaches their table with a tray filled with different drinks. A beer pitcher for Karlach, as usual. Astarion and Shadowheart are sharing a bottle of red wine. Gale has his own glass of white. And, last but not least, a Bloody Mary for Lark.

She looks at Astarion over the table, to where he’s sitting between Karlach and Shadowheart. He smiles and raises his glass of wine to her. She has to look away to control her heartbeat.

“I’ll go wash my hands,” she says. She doesn’t feel as panicked as she did when Astarion danced with her (for approximately forty seconds)— but she would feel better safe than sorry. A few moments away from Astarion to calm her thoughts will do wonders to keep her magic at bay for the rest of the night.

Standing up, she spots the restroom sign at the back of the bar, not far from the stairs they took down. As she walks among the tables in the almost-too-dark place, the people sitting at a booth in the corner catch her eye. There are four people in total— two elven men, one with short strawberry blond hair, the other’s deep brown locks gathered in a ponytail, whisper in each other’s ears suggestively. The other two seem to be far past the point of seductive whispers— a pale man with bright red eyes is holding a greyish skinned drow woman’s wrist to his mouth, and she seems to be in pure bliss, a wide grin plastered on her plush lips, her head tilted back. Then Lark sees the blood on the man’s mouth.

She has never met a vampire before Astarion, and growing up with an entirely different set of concerns than looking out for stray bats in the dark, Lark hadn’t questioned until just now how being bitten by one might feel like.

As if noticing Lark’s unwanted gaze, the drow woman opens her eyes and looks straight at her as the man holds her wrist even closer. They look at each other for a moment that feels like eternity— Lark, unsure how to look away, and the woman with an odd interest.

Finally, Lark peels off her gaze from the group and continues her journey to the restroom. It’s a single stall, and it’s occupied, so she leans her back on the opposite wall, and waits.

When the others said Mist and Teeth was a vampire bar, Lark hadn’t exactly known what to expect. What she just saw definitely fits the description, and yet, she feels surprised regardless. She remembers Astarion telling her about the people of the city feeling rather lukewarm towards his kind— it definitely makes sense why this place would be so hard to find. And she thinks back to his words— a bar for those who think a vampire is the most desirable thing.

Is it the bite itself? Is the act inherently sexual because it resembles the act of penetration, or is it just the people who make it so? Lark has never been one to associate bleeding with anything other than bleeding. Blood is pain, and she has seen a lot of it over the years— some self-inflicted, some not. If there is one thing for sure, she has never worn a euphoric smile on her face like that drow woman, when she bled with a boxcutter in hand, trembling on the tiled floor of her old bathroom. Her mother’s bathroom, rather.

But Lark can’t help but imagine Astarion’s lips over her wrist. Or her neck. Is it the act itself, or the person doing it?

“So, you’re his new toy?”

The raspy, low voice startles Lark. When she turns her head sharply, the same drow with greyish skin and light blonde hair is standing in front of her. Her dark red eye makeup is glossy, almost greasy looking. The smile on her full lips doesn’t offer any sort of friendship.

“Excuse me?”

“He usually goes for the more striking ones.”

“Do you mean Astarion?” Lark asks, a flush coloring her already warm cheeks. “I think you’re mistaken. I work for him.”

The drow’s smile turns into a deep scowl, if only for a moment. It’s almost like hearing his name disturbs her. But, just as quickly— the sinister curve of her lips return.

“It’s not your physical appearance he chose you for. I can tell,” she says, looking Lark up and down. “Your blood—”

“Little love, is something the matter?”

Both women turn at the same time to see Astarion standing a few steps away, surveying them with a darkness in his eyes— or, surveying Lark exclusively. His eyes, darkened so much that his crimson irises are lost in a sea of black, are focused on her, ignoring the drow completely.

Lark is frozen in place not because of the other woman’s proximity, or her odd comments about her appearance or her blood— but because of Astarion’s behavior. The pet name. Little love. The way he’s looking at her right now. His hand outstretched at her, as if to—

Realizing Lark is too stunned to notice his little play, Astarion closes the distance between them to wrap an arm around her waist, the touch sending pure electric through the skin under his fingertips.

Clearly, his sham is working— the drow looks absolutely flabbergasted, her brows raised so high they’re almost lost into her hairline.

“You need to stop this stalking act of yours, darling,” Astarion says to her, lips drawn in a snarl to show the sharp tip of a fang. His usual vernacular sounds filled with hate aimed towards the drow. “It’s rather pathetic.”

Before turning on her heels to leave, the woman says, “I know why you’re so interested in her. My friend could smell it.”

Astarion’s hand on Lark’s back stiffens a little. A vile smile forms on the drow’s face when she catches it, but it doesn’t deter Astarion.

“Well of course. Who could fail to smell the tastiest morsel to ever grace this hideous place?”

Lark tries to swallow the lump in her throat and force a smile, to join in the game he’s playing. She is sure it looks more like she just got sprayed in the face by a skunk.

“But a word of caution for you and your excuse of a friend. She is mine, and I don’t share.”

If he wasn’t standing so close, or basically had a death grip on her waist, Lark would have turned to look at Astarion so quick her neck would break. But all she can do right now is look straight at the drow, who stands a little bit taller than Lark. She tries to calm her breathing, her heartbeat, her magic—

“Well. This has been wonderful,” the drow finally says, feigning disinterest. “You know where to find me when you bore of her.”

With that, she finally leaves, and Lark almost goes to pinch herself to see if she’s really awake or not. What in the hells was that?

“It’ll be fun, let’s go to Mist and Teeth, they said,” Astarion grumbles.

“Did you just use me to make an ex-girlfriend jealous or something?”

That makes Astarion gawk at Lark in such a ridiculous way, it almost causes her to lose all seriousness and laugh.

“Her? Really? Darling, that is the most hurtful thing you’ve said to me so far.”

“Who is she, then?”

“That,” he almost spits out. “Was a self-appointed blood chemist. Araj.”

“And how do you know her?”

“Not by choice, trust me when I say that,” he sighs. “She was at the opening night of the Crimson Palace. Somehow, she knew I was a vampire. And she has not stopped pestering me to bite her ever since.”

Lark looks at him, for a moment, searching his face. A vampire, the most desirable thing.

Then she realizes that his arm is still wrapped around her waist.

“You can let me go now,” she says. Not that it doesn’t feel good, his skin pressed to hers. It feels far better than it has any right to, in fact. But Lark is worried about two things— one, the excitement she feels with Astarion threatens her already questionable control over her magic. And two— she’s still not entirely sure about the prospect of developing feelings for this man without knowing what lies behind the mask. The scariest part, though, is that the more time she spends with him, the less it seems to matter— all of Astarion is intriguing to her, not just the glamorous veil.

Astarion mustn’t have been aware he was still holding her, either, as he lurches back a little, surprised. Not a second later, though, he again wears his usual smirk.

“Aren’t you glad I came just in time to save you?”

“Oh great savior,” Lark says flatly. “However can I ever return your favor?”

“You are a poet,” he says with feigned disgust, but his lips curl with amusement regardless.

“Why don’t you want to bite her?” she asks.

He looks at her with something like anger clouding his eyes. “Her blood, as opposed to yours, smells absolutely vile. I would also like to add that just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I want to bite everything that passes by.”

He’s right. “I’m sorry,” Lark says.

“You and your apologies. Why are you saying sorry this time?”

“I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Astarion’s eyes, now back to their bright, red beauty, searches her face. Her sincerity always seems to make him stop in his tracks; as if it hasn’t been offered to him by a stranger in a very long time.

Every time he gives her his undivided attention like this, she can feel the crackling of sparks underneath her skin. She keeps chalking it up to panic, that all-familiar sense of anxiety that usually accompanies it— but now, standing so close to him, inhaling his scent— she wonders if it’s something else. The thoughts of potential feelings creep in again, uninvited.

Lark decides to distract herself by changing the subject. “What did she mean about my blood?”

Astarion looks away. “I’m not sure,” he says pensively, and Lark can’t decide if he’s being truthful or not. “Perhaps it is only because your blood smells exquisite.”

Lark quirks an eyebrow.

“The lowlife she’s got sucking on her bile doesn’t seem like a particularly powerful vampire, so I doubt he would be able to tell your magical potential by smelling your blood. Take my word for it when I say I don’t know what the drow meant.”

It’s almost funny, how he seems to be able to tell exactly what she’s thinking. Maybe she just has zero control over her expressions. She questions for a moment if it matters to him at all whether Lark trusts him or not.

“And if she was aware of my magic? What does that mean?”

Astarion sighs. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t like that answer,” she says, honestly. He looks more thoughtful than ever, and it’s worrying.

“Let’s just go back and enjoy our drinks, shall we? There’s no point discussing what we don’t know.”

She nods, and then barely tries to conceal the mischievous smile forming on her lips.

“She’s mine, and I don’t share, huh? Did you copy that from the book at my place?”

Astarion mirrors her with an even wider grin. “That’s what you like, then, darling? Possessiveness?”

“It makes for a good romance novel, at times.”

“And what about real life?”

Lark’s smile falls on instinct. “Real life is rarely as pretty.”

“We can agree on that.”

They regard each other, eyes locked in a crimson embrace. The air is filled with understanding— it scares Lark how much she enjoys it.

As they return to their table, Astarion makes sure to somehow keep her close, both of them aware of Araj’s unrelenting gaze on them. Karlach and Gale seem to be lost in a discussion Lark understands very little about— something involving lanceboard and the necessity of smokepowder or something. Shadowheart is quietly sipping her wine.

“She’s here again?” she asks after a while.

Astarion nods. Lark assumes she’s talking about Araj.

“Don’t worry about her,” she says to Lark, and her voice is more serious than reassuring. “She looks intimidating, but a spider would cause more actual harm.”

Lark takes a big gulp of her cocktail, drops of condensation running down her hand as she holds the glass. “She seemed more interested in Astarion, anyways.”

“She needs to get in line,” he says, looking at them over the rim of his wine glass. But Lark can tell he’s deflecting. It is crystal clear that he does not enjoy all of the attention he gets— especially from Araj, at least.

Shadowheart rolls her eyes at him. “If you decide to quit right now, I wouldn’t blame you, Lark.”

They share a laugh. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Oh please,” Astarion says, no venom in his voice. “As if Karlach would let you.”

With that, the tiefling and Gale join in their conversation.

“That’s right, soldier! You’re stuck with us.”

As they all laugh and clink their glasses in cheers, Lark starts feeling more and more at ease, almost forgetting the disturbing presence of Araj a few feet away from them, definitely not noticing anymore her constant glare over the table belonging to the owner of the Crimson Palace.

----

It’s late by the time they leave Mist and Teeth, and Astarion insists on accompanying Lark back to her apartment, even though Araj and her party left at least an hour before they did.

“We still have a party to organize, darling,” he says and Lark finally relents. “And we can’t do that if you fail to make it home safely, hm?”

On their way back, the train is empty save for the two of them, but Astarion chooses to stay standing, holding onto the metal railing right in front of Lark as she sits. She looks up at him with curious eyes, unable to look anywhere else. She’s not drunk, barely even tipsy— but she lets herself pretend a little, even if to just watch him more intently than usual.

“I can tell you’re staring, darling,” Astarion says without meeting her eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” she says, which causes him to finally look down at her.

“You’re not drunk. I can smell you, remember?”

“I just wonder,” she continues a little shyly. “Have you thought of biting me?”

He blinks, surprised. Several moments pass, silent but for the hum and friction of the train.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Lark says to fill in the silence.

“Of course I have,” he finally offers his reply, tearing his crimson gaze away from her childlike wonder. “Your blood is… Unique.”

“How so?”

“Why do you have so many questions for everything?”

“Not everything. Just when it comes to you.”

The train comes to a stop, and the doors slowly slide open. Lark gets up to leave. She doesn’t expect him to follow, but he does.

They walk together toward Lark’s apartment, her a few steps ahead. In another life, she imagines, it would have been scary being stalked by a vampire in the middle of the night like this. But with Astarion, she rarely feels fear nowadays— despite having felt almost nothing but fear all her life. With him, life feels full of possibilities— and risks, perhaps— but ones worth taking.

Once they reach the front of her building, she turns around to see him standing a few steps back, hands in his pockets, poised and perfect as ever.

She decides to take a chance.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

His smile is knowing, but the softness in his eyes betrays him.

“Lead the way, darling.”

----

Lark turns on the light in the living room and invites Astarion inside. He follows her slowly, quietly— if she hadn’t just invited him to come in, she would have failed to notice him.

It is a sight she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to, seeing Astarion in her apartment.

They shed their jackets off and Lark places them on the couch while Astarion stands around, a playful eye already fixed on the bookshelf he was so interested in last time.

Whatever. Let him get ideas if he wants to. There are far worse offenses out there then being obsessed with romance novels, Lark thinks.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“What’s on offer?” Astarion asks with a hint of mischief in his voice.

Lark makes her way toward her kitchen cabinets, surveying the contents. She has a few bottles of wine, a half-finished bottle of Mermaid Whiskey. She takes out the whiskey, shaking it at him, suddenly surprised that he’s now standing in the middle of her small kitchen area connected to the living room by a half wall.

“I’ll have what you’re having, then.”

Lark takes out two glasses and places two cubes of ice in each, then pours the drinks. Astarion watches her with barely concealed intensity. She can feel the all-too familiar crackling, right beneath the surface, and takes a deep breath.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks. There is no speck of sarcasm in his voice— just a genuine question.

“Uncomfortable? No,” she says. Just what he exactly makes her feel, she doesn’t even know herself.

Or maybe that’s easier to say than confessing what she knows.

Lark hands him his glass, and he raises it to her before turning and walking toward the bookshelves again.

Astarion gives her a side-eye glance, aware of her watchful eyes. “No house tour?”

She snickers. “Mine is not as nearly as impressive as yours.”

“It’s yours,” he says. “That’s a start.”

A deep thump rumbles in her chest. She needs to take a deep breath to bury it.

“You always know to say all the right things, don’t you?” She sees him stiffen a little, realizing her tone might have been more accusatory than she intended. “I did that a lot too, that’s why.”

“Did what?”

“Said all the right things. Tried to. To get what I wanted.”

“And what was it that you wanted?”

“To be loved,” she says with a laugh. Her voice comes out a weak, sad little whimper. The little fawn finds her voice. Astarion doesn’t comment on it.

“Did you get it?”

“No,” she says and takes a sip from her glass. The whiskey is warm as it slides down her throat. He turns to look at her, and her chest gives another rumble. Thump. A crackle. A hum. She needs to look away, but she doesn’t want to. “Look,” she continues. “I didn’t invite you in to… Have sex, or anything. I’m… I don’t want to be another one of your toys.”

She thinks back to Araj’s eyes— the way she looked at her, observed her— as if she is something to be used and tossed. It makes her shiver.

“What do you want to be?” Astarion asks.

Lark comes to stand next to him in front of the shelves, trying to look at them through a stranger’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she says honestly.

They both reach out to grab a framed photo from the middle of the shelf, and their fingers collide. The air crackles.

“Your dad?”

Lark nods, letting Astarion hold and examine the photo. It’s her favorite one, taken on the beach. She’s barely a day over eight, her dark blonde locks a mess around her face while her dad is posing with a wild grin.

“Where is he now?”

“Traveling. He hasn’t stopped at one place for more than a week ever since he—” she pauses, making Astarion look at her. “Since he left.”

Astarion puts the photo back, but his finger lingers on Lark’s face for only a moment. It’s a softer gesture than what she would ever have expected from him.

“Do you resent him for leaving?”

She shrugs. “Not really. He couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t blame him.”

“And your mom?”

Lark remembers the night they went to the Blushing Mermaid— how she told him she hated her. “She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lark snaps. “I’m not.”

“It must be nice to have one decent parent, at least,” he offers to lighten up her mood. It works, and she smiles, then takes another sip of her drink.

“Yes. It keeps me mostly sane.” She watches Astarion’s somber gaze still fixed on the photo. “What is it that you want, Astarion? To me it seems like you have everything.”

His jaw clenches.

She takes a chance. Or, a risk.

“Does a vampire have time for love?”

“All a vampire has is time, darling.”

He says it in a pained voice— so imperceptible that it catches Lark off guard. She wants to reach out and touch him— not to pull him into anything, but to offer him solace, to soothe him—

It’s too late to stop herself when all inkling of magic in her roars to life, screaming for him. And it freezes her with fear when she realizes she’s already reached a hand out to touch his arm, the skin revealed by his rolled-up sleeve.

Something pure and bright flows outwards, from her fingers, as she caresses them over his pale, smooth skin. It doesn’t burn him, electrify him, or hurt him in any manner.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not unkindly.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I just… I wanted to make things easier. For you.”

The way he looks at her, his eyes glassy, tells her that she might have just done the opposite.

When he extends his hand, Lark is sure he’s going to yank hers off him, sneer, get mad. But instead, he gently rubs the top of her fingers.

It’s warm, and gentle. It’s everything she has ever asked for, and never received.

She has a feeling it’s the same for him.

“Would you like to bite me?”

Astarion’s breath hitches, his hand suddenly stiff on top of Lark’s. It’s clear that he’s taken aback by her offer, but she can see the gears turning in his head. He’s considering it. Weighing his options.

After what feels like forever, he takes back his hand and says, “Maybe another time, darling.”

Lark curses inwardly, chewing on his lower lip. There— she’s ruined it all, turned him into an object of curiosity, when she was the one who didn’t want to be a toy, something to be used, she went ahead and made him into—

“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he continues, noticing her panic. Hesitantly, he raises one hand and cups her cheek, his thumb drawing soft circles on her increasingly feverish skin. But he doesn’t offer further explanation.

“It’s okay,” she says. Maybe it’s her appearance— Lark thinks back to how Araj had looked at her again, analyzing her, deeming her unworthy. Maybe even her blood isn’t enough to entice him now that he knows she’s a pathetic, hopeless romantic, a prude, someone not worth the effort, burdened and wild—

“You’re making it quite difficult for me to stand behind my decision with that heart of yours,” Astarion says barely above a whisper. Only then Lark realizes how fast her pulse is racing.

“I can’t help it,” she says, desperate, but honest.

“Do try not to reduce me to ashes with one of your spells.”

He moves away, and the loss of his touch almost makes her cry out. Instead, she chokes down a plea and drinks her whiskey. Astarion does the same.

“I think I should go,” he says a second later, eyes locked onto the photo of Lark and her dad. “It’s a work night, after all.”

“Do you even sleep? Being a vampire and all.”

“I trance, being an elf and all,” he corrects.

Lark looks to the side, at her couch. “You can stay, if you want to, you know.”

He almost seems like he’s going to relent, the way he searches every inch of her face with his gorgeous, darkened eyes. “Hold on to that offer. I might take you up on it next time.”

“There may not be a next time,” she says, flatly, and watches his face contort. Then she breaks out a smile.

“Your threats don’t scare me, darling.”

“But I’m so scary!”

They laugh together. It’s easy. Natural. She likes seeing him laugh.

Astarion downs the rest of his drink and Lark watches his throat. Those sharp lines of his. She wants to bury herself in him.

“Before you go,” she says, leaving him to run in her bedroom quickly. On top of the sheets, toppled over to its side sits her target.

She holds the plushie between her arms as she walks out of her room and walks back to where Astarion is. He eyes her with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

“This is Horseradish,” she says, holding the plush horse in the air by one of its legs. “It likes sandwiches.”

Astarion’s lips curl in a not-smile. “I’m sure it does.”

When she holds it out for him to take, he doesn’t know what to do.

“What am I supposed to do with this exactly, darling?”

“When my dad left, he gave me this, to comfort me and shit,” Lark says, eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “We don’t know each other very well, but there’s… Something lonely about you. Something like me.”

A momentary flicker flashes on his beautiful face. Is it anger? It disappears too fast for Lark to be able to say for certain.

“Take it,” she says, shaking Horseradish again. “Maybe it’ll help.”

Astarion grabs the toy by its head, regarding it with a raised brow. He turns it around, then clears his throat.

“I… Well. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

Lark nods. They walk to the door together.

She doesn’t want him to leave, not really. As he stands in the doorway, plushie in hand, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to, either.

“Good night, darling,” he says as he shakes Horseradish.

“Good night,” she replies, and waits for him to disappear down the stairs before closing the door.

Leaning against the cold surface, Lark sighs.

At the prospect of having feelings for Astarion Ancunín.

----

A little later, once she’s in bed, Lark looks at her phone blankly. The bright screen illuminates her concerned face, expression drawn taut. She wishes she could talk to Wyll, or Lae’zel, but it’s much too late to disturb either of them, and besides— she doesn’t even know where to begin.

Instead, she clicks on the text chain with Astarion and types her message before putting her phone down and going to sleep, without her favorite plushie for the first time in almost two decades.

Be careful on your way back. I’ve heard there are vampires lurking around.

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[confusionism]

"A little obnoxious, but a lot loud," because he can't imagine their household being any other way. Aiden may be privy to the parts of Anna that the general public wouldn't think of — quiet, contemplative, without the noise of the crowd and the flash of the lights constantly trained on her — but at the end of it all, her energy is bright and palpable and contagious. The kind that makes every house into a home, any group, no matter how ragtag, into a family.

"—But no weird names, okay? Wouldn't wanna put any of 'em through an identity crisis 'cause we got creative or threw in a random letter, a number, or—" he shakes his head, overwhelmed with the possibilities. "—No." Not that he's seriously worried about her preferences. He's only putting it out there.

“He what?” Aiden’s attention shoots back from his assessment of the track, quick to scan for that familiar mop of blondness. It's a tough thing to make out in a sea of like-headed folks, but that really makes no difference; his sense of competition is already burning hot. He files into the rollercoaster cart after Anna, pulling the safety down into its locked position. As she secures Timmy and Eliza, he nods at the attendant checking every seat. "I think they'll be good. They're tougher than they look." One could argue that they're a family that defies surface-level expectations, but instead of saying that, he simply nods. "—Just like us."

The jolt forward still catches him off-guard.

It isn't so crazy as to make him yelp, but he definitely tightens his grip on the bars. When was the last time Aiden rode on anything like this? He's neither certain nor capable of remembering; all he knows now is the wind that fills his ears, the metal rattling underneath him, and the sensation of his stomach flipping around and around and—

Can he see the stadium from up here? Oh— definitely his car. No, wait—

The ride lasts under two minutes. It feels like the blink of an eye and two decades, all at once. Aiden's legs feel like jelly and his brain is verging on mush, yet he can finally catch his breath as the cart takes a sharp turn and approaches the platform approach. Did he scream? Not quite. It'd all gotten stuck in his throat. He's about to clear it, to let out the shortest laugh of victory, when a loud speaker crackles to life.

'Welcome back, riders! Who would like to go one more time?'

"Wh—"

'Please remain seated as we take you... In reverse!'

And just like that, the gears shift. The cart begins to roll back the way it came. His soul leaves his body.

"I knew it!" It's not a victory, per se. But Anna of both past and present is vindicated, because it just proves her madness is more genius than mad itself. "Really?" Aiden makes no secret about how he feels now. It's proven in gestures, spoken in words. Even so, knowing that he liked her as much before all of this? "I thought you found me annoying at first." Only because Anna could talk and talk, and Aiden didn't seem like the type to buy into her overly-cheery chatter. "Then I caught you staring at my ass." She says, with a casual shrug. Then, a laugh, because Aiden was and is a gentleman - if he stared at her ass before they were together, she'd never know it.

"No, no. A lot of hard work and willfulness." Like they would allow anything less than that. "Cheap shots are for someone else's kid." Despite the happy turn of the night, Anna thinks of Leo. She used to think her disinterest in kids came from being young and famous. Now, looking at Aiden, it's clear it was the man she was with that gave her uncertainty. Because Aiden's kids? Yeah -- "Cute and just a little obnoxious." Can't have perfect kids, after all. Where's the fun in perfection, anyway?

"I'm not a fan of hyphenated names." She thinks out loud, while taking his hands. Plush toys secured and a quick brush over Aiden's scarf, readjusting it warm on his neck. "Name and blood's just one part of it, you know?" Really, whether they were Fitzgerald's, a hyphenated version, or a name a child was born with. What did it matter? The loud whoop takes the maturity out of the conversation, replaced instead with childish exuberance.

"Yes, please." One reassuring hand on her stomach. Nope, made of steel. No nausea here. "Henry caught us looking. We can't back out now." No, they wouldn't hear the end of it, and they may have earned his grace now with the skateboard. However, Anna knows how scary kids can be. "For two, please." She asks from beneath her cap, lined up for the next rotation. "I hope they're read for the ride." Soft and adorable as the plush toys were, it's 50/50 on their ride tolerance. "Here," she seals Timmy in with the zipper, and twists Eliza's pink bow around the handle. "Just in case. You ready?"

[ethernitty]

rewatching things and i forgot how much i liked this guy