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wordsmeetwbb · 2 days ago

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The Chains Stay ON

Word count: 3.1k

Content: smut

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut and tbh I think it turned out really good but like. It's also pure filth that I wrote at 2am and edited this morning so consider this your warning. As always, let me know what you think!

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Azzi couldn’t stop staring at Paige. She knew she was being obvious, she knew people online would clip this entire event and dissect every interaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Paige looked fucking incredible.

The team had gone to a Connecticut Sun game tonight, and Azzi truly felt bad about her lack of attention to the actual game thus far. Somehow, she had gotten through the whole bus ride to the arena without interacting with Paige, but that ended quickly as the team took their seats, with Paige plopping down in the seat right next to Azzi.

Azzi’s eyes had a mind of their own, roaming over Paige’s face, down to her arms, her chest, and always dragging back to her neck where two silver chains rested. Azzi swallowed thickly.

“Hello? Az, are you even listening to me?” Paige snapped her fingers in front of Azzi’s face. She blinked, startled out of her visual perusal of Paige’s body.

“Uh, yeah? No. What?” Paige snorted.

“You’re so not locked in right now. If you were looking at me I would be like, fine, whatever, but you’re not! Pay attention to me!” Paige complained. Azzi swatted her arm.

“Oh, hush. I pay you plenty of attention. If you really loved me, you’d give me a break and go whine to somebody else for once.” Lies. Azzi was lying through her teeth. She didn’t want Paige to go anywhere. She wanted the blonde to stay in the seat right next to her so Azzi could continue to stare at how those silver chains rested against her throat, draping down to sit between her collarbones. She blinked again, trying to pull herself out of the Paige-induced haze so she could actually listen to her girlfriend.

“Hey, what’s up with you? You’re not listening to me,” Paige whined again. Correct. Azzi hadn’t even realized Paige was still talking. She was too busy looking at her to practice active listening. Azzi blushed. Paige’s eyebrows raised.

“You gonna tell me, or do I have to pry it out of you?” Azzi sighed dramatically, slumping back into her seat. Against her will, her eyes wandered right back to Paige’s neck. She wanted to kiss her way down the skin there hard enough to leave bruises where the chains rested. The brunette crossed her legs, too aware of the warmth between them.

Paige looked down at herself, trying to follow Azzi’s line of sight. Azzi sighed loudly again, blushing a deep, embarrassing shade of pink. Paige was so adorable when she was confused, but she needed her to understand faster so she didn’t have to explain what had her so hot and bothered.

“Paige,” Azzi said firmly.

“What? Baby, I don’t know what you’re looking at. I just know you’re blushing real pretty right now and I want to know why.” Azzi couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked Paige right in the eyes, fisting her hands in her lap so they wouldn’t get any ideas and reach up to touch the chains that were taunting her so badly. She took a deep breath, taking a little glance around to make sure none of their teammates were listening too closely to what they were talking about.

“You look… really hot with those chains on,” Azzi mumbled, face flushing an even darker shade of red.

“Baby, what? It’s loud as hell in here, I didn’t get any of that.” Azzi wanted a sinkhole to open up under Mohegan Sun and swallow them all so she didn’t have to repeat that sentence. Lord knows Paige’s ego didn’t need to hear it twice. She wished she could just whisper it into Paige’s ear, but the chance of somebody in the crowd recording it was too high. She groaned and leaned only slightly closer to Paige.

“You look hot with those chains on,” she said, with more volume in her voice this time. She wasn’t letting there be any chance of Paige making her say it a third time.

A hint of surprise fluttered over Paige’s face, but it was quickly replaced with that all-too-familiar smirk. Azzi would never tell Paige, but it made her squeeze her legs together just a little bit tighter.

“You like them, baby?” Paige murmured, voice somehow loud enough for Azzi to hear her over the noise of the arena. It made her think that Paige definitely heard her the first time and just wanted to make her suffer. Azzi gave up and let her head fall into her hands dramatically. Paige poked her shoulder, waiting for confirmation. Azzi knew that being in public was saving her from having to reply for real. She nodded into her hands.

“Hey, come back up here. I love it when you blush like that for me. So pretty, baby.” Azzi was going to die in Mohegan Sun at the ripe age of 21. She took a deep breath, praying that she had composed herself enough for the whole world not to know just how turned on she was right now. She straightened back up, trying to pretend like she was paying any kind of attention to the basketball game.

“There you go, good girl.” Azzi whacked Paige on the knee.

“Stop it. Stop or I’m gonna do something inappropriate in a very public place with lots of cameras, and then we won’t be private or a secret,” Azzi hissed. Paige just laughed. The audacity of this girl to look the way she did, get Azzi all turned on, tease her in public, and then laugh? She scowled at Paige. Paige shut up.

“Az, wait, I’m sorry for laughing. You’re sitting here all turned on, staring at me, and I’m being an ass.” This is genuinely one of the worst apologies Azzi has ever heard. The lack of amusement on her face must be as obvious as it feels because Paige starts backtracking.

“Azzi, baby, look at me. Please.” Azzi doesn’t have it in herself to disobey. And who is she to pass up a chance to look at Paige right now? God, she looks sinfully good.

“I shouldn’t have laughed at you. That’s my bad. I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear,” Paige promises, looking very sincere. Azzi raises her eyebrows skeptically.

“How are you gonna do that?” She questions. A grin spreads across Paige’s face.

“You said you like the chains, right? Got you all wet and needy?” Azzi wants to protest, but Paige isn’t wrong. “I see you with your legs crossed, ma, you’re not subtle.”

“I’m not seeing how this is you making anything up to me-” Azzi starts, but Paige interrupts her.

“You want me to fuck you with the chains on, baby?” Fuck. Just the words have Azzi absolutely dripping. She almost lets a whimper slip out, but clamps her mouth shut at the last minute.

“Yes,” she whispers. Paige looks entirely too satisfied with the way this conversation has turned out. Infuriatingly, it just turns Azzi on more. Damn this woman.

“Didn’t know the NIL money would come with this benefit,” Paige muses. Azzi is in her own personal hell.

“I need you to shut up. Immediately. Yesterday,” Azzi demands. Paige snorts.

“Yes, ma’am.”

________

Azzi doesn’t know what Paige told Jana and Allie or where the two girls went upon the team’s return to campus. Frankly, she doesn’t care. All she cares about is that Paige’s bedroom door is locked swiftly and the apartment beyond it is empty.

Paige is on Azzi as soon as the door is closed, shoving her up against the wood and trailing kisses from her mouth to her jaw to her neck. Actually, it’s more like Paige licking her way down Azzi’s skin. Either way, it feels incredible.

“Please, please,” she mumbles. She’s already begging, although she’s not entirely sure what for.

“Shh ma, just hold on. I’m gonna get you right, don’t you even worry,” Paige reassures Azzi against her skin. Something about it reminds Azzi of her thoughts from earlier. She lifts her head away from the door, trailing her eyes down to where Paige is mouthing at her collarbones, just above the neckline of her tank top. In a feat of pure willpower, Azzi flips their positions so Paige is the one pressed against the door. Paige gasps and immediately starts to protest. “Just shut the hell up,” Azzi demands as she begins to place wet kisses across Paige’s jaw. Her skin is warm and Paige smells so good, as she always does. Azzi’s mouth reaches the hinge of Paige’s jaw and she nips at the skin softly, not hard enough to bruise. Paige groans.

“God, baby, feels so good. Mark me the fuck up.” Azzi pushes her surprise away in favor of getting back to work. Who would she be to pass up a rare opportunity to claim her girlfriend? She bites a little harder at the spot from before, then licks over it with her tongue when Paige moans. Encouraged, Azzi makes her way down Paige’s neck, sucking in some places and biting in others, until Paige’s neck is riddled with red and purple splotches and covered in Azzi’s saliva.

Azzi finally pulls back to look at her handiwork, incredibly satisfied with herself. Paige looks desperate. Her neck glistened from Azzi’s mouth, her pupils were blown so wide her blue irises were barely visible, and she had tugged her hair free from the bun it had been in. She’s panting, staring at Azzi with unrestrained want. Azzi lets her focus go back to Paige’s neck. The silver chains glistening there really do look pretty against the newly mottled skin. She swallows, letting her hand drift up to play with the metal, warmed by Paige’s body.

Paige seems to have finally had enough teasing, because the next thing Azzi knows, she’s on her back in the middle of Paige’s bed.

“Off, off, I want these off,” Paige is saying, hands pulling at Azzi’s clothes. It’s not like she was wearing much of anything to begin with, just a tank top and a pair of too-short denim shorts, but within seconds the fabric is gone from her body, leaving her only in a pair of lace panties. The cool air makes Azzi shiver, nipples perking up from the chill.

Paige’s focus zeroes in on her tits, tongue immediately coming to lick over one nipple, hand squeezing the other gently, then pinching the nipple. Azzi gasps. It feels incredible, but this is not what she’s been thinking about all day. She tugs Paige back up to eye level, bringing their lips back together. Paige’s tongue is immediately against Azzi’s, but Azzi is mumbling demands.

“You gotta get naked too,” she whines, voice far more breathy than she wants it to be, but if Paige didn’t already know how needy she was, Azzi had bigger issues than what she sounded like. Paige’s clothes were off in seconds, leaving her in boxers and her sports bra. And those irresistible chains, of course. Still more clothes than Azzi in just her panties, but definitely an improvement.

Paige’s hand came down to Azzi’s stomach, fingers brushing over her abs teasingly on their way down to where Azzi was aching for her.

“Paige, please,” she pleaded.

“Please, what, baby? Gotta tell me what you want.” Azzi was going to cry if Paige didn’t touch her in the next five seconds. It’s that desperation that makes her give in immediately. She doesn’t have the willpower to resist Paige today.

“Touch me, please baby. Need your fingers on me, please, please, need it so bad-” Azzi cuts herself off with a moan when Paige presses her fingers over Azzi’s clothed clit. Her eyes roll back, but fly back open when she feels cold metal bump against her chin. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” It seems to be the only word she can remember as Paige’s chains dangle in her face.

“There you go, baby. Is that better?” It’s not, really. Paige isn’t moving her fingers, and she’s still not really touching Azzi. Just that teasing presence over the fabric of her panties. Azzi bucks her hips against Paige’s hand in an effort to get what she wants.

“Is this not enough, baby? I’m touching you. What do you want?” Azzi is going to scream if Paige keeps this cocky attitude up and doesn’t fuck her like she needs. She almost gets sassy with her response until Paige moves her fingers against her clit, rubbing slow little circles over the fabric. Azzi groans, so hopelessly soaked through her underwear that the lace is practically see-through.

“Fuck. Please, Paige, please just fuck me. I need your fingers inside, please. Gotta feel it, need it, please.” She sounds pathetic, she knows. Paige doesn’t usually make her beg like this, but god, being forced to say exactly what she wants is doing sinful things to Azzi.

“I got you, good girl, so good begging for me,” Paige praises. Azzi’s head flops back onto the pillow and she immediately misses the light presence of the chains in her face. It’s quickly forgotten as Paige pulls Azzi’s panties off, throwing them somewhere to the side of the bed in favor of quickly slipping one finger into Azzi’s pussy.

“Fuck, baby, so wet for me. You feel that?” Paige already sounds like she’s going crazy, her voice hoarse and low. Azzi can barely focus on the words the blonde is saying. She’s too busy squirming closer to Paige’s hand, trying to get that singular finger deeper inside of her. She needs more and Paige is too busy talking to give it to her.

“Shh, honey, just relax. I gotchu, you know that,” Paige soothes, leaning down to press soft kisses to Azzi’s lips. The action drags the chains against Azzi’s face in the most delightful way. It almost makes Azzi miss the way Paige’s finger starts to move inside her, dragging out and then pushing right back in slowly. She moans desperately, still wiggling against Paige. She needs her deeper, faster, more fingers, anything.

“More, please, Paige, I can take another,” she begs. Paige finally obliges her, sliding another finger in alongside the first and continuing to fuck in and out of Azzi’s pussy. Azzi moans. One of her hands drifts up, tangling in the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck. Then it drifts down, sliding over the fresh hickeys on her throat that are getting darker by the minute. Her hand finally comes to rest on the silver chains, fingers wrapping around the strands of metal just for something to hold onto. Her eyes won’t leave the way they gleam against Paige’s skin, swinging back and forth as Paige’s arm moves.

Between her legs, Azzi can feel her wetness dripping onto the bed. She knows Paige’s hand is probably drenched, and that mental image only makes her wetter.

“There you go, baby. Doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. Fuck, look at you. Fucking soaked, Az. Can you hear that?” Paige takes a break from her fuck-drunk rambling so Azzi can hear the sound her body makes when Paige’s fingers slide in and out. It even sounds like she’s drenched. Azzi throws her head back on the pillow again, pulling Paige’s chains right along with her. Paige follows her down, licking a stripe up Azzi’s neck while she’s there.

“Gettin’ close, ma?” Azzi nods desperately, feeling her stomach get tighter with every stroke of Paige’s fingers into her sopping wet center. “Fuck, yeah, I know you are. Squeezing me so tight, baby. Just sucking me up. Need me that bad, right baby?” Paige’s thumb drags circles around Azzi’s clit. She lets out a high whine. Paige has yapped for every minute of her life, she’s sure, but the absolute filth she’s saying right now has Azzi teetering right on the edge of her climax, biting her lip, and her stomach tenses.

“Let go, Az. Just relax and let yourself cum. All over me, baby, come on. Want it dripping down my hand. Please, I know you’re almost there.” Paige’s words, begging her to come, combined with the feeling of her damned silver chains dragging against Azzi’s throat now that she’s released her grip on them, send her over the edge.

Azzi cums with a cry, high-pitched moans and Paige’s name falling from her lips. Paige fucks her through it, fingers still moving inside her, thumb still circling her clit until Azzi is trembling from overstimulation, begging Paige to stop.

“Please, please, too much, Paige-” Azzi pushes Paige’s hand away from her, collapsing against the mattress, panting as she tries to recover. When she forces her eyes open to look at her girlfriend, Azzi finds Paige already staring at her. Her pupils are still blown wide, her body glistening with sweat, her hair messy (probably Azzi’s fault), and she thinks Paige has never looked hotter.

“What?” Azzi demands softly. “I’ll get you in a minute, don’t worry,” she promises. Paige shakes her head and melts into Azzi, wrapping her in her pale arms.

“Did so good for me, baby. So good,” she mumbles into Azzi’s collarbones. Azzi’s hand comes up to brush through Paige’s hair gently, a smile falling onto her lips, blushing lightly at the praise. Paige was starting to crush her under her weight, but it felt so good that she kept quiet, one hand moving down from Paige’s hair to stroke up and down her back.

“Hey, let me take care of you now,” Azzi said, starting to roll herself out from under Paige. Paige just tightened her arms.

“In a minute. That was so hot. You’re so hot. Everything about that was just… really insanely hot. I think I’m buffering. Give me a minute,” Paige mumbled into Azzi’s skin. Azzi laughed, bringing a hand to Paige’s chin and tilting her face up to meet her eyes.

“That was really hot,” she agreed. Paige grinned.

“I should wear chains more often,” she mused. Azzi groaned, letting Paige’s face drop back into the crook of her neck.

“I swear, I can’t tell you anything.” She complained. Paige just laughed, and Azzi couldn’t do anything but laugh with her. Of course Paige would give her the best orgasm of her life and her takeaway from the experience would be fashion advice. Azzi couldn’t argue with the idea, though. She sighed.

“As long as the chains stay on during sex,” she agreed.

“Hell yeah. High five, dude.” Azzi groaned and pushed Paige away.

“Shut up or I’m not helping you get off.” Paige shut up.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #women's basketball #uconn #pazzi #pazzi smut #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut

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lupinqs · 7 hours ago

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CHAPTER SEVEN ━━ More Than a Friend

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.4K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: took her long enough

PAIGE COLLAPSES onto the bed, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. The sheets stick to her back, damp with sweat, and the coolness of the fabric against her overheated skin should be a relief, but it isn’t. Her limbs feel heavy, her body exhausted in the way it only gets after something physical and intense. She stretches an arm over her head, her hand grazing the headboard as her eyes drift to the ceiling.

The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Hers is slow and measured now, but Celeste’s is lighter, almost content, a satisfied hum vibrating in the air. For a moment, Paige doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her, as if avoiding it will somehow make the growing discomfort in her chest go away.

Eventually, she turns her head, her gaze landing on Celeste. She’s curled up on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow in fiery streaks, her green eyes half-lidded and hazy. Her lips are swollen, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners, her cheeks still flushed. She looks pretty.

Paige should feel something about that. She should feel good, even great. Celeste is undeniably gorgeous, all sharp edges and bold features, with an energy that draws people in effortlessly. The sex had been good. Objectively. Celeste knew what to do, and, even when she didn’t, Paige is good enough to guide them both into feeling good.

But instead of any sort of satisfaction, all Paige feels is this strange, gnawing emptiness.

Her eyes dart back to the ceiling, her throat dry as she tries to make sense of it. She replays the night in her mind, searching for something to explain the heaviness sitting low in her stomach. It wasn’t bad—there was nothing bad about it. Celeste was enthusiastic, responsive, and confident. Technically, it should have been great.

But it wasn’t.

Paige’s gaze finds Celeste again, drawn back to the red of her hair and the sharp green of her eyes, colors so vivid they almost don’t seem real. She watches the way Celeste’s lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls in steady breaths. Celeste looks completely at ease, and for a fleeting moment, Paige envies her.

But as she stares, the unease in her chest only deepens. It’s not something tangible, not something she can name, at least not at first. It’s just there, this persistent, nagging feeling that won’t let her settle.

And then it hits her, creeping up slow and quiet before slamming into her with full force.

Her eyes are green.

And her hair is red.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tightening as the thought lodges itself in her mind, impossible to ignore now. Celeste’s eyes are a vivid, almost unnatural green, like gemstones catching the lights. But they’re not soft, warm brown. They don’t have that quiet, steady depth that Paige knows so well. They don’t look at her with that mix of amusement or exasperation, or light up when she says something stupidly charming without meaning to.

And that hair—bright, bold, unmistakable—is nothing like the soft brown waves that fall messily into the face Paige could pick out of a crowd with her eyes closed.

Her stomach twists, the realization settling like a heavy weight she can’t shake. The reason it didn’t feel right—the reason she feels so off now, so unsatisfied—isn’t complicated, not really. It’s actually painfully simple.

Celeste isn’t Jo.

The thought feels almost treacherous, and Paige immediately tries to push it away, to rationalize it. This isn’t about Jo. It can’t be about Jo. Jo’s her best friend, and Celeste is someone she’s been flirting with on and off for months. That’s all this is.

But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the comparison, can’t stop her mind from drifting back to Jo. To the way her laugh sounds when Paige says something ridiculous, to the way her eyes soften when Paige is hurting and tries too hard to hide it. To the way Jo feels safe in a way no one else ever has.

Her vision goes blurry as she continues to stare up at the ceiling. This isn’t just a crush. It isn’t some fleeting infatuation she can laugh off or dismiss. The way her chest aches at the thought of Jo, the way her body feels like it’s caught between fight and flight—it’s too much to be anything simple. This is something deeper, something terrifying, something that feels like it has the power to completely ruin her.

Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to calm down, but it’s like trying to stop a flood with her bare hands. Every thought she’s been suppressing, every feeling she’s tried to bury, comes rushing to the surface all at once.

She likes Jo. She really, really likes Jo.

Jo is straight. That’s the first thing her brain throws at her, as if it’s some immovable fact that should end this line of thinking entirely. Jo has been with Asher since the eighth grade. Asher, who’s practically a part of her family, who’s been there for every milestone, every major moment in her life. Asher, who Jo is probably going to end up marrying and have perfect little babies with.

Paige’s jaw clenches at the thought and she tries to push it aside. But it’s not just that, though—it’s everything else. If she acted on this, if she said something, it could ruin everything. The team chemistry, the easy friendship they’ve built, the balance that holds her whole fucking life together—it could all come crashing down.

And even if—if—Jo liked her back, which she absolutely, definitely doesn’t, what then? What would that even look like? Relationships don’t work. Not for Paige. Not for anyone, really.

Her parents are the perfect cautionary tale. Their marriage had been a battlefield, full of screaming matches and screamed doors that Paige can faintly recall despite being so young. Eventually, they gave up and split. And then her dad remarried, and her mom remarried, and Paige got front-row seats to not one, but two more failed attempts at love.

She doesn’t do relationships. She doesn’t do love. It’s a joke, a setup for inevitable heartbreak, and she’s not stupid enough to fall for it.

But as much as she tries to convince herself, the thoughts keep circling back to Jo. To the sunshine in her veins, the sugar in blood, the constant smile on her face. She thinks about the way they’d slept last night, tangled up in each other like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Paige’s brain pulses in the confines of her skull, the overwhelming mix of emotions bubbling up until it feels like too much to bear. She can’t stay here. She can’t lie in this bed next to Celeste, her skin still tingling with the remnants of something that feels absolutely meaningless, and keep thinking about Jo.

Paige abruptly sits up, the sheets sliding off her as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. She glances around the dark room, searching for her clothes in the scattered mess on the floor.

Celeste stirs on the bed, her voice groggy as she props herself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?” she asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“I, uh…” Paige stammers, pulling on her sweatpants quickly. “I need to go. Something came up.”

Celeste sits up fully now, her confusion melting into mild irritation. “It’s, like, two in the morning,” she says, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What could possibly have come up?”

Paige doesn’t look at her, doesn’t stop moving. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head, her movements rushed and clumsy. “I just… I forgot I got somethin’ early,” she says vaguely, the words tumbling out in a way that even she knows sounds ridiculous.

Celeste sighs, her irritation softening into something more resigned. “Right,” she says, flopping back against the pillows. “Okay.”

Paige doesn’t even look at her as she finishes gathering her things. She knows she’s being rude but she hardly cares.

All she really cares about is getting out of there, away from the suffocating realization that has completely consumed her.

PAIGE PRACTICALLY sprints back to the dorms, the cool night air doing nothing to calm her racing mind. Her heart pounds, not just from the hurried walk but from the weight of, well, everything. She keeps pace, her thoughts a chaotic mess of Jo’s face, Jo’s laugh, Jo’s touch—Jo, Jo, Jo.

When she reaches her building and finally climbs the stairs to her apartment, she pauses, hand on the door handle. Jo’s probably inside, either in the kitchen making some late-night snack or curled up in the living room watching The Vampire Diaries and talking to Asher on speakerphone.

The thought makes Paige nauseous. She can’t face Jo right now—not with the realization still so fresh, so raw. She knows she’ll give herself away the second their eyes meet, and she can’t risk that.

So instead of opening the door to their apartment, Paige pushes herself up one more flight of stairs to the next floor, where Aubrey, Caroline, and Aaliyah live.

When she steps inside their apartment, the soft hum of a TV fills the air. Carol and Lili are nowhere to be seen, but Aubrey is sprawled on the couch with Azzi, the two of them laughing at whatever show they’re watching. Paige’s heart lifts slightly at the sight of Azzi—she hadn’t expected her to be here, but her best friend’s presence feels like a lifeline.

Both Aubrey and Azzi glance up as the door shuts behind Paige. They take one look at her face, and their expressions shift immediately, concern knitting both of their brows.

“You good?” Aubrey asks, sitting up straighter.

Azzi echoes the question, tilting her head slightly as she studies Paige.

Paige hesitates, her hand still on the doorknob, her throat tightening as her eyes start to well up. She can feel the tears coming before she even has a chance to fight them back. She bites her lip, staring at the two of them as the words she doesn’t want to say sit heavy on the tip of her tongue.

Finally, in a voice so quiet and pathetic it doesn’t sound at all like her own, she croaks out, “You were right.”

Azzi looks lost, scrunching her face up. “Right about what?” she asks, glancing between Paige and Aubrey.

But Aubrey’s already caught on, lips parting as the realization dawns on her. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the couch, giving Paige a look that’s equal parts knowing and sympathetic.

Paige presses her lips together, her chest tightening under the weight of Aubrey’s silent understanding. She glances down, blinking hard against the tears that threaten to spill, before finally crossing the room and flopping down onto the floor in front of the couch. She lays on her back, burying her face in her hands.

Azzi frowns, her confusion only growing. “What’s going on? What’re you taking about?”

Paige lets out a shaky breath, her voice muffled by her hands. “I like Jo,” she finally says, her throat thick with emotion. She pauses, her heart hammering as the words settle in the room, as real as they’ve ever been. “More than a friend. A lot more than a friend.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, the confession lingering in the air like a raw wound. Eventually, Paige hears the shuffle of the couch cushions, followed by the quiet creak of Aubrey leaning forward.

“So,” Aubrey starts carefully. “You like Jo. Like like her.”

Paige groans in response, dragging her hands down her face. “Didn’t I just say that?” Her voice is still muffled, but the frustration seeps through anyway. She glances up at them briefly, only to drop her head back down against the floor. “I’m so fucked, bro.”

Azzi shifts next to Aubrey, her long legs stretched out on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, watching Paige with an expression that Paige can’t quite read. It’s not shock, though. In fact, Azzi looks almost… resigned. Like she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

“I mean,” she says softly, “it’s not like it’s a huge surprise.”

That pulls Paige’s head up. Her eyes narrow at Azzi, her stomach doing an uncomfortable flip. “What’s that ‘posed to mean?”

Azzi shrugs, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying her amusement. “Come on, P. You’re not exactly subtle. The way you’re always looking at her, how you laugh at everything she says even when it’s not funny—”

“She is funny,” Paige cuts in defensively.

“Sure,” Azzi says with a small, knowing smile. “But it’s more than that, and you know it.”

Paige groans again, louder this time. Her eyes wander to the ceiling, the harsh overhead light making her eyes sting. “God, this is so—fuck, man.”

“Look,” Aubrey says. “I get it. Jo’s… she’s great. She’s funny and sweet, and yeah, she really pretty. But she’s got Asher. And she’s straight.” She pauses, letting the words settle. “You’re kinda setting yourself up to get hurt.”

Paige clenches her jaw, kissing her teeth. “You think I don’t know that?” she snaps, sitting up abruptly, her eyes a blue fire as she stares at Aubrey. “You think I don’t know that she’s got her perfect boy next door that she’s gonna fuckin’ marry and have kids with? You think I don’t know that this is never gonna happen?”

Her voice wavers, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how exposed. She looks down, her hands clenched into fists against her thighs. “I don’t want this. I don’t wanna like her. But it’s just now that I’ve, like, figured it out… Ion know how I’m ever not. Because she’s—fuck, she’s perfect. She’s just… she’s perfect.” Her voice cracks on the last couple words and Paige hastily wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape her eye.

Azzi and Aubrey share a glance, and Paige notices it. She hates feeling like a charity case, like someone they need to pity or fix.

Finally, Azzi speaks, her voice quieter this time. “It’s okay to have feelings, Paige. You can’t control that. What matters is how you handle them.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, I’m handling them great, aren’t I?”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is firm, but there’s a softness underneath it. “I’m serious. You don’t have to beat yourself up for liking her. It’s not something you chose.”

The blonde lets a bitter laugh escape her. “Yeah, well, I sure as hell wouldn’t have chosin’ this.”

Aubrey sighs. “No one’s saying it’s easy, but you gotta be realistic. We just don’t wanna see you torture yourself over this.”

Paige wraps her arms around her knees as she looks between the two of them. “So, what am I supposed to do, huh? Just stop liking her? How do I do that? Someone, please fuckin’ tell me, because I’m losin’ my mind.”

Neither of them answers right away. Aubrey looks thoughtful, while Azzi stares at the TV, her lips pressed together. Paige feels the desperation clawing at her chest, her heart racing as the silence stretches on.

Finally, Azzi speaks. “Maybe you need space.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard. “Space?”

Azzi nods, still looking at the TV. “Yeah. Like… maybe being around her all the time will make this harder for you, just make your feelings grow. So, maybe you need to take a step back, give yourself some time to clear your head.”

Paige frowns. The idea of putting distance between herself and Jo feels impossible. But, at the same time, she can’t deny that Azzi might have a point.

“I don’t know,” Azzi continues, finally turning to look at Paige. “You’re going back to LA in a couple of days, and you’re gonna be there for a few more weeks. Maybe that’ll give you a better chance to figure things out without her right in front of you.”

Paige hesitates, her throat sore. She knows Azzi’s probably right, knows that putting some space between herself and Jo could be exactly what she needs. But the thought makes her ache.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles.

JO SITS cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs, her fingers hovering idly over the keyboard. The document on her screen is due tomorrow, but she’s been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now. Her thoughts keep drifting, circling back to one person.

Paige has been distant. More than distant—aloof, like she’s there but not really. Jo hasn’t seen much of her since media day, which is strange. Paige always makes time for her, no matter how busy things get. They’re roommates, sure, but it’s more than that—they’ve become close, inseparable even, and it doesn’t sit right that Paige is suddenly pulling today. Especially this week.

Paige is leaving for LA again, and Jo was hoping to spend more time with her before she goes back. She wanted to squeeze in a movie night, maybe order some takeout and sit around laughing about dumb things like they always do. But instead, Paige has either been locked in her room or entirely out of the apartment for the last few days.

When Jo hears the door to the blonde’s room creak open, her heart lifts a little, and she shifts her gaze over, sitting up straighter.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice warm and bright, like always.

Paige barely looks at her, muttering a quick, “Hi,” as she heads toward the kitchen. Jo frowns, watching her move with a sort of stiffness that’s entirely unlike her. It’s not just that she’s quiet—Jo’s pretty sure that Paige is avoiding her, and she feels the sting of it more than she’d like to admit.

She doesn’t say anything, though. Jo isn’t the kind of person who pushes, not unless she has to. She’s learned that sometimes people need space, and maybe that’s all this is. Still, her chest tightens as she watches Paige pull a water from the fridge, looking like she’s in a hurry as she does so.

“Am I still driving you to the airport?” Jo asks, trying to keep her tone casual. She didn’t think she’d have to question it because they made the plan together, but considering the fact that they’ve barely spoken the past few days, Jo can’t help but wonder.

And it seems she was right to because Paige pauses. “Oh, nah,” she says after a beat, her voice flat. “Azzi’s taking me.”

Jo blinks. She’s not really caught off guard just because Paige has been acting so weird, but she still feels the twist of disappointment in her stomach. She was hoping she’d be able to talk to her and see her during drive, but clearly she doesn’t even get that.

Still, Jo forces a smile. “Oh, okay,” she says lightly, though she feels anything but.

Paige doesn’t offer an explanation, and Jo doesn’t ask for one. She watched as Paige retreat back to her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence in the apartment suddenly feels heavier than before, and Jo lets out a soft sigh, sinking back into the couch.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Paige is probably just stressed or tired or something. It’s not about her. It can’t be. But the thought nags at her anyway, like an itch she can’t stretch.

And it continues to nag at her a few hours later as they hug by the apartment door, saying goodbye. Jo hugs her tightly, normally, but she can feel how stiff Paige is, how oddly awkward the embrace feels. It’s like Paige is already halfway out the door, and Jo’s heart aches with the realization.

“Bye,” Paige says as she pulls back, her voice quiet.

“Bye,” Jo echoes, her smile faltering as she watches Paige pick up her suitcase and head out the door. The sound of it closing behind her feels final, like a book slamming shut.

Jo stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Her mind raced, replaying every interaction they’ve had over the past few days, searching for something she might’ve done wrong. Something that could explain why Paige is acting like this.

She doesn’t come up with anything, but the doubt lingers, gnawing at her. Jo sighs, walking back to her bedroom and dropping down onto the bed. She presses her hands to her face, frustration and sadness bubbling up in her chest.

She tells herself that it’s okay, that it’s nothing, that by the time Paige gets back to Storrs in a few weeks, everything will be normal again.

She hopes so, at least, because she really doesn’t like the alternative.

IN LA, the sun feels sharp, unrelenting, even if it’s nearing November. Paige sits in her rental car outside the rehab facility, her phone in her lap, the screen dark but heavy. She knows what’s waiting for her in there—a grueling session of strength-building and balance work, another step toward getting back to basketball. But basketball hasn’t been the loudest thing in her mind for weeks now. It should be—God, it should be—but instead, it’s Jo.

Paige clenches her jaw and tosses her phone into the passenger seat, annoyed with herself. Thinking about Jo doesn’t help, not here, not anywhere. That’s why she’s done everything to avoid it: random girls in unfamiliar beds, their hands and mouths a fleeting distraction; sporadic texts to Jo, just enough to keep her from asking too many questions; ignoring every call, every FaceTime, and hoping Jo doesn’t notice the glaring difference between nearly every night and never anymore. She has to be catching on by now. Paige knows Jo isn’t stupid.

Still, the guilt doesn’t outweigh the distance. Paige grips the steering wheel, staring at the rehab center’s sliding glass doors but not really seeing them. Distance is necessary—it has to be. If Paige doesn’t put this buffer between them, if she doesn’t actively suppress everything she feels, she’s going to ruin things. She’ll make it weird, or worse, permanent. She’s trying to protect their friendship. She’s trying to protect the team. She’s trying to protect her own heart.

And yet.

Her chest aches every time she picks up the phone and sees Jo’s name, every time she types out a half-hearted excuse about being too busy to talk. Rehab has been fine, she supposes—her knee is slowly regaining its strength, her trainers say she’s on track—but Jo’s absence looks larger than it should. Paige didn’t realize how much Jo’s voice at the end of the day had anchored her, how their FaceTimes had become her favorite part of LA the first few weeks she was here, before she realized everything. She misses Jo more than she should—more than is safe—and no amount of flings with strangers or silent self-lectures seems to change that.

The worst part is that none of it is working. The random girls are a distraction, sure, but only in the moment. They don’t fill the void, not really. Every time Paige wakes up, whether that be alone or tangled with unfamiliar limbs, her mind inevitably drifts back to Jo. To her laugh, her smile, the way she tilts her head just slightly when she’s focused on something. It’s infuriating how vivid Jo feels in her memory, like she’s carved into Paige’s consciousness.

Paige exhales sharply and runs a hand over her face, the rough skin of her palm scraping against her jaw. She tells herself to get it together. She knows this spiraling isn’t productive, but the more she tries to stop thinking about Jo, the more Jo consumes her thoughts. She thinks of Jo’s hugs—warm, grounding, so completely Jo. She thinks about their so-called sleepovers, the two of them sprawled on either of their beds watching The Vampire Diaries, Jo throwing popcorn at Paige whenever she made fun of Stefan Salvatore.

The memory makes her chest twist painfully. She hasn’t even watched the show since she’s been in LA; it feels wrong to do it without Jo. It feels like cheating somehow, as ridiculous as that sounds. Besides, it’s just another reminder of the girl she’s actively trying to not think about.

But, like always, she’s thinking about her right now and it reminds her of the text she saw pop up on her phone last night that she never responded to. Sighing, she reaches for the device and opens iMessages, feeling bad for taking so long to even read the text let alone respond.

Ma freshie 💘

hey, how are you? how’s rehab??

it’s been a minute just wanted to say i miss you

Paige stares at the message. I miss you. She knows that Jo misses her. She knows that. But she also knows that she doesn’t miss her in the way that Paige wants her to.

Her thumb hovers over the screen. She wants to respond. She wants to say, I miss you too. Rehab sucks, I wish you were here. She wants to apologize for pulling away, to explain herself, but how do you say, Sorry, I’m avoiding you because I kinda think I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me?

Instead, she types a lie.

PB 😱😱

Sorry I’ve been busy as hell

Rehab’s going fine tho

Hope you’re good don’t have too much fun at practice without me

Her chest tightens as she sends them. Jo deserves better then this, and Paige knows it. But then Paige reminds herself that she does have better than this—she has Asher. Which is probably all she’ll ever need.

Paige shakes her head, grabbing her water bottle from the cup holder and stepping out of the car. She can’t keep doing this to herself. Jo is back in Storrs, living her life, and Paige needs to do the same. She needs to focus on her recovery, on getting back on the court, on being the best damn basketball player she can be. This thing she feels for Jo? It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

She slams the car door shut and heads toward the rehab center, trying to leave the ache in her chest behind. It follows her anyway.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb #nobody gets me #wlw #lgbtq

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paniniani · 3 days ago

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cooking with fire: katsuki bakugo x reader

synopsis: bakugo can’t deal with your subpar cooking abilities and decides to “help”

warnings: language (obviously), spice, teasing, tiny knife injury

"you really hate celery that fuckin much??" bakugo yelled, a look of horror on his face as he stomped into the kitchen. he just wanted to make a cup of tea in peace, but when he saw you mutilating these poor vegetables, he had to step in.

rolling your eyes, you spit out a response: "can you be a little more annoying? since everyone's been getting sick, i'm making soup. im doing a nice thing. do you know what a nice thing is? it's when people-"

"SHUT UP." he interrupted, scowling at you as he braced his elbows on the kitchen counter, leaning over to inspect your poor cutting job. you certainly didn't mind the view as you continued chopping, eyes raking over his muscular forear-

"SHIT" you cried, as the knife nicked your pointer finger, leaving a tiny yet slightly painful scratch. great. first you're terrible at cooking, then you cut your finger because you're thirsting over the class' biggest asshole. for a brief moment, a flicker of concern crossed his face, quickly replaced by his trademark smug smirk.

"need a bandaid or somethin? didn't take you as someone to be so.. easily distracted." turning your attention away from your finger, you raised your chin to meet his gaze, sparking with pride and... something you couldn't quite pin down.

"what's your problem anyway? can't you just leave me alone?" you replied, trying not to flush at the eye contact.

"i'll leave you alone when you stop fucking butchering these vegetables!" as his eyebrows drew together, you saw the same unfamiliar expression flash across his face before he closed his eyes and sighed with annoyance. picking up the knife again, you began chopping. you were focusing so hard on the celery that you didn't notice his strangely quiet steps, moving closer and closer until his large hand settled over yours on the knife, standing behind you to watch your movements.

your breath hitched at the uncharacteristically gentle contact, causing your mind to race as you suddenly felt hot, burning hot, all over your body.

"somethin the matter? what happened to all that shit you were talkin? soup's not gonna make itself." you could practically hear the smirk in his face as you stood stone-still, his thumb having the nerve to draw tiny, delicate circles over your own. reaching his other arm around you, he grabbed a new piece of celery and began to chop, still keeping your hand underneath his.

his skilled hands made quick work of the vegetables, finishing the task in just a few seconds. you would never forgive your brain for the nasty thoughts you were having of what else he could do with those han-

"aw come on, don't go all shy on me now..." he quietly spoke into your ear, flustering you further if it were possible. this wasn't fair. you didn't know what the fuck had come over him, but two could play at this game, no matter how incredibly turned on you were.

"you gonna help me with some more or just stand there? still gotta chop up these carrots.." you looked back at him with heavy lids, letting your head tilt to the side, almost grazing his shoulder. internally, you giggled as it was his turn to flush deep red. his face was painted with that same odd expression, finally realizing that it was-

"don't give a fuck about these damn carrots" he murmured, staring down at you. he was whipped, and he knew it. grabbing the knife and your hand again, he grabbed a few carrots, leaning his strong chest against your back.

"gotta see better" he spat out, but you knew he was about to give in. in a moment of desperation, you arched your back, pressing your ass against him. looking up at him again through lust-covered eyes, you choked out a few words:

"need.. your help.. bakugo."

screwing his eyes shut, he knew he was done for- shit. he was hard as a fucking rock. you could definitely tell too. grinding against you, he bit back a groan. you felt so fucking good.. fuck, he needed you so bad. suddenly, you felt strong hands grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face him.

shit. this was much easier when you weren't having to look at him. crimson eyes staring at your lips, you gulped and looked up at him with wide pleading eyes. knowing this would push him over the edge, you leaned in, your lips magnetic towards his own. at the last instant, you moved, pressing gentle kisses across his jawline, watching his throat struggle to keep his pretty sounds in. kissing and gently sucking down his neck, he finally gave in. opening his mouth, he managed a few mumbled words between quiet groans.

"itskatsuki.please."

his voice cracked with desire, begging, pleading you to continue. kneeling down, you trailed kisses across his rapidly rising and falling chest, watching his abs twitch as you continued downward to his v-line. slipping a finger in his waistband, causing a whine, you knew you had him. why not make this a little more fun? you looked up at him with a sweet smile, speaking in a low, sultry tone.

"okay. katsuki..." you drew his name out with a long groan, watching him look at you pleadingly. "we still gotta chop the carrots".

#mha #my hero academia #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugo smut #mha smut #smut drabble #smut #drabble #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #reupload

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melankkholy · 2 days ago

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what size does love wear? (part 1)

✎ The lights, the podium, and the spotlight are all yours. As an upstart model, your life went by pleasantly with the girls, but maybe you were too dim to realize that you were living in an illusion. Could Leon, the one and only rockstar of the hearts, be the man you were waiting for in a milieu full of counterfeit people, or are you too much of a hopeless romantic?

cw: NO MINORS AND I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY IT, messy messy messy, drugz, fem! model reader, family drama aka daddy and mommy issues, very uncanny and might be disturbing for some people idek, vom!ting and possibly or (implied eating disorders), p in v, oral (fem! receiving) praises, reader is going thru some shii, MDNI, that's all i can come up with, but please let me know if i missed something very vital, and find the song lyrics:3

It all unfolds that night at a soirée to which you were invited in the most gingerbread-like language.

You don’t have a clue how fat cats hang out at such a lavish icebreaker. That these people took you in very recently, right after your meteoric rise to superstardom, and with a wham bang. You didn’t quite make it onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame with all those big golds and jet-set stars, sure, but your killer legs, waist, and pretty tits promised you a chance to eavesdrop a wee bit on Victoria’s secret. Well, who knows? Maybe one day, even without any formal studies in acting, you could star as an aspiring actor in some movie and kiss the handsome and beefcake famous guys. You could be the next lead in a new goofy movie like Fifty Shades of Grey. Hollywood is full of pretty model casts these days, anyway.

So many possibilities.

Mostly with your height, physique, and poise, which would make most men who can’t be more than 5 feet and 7 inches tall (barely) outclass them in every way (never mind the grandfatherly inheritance that your mother inherited from whomever-whatever-who-cares and your surname that unexpectedly gained a notoriety, even your daddy abruptly switched to your mother’s maiden name on paper), you’re the size perfection angel of the runways. Precious, precious you.

A happy family tableau with your mother, who doesn’t listen to your advice to break up with that man, who happens to be your father, and he has a mania for alcohol and the girls younger than him of late.

The only vestige of this particular and domestic picture is you here, dressed in the elegance of a collectible piece from a costly collection of so-and-so, to the party you were summoned to.

“It tastes like shit.”

Claire’s whining in front of you, idly brandishing a hurricane glass full of bubbly as pale pink and powdery as her rosy cheeks. Thankful for the leverage of your elbows on the bistro table between you, you lift your chin, planted in the inner cushions of your joined palms, and give her a passing glance. Then your starry eyes drift back to the human orgy you’ve been tracking since the moment you stepped in the venue.

A myriad of eminent names. How exciting to be able to see their imperfect skin up close under the veneer of make-up. Turns out there is a huge Photoshop business going on in this particular circus.

Still, it’s hard not to get caught up in the allure of their luster. Thinking about how you were unanticipatedly plunged into a world of gold and silver, of all the thesauri that connote the existence of riches, you should absolutely bask in it—if they’ll let you.

“You’ve had too much to drink.” Jill gives Claire a little mouth joke from beside her, which elicits a muttered snort from Claire.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Dunno. Maybe snort a line or two. Together.”

“You could’ve told me from the start, Valentine.” Claire rolls her eyes and surveys you with her big blue lenses.

“Hey, you.”

You look up at Claire, a giddy smile lacing your lips.

“Huh?”

“Get in the back room. Jill, you and I are getting the motherfucking sniff on some good coke.”

Coke. Oh, great.

The hot “sport” of your demographic. Once your wacky mom’s, too.

The poison you swore you’d never put your mouth (actually your nose) on, or the antidote to survival, as your father would call it.

A silly little girl’s dumbest and greatest fear.

But you’re too much of a sucker to risk losing a high-profile group of friends like Jill and Claire, the only two girls you respect in this game of whatever. Just reject them, and in a fraction of a second, you’ll be all alone, and people here would pulverize you raw.

So without saying a word, you tag along behind them on a whim, as if cocaine is your passion. Since your friends are here, you just came to kick it.

The proverbial back room turns out to be really far back.

The smell of weed is tangy and mixed with other substances you can’t name the second you walk in. The scent of perfume adds a different festivity. Leaves a seductive melody and holds promises to give you airborne wings.

This must be the precise definition of getting wasted.

A few familiar faces greet you, occasionally stopping your group of three to take a quick photo—a social media travesty, for a photo that implies that the girl who wrapped her arms around you in nylon hugs with her platinum blonde and padded lips, whom you haven’t even said a word to yet, is a hoot on your social media account. Is it worth it?

Hell, maybe.

Followers are everything, even for you.

Chris, ass up, nose to nose in the coarse dust strewn on the glass surface table of the Boeing 707, straightens up as three pairs of heels materialize in front of him, oozing through the see-through transparency of the glass table.

“You’d be a great big brother if you didn’t always finish the best one ahead of us.”

“I’m always a big and great brother.” Chris Redfield, big and virile, stretches up in front of your eyes and wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve like a credit card sliding horizontally and smoothly through a POS machine.

Just like a goddamned joke.

In flesh and blood, Chris Redfield, the lead guitarist—a member of the very band you’ve been a diehard fan of since you were a teenager and whose songs have lulled you into slumber—is in front of you. Yes, you really were sleeping with rock music playing in the background.

His pupils are vacant. Like his cranium.

“You all look like those three girls from that cartoon where a professor accidentally creates three special strong girls—ahhh—what was the name again?”

“Powerpuff Girls?” Jill interjects at Chris’ reference with a wan grin, leaning her leg over the glass tilt table. Claire also crouches in front of her and clasps onto Jill’s knees. Almost as if she’s biding her time to eat her out. She might do that. Later.

“Yeah!” Chris snaps his fingers.

“Uh, I...” You spring forward to introduce yourself before the conversation drifts. Girls are already nose-dipping in the dusty spill on the table, and you stick your hand out to Chris.

Surprisingly, he accepts the handshake straight away. In the course of these formal introductions, whenever you were to extend your hand to someone, they’d be looking you over from head to toe like you were a little bit of a poseur. Ironically, Chris welcomes you with a genuine smile. It seems modesty hasn’t kicked the bucket.

You’re being all polite, handing Chris your name, and then—cue dramatic music—someone crashes through the pivot door like it’s a Hollywood blockbuster.

Every head turns in the cumulative direction of the sound, all but assured by the door’s dramatic swoosh, all collectively.

Turns out it’s none other than Leon Kennedy, the finest and equally “big-time rockin’ rock star of the twentieth generation,” as they say.

“His ass again?” Claire pipes up from where she’s sitting. She’s not a big fan of Leon. She has her reasons. In the interest of brevity, Claire and Leon had, in fact, dated in the interim. Once upon a time, there was a ship named Cleon, a name the adoring admirers nicknamed their own ship name in all corners of the tabloids.

While you can understand how ticked off she is, you might as well not do it at all. There is, at last, a deck of cards in front of you that you may see for the first and last time in your life. In fact, he is even moving towards you with his own confident steps.

For you, it’s a moment of blimey, but for him it’s as natural and insignificant as the instinct to pee when he’s drunk too much stuff.

“Hi there.”

Now you can understand people amplifying at the mere sound of a certain voice and, if necessary, wetting their pants, pussies, and dicks—Leon isn’t the pickiest about it, really. Now everything makes total sense. He must be getting laid as much as he’s making money with his mouth.

And he is. Add a pinch of that buzzing singing voice to a muscular body, a tall stature, and money in swollen pockets, and Leon gets what he wants in a jiffy. Kiss his ass if you will.

“There’s my cutest groupie.” Leon waves at Claire, heading for a fall.

Claire draws her middle finger at him and bites back a repartee.

Not a single name he doesn’t speak in the narrow circle of this social outlet. Then he sees you, and the wheel of fortune takes a reversal.

A newfangled face, delicate facial expressions, and striking beauty. Clearly, you’re the precious neophyte around here.

The art of the soft soap in the eccentric azure of his eyes is hard to miss. A depth to be dug into with picks and shovels.

How he greets you with a small mental shake of his head in contrast to his expressive gaze is enough for the conventional first pleasantries.

It’s hard to calculate how much it’s right to cast pointed glances at your friend’s ex-boyfriend. On a more cursory inspection, you and Claire weren’t that close, at least not close enough to make those ground rules—chicks before dicks ones. (Excuses!) You definitely need proper shrinks.

“Fucker.” Claire coughs up any remaining resentment in an epithetical whisper under her breath.

The exes find their way out of the scene, separated, and Claire tugs on your arm and flings herself straight into the dance floor. Leave it to Leon to steal a glance at you. He stares long and hard at the beauty next to his ex as you stomp off the scene. To Leon, the past is in the past, and the present is here to be remade. It’s nerve-racking when you leave, but he loves to watch you walking away.

And Jill is too doped up on cocaine to join you all.

─────────────────

“We never would have come if we knew he’d be here.” You tell Claire as she strums her hips to a peppy groove. You just want to bring your girl back to earth, even if it’s just a pulse.

“What? Jesus! Can’t hear you, gorgeous!” Claire curls her hands at the corners of her mouth as she lets it out. Of course she can’t hear you over this hubbub. You’re such an airhead.

But point taken. You shrug your shoulders as if to say it’s nothing and dance in unison to the song along with her jigging dance moves.

─────────────────

The DJ gets you moving with the record and the tempo of his tunes, the laser disco lights blinking on and off like thunder, making you dizzy from the jetlagged fatigue of the fateful night. For how many hours have you been standing in these Pigalle Follies and guzzling Silver Oak? God, you’re a mess. A hot one, that is.

The flashing disco lights alternately brighten and dazzle your eyes. You can’t even take a step, let alone do the dance. Sure, you’re running on fumes, but at least you look cute doing it.

That’s what happens when you drink on an empty stomach. Stupid bitch, you’re chewing yourself out.

Lights are moving sideways and up and down.

The sweat beading on the hair gathered at the nape of your neck is cold. You blink your eyes and cast them around for Claire, dim and desperate. Not a single facsimile of a peer stands.

Okay, but where’s she?

You push your way through the flesh and blood horde and find your way out of the club to the back door. Threshing, you flounder out of a dented metal door. The pit of your stomach is parched, as if tiny worms have colonized your entrails and organs.

Your hand pressed against your midsection is of no help.

Leaning against the wall, you’re propped up; you squint at the figure of a man (?) that now unfolds in front of you with the swoosh of the door. A lighted cigarette in his hand, he makes a knife-edge turn and spots you right off the bat.

Sewn into his eyes is a tapestry of something akin to concern. They are adumbral but bloodless and ultramarine.

Voices buzzing in your ear burst the bag of intricacies with a sharp pinprick. When you can feel the echoes finally reaching your earbuds, you can vaguely feel the man reaching for your forearm and tracing circles on your skin with soothing strokes.

“What the hell are you so tipsy for?”

Tipsy? Hell? He’s probing something about you.

“Leave me alone.”

“What? Leave you like this in the middle of an alley? What are you? Five?”

Your stomach produces a strange twinge, right there, in that very second.

You totter, but the man holding you by the arm means what he says.

“Look at you. What a fucking mess, huh, girl?” There he goes, tutting you like it’s his favorite sport.

“Don’t push it, Leon. What’re you, my mother?”

You just frown and shoot him a syringe of Claire’s inherited hatred but in your style.

“Go away. I’ll be fine.”

With all the audacity of a brilliant I-fucking-hate-my-best-friend’s-ex-boyfriend, you pull your arm free of his reach.

“They’ll eat you alive in here. You know that, right?” His voice is scratchy, preaching to you, but it’s emptier than a banker’s heart. His gaze, as in.

You don’t know. Makes you edgy, this one fucker.

“Why do you care?”

Really. What’s it really to him? Leon, too, in the clash of a second and a spontaneous question, unexpectedly finds himself striving for words.

When you push off the wall against which you were leaning, balance beats the hell out of you. Standing on the spikes of your heels is like an arsenal of iron nuts. So much so that Leon sucks in his breath in sheer exasperation before gripping you tightly by the forearm and flicking the glowing amber stub to the ground. Savior complex moment perhaps; he’s a martyr to his savior complex, not even understanding why he’s going this far.

“Where’re those girls you’re always stuck with? Claire and Jill?”

Obviously you don’t have an answer to that. You, for that matter, don’t have an answer to anything in the preamble. You just gawk at him with a vagabond animus.

You brush it off with a dejected shrug, and the withering stare you garner from him is quite enough to put you in your place, and then more. The abject skeleton in the closet that follows is beyond telling.

The puddle of bile that you can’t hold in any longer gushes out of your mouth. There and then. Luckily, courtesy of your miraculous reflexes, you turn your back on him and excrete the stagnant liquor in your system.

Leon retaliates by stepping back, as your arm falls out of his hands and you stoop, knees sore. A nervy and explosive burst of emotion is impinging on his face. You can’t see it, but you can more or less picture what kind of acrimony he’s donning.

What a perfect first impression spectacle.

Your gagging voice dies from throwing up in the empty streets; warm, misty tears well up in your eyes, the usual stuff, but the averse touch of his hand brushing your hair back from your face is a special ooh.

“You’re so fucked up.”

He couldn’t be more serious.

“You’re so pretty.”

You can’t be serious either!

But just as you lift your head to give him an answer, your stomach lurches to your feet one more time. So yes, you called your close friend’s singer boyfriend “pretty” in its truest essence, in all its pomp and circumstance. Delirious and graphic, hats off to you. You feel dizzy and more than ever dead. Like dead dead, open mouth, insert foot. The nebulous valance in front of your eyes is as opaque as an unaesthetic Instagram filter. Your balance is in tatters, and you slump, and then a thickset arm supports the back of your head securely.

─────────────────

How you made it through the dawn is a big red question mark.

The bundle of sunlight struck by the zenith of the alarming number of the morning is bright and citrusy. Almost no trace of its golden amber flavor. That’s because it’s not a morning sun. This is a midday sun.

You finally open your eyes at two o’clock in the forenoon. The sight that awaits you... what the hell is this?

This certainly isn’t your house, but whose residence is this?

And most importantly, where are your clothes? Why are you in your underwear?

You swallow the venin on the underside of the tongue, finding no strings as you idle around because you don’t even have any clues to connect the pieces together.

Could you have gotten so hammered yesterday that you fucked someone like those people in the movies?

At least he’s rich.

The interior is lavishly decked out; your restless eyes drift from the bed to the rows of frames on the wall. Pictures and hyperlinks and whatnot. Why would anyone hang a picture of the fucking Golden Gate Bridge in their bedroom?

What kind of moron did you fuck last night?

It’s up to you to figure out the equation.

You slip on a tacky jacket and spring out of bed. When you pick up your phone and peer at the screen and see that the digital numbers are advancing by leaps and bounds, you dash out of the room. Whatever the fuck you did in this bed yesterday with whomever you did it with has to be consigned to the past. No time for any of that. That’s what one-night stands are all about.

“Oh, fuck. Claire, I overslept. You gotta help me sway Ada so she doesn’t give me a hard time, babe.” Your fingers are rapidly drumming, and your eyes are on the screen as you thump into someone’s fucking chest.

It’s like lightning is spinning in your head. The phone falls out of your hand and thuds a heartbeat on the floor. Ouch. No shit. Apple, what a shitty marque of ass.

“My phone!”

It seems no matter how much money is just a green piece of paper to you now, or digital numbers with fat zeros in your bank account, there will always be a staunch ghetto in you. Somewhere deep in your very psyche.

“Jeez. Relax.” He crouches down and picks up the very remnant of your hapless phone.

“What happened to ‘hi’ and ‘hello’?”

No, but wait a second.

The distinct sound of yesterday’s “tryst.”

“Leon!”

Apparently your memory has erased all the barf memories from last night. Give them a little time, and they’ll chip away piece by piece and roast you in vile hell for the rest of the day.

“Leon!” He’s impersonating your voice, or rather your holler. Pretty much verbatim. It’s disturbingly good. He hands you your phone. The screen is cracked and spiderwebbed, and you take it reluctantly. Cough it up. You have to get a new model.

“Is this your place?”

“Eh. Like what you see?”

He’s acting like it’s all fun and games, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash if the sky fell. His arrogance is of a priceless candor.

Just take a deep breath, in and now out. Everything’s all right. Everything is right as rain.

No way you fucked your best friend’s ex-boyfriend. You refuse to believe that.

“Why am I here?”

Leon gets the message.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t want to spoil your good mood by regaling you with your yesterday throw-up story, and he doesn’t want you to start your day like that. Everyone deserves to have a good day, and especially after a night of fuckery like last night, you need a whole Mediterranean circumnavigation.

“Look, sweetheart,” he begins, “let me buy you a brunch, yeah? There’s this place, okay? Down the block. Oh, they whip up scrambled eggs so fine. I’m talking about finger-licking good.”

He really is treating you over for some “brunch.”.

But why does everything have to be piled on top of each other? He just leaves you high and dry.

“Come on. Omelet and coffee. Yummy. Huh, and a special mix for you that’ll sober up a hangover.” Leon reaches out his hand to you as if in a desperate bargain.

“It’s a special Kennedy remedy.”

Your eyes fall on his outstretched palm while he’s grinning winningly.

“Sure. Why not? You do owe me an explanation anyway.”

There you go. He’s got you under his thumb now—like a walk in the park.

“Nice bra.” Leon can barely avert his eyes from your cleavage. “But don't forget to change, sunshine. I reckon I can find a spare shirt for ya.”

What a dipshit.

Rest is a moot point.

─────────────────

You’re not exactly sitting with the shittiest man in the world and chowing down on a portion of omelette. Really, the place where he brought you for a meal isn’t bad enough to be described as decent.

“So last night—”

He derails the conversation.

“No. We didn’t.” He sips his coffee, which dribbles down his parched throat. He’s been telling you this story for what seems like forever, even though it’s downright laughable—something hard to believe.

Pleasantly enough, you manage to shake off the blues, but now Leon’s hot under the collar.

The truth is, these bitter coffees are not his cup of tea, ’cause he loves tea more, but when he saw you getting a heavy Caffè Americano, he ended up ordering one too, just for a little spice.

Now Leon regrets his decision. Never again. Vanilla all the way, long live crony capitalism.

“I can’t even bring myself to believe it.”

“Neither can I. Who knew you had a little Viking god in you?”

“Viking god?”

Leon nods in approbation. The musing is rather sweet, but too much sweetness makes your cheeks fat, and that’s the absolute last thing you need. Pounds. Swollen face.

“They drink heavily too, don’t they?”

“I don’t drink that much,” you rectify him.

“You do. I know a blackout drunk when I see one.”

You palm your face in dismay, because how long can you put up with this charade?

“Why did you drink all that?”

For what does it matter to him? That you have to implicitly profess to him that you detest him. Can’t be buddy-buddy with someone Claire hates; blood and guts be damned.

“Nevermind. I mean, you don’t always get some chivalrous knight on a white horse coming to your rescue. Watch yourself. Get your shit together next time.”

Get your shit together.’

You’re not planning to get your life together, which has never been in order, on his say-so.

This is no picnic.

─────────────────

That day, after that specific coffee date, not only were you tardy for the last rehearsal, but you were also vituperated by Claire.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Claire, I swear to you—”

“Oh, not this again!”

Sheva’s writhing between you and Claire, her head is cracking open, so to speak. She keeps one hand on your shoulder and the other on Claire’s forearm, but her arms draw back, both of you rebuffing her every gesture.

“You showed up in his jacket. For fuck’s sake. You’re looking me in the eye and fucking lying to me.”

“It’s not what you think.”

Your words have always been meager in expressing your true self-defense. It’s no better now.

“So you really are fighting over a guy. This is really happening. Girls, this guy bleaches his hair regularly!” Sheva chimes in and maintains her equanimity. What you are doing is quite puerile in her eyes.

“I wonder how you’d react if your best friend fucked your ex-boyfriend, Sheva. Would you be so cool and mighty about it?”

Aww. She still considers you her BFF.

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called, an ex! Why can’t you just believe her? If you can’t trust your best friend, who else can you trust?” Sheva nudges Claire with a little gust of force, and Claire slumps down on the couch. She’s cross and indignant and doesn’t care that her butt stings when Sheva pushes her.

Seems calmer, or that’s what you’re praying for. Please let it be so. Please, please, friendship Gods and Goddesses.

“You need to believe me, Claire. I told you.”

Not a word comes out of her mouth, and she purses her million-dollar lips closely. Looking like she can’t decide on what might fall out of her tongue.

“I didn’t sleep with Leon.”

You grovel on your knees; just how pathetic you can be when you want to be.

Another last whine, forlorn (you may have already said the same thing a hundred times since you’ve arrived home).

“You saw it on my dress. Full of fucking retch, Claire!”

More details to go, and you wish you could explain to her how utterly incapacitated you were last night. From under her pretty eyelashes, she gives you a downcast appraisal.

“I went out for some air after dancing with you. I was a mess, Claire. I looked everywhere for you. Then he came, and, you know, silly me, I fucking dozed off.”

Sheva hugs her arms across her chest, monitoring a hushed and more subdued conversation between the two of you. Probably best not to interrupt.

“Ugh. He always loved being the big hero.” Claire finally swallows her reticence, endearingly vacillating. Thank God.

“Don’t fall for him. Don’t be a moron. God, you’re so stupid. You don’t even know it. He’ll set you up in a game, and before you know it, you’ll be stuck in the mud.”

Well, you weren’t expecting a herd of counselors from your best friend. It leaves a peppery ginger on your tongue.

“Pfff. Claire, don’t be ridiculous. You really think I’m hung up on Leon? He’s not my type. Piers is my type, duh.” You say it like the kookiest thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

For all the things you don’t know, you speak with the vanity of a clueless nepo baby, as if you’ve been in this line of endeavor since the day you were born.

“I saw the way he looked at you. I know that look.”

Ha. Now she’s channeling the ultimate Daenerys Targaryen speech.

“Very well, Claire Targaryen.” You smile dotingly at her, thinking it wouldn’t harm sharing a witty little tidbit.

“Seriously... just go, okay? Leave me alone.”

That’s where the rubber hits the road. Claire, your dearest friend, wants you out of here. It’s unbelievable. In your head, your memory is bare and there are no words, but your heart is crushed in a tearful pain that you can’t articulate. There are no labels or names for this feeling in your vocabulary.

You blink at her, twice and your smile frazzle subtly.

She won’t change her mind, that is for sure. She wants you gone.

You get up and walk out of there while you can. Sheva lingers behind you, but you’re fast and rightfully upset.

─────────────────

Wearing Leon’s Schott jacket and the t-shirt combo he provided is not exactly the kind of fancy getaway you’d want to pull off, but you’re quite adamant.

You go to the only place you can go.

To home.

It’s been years; you haven’t seen your parents, and who knows what it’s like now? In the car, your model face, admired by millions, the one you bequeathed from those two people who hated each other like a curse on their souls so passionately, is in a state of shambles.

Walking into the garden of a vast estate your mom bought for a pittance, you can spot your father’s nifty all-black Stellantis. It sparkles in the glow of the porch light just above the main doorjamb.

You cringe and then look at the door and the gold-engraved “welcome” inscription on the double sash of the wooden door. Just how “cozy” would it be to step in here again after so many years?

As you muster up the guts within yourself to ring the doorbell, the door itself flies open. Two pairs of eyes you’ve never seen before, but who instantly identify your face, are staring at one another.

“Oh my God! It’s you!” The girl is the walking example of the L.A. accent itself.

Since she’s wearing a skintight “daddy’s girl” tank top and a short denim skirt, odds are good that you’re talking to one of your dad’s new dollies. You know, the bimbo and the Barbie ones.

She envelops you in a bear hug. Sweet, toffee, and mucilaginous undertones of muscat perfume overwhelm all your senses.

“I’m your biggest fan. Oh, my room and my walls are full of your latest Vogue photoshoots. Versace was such a fantastic choice for your palette. That dress... ah! I-uh. Was. In. Love.”

There’s a certain luster in the girl’s eyes as she goes on and on. Really, Dad, how old could this poor girl be? You can’t stop thinking about it, but the more you think about it, the more deeply it sickens you.

“Thanks.”

As riveted as you were by the prospect, you had gotten far enough in this biz to learn how to keep those around you at bay with fake cheerful smiles. Perhaps you really do have that rampaging Hollywood blood coursing through your veins.

“I came to see my dad, but—”

She sweeps her arm down from your shoulder to your waist, and with her free hand, she whips out her flip phone, smiling at the camera.

“Say cheese!”

You don’t.

Your pose with a faded pallor mirrors on her screen, and you catch a dubious glance from her. She’s plainly querying you.

“A little smile would do you good...”

“Bitch.” She nags the last word in a barely audible coo, clammed up more than any of the preceding chunks of words that came out of her mouth.

Excellent.

Like you have no problems, and you have to put up with this horseshit. Why did you even bother coming here? This house isn’t even your home. Not anymore. They’ve carted away everything from your childhood, and a handful of crumbs of fragmentary images of the past are all that’s left of any of it for you.

No point insisting on three drips of memories in a life that takes many liters to survive. Nostalgia is frivolous.

Besides, you feel bitchy enough to give this girl her paycheck.

Except your dearest father does intervene. His noisome mug never dims a morsel, not even when he sees you.

“What a strange coincidence, sweetheart.”

“Certainly is.”

Forget it.

Could a man who never knew how to be a decent father suddenly, by some strange turn of fate, come to discover what it means to be one? You’re a delusional one. This is just one of your little glitches—the very first instinct of a little girl running to her daddy any time she’s hurt. He never knew how to mend and heal those little wounds in the first place.

“Why did you come here?” Your father’s brows shoot to his hairline. A horrible sight for his hair is receding. Reprehensibly.

Doesn’t look like he’s going to let you in, though. He appears quite happy with his new girlfriend on his arm, and his common-law wife, your mother, is somewhere who knows where.

“Well. It’s Mom.” You perjure, drawing a blank verse or two. Moments like these are precisely when the words essentially latch at the base of your throat.

“She’s not here.”

“Ha. Yeah. I can see that.” Your facial tissues, your lips, they all start to ache from ersatz smiling arts and language. Poker face can only do what it costs.

“I think—”

“You need to—”

Your words and your father’s words jar with one another. It’s a mess. Even for a glimpse, it baffles you how much emotion there is in the old man’s face. And him too. His girlfriend rolls her eyes, a numbing distaste for the father and daughter in all this kerfuffle.

“Ugh. This is so boring.”

She walks inside.

You nervously fidget with the folds of the jacket Leon gave you as a provisional.

“I think I’d better go.”

“You’re right.” The old man clears his throat as if he were about to overcome an obstacle. He’s silently begging you to put an end to his misery here, and you’re doing that just fine; you’re always ready to walk the tracks.

“Good night, Dad.”

“Night, kiddo. I’ll call you when your mom gets home.”

“Sure. I’ll be waiting.”

You won’t. How would anybody give a fuck? It’s too late.

It’s nothing but a night alone for a wounded heart and the coveting of a whim that never had a chance to bloom.

Either your menstrual cycle is nearing or the end itself is near.

The billboards are lit up with crystallized lights. It’s a visual. Makes your eyes glaze over a bit.

The sign just above it reads “THE END IS NEAR!” in capital lettering. Above that are plaques with the new single releases of Leon and his group. He’s the talk of the city, and the world for that matter, so his face is in the foreground, a cerebral display, and Chris and Carlos’ faces are hot on his shoulders. The chorus of their million-selling track on Spotify is rasping in your frostbitten ears. Leon’s voice is a smooth crossover riff, raspy, and he’s making love with the bass guitar.

On the terrace where you are sitting, a breeze gently caresses your face, leaving the crisp touch of snow on your cheek. The cold sinks into your veins, blue-tinted blood rushing through your body, no thanks to the booze. You feel queerly toasty.

Leon’s jacket definitely lasts through the cold winters. It’s like your personal furnace.

The traffic is hectic past the glass handrail, jostled by the car lights streaming down, and the first baby snowflakes of January are pelting down from the sky. It’s quite late, the rush hour of hungover midnight.

Even as the elliptical chases the minute hand, you watch the passers-by. The prominent and whitewashed faces are just names. They greet you, acknowledge you with gracious smiles, but that’s it. Never so genuine that they would actually sit down next to you.

Except for one name.

Except for Leon, who, in what must have been an illusory twist of fate, casually crosses the table with a flute of champagne in his hand.

He doesn’t recognize you at first when he passes by your booth, but on the second glance, he captures that swan-like grace at once.

Stepping backwards, as if he’s moonwalking, he skips over to your side to forestall your horrified side-eye.

“I shoulda known you were a vampire. You never sleep.”

He thinks he’s made a stylish enough debut with these words. Whatever it takes to charm you.

“No, come on. Are you stalking me?”

“Nah. I’m too much of a busy man for that kind of thing, sweetheart. Though I’ve heard on some fanfiction sites that there are people out there. They write me off as a complete weirdo.”

He slides into the chair straight across from you.

“Check it out when you’re feeling like it.”

Absently your eyes wander over his shoulder and zero in on the mass of light in the distance. In shimmering floodlights, people are laughing and making TikTok videos, some twerking, others striking jaunty poses for the camera for their thirst trap edits. Bread and butter for the fans.

“’s rude to overlook someone when they’re talking to you. Didn’t your mother tell you that?”

In your consciousness, you realize that even Leon’s name is lost in the cacophony of your milieu. You still do have a problem named Leon at this table.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?”

Thoughts pile up in the back of your foggy brain, but they don’t coalesce into a harmonious, final answer. The blurry words worm their way out of your mouth, and they evaporate in the bitter cold air.

Should you be kind and remind him that you’re weak?

“I don’t know.” You bluntly say, but Leon can smell the suspense.

“Are you drunk again?”

The arch of your eyebrow furrows instinctively, automatic as the blooming of a flower when you water it—flourishing and blushing. But drown it too much, and it wilts, fades. He just doesn’t grasp it, can’t get it through his thick skull that you don’t want to chit-chat.

Be that as it may, there’s one fact that’s indisputable: you want to fuck him. You’re simply at odds with yourself.

The more Leon comes at you, the more you’re falling into error, but beggars can’t be choosers.

It’s unfortunate that you can roll over when you feel a stone.

That thing you’re ruthlessly searching for could quite possibly be Leon. He’s the one who has reduced you to the devil’s quarry himself. Either that or you’re the one in extremis.

Right now, however, it’s a bet neither of you care about. Unworthy of further discussion. Mouths are otherwise occupied.

Your mouth shamelessly hyphenates his name while his mouth ecstasies on the honeydew betwixt your spread legs. Your eyes roll graphically as the tip of his nose, which looks good when he takes a snort from the lining of vanilla icys, bumps against the nacre of your clit a crack or two. It’s like you’re possessed by something, by demons or poltergeists.

The sullen and muffled fumes of profanity are belching out of the bedroom door where he’s propping you up against it. This is the very public domain information; Leon Kennedy is an excellent pussy eater.

It’s one thing to hear from the women he’s slept with that he’s that swell; it’s quite something else to have the saccharine taste of your cunt melting in his mouth like cotton candy on the tip of his tongue just then.

“Leon... fuck. No. Want it.” Your tongue is all dry.

You can’t remember the last time you felt the highs of ecstasy from a tongue fuck like this. Hollywood is full of people with small dicks, and the whole insertion and pull-out game sucks here, foreplay is long gone.

Luckily, you can always take a chance on someone (actually your best friend’s ex-boyfriend) who at least knows how to worship what he sees, and you reap the rewards of the risk you take. And he feels generous enough to let you have it all tonight.

With a touch as sensuous as a butterfly’s wing, his thumb meanders through your aching bundle of nerves, igniting a fire of euphoria through your body. When he lightly palms your opening, when he feels the plushness of your slick walls, a delicate breath escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of subservience to this very moment of pure pinch and rapture.

“So sweet when you cum.”

He blows your mind, the story of how you got here, the blowjob you pulled on him in his car — all that’s in the past. The only thing that matters is that you need to forget everything that happened tonight in the morning and the painstaking labor of that commitment. Pulling his belt on and off takes no extra time flat. His aching erection takes a toll on Leon, both psychologically and physically.

When he tucks you properly into his bed, he casts a phantom over you like he’s your own exclusive brand of ghost. Kissing on a first date was never his thing, but he can’t let you go when his lips are still tantalized by your moreish taste.

He’s making a nicer entrance than you’d expect and then some; you’re squeezing him so tightly, and he’s stippling hot kisses across the tender flesh of your throat.

Breathless and forehead to forehead is too romantic and superfluous for a debut tryst, but that’s what rebound sex is for.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Maybe he’s louder than you are in these seconds— in these very seconds of his whet of thrust followed by the seconds of him pulling out soon to only bully back into your dewy cunt.

Makes your head reeling, and he wallows in the sin of the tightness stretching around the sheer girth of his cock.

“Pussy’s so fucking good. She’s all swollen from me.” His whisper is fervid and sweeping against your cheek.

Yes. Indeed, his mouth doesn’t seem to be shutting up here either, even when he’s fucking you deep in his own bed.

The deep azure shade of his eyes is clouded with pearlescent blue; his pupils are pitch-black orbs, and he watches his cock slide in and out of your drenched pussy in chaotic upheaval, the metal of his frenum piercing taunting your swollen clit as you drape his dick in a warm cocoon.

“Pretty, pretty pussy suckin’ me so nice, yeah?” His voice is a throaty whisper that makes your poor, mushy brain tingle tunefully — an acrid, itchy scab that has just covered the wound.

“Fuck,” he grunts crassly, “been thinking about this all—ungh!—night—this fucking skirt up and fucking you real loud, baby.”

Seriously, he could just write a song or a lengthy poem for your lovely pussy right here and then.

A hubristic tinge variegates his pink lips, a wicked one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s enjoying this; hell, he’s fucking loving it. His laugh-like treble is a low rumble as he pounds into you with a little more force, a little more urgency. The bed rocks under you, groaning abjectly.

“C’mon, baby, cum on my cock. Y’know I got you. I got you so good.”

He knows how to do it.

Once bodies and emotions are merged, they move into a harmonic coherence, and just like that, he makes you cum for the second time tonight. A string of bland events that are frozen in your brain, clinging to your fiber, you feel your own tears trickling down your cheek in an attempt to get rid of them in one fell swoop, barely blinking open your eyes.

You cradle his cheek closer, pushing away the wisps of hair falling in curtains in front of his blues. You want to kiss away the cruelty that cloaks his lips, but Leon, unable to tear himself away from your pussy that is still squeezing him, is too engrossed for such kisses.

One blink and you’ll miss that fleeting moment as the seconds tick by, Leon barely pulls out a shred from you and strokes his cock on your belly until he finds comfort in it, painting white ribbons on your dainty skin.

Seconds afterward are spent on your own, burdened by the cost of your one night’s slip-up, and you two stare at each other wide-eyed.

Two pairs of eyes, parted lips, and a kind of rare prettiness you usually find in men that will haunt you for a while. Ken blonde hair aglow in the light of the dawn and buried layers of emotions locked away in secrets that are too debauched to divulge.

Pearls of promise on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare spill them out. Heaven will hate you. Claire will hate you.

In Leon’s estimation, per contra, you’re a damsel in distress, big eyes, and a girl who has somehow succeeded in wrapping all her depravity in the thin threads of her angelic eyes. Seraphic but dangerous. An inner part of his brain keeps hammering into his thoughts that everything has only just begun.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy

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thanosscross · 3 days ago

Text

My Darling - Choi Seung Hyun x reader part 2

Summary: After months of not seeing your best friend, you finally reconnect, only to find out what he truly thinks about himself and the two of you, resulting in a brokenheart, and a new relationship

Warnings: none really, Seung Hyun having a slight panic attack

As you wrapped up filming for squid games, you were very quickly thrown back into the tour lifestyle, Bouncing from country to country, you couldn't shake the sadness of missing your friend though. As you got ready for your next music video shoot you took a nervous breath, you had sent an invite to Seung Hyun to come shoot on your video with you, using the excuse that you work well together acting, but he never replied. So you nervously waited, having a back-up actor if needed, but you specifically wrote this song about Seung Hyun, so it only felt right to get the chemistry behind the song right.

As you stepped on set you took one last glance around, all you could see was the empty warehouse set filled with props and crew, but Seung Hyun was nowhere to be seen, sighing sadly you checked your phone one last time, seeing nothing almost brought tears to your eyes, had he not meant what he said? Yea it had been a few months, but he did promise you..right?

As you started to film some of your solo scenes, you manager rushed over with a smile "Y/n! Y/n! Turn that frown around, baby! Your guy called, he's on his way, just stuck in traffic!" He cheered, you face immediately lit up, smiling excitedly and jumping up and down "Really!? Really!? He said he'd do it?" You gasped grabbing his arms "Yes! Yes! He did!" He smiled, he knew your situation, he had to hear about Choi Seung Hyun constantly, he tried to warn you it might not be the best for your image, but you quickly snapped at him going off about needing to get over things, your manager knew you since you were young, barely 17 whenever he signed you on, now you were nearing your thirties, your twenty eighth birthday approaching quickly, so seeing you this excited over a boy was something entirely different.

Unknown to you, Seung Hyun had ditched his taxi long ago, he was close enough to be able to make it running, traffic was picking up anyways. As he ran up onto your set he saw you standing off to the side, waiting while looking around occasionally "Seung Hyun!" You shouted seeing him, throwing your jacket down to sprint to him, as soon as you were close enough, Seung Hyun immediately lifted you into the air spinning you around in a hug, squeezing you tightly "Hey! Hey! Careful! Don't hurt her!" Your manager shouted in a panic "Don't worry about him, he just doesn't want anything messed up for my show" You giggled looking down to your friend, your heart racing feeling yourself being that close to him again. "So are you really gonna do the video with me?" You asked excited, Seung Hyun nervously smiled "Ya know..I don't know...I want to..but I don't want to ruin your image and stuff..." He mumbled, you frowned, you knew he was still ashamed of what happened and how badly everybody reacted, it hit him hard and it was always worried about how it'd effect the people around him "Seung Hyun! I don't care about that! You are my best friend! I want you to be the part so who cares!" You argued cupping his cheeks, Seung Hyun couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks feeling your hands being so intimate than you had ever been with him.

"I guess..If you're sure.." He mumbled "I'm so sure! If anybody has anything to say I'll give them a piece of my mind!" You huffed grabbing his hand marching towards set, he gave your manager a look raising his eyebrows, your manager just nodded mouthing the words 'every time'. Filming was something neither of you expected, as your manager and director worked together to get everything right, going through the lyrics it started to make you realize things a lot more clear. You loved Sueng Hyun, more than best friends. Seung Hyun felt panicky, having to be so intimate with you was getting him flustered and it was all going on camera, for you to see later and see.

After you filmed a scene of Seung Hyun following you through an empty street in town, he took a moment to stop and breath, lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves, but there you were, looking at him with that adorable puppy look. "Are you okay?.." You asked softly, going to rest your hand on his arm but he just shrugged away, he couldn't help it, your touch was making him feel hot, like it was burning him, and he was now becoming very conscious of his t-shirt and all of the hate he used to get before he closed it all out. "I-Im sorry I-I just-" You stopped him from speaking, noticing his shaky hands and the tears falling from his eyes as he slowly slid down the brick wall trying to keep his breathing calm, but the panic attack was already settling in. You immediately kneeled next to him, slowly taking the cigarette from his hand, not wanting to see him accidentally burn himself, as you tried to sit next to him he tried to lift you up to your feet "T-T-that ground i-is disgusting" He whimpered, your heart broke a little bit, he was more worried about you sitting down he didn't realize he was sitting down himself "It is..so why don't..we go over there..and sit on that bench?" You asked, taking his hand in yours, still holding his cigarette in the other, guiding him slowly to the bench as he tried to calm himself down, feeling like an idiot for getting like this around you, but like the sweetheart you were, you still took care of him, not even knowing the reason why he was freaking out.

"Seung Hyun..." You called sweetly, cupping his cheek with your free hand "Honey..take a deep breath for me, what's going on?" You asked, Seung Hyun followed your instructions, not realizing he was holding your wrist gently, caressing his thumb over it. "If I ask something...Will you be honest, Y/n?" He asked shakily, his leg bouncing as he looked around, taking the hint you took the cigarette placing it to his lips gently "I don't want you to drop it..but of course" You whispered, you weren't concerned that you were acting more like a wife or girlfriend than friend currently, you were more concerned with making sure Seung Hyun was okay. "Is this..about us?..is that why you wanted me to be here so badly?" He asked, inhaling before exhaling, lifting your head up gently as he blew the smoke to the side so he wasn't getting it in your face. "When I'm with you..things feel different..like..stronger with you..I'm happier, sadder, angrier, everything when it comes to you" You explained sheepishly, going to pull your hand away from his cheek, but he stopped you, instead moving your hand to his lap to interlace your fingers as you spoke, the same thing he did anytime you'd get teary eyed opening up to him during your guys's filming for squid games "I-I didn't understand it..until I saw you again, and I felt like I never wanted you to leave like that again" You whispered looking away from him "I-It was hard..really hard..and barely being able to speak to each other, made it harder.." You whimpered, biting your lip to keep yourself from crying.

"Are you sure we're not just..close friends?" He asked, not wanting you to jump into something you didn't want, you didn't take it as that, you took it as he only saw you as that, close friends. "Y-Yea you're..you're right" You sniffled, taking a deep breath putting on your best show face to hide the plain hurt on your face "Ready to finish up?" You asked, Seung Hyun frowned, knowing he upset you, he just silently followed behind.

Whenever you finished up filming, you rushed towards your small makeup trailer, just needing a moment, Seung Hyun was stuck off to the side, frustrated with himself "Seung Hyun, yes?" Your manager asked approaching him "U-uh yes yes that's me" He confirmed, your manager sighed "Listen, I don't mean to make things..awkward..between you two, but in the ten years I've known that girl, she's never talked about another man or woman like she has you, Mr. Choi, she's one of your biggest fighters, even before she got back from that tv show filming. Meeting you gave her the drive and motivation to work and write again, she's produced an entire album! In a month! So whatever happened earlier between you two..You better not ruin my girl, she's special, not another one like her, until you make a comeback" He explained before nodding over to the trailer "Fix it. Not my broken mess, not my problem to fix" He demanded, Seung felt offended by that, this man seemed to care about you, and yet here he was calling you a broken mess? "Y/n is far from a broken mess, she's single handedly the most independent strong hard headed woman I've ever met, not to mention the most thoughtful selfless and beautiful! Any guy would be lucky to manage her! Or even have her in their life!" He shouted, your manager just kept an eyebrow cocked at him as he shouted, never noticing you slowly making your way out of the trailer "So why don't you tell her that!? Instead of messing with her head for months!?" Your manager shouted back "Because I'm not good enough for her! And because of who I am I never will be!" He shouted back, trying to control himself and not storm off, every bit of anger washing away whenever he was met with your terrified gaze, even when filming while screaming in your face, you never looked scared of him, but in this moment, you looked truly terrified.

Tears brimmed your eyes, hearing what both men said was like a knife stabbing you to the heart, you stormed past, not wanting to see either of them in the moment, heading back to your tour bus. Your chest hurt, it felt heavy but like it was hot at the same time, as soon as you got the bunks of your bus you let yourself cry for the first time since Seung Hyun first left, never noticing the bus door shutting and closing.

"Jagi" Seung Hyun whispered sadly, kneeling next to you as he tried to get him to look at you "Honey, You are not a hot mess" He whispered, you just glared at him "How could you say that about yourself? I opened up about my worst mistake..and you still think you're not good enough?" You whimpered "Y-You're crying because of what..I said about myself?" He asked confused, tilting his head as you shoved him slightly "Yes! I care about you! And it makes me sad hearing you think that" You argued shoving him again "I love you, you asshole! And you're too blind to see you're perfect!" You added on before realizing what you were saying, Seung Hyun's face changed as you spoke, you just glared at him, trying your best to cry anymore but his words just echoed in your head forcing you to lose your battle 'because of who I am I will never be good enough'.

"Jagi, please don't cry" Seung Hyun begged, cupping your cheeks, desperately wanting to see your smile like before, he tried his best to keep his mind from spiraling "I just...I care about you a lot, and it hurts so bad hearing you talk about yourself like that, Seung Hyun, you are good enough for anything you want to be good enough at, because of who you are" You corrected his statement from earlier, now it was his turn to get teary eyed, trying to ignore and hide it he just hugged you tightly "I love you" He whispered as he rested his head against yours, if it weren't for the hairdo they had you do for the last scene you would've never felt his tears "As a friend?.." You asked pulling away to look at him, using your thumbs to wipe his eyes and cheeks gently "I don't..I don't know..but I want to" He whispered, cupping your cheeks before kissing you softly, you happily kissing him back, running your hands through his hair as he gently bit your bottom lip before pulling away "So..does this mean.." You whispered, looking up to him hopefully "Maybe so..I don't know" He smirked, quoting part of the chorus of your song, you giggled blushing hiding your face in his chest.

Part three my lovelies?

#t.o.p x reader #thanos x reader #choi seunghyun #choi su bong x reader #squid game thanos #top x reader #squid game #squidgame #thanos squid game #thanos x reader smut #choi seung hyun x reader

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kitsunexgari · 3 days ago

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Summary: Trying to get a drink to relax after work one night, a strange but handsome man sits across the bar with his eyes on you. At first, you are annoyed by this but upon second glance, he seems to be the most enticing man you've ever laid your eyes upon, and he only wants one thing. Tags: Dirty talk, Risky & Semi-Public Sex, Fingering, Rough Sex, Mild Daddy kink, Extreme-Dub-Con Notes: This story is fan fiction for Front Man/Hwang In-Ho and not meant for anyone under the age of 18. It contains rough language and adult situations. Not sure if this makes sense either it's just a little idea that I had consider it AU if you must.

You first notice him eyeing you across the bar. He's only looking at you and he's kind of creepy. Though you do find him attractive you can't help but think he also could be a serial killer. You get your drink and slip away, trying to find somewhere else to sit down. You really only wanted to get a drink after work, maybe talk to some people, but you weren't hoping for any sort of hook-up. This place typically has decent clientele but not tonight. Not with how the creep in the nice suit keeps staring you down.

You get out your phone to browse it and pretend to be busy. You can see him circling around like a hawk. Ready to swoop in at a moment's notice. You try not to pay him any attention but it's not easy. He's very tall, and handsome, and his suit is sexy, flashy, and just as dark as his eyes. Without warning, he sits down across from you as if you already had a prearranged meeting. You look up at him.

"Not interested." You say.

"Then maybe I can change your mind." He says.

"I don't think so," You reply and go back to your phone. He continues to sit there anyway, staring at you as if he can change your thoughts with his own telepathically. After about a minute of this you get up and head away from there to change seats. He stays where he is but his eyes follow you. It's like you can feel them moving over every inch of your body. You wonder why he's stuck on you in the first place.

There are other people at the bar, men and women. Very attractive. It isn't as if he doesn't have a lot to choose from. You keep looking at your phone, trying to pretend he's not bothering you. It would be easier to just leave but you also want to finish your drink which cost close to fifteen dollars, and it's good. You figure that eventually he'll get bored and move on to something else.

Eventually, you manage to engross yourself in a story you find online and lose track of where he is and what he's doing. When you look up again, your drink is mostly finished and he is nowhere to be seen. You smile and shut off your phone, taking a moment to relax and sit back in your chair. Savor your drink and enjoy the final moments of your evening before heading to your car to go home.

As you stand up, you realize that you have to pee. It's not that far to the bathroom and it won't take that long so you head through the back into the waiting area that sections off the men's room from the lady's room. As you enter, you see he is waiting there. Sitting on the couch just between the two doors. You gasp. He turns and smiles.

"Thought you might change your mind." He says.

"I didn't." You reply, "Don't you have anything better to do than hang around me all night?" He stands up, coming right at you. With a forceful grab of your arm he yanks you into the women's restroom. You scream out in surprise but he's fast. He puts his hand over your mouth and presses his back against the door to shut it. In one swift move he has it locked and is pulling you to the opposite wall. He shoves you into it, pinning you there and looking down into your eyes.

"I know I didn't change my mind and I also know what I want." He whispers, "Now, I'm going to move my hand, if you scream you'll regret it." In this lighting and context you can see just how incredibly handsome he is. Positively gorgeous. You don't think there has ever been a man this intent on capturing you in such a manner. Your face starts to flush with arousal as fear flutters through your stomach. Why does he want you so bad and even more...why do you suddenly want him? You nod, signifying you understand what he's saying and he slowly moves his hand away from your mouth.

"What are...you going to do to me?" You ask.

"Looks like anything I want." He says and turns you to face the wall. His large hand comes up, pressing your cheek into the bricks. He keeps you held there but you are so excited by this point that the last thing you can think to do is run away from him or even try. You want him, badly. You can feel how wet you are getting just thinking about how hard he's going to fuck you. His free hand slides up under your skirt and his fingers move teasingly over the crotch of your panties. "I'm not hearing any protests now, am I?" You groan softly.

"No...but I-"

"Shhh...be a good girl and take Daddy's cock like you're meant to." He says. Leaning against you heavily, he shifts and you hear him unzip his pants. There is a bit more movement as he pushes the crotch of your panties to the side. He runs two fingers over your wet folds, teasing your clit and provoking another moan. Two of them slip inside of you, working in and out to get you even more slick and ready for him.

"Please just let me-"

"I told you to be quiet." He snaps, and you can feel his hot breath against your ear. His hand moves from your cunt and from behind her slips his hand over your mouth again, jamming the two fingers he just used on you in past your lips and onto your tongue. You start to suck on them heavily, your eyes rolling back in your head as he takes a moment to thrust into you roughly from behind. Your scream of surprise and pleasure is muffled by his fingers as he starts to thrust. "Keep sucking...clean them nice and good for me..." He orders.

You do your best to fulfill his commands but it's not easy. He is working his hips in ways you didn't know possible. Seeming to hit every spot inside of you in just the right way. His grunting and groaning is animalistic, like a dog in heat. You feel his mouth slip to your neck, biting here and there. Sometimes hard enough to get you to scream again as his sharp teeth break the skin. You groan and shiver, his tongue hungrily lapping up the blood in the wake of the wounds he's leaving. The combined pain with pleasure pushing you closer and closer to climax. His hand slips from your mouth to grab one of your tits through the cloth of your blazer. You squeal and he thrusts harder, the same hand now traveling down past the hem of your skirt into the front of your panties.

"Ready to cum all over daddy's cock?" He purrs and thrusts painfully hard, getting as far inside of you as possible.

"Y-Yes...Daddy...please let me cum..." You whine loudly. His fingers brush over your clit then apply pressure expertly. You cry out as your orgasm hits, his moans eclipsing yours as you both climax together. His thrusts like a jackhammer as you are pressing into the wall. You continue to ride the waves of ecstasy over, and over, taking this brutal pounding until you are both entirely spent. He leans into you, with his full weight once he's finished. You can smell him, the scent of sex, and his cologne. The entire experience is addictive. You've never felt anything like this.

A few moments later he pulls back and slaps your ass roughly. You whine, leaning against the wall trying to get your breath back. He grabs your hand and jams something into it."I'll be here again. Same time next Friday. Don't be late." He says and walks out of there. You blink, wondering if you heard that right and then look at what he's handed you. It's a business card with some weird symbols on it. You still aren't sure of who he is or what exactly happened here but you do know that you will not be late for your next "date" with him. That's for sure.

#hwang in ho #lee byung hun #squid game #squid game 2 #fanfic #one!shot

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mollywog · 1 day ago

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What are your thoughts on Possibility of Peeta in Canon feeling guilt over a perception that he forced Katniss into the Star crossed lovers?

Oooo -Thank you for giving me an opportunity to talk about this.

One of Peeta’s main survival tactics is his ability to read people and situations…. And he’s pretty good at it (which probably was helpful to him far before the arena with a volatile mother but that’s maybe more the stuff of HCs so moving on)

With that in mind:

One of the first things Peeta says to Katniss upon her discovering him in the arena is:

"Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

Even in his fevered state, Peeta is aware that this is an act (at least on Katniss’s side)

Later - when he’s trying to convince Katniss not to go to the feast and she claims that she isn’t, he says:

"You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going." He shakes his head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," he says.

‘I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going.’ -> all moments he (accurately) clocked where Katniss wasn’t being 100% honest if not outright lying

The ‘I don’t know how you’ve survived this long’ part is particularly interesting to me but I digress.

So then fast forward to after the feast where Katniss risked her life to save him:

"No! Just don't, Katniss!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

I'm startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who ... who worries about ... what it would be like if ..."

I fumble. I'm not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread

"If what, Katniss?" he says softly.

I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I'm feeling, it's no one's business but mine.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," I say evasively, although Haymitch never said anything of the kind. In fact, he's probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Peeta somehow catches it.

"Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me.

In this moment Katniss inwardly acknowledges that she has real feeling beyond the act and Peeta, again, reads those feelings correctly.

This is the turning point for him.

So, then imagine his surprise on the train tracks (and all the self doubt):

"It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," I say, tightly holding on to my flowers.

"Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says.

(Just picture Peeta replaying the games in his head and trying to figure out where he missed the tell.)

We often joke about Peeta being oblivious to Katniss’s feelings for him in Catching Fire, but really: He’s been burned by ‘misinterpreting’ her before and he’s trying not to make the same ‘mistake’ again.

In a way

“You love me. Real or not real?

Is a remnant of that doubt.

Anyways - back you your original question:

There wasn't a single person in Panem expecting the Gamemakers to allow for two winners prior to the rule change... 73 years of one Victor: It's unprecedented.

The star-crossed lovers strategy, under normal game circumstances,

Benefits them both. The romance makes them both fan favorites to sponsors. But, at the end of the day, there can only be one Victor. So when one were to die, public sympathy would swing sponsors towards the broken hearted other.

Relied very little on Katniss; she didn't have to opportunity to state her feelings for Peeta to the audience after the interview and in the arena, up until the rule change, she barely saw him. Had he died before the (unprecedented) rule change, there wouldn’t be much for her to do but appear sad. The star-crossed lover but is eventually just a sound bite.

No one could have predicted that both Katniss and Peeta would be crowned victors and have to maintain the strategy indefinitely.

So yes, on top of believing he mistook Katniss’s feelings for him in the arena, he then discovered they’d have to maintain the pretense of lovers for the rest of their lives… I’m sure he felt all sorts of miserable ways about that.

#thank you for the ask!!#nonny #anon #ask #thg meta #maybe #peeta mellark

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giddyfatherchris · 2 hours ago

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📝 skz reaction - you fall asleep on their laps

pairing. ot8!skz x gn!reader (individually)

type. fluff fluff fluffff

warnings. gender neutral reader, curse words (thats how i show my enthusiasm okay)

a/n. as someone who falls asleep anywhere and loves to sleep with people around me, i need to have a nap on each of them thank you.

a/n 2. yes the members order is reversed… thats just how inspiration struck and i couldn’t be bothered to change it SUE ME🫥

(pictures are not mine. credit to the owner!)

jeongin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he would maybe be a lil annoyed at first thinking you're not moving because you want to annoy him. until he realizes that no no you're just extenuated and literally fell asleep on him which would suprise him sooo much. poor baby wouldn't know what to do with himself. he probably woudn't dare to move and would be tensed as all hell. although, slowly, he'd relax and grow into it. once he gets over his fear of waking you up he'd be so so smitten with you, cooing at how adorable you are, to the point where that actually woke you up

seungmin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he would def be annoyed, going as far as trying to make you move away or scold you to go to bed. it's not that he doesn't like it, but he's uncomfortable and can’t understand why you’d want to cuddle him. once he asked why you didn't sleep somewhere else and you explained there was something about him that made you feel safe and at peace, that annoyance and awkwardness *poof* disappeared. he would let you sleep with your head comfortably laying on his lap while he practices a few songs and hums you to sleep aka best thing EVER. once you're fast asleep he would ask for someone to bring you a blanket and proceed to give a death stare to anyone who might make too much noise (euhm euhm binnie).

felix ⊹ ࣪ ˖ when you pouted and asked him to sleep on his lap he didn't even think before answering yes. being very comfortable with physical touch, our lil aussie boy would not mind at all. except he would not be prepared for how ADORABLE you look when you sleep. he would definitely take a thousand pictures of you (which he keeps in a special album in his phone). he would love to play in your hair or lightly massage your shoulders. and after that first time, whenever he sees you yawn a little too much he'd motion for you to lay on his lap. he is not ashamed to say one of his favorite thing to do is gaming while you're dozing off on his lap.

han ⊹ ࣪ ˖ first time it happened he was soooo scared to wake you up and wouldn't move at all. but that stopped very quick lmao, he would love when you fall asleep on him, even though he's not the best for it because he keeps moving and wiggling around. loves loves loves skinship, so he would constantly play with your hair, your clothes or poke your cheeks while you're trying to fall asleep. the only way to make this really work for both of you would be for him to watch his favorites animes while you're sleeping with your head on his shoulder.

hyunjin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he says he's not a fan of physical touch, but that does not apply to the ppl he's close with. including you. when you fall alseep on his lap he's an absolute cuddle master. he would put his sweater on you when you shiver and coo whenever you make a little grumbling noise. he'd love to draw little sketches of you while you're asleep or take pictures, which most likely wake you up and make you move away and makes him whine like a baby. he's honestly kind of annoying to fall asleep on, but whenever you'd move away he would for sure bring you back on his lap with a promise to stop bothering you this time.

changbin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ despite the fact that he has the attention span of a squirrel and that he's one loud motherfucker, whenever you fall alseep on his lap he turns into a statue. this man will not move or say a thing. he'd love how innocent and relaxed you look when you're sleeping and would be ready to annihilate anyone who may interupt that. the boys would definitely try to taunt him with food to get him to move but he'd categorically refuse to bother your peaceful naps. when they inevitably bring that fact to your attention he'd become all shy and he mumble about how it's not his fault you look so precious when you sleep.

minho ⊹ ࣪ ˖ mister minho would act annoyed for half a second before he pulls you closer and play mindlessly with strands of your hair. there is legit no space between the two of you and that's how he likes it okay >:( he would give dirty looks to the boys whenever they tried taunting him about how soft he is with you. most of the time he falls alseep too, his hands resting on your hips while the boys take pictures of the pair of you. when they show them to you guys afterwards he says nothing but has a small shy smile and you can bet your ass he will have one of those pictures as his background.

bangchan ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he would fucking love when you fall asleep on his lap. it's no secret channie is one caring little fucker and he loves to care for/protect the people he loves. the first time you would settle your head on his lap to relax he'd try to play it cool as if it was no big deal, but when he'd realize you actually fell asleep his heart would be seconds away from fricking exploding. you'd look so cute and cozy and keep wiggling to be closer to him. it would definitly make his lil soft heart flutter and he would make funny faces, incapable of containing the effect you have on him (which the boys love to make fun of him for). after the first time, he'd declare himself your official nap spot and it would not be negotiable or else he’d pout and whine until you finally come to him.

#ilya writes #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids fluff #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han skz #felix skz #seungmin #i.n skz

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acupofinkedblood · 8 hours ago

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Banhammer x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Ah, the infamous ruthless tyrant of Banland, the raging warden who serves justice violently with a swing of his hammer. Maybe he isn’t the most well-known for his actual name, but if you remind people of how close they are getting to see the warden himself, you will definitely witness a lots of them start to wince in raw distress because oh boy do they know better than to be standing face to face with that guy. Banhammer is a merciless and cocky bastard to the core, whether it is his actual intention to piss people off or not. It’s just his nature to get on people’s nerves at this point. So here’s the one hundred bux question: How the hell did you stand his ass? Or just in case you start listing out your reasons - How the heck did the thing between you two even started and then escalated this far?

• For whatever the reason of a joke, your life has been gifting you a miracle under the disguise of a chaotic fun-sized bomb contains confetti and hot sauce when it has weaved the destined red thread on your pinky to Banhammer’s. Like it or not, that’s your case of a deal now. I won’t ask you why all of every options you have available, you go for a guy with an ego as big as his own muscles with the attitude that has the magic to get on anyone’s nerves unintentionally, because your reason won’t amuse me too much. The question isn’t who falls first, but who has the audacity to admit it first because it feels like an endless game of cat and mouse on the river of playing dumb between you and him

• One thing you have to keep in mind about Banhammer is how the idea of dating a mortal is being associated as a foolish act of sentimental behavior, in which that belief has been engraved deep into his mind with little room for negotiation. Especially when he has seen what happened to his cousin’s family, the downfall and the trauma it has left them make him feel uneasy. Maybe a tad of sympathy for them as well, they were too young to witness that. As if his work’s line doesn’t make him have no time left to breathe — let alone dating stuff — but if he has to date, who would he set his eyes on anyway? There are barely any options for him aside from dating a mortal. Will he be enthusiastic about the idea? Hell no, he has stated his mind and nothing can ever change the way he thinks. Will he regret his own statement because he will literally go against that soon? Absolutely

• Because then he meets you. A mortal, no more and no less. Under normal circumstances, you should have been nothing but another light of life passing through with little significance to his life as any other mortals he used to know before. Nothing but a bystander, as how he usually puts it. And it should just stay like that! Unless you’re a criminal of course. But fate just really loves to laugh into his face — or in this case, his attempt of reminding himself that — in the most unexpected way possible. From a stranger, you start to grow on him, for the worse or the bette. It’s just those simple things, yet it makes him looking over to your direction a bit longer than usual. When Banhammer realizes just how much he is pinning over you, wanting to see you the next time he is out of duty, he knows damn well that he is screwed

• He will be in denial. Yes, you hear me right, there are no ways that he is going to deal with these forsaken feelings that shouldn’t exist in the first place. Don’t get him wrong, he likes you genuinely. You have been a pleasant company in his life, something good to look forward to in the future - in which yes, he adds you to that list of those things he likes in his mind. But the idea of commitment to a mortal is still making him feel uncertain. Like he used to say, that’s just asking for tragedy. Children of the Swords are meant to work, not fool around and see what happens! He isn’t going to be a hypocrite that goes back on his words, that’s just absurd. But on top of that, he will never tell anyone this, but he is scared. Don’t think that with those little emotional intelligence will turn him into a mass of brawny muscle, he still feels things too. And he has a reason to be afraid of that possibility

• You are a mortal, he is a demi-deity. Minus the clear difference in status, he knows you can’t stay with him forever until the sun burns into nothing but a beautiful mass of destruction. He will have to grieve you, as he will outlive you sooner or later. Sure, maybe there exists a chance that he will die first since like it or not, he can still be killed by mortal’s hands. But it isn’t a problem to him. Banhammer can keep his head on his neck as long as he has the situation under control. But you on the other hand, will have to deal with old age. He doesn’t like to think of that view in the future, and the heartbreak that comes with it. Windforce above, he is scared. Banhammer will probably be in denial for who knows how long, as long as it will do him a favor of burying his own feelings. But you know this bastard better than that

• Give him a moment to collect himself, then take out a coin. You think that you will need to flip a coin to see if it’s the head or tails? Wrong, just toss the coin into nowhere because you don’t need to know if fate gives you the green light to engage with this mess the two of you have walked in without even knowing it firsthand. As much as Banhammer tries to resist his own feelings, he just can’t resist you. His mind is currently having a storm because of you after all. Like it’s mentioned earlier, give him some time to relax first. Reassuring him that it doesn’t hurt to listen to what we want in our hearts. Maybe you might jest that after you die, he can keep a little piece of your horn to be a good luck charm. And yeah, he will just rolls his eyes with a clicked tongue. Though it does lighten up the mood somewhat after you two just joke around back and forth about it. He appreciates it, he really does. It gives him the courage to decide on his own

• To say that Banhammer doesn’t have confidence is a wild take because have you seen this man? He knows his worths. He knows that if he steps out to the battlefield, he will knock all of those damn criminals down with little regard to error. To claim that he doesn’t know what is he doing is just pure stupidity — although sometimes you do wonder where the hell is his last brain cell in certain moments — he believes in his strength and loves to take on challenges, even going as far as making things harder for himself just to prove how strong he is. Maybe when you step into his life, he does the most questionable thing ever just to impress you. Though it does look silly most of the time, but hey, at least it’s sort of cute

• He strives to be the best, nothing less than that. Banhammer has that competitive spirit that allows him to achieve even the impossible at the nick of time. Sometimes those banters that occur between you two happen just because he finds it so necessary to boost his own name over the moon, especially when it comes to his work. If it isn’t obvious, he can be petty if you’re better than him in what he is an expert at, golf is included. This bastard will literally sulk if you take away his chance to impress you. It’s mostly lighthearted as he will pin it as a goal to surpass you the next time the two of you get around this topic again. His ego is as big as how he looks after all, don’t be so surprised when you see that shit-eating grin looking at you when he wins again

• Banhammer does things in his own way without further useless elaborations. He just acts on whatever he deems fit. Sometimes it brings him quiet the troubles whether it’s with you or his team. When he makes a flaw, he will bring up a scroll of excuse to get his point across. But don’t think he will just repeat that mistake. Banhammer knows how to look back to learn from his mistakes. He just does that without the need of anyone to notice and call it out. It’s irritating to him. Honestly it’s probably the fact he wants to have that feeling when everything is within his grasp so it won’t stray the other way too far. No one needs to point out his mistakes after he acknowledged it. You don’t need to repeat yourself to him, he knows

• Oh boy may the SFOTHs be at your mercy because this guy will definitely tease you until you can’t see the light anymore, especially before the two of you were officially in a relationship. It feels like most of the bones in his body are all mean ones at this point. Sometimes you might wonder if he’s just pulling your leg or does he actually mean what he says. Usually it’s just something about your personality, appearance, work-related stuff or even just out of nowhere stuff when he is beside you. As if that’s the only way he has in mind to strike up a conversation with you: To begin it with a short joke. Don’t worry too much, he means well to a certain extent, so just keep your head up

• This might surprise you but he is actually a decent leader. He has a police team under his command at Banland. Some people might assume that he would treat his subordinates like how he treated his prisoners, but they have never been more than just wrong in their life when saying that. He only cause harm to those dipshits who disobey the obvious law. He still knows what is right and not, making the assumption that he treats everyone like shit is so unfair. Banhammer looks at his subordinates like family at some point. They can even call him out on being stupid when they see him blindfolded himself then almost walking into lava, and he doesn’t take it to heart. They can jest around with him that way with ease

• Banhammer can be such a flirt sometimes. But do keep in mind that he is also pretty out of pocket here and there. Not much of a shocker, isn’t it? When the two of you don’t know each other, he keeps things professional in the box. When you slowly starts to get to know him more personally as the feeling is somehow mutual, that’s the peak of him becoming such a bastard. It’s that line between keeping things casual and making you feel wanted. He literally says the most ridiculous things ever with a straight face. Definitely the type to make suggestive jokes and then laugh his throat off when seeing how flustered you are. But when you return the favor back to him, his brain just stops functioning for a good few seconds as he is pretty much screaming internally like a teenager

• Once you gets to know him better aside from that warden persona he has almost all of the time on while he is at duty, you will soon realize that he also has a heart. Banhammer has a soft side that he hides under the amount of armor wore on his body. He keeps it to himself because letting others get their hands on his ‘weakness’ isn’t what he looks forward to at all. Being soft is equal to being weak, that’s what he keeps repeating inside his mind. But well, not when you manage to work your way into his heart. Spending times alone with you, letting you know the fullest of him - it suddenly doesn’t feel so bad anymore

• This is a hot take but despite that rough and cocky exterior, he is actually pretty lovely in a relationship. Surely that he won’t just flip out immediately and turns into a completely different person when being with you, but you can notice that obvious change of tone in his voice when speaking to you. It feels much more gentle than when he is speaking to someone else. Banhammer isn’t too much of a romantic guy, but he knows how to appreciate a special someone in his life. Each touch he lovingly ghosts against your skin, to caress your face or to rub your back, he means every single one of them. The way he tries to deny the fact that he is nervous because of this particular relationship — which is completely new to him surprisingly — is just adorable while he glances over at you. But you know he holds no heat between those eyes, because the very next moment he already presses a kiss onto your lips as an attempt to prove you his words

• He is pretty much protective of you. This doesn’t just come from the difference in power scales of you and him, but also from the fact that he is worried about those pesky criminals that will seek you out for revenge against him. Although Banhammer is confident of his own strength to protect the two of you, and if you can also fight, he respects that too. But when he has to be away for investigation at other regions, he can’t help but be a little obnoxious when making sure that you are safe and sound at home. Even when you can kick ass, you can’t kick multiple asses at once! And he is even more of a worrywart if you can’t fight much. The thought of someone coming for you when he isn’t there to keep you unharmed is terrifying. You can’t really blame him when wanting to check up on you regularly like that. He means well, please keeps that in mind. Anyone who touches you the wrong way, even just a little bruise, will see a fate worse than Ghostwalker’s purgatory itself. Banhammer swears it, and you knows he takes that seriously

• He works out a lots, mainly to train himself to avoid getting sloppy the next time he is out chasing a certain cultist’s ass off. Seeing him working out is actually pretty intriguing, especially when you take a look at his schedule. It does rotate depending on how the day is going, but nonetheless, it’s all intense as hell. You’re free to join him if you want, but don’t feel awful when you can’t keep up with him and have to give up halfway. Banhammer will laugh at it, saying that you’re already lucky enough you don’t get a stroke then evaporate into nowhere with your determination. He is a demi-deity after all, it’s natural for people like you to be unable to catch up to him. Before you sulk and leave the place, he might tell you to get on his back as he starts doing pushups. You don’t want to miss that invitation, it’s actually pretty amusing when he pulls that off. That’s his way to keep you around and feel useful, and it works like a charm

• His wings are also quite the fascination. It’s not uncommon to be dumbfounded when you realize he has those wings which he can summon under the form of solidified energy at will, since he doesn’t feel the need to let anyone know about it. Poor those criminals when they have to see him charge with that ungodly speed of his wings directly at them though. But for you, things are pretty different than that comical scenario. Banhammer won’t mind holding you while flying around if that’s what you want. But do expect that this guy will still be an asshole about the entire thing as he will playfully threaten to drop you. He will never do that, just so you know. It only happens the few first time you two flying together

• And how can one even forget his unmistakable four eyes? With how much he blindfolded them by his own hands just so he can challenge himself even more, that wince when he takes it off and sees the light poking directly into his four eyes is always a laughable sight. How does it feel to not only have a pair of eyes looking at your direction, but two coming from the same person? When Banhammer takes off his blindfold, his expression will be easier to keep track on as his emotions really just be given away in his eyes. You know just how he is feeling at the moment just by looking into his eyes: Upset, happy, confused, worried…It feels like he is vulnerable in front of you and only you. On the side note, he can’t look directly into your eyes for too long since he sucks at eye contact without a blindfold. it just feels funny in a questionable way in his mind

• His hugs are suffocating in the best way possible. It’s firm, a bit rough yet still has that soothing effect that is able to calm your nerves down when needed. It’s hard to struggle out of his hug, but it doesn’t feel bad at all. You already knows just how strong he is with all that muscles and stuff going on inside his body, and with how he wields his massive hammer with ease too, so it’s natural to assume that Banhammer has that deadly powerful grip that can easily bruise you if he isn’t being careful. Honestly he is reluctant to give you physical affection at first, mainly because he doesn’t want to underestimate his strength and hurt you intentionally. It takes him quite a while as well as a good load of reassurance that he won’t crush your bones that easily — Mind you, he can but he won’t, just saying — until he eventually gives in

• Whether it’s because of the fact that Banland are surrounded by lava pool scattered almost everywhere on the surface or it’s just the fact that he is a walking personal heater, Banhammer’s body is more than just warm. Hold the hot jokes, I know you were about to say it. Yup, hold your horse buddy. But he does feel like a walking fireplace for most of the time, especially during winter for some reasons that you both can’t fully comprehend. He is the prefect partner to cuddle beneath the blanket with when you have a long day, as it’s highly recommended that you should do so in rainy or snowy weather. Summer can be a bit insufferable though, since his body feels too warm to your taste. You will probably have a heatstroke hugging him without an air conditioner in the room

• Sometimes he says blunt things that will hurt your feelings. He is rather emotionally inept, oblivious to other’s emotions around him. Banhammer tends to be brutally honest with his mind, saying things that can hurt others without realizing the actual effect behind it. Even when people get annoyed or upset with him, he might fail to even notice at first. Sometimes it can lead to a serious verbal fight between the two of you. That is until you have to point directly into his face and makes a statement about how hurt you felt when he said that does he realize he has screwed up. Banhammer is pretty much dumbfounded at the weight of his own words to you. Seeing you upset makes he feel bad. Banhammer will try his best to make things right again so that he can see that smile which he loves soon. Please know that he is trying, he doesn’t mean to hurt you

• Banhammer cares for you. If you’re mad at him, he will do just anything to make it up for you, even at the most absurd request you make him do - which he will begrudgingly accept his fate because he knows damn well just how angry you are. He is, surprisingly, willing to take a step back in an argument when things are too heated. Only you have that privilege though, other time he will just grunt back as if he is about to chew the other speaker’s head off. He mainly figures out how to apologize to you on his own without the help of anyone, it’s just embarrassing if one day he comes up to his subordinates and ask what should he do when his beloved is mad at him. They will laugh the living hell out of themselves. But then again, he does keep in mind what do you like so he can get it or do it in addition to his apology. Sometimes he does it pretty stiff since it feels off to actually apologize to someone. But hey, it’s the genuine thought that counts

• Windforce might have heard of you, mainly because of how Banhammer has quite the deep connection with his momma. This guy is a certified mama’s boy after all. He will tell her everything about you once he gets the chance to see his momma again. Windforce is pretty taken back by the news of her son’s selection in partner, a mortal, to be specific. She does doubt you at first due to her worries towards her son. But them she has came into terms with it as she knows there are no point interfering Banhammer’s business. She doesn’t have time to meet you, as she is pretty much occupied with her own business. Yet she will still send her blessings to you, a favor from her for making her son that happy. As long as Banhammer is contented with you, she doesn’t see the point in being against the whole thing

• His strong sense of justice is inherited from Windforce. Although it doesn’t sound that fitting, ‘justice’ and ‘Windforce’ together, since most demons know her because of her ruthlessness. But little did you know about the connection between using force and serving righteousness. Her justice doesn’t involve the gray between black and white, and it can blind her to the extreme point. Banhammer looks up at his mother, so he has taken her justice with him. The reason he resolves to use violence is because it teaches a better lesson than normal words - a good point, because even Banhammer knows that he sucks at using words to find a peaceful solution with those pesky criminals. He cringes at the lowly idea

• There will be a day that you will be but a memory in his mind. Banhammer used to be scared of the thought of you dying due to your mortality before him — and for your information, he still feels that uneasy feeling whenever he is reminded of it — but seeing those happy moments between the two of you, he knows that the film of you running in his mind will be a pleasant one. He will grieve you, of course he will. But then those good memories will help him back onto his feet once again. Banhammer will convince himself he that you are watching over him and his future. The thought of your spirit just cheering on his accomplishments is kinda funny, but endearing. Sometimes he might look at you with this silly question in his mind: If he can go back in time, will he still make the decision of this lifelong commitment with you

• And he answers it on his own with no hesitation: Always. No matter how many choices he is allowed to make, he will still come to you. Like it or not, aside from his mother and his works of serving justice, you will also one if his most important responsibilities who he adores and cherish until everything returns to ashes. You are his lover after all, why wouldn’t he choose you? He makes a vow to stay with you no matter what happens. Despite that cocky attitude that makes you want to punch him into the oblivion, you can’t deny that his soft side does melt your heart. Please remember just how much you mean to him, because you are the best thing he has ever happened in his life, he has the right to be proud of that

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: I’m so sorry for the delay! Hopefully these are long enough to make up for my disappearance (*´-`)

#phighting x reader #x reader #phighting!#banhammer x reader #banhammer phighting #phighting banhammer #shui mo’s black tea

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thedaslut · 3 days ago

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Short ficlet from @ar-ghilas-vir-banal 's prompt!

He would tell her.

Sitting in front of her, on her couch in her chambers, he knew he would. The sight of her before him, smiling and relaxed as he held her hand made the thought form and coalesce, taking on a solidity that only certainty could hold. The gentle smile on her face, a stark contrast from the pained look she had when he arrived, seemed to widen slightly every time her eyes met his and her vallaslin moved around her eyes as they crinkled with softness she rarely showed. In his hand lay hers, the Anchor a bright green gash on her palm as he siphoned its energy out of her and into himself where it could dissipate safely. He’d tell her about that too, he decided.

“Your hands are soft,” she murmurs. “It is nice.”

His own smile widens. He hadn’t realized he was stroking her hand with his fingers idly as he worked. “It has been a long time since I had reason to keep a soft touch,” he replies, voice low and warm. “But lately I find myself handling something precious much more often. I feel the need to be attentive and gentle with it.” A playful glint enters her eyes. “The attention is appreciated,” she grins, “but perhaps a firmer touch would be appreciated at times.”

He returns the smile, warm and genuine. “I will keep that in mind.” He will tell her, he reaffirms. Everything about who he is, all he has done. The resolve sits under his skin, like steel under velvet. The force from the Anchor stuttered as he pulled on it, a knot in a thread catching on the fabric, and her face twitches in discomfort.

“Vhenan,” he whispers, a reassurance and an inquiry in one word.

“I’m okay,” she mutters, brows drawn together slightly. “It just aches a bit even with your help.”

“You bear such a burden, Vhenan. I would not wish it upon anyone.”

“It is not your fault,” she reassures with a smile, her fingers closing around his hand in a loose grip.

Whatever words he had on his lips die there, and in response he carefully pulls more of the Anchor into himself once again. It aches in him too, a trickle to her river, and he lets it pool within him.

He will tell her, and should she forgive him he will give her everything he is.

~</3~

He does not tell her.

When he is still called to her room, finding her on that same couch where he had held her gently not too long ago, he feels it is retribution. A punishment for what he’s done to her, what he is still doing to her, and the universe is cruel to make her the vessel for his pain.

She sits in her spot, legs crossed and with a blanket around her shoulders. There are no gentle eyes following him as he moves to sit beside her, no quirked smiles along with curious questions and no vallaslin drawn across her nose and around her eyes.

She still gives him her hand, as if he deserves to hold it. As if he ever deserved it.

The energy within her is thick this time, like a fog that has gone from ethereal and beautiful to haunting and oppressive. When he pulls at it, however gentle, she winches and hisses and her face turns away from him.

“You should have called for me sooner,” he adminishes as he takes note of how the Anchor is flared and angry. He can only imagine how it burns under her skin, its force bigger than what her body can contain.

“I couldn’t handle the pain.” Her voice is raw, and still she doesn’t face him.

“I know how strong you are, and how much you can endure. But had I come sooner, the mark would not have built so much--” “I was not talking about the mark.”

He says nothing more, pulling the pain into himself until it permeates him like ink dropped in water.

~</3~

He tells her.

Everything he did. To the People. To the world. To her. He tells her, and he lowers his walls. He expects an assault, a wave of anger. He expects curses, hatred and shouting. He expects her pain, her sorrow and despair.

He does not expect it to be for him.

“Solas, “ she whispers with such frailty his own heart threatens to shatter. “I can never imagine how painful this must have been for you.”

“I did this to myself, Vhenan. I deserve none of your pity.”

This makes her eyes sharpen, her edges harden in the way he still admired, would always admire. “Then let it be forced upon you, as penance for what you did.” And more pain she forces on him. Pain borne from love, from understanding, from loyalty. It is not the pain he wished for, deserved, but he lets it in. Lets it pierce his bones, tear his flesh, rend his heart so that he might feel an inkling of what he has put her through. He needs to carry it as he leaves, so that a small part of her stays with him.

“Solas.” Her voice remains firm, even as her arm surges twitch power not meant for mortals. “Var lath vir suledin.” It is a promise, and a threat.

The scream that tears through her as the Anchor flares, one last time, cuts through him like a knife, nowhere near as painful as it ought to be. So he kneels in front of her, where he wishes he could stay, and this time he takes all he can from her. Her pain, her power, her heart. With her warmth still on his lips, he breaks her. And by doing so, he breaks himself.

“I will never forget you,” he promises, and this one he does not intend to break for as long as he lives.

He leaves, and he does not look back.

#dragon age #solavellan #solas dragon age #dragon age inquisition #m's writing #ficlet #see what I did the question was fluff angst or hurt comfort and the answer was indeed yes #is it really solavellan if there's not a combination of it all?

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fioredeciliego · 3 days ago

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Chapter 14

The dim, cold atmosphere of the sublevel stretches endlessly, the concrete walls seeming to close in around them as Minjeong stares down Jimin and Y/N. Her gun, aimed unwaveringly at Jimin, is her one anchor to the twisted reality she's committed herself to. Despite the anger in her glare, her hands betray her, trembling with a deep-rooted doubt. She clenches the grip tighter, forcing herself to stay steady, though the uncertainty stirs within her like a storm threatening to break.

Behind her hardened expression, her mind spins wildly, replaying Seulgi's words over and over. Seulgi, who'd been the only one to see her pain, had promised her everything she thought she wanted. "They don't care about you, Minjeong," Seulgi's voice echoes through her mind like a poison she can't shake. "They never did. But you don't need them—you don't need anyone but yourself. If Jimin is out of the way, you'll have Y/N. She's always cared for you, hasn't she?"

Minjeong's eyes flick briefly to Y/N, just long enough to catch the hurt in her expression, and the sight tugs painfully at her heart. She remembers Y/N's warmth, the way she always seemed to understand her without words, even when everyone else saw only her tough exterior. But it doesn't matter anymore, she tells herself, forcing down the doubt rising inside her. She has to do this. She's made her choice.

That's when Irene, a calm but commanding presence, steps forward, her voice steady yet gentle. "Minjeong, look at me," Irene says, her gaze softening. "I know you're hurting. I know things haven't been easy, and that you feel used... but we're here for you. I'm here for you. Everything we've been through—every sacrifice we've made—it was for all of us. For you, too."

The words, laced with empathy and regret, pierce through Minjeong's defenses. Irene's expression, so open and understanding, reminds her of the camaraderie they once shared. The long nights spent planning together, the laughter they shared, the times Irene had pulled her back from the brink. It had meant something once. But Irene's words also dig into old wounds, wounds she's tried to bury. She bites back the pang of nostalgia, her expression hardening as Seulgi's voice invades her mind again, urging her to stay strong.

With a bitter laugh, Minjeong shakes her head. "You're saying that now, but where was that loyalty when I needed it, huh? Where was it when you treated me like a weapon, like a disposable tool?" Her voice is cold, laced with resentment. "I was never more than what you needed me to be. Just the person who would get things done. And you'd all just leave me behind when it suited you." Every word is an echo of Seulgi's twisted influence, and it lands with brutal precision, making Irene visibly falter.

The look of pain that flickers across Irene's face stuns Yizhuo and Aeri, who exchange glances of realization. They knew Seulgi's manipulation had reached Minjeong, but they hadn't realized just how deep it had sunk.

Then Jimin speaks, her voice a stark contrast to Minjeong's bitterness. There's a gentleness in her tone, a raw honesty that slices through the room's tension like a knife. "Minjeong, listen to yourself. This isn't you. You know it's not." Her eyes search Minjeong's face, desperately seeking the friend she once knew beneath the anger. "We've fought side by side, Minjeong. We've faced things most people would run from. And every time, you were there, no matter what."

Jimin's words carry a weight of memories—every mission, every close call, every moment where they had each other's backs without a second thought. "I remember the Minjeong who never wavered, who would protect all of us. Not the one standing here, aiming a gun at her own team." Her voice softens, her eyes imploring. "Whatever Seulgi told you, whatever lies she's filled your head with—it's not worth this. She's using you, Minjeong. She doesn't care about you. She's just making you believe she does."

Y/N steps forward, her voice trembling, but her words sincere. "Minjeong, I know you're hurting. And I know things have been unfair. But this path won't make it better. Hurting us won't make it better." Her voice wavers, her emotions raw, but she pushes through, hoping her words can reach whatever part of Minjeong still remembers their bond. "We're your family, Minjeong. Even now... we still care about you. Please, don't do this."

For a moment, Minjeong's fierce expression falters, her eyes flickering with vulnerability. Y/N's voice is like an anchor, grounding her, pulling her back to a reality she's tried to escape. Her hand slackens slightly, the barrel of the gun dipping as her resolve wavers. She wants to believe them, wants to believe there's a way back, a way where she isn't trapped in this twisted game Seulgi has drawn her into.

But as she considers their words, the memory of Seulgi's voice cuts through her hesitation. "They're liars, Minjeong," Seulgi had whispered, her tone full of venom and seductive promise. "They never saw you as anything but a tool. If you want freedom, if you want a life where Y/N is yours, you know what has to be done." The words wrap around her mind like chains, rekindling the anger she's tried so hard to suppress. She straightens, the fire of betrayal and hurt filling her eyes once more, and her grip on the gun tightens as she recalls every hurtful moment, every time she'd felt overlooked and undervalued.

In a heartbeat, Minjeong's expression hardens, her eyes cold and unreadable as she raises the gun. Her breathing quickens, her heart hammering in her chest. She meets Jimin's gaze one last time, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she steels herself, pressing down on every other feeling clawing at her heart.

The shot rings out, sharp and deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet grazes Jimin's arm, embedding itself in the wall just inches behind her. For a moment, the world feels suspended, every breath drawn heavy and laden with tension. Y/N's hand flies to her mouth, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she stares at Minjeong, heartbreak and fear reflected in her eyes. Irene's expression shifts from shock to a grim understanding, the weight of Minjeong's decision settling over her like a dark shadow.

Aeri and Yizhuo stand frozen, their faces a mixture of horror and disbelief. They can see it now—the line that Minjeong has crossed, the line that may never be undone. The consequences of her choice, the rift she's created between them, settle into the silence that follows the shot.

Minjeong looks down at her own hands, as if suddenly aware of what she's done, her shoulders sagging under the weight of it. The conflict is still there, lingering, but it's swallowed by a numbness, a hollow realization that she has gone too far. She glances at Y/N, something akin to regret flickering in her gaze, but the walls she's built are too strong, her pride and pain holding her in place.

The silence is heavy, stretching endlessly, with no words left to bridge the divide that's grown between them. And for the first time, Minjeong seems lost, as if the reality of her actions is only just beginning to sink in, the enormity of what she's done pressing down on her until she feels as if she's drowning in it.

The silence following Minjeong's shot is thick, laden with fear and sorrow, as Irene steps forward, her steps slow and calculated. Her expression is composed but shadows of guilt and pain flicker in her eyes. She raises her hands slightly, showing Minjeong she's unarmed, but her gaze never wavers from the trembling weapon in Minjeong's grasp.

"Minjeong," Irene begins, her voice steady yet edged with a rare vulnerability. "You don't have to do this. You're not alone. We've all felt lost, pushed aside... unseen. And if I made you feel like you didn't belong—if I failed you—then I'm sorry." The apology is quiet but holds a gravity that none of them had heard from Irene before.

Her words hang heavily, casting a new, raw tension over the room. Irene, the leader who never falters, now bearing her own failings for all to see. A silent plea glimmers in her eyes, as if begging Minjeong to find her way back, to turn away from the edge she's teetering on.

But Minjeong's expression hardens, her eyes flashing with something wild, unhinged. A twisted smile crawls across her face, both mocking and resentful, and she lets out a short, bitter laugh. "An apology?" she sneers, her voice shrill and unsteady. "You think that's enough to make up for years of being nothing more than your weapon on standby?"

She raises the gun slightly, her aim unsteady yet determined. "You only ever needed me for what I could do. You made me your disposable shield, Irene! All of you did! Every one of you saw me as just a tool, just your little soldier willing to do the dirty work and follow orders. But did any of you ever think about what I wanted? What I needed?" Her voice cracks, then rises again, an unrestrained wave of pain mixed with fury.

Her eyes dart from Jimin to Y/N and then back to Irene, as though she's sizing up every betrayal she's felt, every slight, whether real or imagined. Her grip on the gun tightens, but her hands are visibly shaking now. "You never understood me! You never tried to!" she shouts, her voice growing more manic, the resentment twisting her features as though she's struggling to hold herself together.

She takes a deep breath, her face twisted in a mix of anguish and something more desperate. "Seulgi... she was the only one who ever really saw me," Minjeong spits out, her voice lowering to a near whisper as if the name itself is sacred. "She listened to me, she understood me, and she promised me that if I took control—if I did what had to be done—I could finally have the life I deserve. A life where I don't have to beg for scraps of attention or watch the person I love with someone else."

She glances at Y/N, her expression softening into something almost fragile. The look in her eyes is full of a raw, obsessive intensity, a disturbing kind of love that borders on worship. "Y/N," she whispers, her voice taking on a pleading edge, "I've loved you... I've loved you for so long. But you never saw me, did you? You never looked at me the way you look at her." Her voice becomes choked, each word weighted with bitterness and longing.

"But Seulgi—she told me that all I had to do was remove Jimin from the picture, and you'd finally be mine. She made me see what I deserve. She showed me that I don't have to live in the shadows anymore. I don't have to keep pretending to be happy just watching you love someone else." Her voice is almost a whimper, as if she's both pleading and demanding that her twisted desires be acknowledged.

She laughs again, high-pitched and manic, a sound that fills the room with an unsettling chill. "I was always second place to her, always second best. But Seulgi—she promised me you, Y/N. She promised that if I took control, if I claimed what's mine, then you'd finally see me." Her expression twists into something dark, her eyes wide and almost feverish as she holds Y/N's gaze.

"Do you have any idea how it feels?" she hisses, voice shaking with both fury and despair. "To love someone so deeply, to watch them smile and laugh with someone else, knowing they'll never even think of you the same way? To be used, discarded, like I never mattered to any of you?" Her face contorts, the desperation seeping through her words as she struggles to maintain her composure, her emotions spiraling out of control.

Minjeong's tone shifts, filled with a reverence for Seulgi that borders on worship. "Seulgi was the only one who showed me the truth. She told me that Jimin was the reason I was kept down, that you were all too blinded by her to see what I could be. She offered me freedom, Y/N. She promised that if I got rid of Jimin, if I took control, we could finally have what I wanted, what I deserve."

As she speaks, her grip on the gun tightens, her gaze turning colder. Yizhuo and Aeri exchange horrified looks, each of them realizing just how deep Seulgi's manipulations run. Irene's face pales, the weight of her own past decisions bearing down on her, and Jimin, unflinching, remains focused on Minjeong, her jaw clenched in silent fury.

But Minjeong doesn't seem to notice their reactions. She's caught up in her own desperate need to justify herself, her gaze now feverish, unfocused, and lost in a storm of obsession and betrayal. "Seulgi showed me a world where I'm not a tool, where I'm not second to Jimin, where Y/N can finally love me the way I've loved her. And for the first time, I felt... seen."

A moment of silence stretches painfully across the room as Minjeong's manic declaration settles into the air, her confession a testament to how deeply Seulgi has twisted her thoughts. But even now, she clings to that image of a future Seulgi promised, a vision that has corrupted her heart beyond repair.

Minjeong's bitter words echoing off the cold walls. Aeri and Yizhuo look at her with desperation written across their faces, a mix of sorrow, horror, and fierce determination to save her from herself. Aeri's voice breaks as she calls out, "Minjeong... you're still our friend, still part of us. This doesn't have to be how it ends. We can get past this, together."

She takes a tentative step forward, her arm outstretched in a gesture that's both hesitant and hopeful. "Remember all we've been through, Minjeong. The nights we fought side by side, the dreams we shared... don't let Seulgi's lies take that from you."

Yizhuo's hands shake as she clutches her chest, her eyes brimming with tears that spill over, unrestrained. She pleads, her voice barely holding together, "You're still the girl who saved me once, who taught me to fight, to believe in myself... You're still our friend, Minjeong. You're still my friend." There's a depth of sorrow in her words, as if she's willing her friend to remember, to come back from the edge.

But Minjeong's face doesn't waver, her lips pressing into a thin line as her grip on the gun tightens. Her shoulders tremble as she fights the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her, her expression slipping between sorrow and unyielding resolve. "No," she mutters, her voice filled with a quiet but fierce determination. "You don't understand. I can't go back to just being a ghost in the background, to being overlooked."

Her gaze flickers between Aeri, Yizhuo, and Jimin, each face a reminder of the camaraderie they shared, the bond they once had—but the darkness in her eyes doesn't waver. "You all had each other... all I had was Seulgi. She made me feel like I was worth something, like I could be... enough."

A moment of raw vulnerability flashes in her gaze, as though she's pleading for them to see her pain, her fractured sense of self. But then, in a heartbeat, her expression hardens again, and she lifts the gun, her eyes blazing with a final, tragic defiance. "I'd rather die fighting than go back to being nothing," she says, her voice wavering but resolute.

Jimin's hand moves instinctively, the sound of the shot tearing through the tense air. Minjeong's body jolts, her hand instinctively pressing to her side where the bullet struck. She stumbles, eyes widening in shock as she looks down, fingers stained with the crimson that spreads through her clothes.

As she sinks to the cold floor, her breaths come in shallow, stuttering gasps. Her defiant mask crumbles, and for the first time, she looks so heartbreakingly vulnerable, stripped of all her bitterness and fury. Jimin's gun slips from her trembling hand as she drops to her knees beside Minjeong, her face a picture of anguish and remorse. She cradles Minjeong's head in her lap, her tears finally spilling over as she whispers, "I'm so sorry, Minjeong... I never wanted this. None of us did."

Minjeong's gaze softens, and she shifts her attention to Y/N, who kneels beside her, holding her hand tightly, trying to give her warmth, trying to keep her tethered to the world. Minjeong's eyes are heavy with regret, but there's also a painful kind of relief, as though the weight of all her anger is slipping away, leaving only the core of her true self.

"Y/N..." she whispers, her voice weak and trembling, but filled with a deep, heartbreaking longing. "I tried so hard... I just wanted you to see me. To... notice me the way you did her."

She gasps for breath, wincing at the pain, but forces herself to continue, her words tumbling out, desperate and raw. "I know I've done horrible things... but I loved you. I thought if I could just... if I could just make you see..." Her eyes well with unshed tears, and she looks at Y/N with a vulnerability that's both achingly familiar and tragically too late.

Y/N chokes back a sob, clutching Minjeong's hand as tightly as she can, trying to anchor her, to give her any small comfort in these final moments. "I'm so sorry, Minjeong," she whispers, her voice breaking. "I should have seen you, I should have been there for you..."

Minjeong's expression softens, and a faint, bittersweet smile appears on her lips. "Maybe... in another life," she breathes, her voice a mere whisper, "I would've been someone you could love."

Her gaze shifts back to Jimin, who holds her close, her face twisted with the pain of losing someone who was once her friend, her sister in arms. Jimin's tears fall freely, and she clutches Minjeong's hand, her voice raw as she murmurs, "I'm sorry, Minjeong. I... I never knew you felt this way."

A flicker of pain crosses Minjeong's face, but there's a strange sense of peace as well, a release from the anguish and resentment that had consumed her. "I just wanted... to belong," she whispers, her voice fading. "I just wanted... to matter."

Her breathing grows shallow, her grip on Y/N's hand slackening as she looks up at the faces surrounding her. A solitary tear slips down her cheek as she whispers her last words, barely audible. "Thank you... for being with me. Even... like this."

Her eyes close, her body going limp in Jimin's arms, the life fading from her features as she slips away, leaving behind an emptiness that seems to permeate the entire room. Y/N, Aeri, Yizhuo, and Jimin are left kneeling around her, the heavy silence pressing down on them as they come to terms with the loss of their friend, the devastation of what could have been.

The air is thick with grief, the weight of missed chances and unspoken words suffocating them. Jimin clutches Minjeong's hand one last time, her tears falling freely as she whispers, "Goodbye, Minjeong," her voice filled with the sorrow of a friend lost to the shadows of their own heart.

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

The silence in the sublevels of the bank is deafening. The team stands in a solemn circle around Minjeong's still form, her face finally free from pain but shadowed with the tragic remnants of her final struggle. Y/N kneels beside her, her hand lingering over Minjeong's, as if she could somehow bring her back with a simple touch. Guilt presses down on her chest, her shoulders shaking with the weight of unsaid words, of a friend lost in the shadows she never realized were there.

Jimin watches Y/N in silent agony, her eyes glazed with sorrow and regret, her own heart shattering under the knowledge that it was her shot that ended Minjeong's life. She takes a deep, trembling breath, knowing there is one last act of respect she can give to the girl who was once her closest ally, her sister in arms. Without a word, she crouches down, gently slipping her arms beneath Minjeong and lifting her with a care that belies the brutality of the fight they had just been part of. She cradles Minjeong's body, determination flickering in her tear-streaked eyes—a silent promise that Minjeong will not be left behind, not even in death.

Irene steps closer, her expression a mixture of sorrow and responsibility. As she gazes down at Minjeong, her mind reels with the knowledge that her leadership—her choices—played a part in the tragic end they now witness. She tries to offer words, but none come. Instead, she places a gentle hand on Minjeong's shoulder, silently acknowledging the life lost under her command, the friend who had slipped through her fingers.

Yizhuo and Aeri exchange a look, both of them struggling to process the pain in their chests. Yizhuo wipes away a tear as Aeri wraps an arm around her shoulders, grounding them both in the promise that they won't forget Minjeong, that they won't let her memory fade into nothing.

Y/N's hand brush against Minjeong's lifeless fingers. Emotions war within her—pain, guilt, and a profound ache for a friendship fractured beyond repair. Aeri places a gentle hand on Y/N's shoulder, urging her to rise. "We can't stay," she says softly, though her voice trembles. "We owe her...we owe each other the chance to get out of this alive. For Minjeong."

The air is thick with sorrow, but time is slipping away. Aeri's voice, barely a whisper, breaks through the silence. "We need to go... reinforcements will be here soon." Her tone is steady, yet the strain of grief weaves through every syllable. She knows they cannot afford to linger, not with Seulgi's eyes everywhere and the sound of approaching footsteps echoing faintly from above.

Yizhuo looks down at Minjeong's lifeless face, her heart aching. She whispers, "We'll get out of here... and we'll do it for her." Though her voice trembles, there's a fierce determination beneath her words, a raw promise fueled by the grief and anger surging through her veins. She meets Irene's gaze, her eyes red-rimmed but unwavering. There's no room for doubt now—only the resolution that they will make it out together, that Minjeong's sacrifice won't become a forgotten casualty of Seulgi's schemes.

Jimin adjusts Minjeong's body in her arms, feeling the weight not only physically but emotionally, a weight that she now carries alone. "We give her a proper burial. She deserves at least that much," she whispers, her voice breaking yet filled with an unshakable reverence. The others nod, each of them sharing in that silent promise—a promise to honor their fallen friend by seeing this mission through, even if the cost is high.

Each step out of the sublevels feels heavier than the last, yet with every painful stride, their resolve only grows stronger. They know this journey will not end with Minjeong. It is a vow made in the shadow of her loss, an oath they make to her memory: they will survive this, and they will not allow Seulgi's cruelty to shatter them again.

As they finally emerge from the hidden depths of the bank, slipping into the cover of the darkened streets, a figure lingers in the shadows at a distance, hidden in the cold quiet of the night. Seulgi watches them with an unreadable expression, her face bathed in the soft glow of a streetlamp. Her lips twist into a smile, one as bitter as it is triumphant. Her eyes remain fixed on the team, noting their grief-stricken faces, their silent determination, and the way Jimin carefully cradles Minjeong's body in her arms. It's a sight that should evoke sadness, yet for Seulgi, it's nothing more than a twisted satisfaction.

For Seulgi, Minjeong's death is merely a calculated loss—a piece removed from the board. Her satisfaction isn't in the death itself but in the anguish it has caused, in the fractures it has forced into their unity. To her, every tear, every expression of grief is a reminder of the control she wielded over Minjeong, a puppet who danced to her tune, even in her final moments. Already, she's moving on to her next plan, her mind weaving new threads of deception. Minjeong's death was simply one move in a grander game—a step closer to breaking the fragile bonds of trust that hold the team together.

Her gaze follows them as they disappear into the night, her thoughts racing with cruel intent. She knows they'll regroup, that they'll cling to one another to find strength in their loss. But Seulgi's smile only widens, her gaze distant and calculating.

Once they reach safety, the group pauses to catch their breath, each of them haunted by the events of the night. Jimin is quiet, but determination now blazes in her eyes. She feels the weight of everything Minjeong's betrayal has cost them, yet also the strength it has imparted. Beside her, Irene, Aeri, and Yizhuo share her resolve, each of them carrying their own pain but united in one purpose.

Y/N clenches her fists, her gaze hardening as she looks at her friends. They know Seulgi won't stop here, that this is only the beginning of a more ruthless fight. But tonight, they make a silent promise—to each other, to Minjeong's memory, and to the mission they still need to complete.

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i-like-forcefem · 1 day ago

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i have trouble maintaining friends because of how many people that I've tried to talk to daily only for it to end badly, do you have any suggestions that might help?

All I know is 2 things:

1) Not everyone is friend material! It’s sad but it’s true! People are very very different in their tastes values and how they interact with folks

And there’s nothing wrong with people having tastes! But I did need to realize that not everyone would want to be close friends with me, and I don’t want to be close friends with everyone!

There’s certain traits I enjoy being around and some traits I find a little annoying and there’s nothing wrong with people who have some of those traits I dislike, it just means I’m less prone to spending time with them!

It’s okay for you to have preferences in people, which means it should also be okay for them to preferences, it’s not a judgement of your character! It’s just that tastes differ! (And people and tastes also change over time!!!)

So sadly you just gotta keep looking until you find a nice pair!

2)Keep communicating

By which I mean: make it very very clear that you’re open to be talked with about issues if they arrive!

Make it clear when you have any issues in your friendship!

Talk about it! Don’t let issues pile up! Set any boundaries that need to be set!

It’s hard to communicate but if you let stuff pile up it will only get worse!!!

That’s all the advice I got on top of the keep talking thing! Keep in mind this is just what worked for me!

It’s always always most important to just think, what works for you and what doesn’t? Be critical! Who knows I might think this is horrible advice in 5 years (but for now I stand by it! Know that not every relationship is meant to last and that’s nothing personal, and keep talking to the people you hold dear when stuff gets messy!)

Have a nice day cutie

#whenever anyone says the word “suggestion” to me a wheel spins in my head with most all options being forcefem #I’m glad today it rolled serious talks #but be careful next time #.#i-like-talking #serious talks #asks open!

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toads-treasures · 2 days ago

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WIP Wednesday specially for Wyll Wednesday!

This fic has been haunting me for months but nevertheless we charge forth. It’s kinda longish so there’s some more under the cut ✨

He tilted his head back to look at the scattering of brilliant stars overhead, the constellations winking down at him like old friends. This was familiar, solitude and starlight. This is what he had grown accustomed to, what he had thought he wanted after another long day. Yet, sitting alone in the rapidly cooling night, he felt strangely hollow. Another unfortunately familiar sensation.

“Oh, hello there,”

Wyll started looking quickly back down to see Leda, her arms full of clothes, rounding the bend in the river. She was barefoot, and wearing a loose, pale blue tunic. The curling ends of her damp hair soaked the fabric, which clung against her collarbone.

“Oh, hello,” he said, warmth rushing up his neck and into his cheeks, suddenly grateful for the gathering dark, “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize,”

She grinned and waved his apology away, “No need to be sorry,” she said, stepping from one grassy patch to another, her tail swishing behind her to keep her balance, “I’m decent, aren’t I? Mostly decent, anyway,”

She reached the sandy bank where he sat and pointed at the spot next to him, “That seat taken?”

“Not at all,”

She dumped her clothes unceremoniously to the ground and collapsed on top of them, folding her legs beneath her as she took in the night-dark river and the scattering of stars above.

“Glad the mindflayers at least had the decency to drop us off somewhere nice,” she said, holding out her finger to a firefly resting on a reed next to them, “it’s lovely here.”

“It is,” he agreed, smiling as the bug cautiously crept onto her outstretched finger, “I’d always heard the Emerald Grove was beautiful, glad I got to see it for myself.”

“I’d never heard of it at all,” Leda looked down at the firefly, scrunching up her nose and grinning as it walked across her palm, “How did you end up there, anyway?” she asked, slowly holding her hand up between them so he could watch the creature’s progression across the back of her freckled hand. Its intermittent glow cast the high points of her face in gold, and he was close enough to see a shallow dimple in her right cheek.

“I was following Karlach’s trail when I ran into Zevlor and the others,” he said, “so I helped them reach the grove, and didn’t feel I could leave them with the druids, not when they were so…”

“Dickish?” she asked with a scowl as the firefly took off, spiraling away from them to perch on a nearby cattail.

Wyll laughed, “That’s as good a word as any.”

She hummed in agreement, leaning back on her hands and craning her head up to look at the blanket of stars, “Well, I’m glad you did. That was… good of you,”

“You sound surprised.”

She looked back down at him, her head listing to the side as a small smile lifted the corner of her mouth, “What can I say? You surprise me,” she looked away, picking up a gnarled stick and jabbing it into the damp sand in front of her, attempting to unearth a half buried rock.

“Not a lot of people would go so far for a bunch of tieflings,” she continued, intent on her task, “especially not after Elturel. I’ve always liked stories of knights in shining armor,” she glanced back up at him, her hyacinth colored eyes bright, “rare to actually meet one though.”

Wyll only laughed, hoping that the slight note of bitterness wasn’t blatantly evident, “Hardly shining,” he said, thinking of his dusty and threadbare armor, “and I am no knight, but, I do what I can.”

Her pale eyebrows lifted and a smile slowly grew on her face, “And so humble too.”

He couldn’t quite tell if she was making fun of him or not. There was certainly that glint still in her eye that he couldn’t decipher, and her smile was more of a smirk at that point, but he found he didn’t really mind. That hollow feeling in his chest was gone, and a gentle smell of jasmine from the soap she’d bought in the grove covered the dank river mud.

#toad writes #wyll ravengard #my WIPs #wyll x tav #oc: Leda

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fuckzachariah · 2 days ago

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It had been a long, long time since Zach had felt like this. Like there was a reason for him to go from one room to the next. In fact, perhaps he’d never. Not clear-headed, not like he was now. Excitement, anticipation, real, true fucking adrenaline. He had been forced to reassess his relationship to bad behavior over the years. Where it had once been his lifeline, now it was only a rare indulgence. The feeling of leaning into mischief watered the dry bed behind his ribs. He hadn’t realized exactly how parched he’d been. How desperate. Once, he would’ve made Luke suffer for showing his face in an obvious, bloody way. Now, he’d do it slowly. He’d make it subtle. Fun. As the crowd began to filter into the dim, throbbing lounge area, Zach followed, one step behind Kylie, the environment unfurling him like a flower in bloom. His chest inflated. He belonged here. Something felt like it was beginning.

The flow of people came between him and Alex; as she ebbed one way, he ebbed another. Though he felt compelled to be close to her, to scratch at her surface until something gave, he suspected she may not be feeling the same. He wasn’t dissuaded, however. Only exercising patience. Whatever she felt tangled up over, he could untangle, with one easy pull. Because he hadn’t addressed this pre-existing qualm in a long time — the fact of she and Luke, together. But now he stared it in the face, it didn’t bother him. The fact of it was this: Zach was sure he could, and determined to, splinter Alex’s engagement down the middle. Luke could not. Luke was but a flint flying off he and Alex’s wildfire. He felt that niggle between them, years later; their insatiability. Knowing she had had Luke only made him more certain of his crowning in her life. Nobody could touch him. Nobody could even come close.

He had let go of a lot of things. But how could he be Zach Winthrop without a little arrogance? It both incensed and attracted her, he knew this. He would wear his jilted crown with pride. But she needed time to cool off, and they needed to not be seen to be attached at the hip so as to avoid raised eyebrows. So he didn’t look for her, not right away. He followed Kylie’s heavy heels into a plush booth, not unlike the thousands he’d decorated in a past life, but this crowd was different. Her crowd were frothy, excitable. Over-indulgent in their alcohol to a virginal effect. The champagne bubbles made them giggle and a sideward glance from him made them blush, hide behind their hands. It was nothing like the throng of debauched prodigals he used to be surrounded with. He let them fawn over him, and so did Kylie. He suspected she rather liked it, even. While her head was turned, one of her friends handed him a drink, which he took without particularly reasoning it through.

He blinked at it. It would be his second of the night, but enough time had passed that he already felt sober from the first. His lip quirked. “Thank you,” he eased, and she shrank away like a violet. It was acidic on his tongue, burning on the way down. He made a noise like a release, shuddering with pleasure, then eyed the umbrella cocktail glass. Vodka martini, dirty as hell. Perhaps it was only a placebo effect, but it went to his head immediately. His neck craned from his lazy gait upon the sofa, finally scouting out the familiar, devastating brunette and her rosebud mouth. Then he realized that she, flanked by several bird-boned women at the bar, was notably fiancéless.

Zach excused himself, stalking across the room and avoiding the vying eyes, the wanting outstretched hands, until a thump on his shoulder demanded to be seen to. But, somewhere in his riddled mind, he must have been anticipating the interruption, as he didn’t flinch. Without breaking stride, Luke fell into step with him; these two megalomaniacal giants, simply playing house. “Thought you might’ve leaned across that table to carve a chunk out of me, man. But we must be good. Right?” It was delivered unpleasantly. It was not a peace offering, it was low-hanging fruit. Luke laughed, sarcastic and dry. “We’re good?” Zach’s lip curled, vaguely amused by it all, gaze seeking out Alex distractedly. He watched her, fixed with the hook of her shoulder, throat. Her jaw, her smile. For a moment, he forgot to answer.

“Zach,” Luke demanded his attention. Zach stopped dead, rounding on him, an untrustworthy smile stretching out his healthy face. In Zach’s mind, Luke’s intentions were clear and decipherable; use the leverage he had to throw Zach off-kilter, blackmail him into working together again, Luke climbs up the ladder Zach falls off. Well, no. Absolutely not. Zach’s hands smacked either of Luke’s shoulders as though pushing on an accordion to make it screech. They regarded each other squarely. To his credit, Luke didn’t falter. “We’re good, Luke,” Zach lied easily. His right hand came away, only to come back down a little harder than totally friendly. “We’re fucking fantastic.” Luke’s eye twitched. A memory flickered in the back of Zach’s mind – Sarah. If nothing else mattered, to Luke, she did. And Zach had taken her away. Perhaps all of this was really just a revenge plot. How far away she seemed now, and how huge of a mistake it had been to destroy one of the last real friendships he’d had. But he had no room for regret. He only had space in his brain for one thing — or rather, one woman.

“Enjoy the party,” Zach encouraged dismissively, twisting away. He was unaware how closely Luke trailed behind him as he approached Alex at the bar. So as not to rouse suspicion, he disguised his intent by leaning upon the bartop as though summoning a bartender. His eyes, cut with devilry, found hers. Under the light, he was perfect. An unimpeachable diamond. The corner of his mouth upturned. “So,” he muttered privately, allowing the now-flustered group around her to go on their faux-prattling, as though his presence wasn’t very reason to stop everything dead. Their carrying-on fizzed overtop his voice, their insistence his being around them was normal to appear cool overriding their need to fuss him. “You wanna talk about how nervous you just got back at the dinner table?” he taunted in a low voice, eyes on the approaching bartender, as though nothing were amiss in the whole world.

If there was one thing Zach had never been discomfited doing, it was making others uncomfortable. He sat assuredly in his roiling silence, the tingeing cheeks and squirming bodies of those around him waiting impatiently for his response ineffective in swaying his strange composure. He and Luke locked eyes for more than a few bloated, lumbering moments of wordlessness. What is it he wanted? Likely what he’d always wanted; a shot at being even half of Zach. And leeching from Zach was the only way he’d ever tasted an ounce of that success. Zach’s jaw feathered; a lifetime’s worth of history curled from the disturbed seabed of the muddy water between them. Last they had seen one another, it had been brutal; perhaps the most visceral display of Zach’s own torment he’d ever elicited unto himself. Because that’s what it had been – they’d both known it. It could have been about Alex, his guilt, (and a lot of it was), or it could have been about Sarah. It could have been about their near decade-long toxicity, their constant competition, their hatred for themselves projected onto one another. Their mirror-image, their dichotomy. How it had all eventually imploded exactly as prophecy would have it written.

But Zach had changed a lot since then. Violence no longer twitched urgently at his fingertips, ever-present and awaiting trigger. His anger had not lessened in weight but had grown patient and cool, buried under a layer of apathy. Something wriggled beneath it all, seeing Luke again. Seeing him only a body away from Alex, who he yearned for so pathetically. Zach wasn’t sure what it was. Yet. Luke endeavoured to break the silence, his facade brilliant. Charming, even. But as he spoke, his painted fingertips ran slowly, intentionally, along his mangled knuckles. It was fucking bold, Zach would give him that. Unfamiliar ink curdled above the scarring, giving his fingers the eerie look of a rotten tree. Unwittingly, Zach’s tongue snaked out, nudging carefully at the scar on his top lip. A perfect ghost of flesh split open between fist and tooth. Then he smiled; broad, brilliant, a superstar. He could almost feel the terse nature of their onlookers unravelling. “You too, man,” he greeted easily, getting to his feet with his hands upon the tablecloth. He leaned slightly, extending his hand. Luke eyed it, likely having anticipated a response worthy of the old Zach, but the hesitation was only brief enough for those in the know to clock it; they shook, firmly.

Up close, the damage was crystal clear; his nose now displayed a sharp crook, and a thick, tangled rope of a scar drove right down from his forehead through his eyebrow. Blonde, gelled hair hung around them like a show curtain. Zach’s eyes sparkled, a foreign, forgotten feeling soaring through him of gross pride. He used his free hand to thump Luke jovially on the shoulder and watched as his body ricocheted with the movement. “Third time’s the charm,” he muttered happily, referring to Luke’s repeated attempts at sky-rocketing his career. Luke grunted, his smile waning as they dropped one another’s hands. “Hi,” Kylie chirped from her seat. Zach almost laughed. How little she knew of his life, really. She'd never asked who delivered the assault unto Zach that day – had never possessed the gall, couldn't face the inevitable rejection. Luke’s eyes slid beyond Zach to the bubbling froth of a pop star. His eyebrows raised. Zach showed no sign of rising to it. Instead, he took the opportunity to gaze down at Alex, her rigid spine and lithe fingers white-knuckling into a small fist. She was beautiful, in her silent, almost invisible mess. He felt electric-charged, a little crazy, recognizing the signs of anxiety. Of fear. For some reason, it all only made him want her more. His lip twitched in a tiny, frenzied smile, just for her. “Right, then,” Andrew interrupted, capturing the attention of the room at large. His wide palm gestured to the adjoining room; lights danced from the corridor, music thudding. “Shall we move onto the fun part of the evening?”

#para #i kind of have luke in the wings rn ready to have him interrupt #but know that when he does #it will trigger zach into taking them somewhere private #so we must time it right (meditation emoji)

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