#it was fine i liked it it just feels like when you go from watching spiderverse to watching any other take on spiderman

[kateschi]

through the cold, with you

synopsis: amid the biting cold of patrol, katsuki finds his own way to keep you warm.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: was listening to a song and it went "i would burn my words to warm you up" and i want that kinda devotion tbh

the night air is sharp, biting at your skin as you walk through the quiet streets on patrol. the chill settles into your bones, making your fingers stiff and your nose go numb.

you pull your jacket tighter, but it feels like the cold is winning, no matter what you do.

beside you, katsuki strides ahead, his steps purposeful and his posture as commanding as ever. he doesn’t seem bothered by the weather at all.

you try to shake off the discomfort, but the cold is relentless, seeping through your clothes and making it harder to focus.

you force your steps to keep in line with his, but your movements are slower now. every breath feels like it could be your last.

he doesn’t even notice. or so you think.

another few minutes pass, and you feel your teeth start to chatter.

you glance over at katsuki, his fiery gaze locked straight ahead, his usual scowl firmly in place. h

e’s always been the type to push through anything—cold, pain, exhaustion—and now, it feels like the wind is just another enemy to him.

you, on the other hand, are starting to feel the weight of it all.

just as you’re about to speak up, to mention that you’re starting to freeze, katsuki stops walking without warning. his shoulders tense, and you can hear his breath cut through the air.

you blink in confusion as he turns to face you, his eyes narrowing slightly as they sweep over your figure, taking in the subtle signs of discomfort you hadn’t voiced aloud.

“you good?” he asks, voice still rough but softer than usual. his eyes linger on you for a moment, like he’s waiting for you to admit something, to ask for help.

but he doesn’t push.

you hesitate. he’s been protective of you since you first got together, but there’s a difference between that and actually asking for help.

you try to brush it off, giving him a small smile. “yeah, just a little cold. I’ll be fine.”

katsuki eyes you skeptically. “bullshit.”

you don’t have time to react before he steps toward you. before you even realize what’s happening, his hand is reaching for the collar of your coat.

his fingers brush against your skin as he unzips your jacket without a word, then pulls off the heavy scarf wrapped around his neck.

you open your mouth to protest, but before you can say anything, katsuki is already wrapping it around you, tightening it just enough to offer some protection against the cold.

you blink at him, confused. “katsuki, what—”

“shut up,” he mutters, cutting you off. he adjusts the scarf so it fits snugly around your neck, tucking the ends in carefully. “you’re freezing, and I’m not having you catch a cold.”

he steps back, his hand brushing against your shoulder as he assesses his work.

then, without another word, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a thermos—when the hell did he put that in? “here,” he says gruffly, holding it out toward you.

you take it from him, still caught in the bewilderment of what just happened. the warm liquid inside is a welcome relief to your frozen fingers as you take a sip.

katsuki watches you for a moment, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. it’s like he’s silently making sure you’re okay, his watchful eyes never leaving you.

“better?” he asks, his tone a bit soft. there’s something protective in his voice, the kind of thing you never used to hear from him. you take another sip of the drink, nodding.

“yeah, much better. thanks.”

he huffs, his lips twitching in that small, familiar smirk that only you get to see. “you better be, or I’ll drag you back home and shove you under a heater myself.”

you laugh, the sound warmer than it’s been in the last hour. his eyes soften for a second, and for a moment, you swear you catch a flicker of something affectionate in them before it’s gone.

it’s like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but there’s no mistaking the care he’s showing.

you glance up at him as the silence stretches, a little unsure of what to say next. but he’s already taking a step forward again, his body language a silent invitation for you to follow.

“come on,” he says, his voice commanding as ever. “let’s get this patrol over with.”

you start walking beside him again, feeling the warmth of the scarf wrap around your neck like a promise.

the cold is still there, but it’s manageable now. it’s bearable. and, somehow, his presence seems to push it away, too.

you can feel the heat from his side, the way his body radiates strength, and the knowledge that he’s always looking out for you, even when he doesn’t say it out loud.

as you walk beside him, you try to ignore the soft smile that’s tugging at the corners of your lips.

he might act like he doesn’t care much for these things—gestures of affection, quiet acts of love—but he shows it in his own way. and, in the end, that’s all that matters.

katsuki steps forward again, his arm sliding around your waist and pulling you into his chest with surprising force.

“stop shivering, damn it,” he mutters, the rough edge in his voice doing nothing to hide the concern underneath. his body heat surrounds you as he keeps you pressed close, his hand firm against your back.

you stiffen for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the sudden proximity, but his warmth is undeniable. your body relaxes against his, letting the heat from him seep into you.

there’s something comforting in the way he holds you, like he’s willing to bear all the cold, so you don’t have to.

you tilt your head up slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, which is softer than usual. his face is still serious, but you can see the care in his eyes, the way he’s watching you closely.

for a second, the two of you just stand there, his arms wrapped around you, your body pressed against his.

“and—uh you’re welcome,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

his gaze softens, just slightly, before he turns back and starts walking again, already heading toward the next stretch of their patrol.

a grin makes its way up your face, and it makes your husband blush furiously and press a firm kiss on the top of your head. he is trying to hide—you know that much.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[p0orbaby]

if you’re still doing blurbs could you do one with alexia where she’s dating a doctor who has a very busy schedule, and alexia has a concussion in the training and gors to the hospital, and alexia sends a message to reader telling about it but r doesn’t see and when shes going to take care of the next patient it’s alexia? lmao or maybe alexia and r have a daughter and her daughter gets injured and shes the next patient and r goes feral about it idk

i changed the injury but i hope you still like it !

-

The shift is hell, as usual. You’re striding through corridors, flicking through paperwork and half-listening to one of the interns ramble about a patient they’re struggling to diagnose. Something about abdominal pain and “maybe a foreign object ingestion?” You nod distractedly, mentally filing it under deal with later.

“Just send them for imaging,” you say, not breaking your stride. “And next time, don’t say ‘foreign object’ like you’re narrating a true crime documentary. It’s unsettling”

The intern stammers out a response, but you’re already waving them off. “You’ll be fine. Go. Be great or something.” Another day, another long list of problems, it seems. You let yourself drift into autopilot, the professional rhythm of your job taking over as you stride towards the cubicle and pull back the curtain.

“Hi, I’m Dr Putellas,” you begin, still not looking up. “What seems to be—”

“¿Estás bromeando?”

You freeze. Your grip on the clipboard tightens, and your heart drops into your stomach because that voice, that exasperated, honey-warm, decidedly unimpressed voice, belongs to your wife.

Your injured wife, apparently.

“Alexia?” you blurt, snapping your head up to find her sitting on the exam table, her left leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack balanced precariously on her knee.

She doesn’t look happy.

“Hola, cariño,” she says, dry as dust. “Fancy seeing you here”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, caught between disbelief and irritation. “What—what happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did call you,” she replies, gesturing to her phone sitting next to her on the table. “Several times. Apparently, you’re very busy and important”

Your stomach twists with guilt as you instinctively check your phone. Sure enough, three missed calls from Alexia. You curse under your breath, shoving it back into your pocket and stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask, switching instantly from doctor mode to wife mode. “What happened? Is it bad? Why didn’t someone—”

“Relax, doctor,” Alexia interrupts, lifting her free hand to stop your avalanche of questions. “It’s not that bad. Just a tackle gone wrong at training”

You glance at the ice pack, then at her knee, which looks swollen but not grotesque. “Define ‘not that bad.’ Can you move it?”

Alexia sighs like you’re overreacting and flexes her leg a little, wincing but managing. “See? It’s fine. Probably just a sprain”

“Sprains don’t feel fine,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves and grabbing your supplies. You kneel down, gently pressing around her knee, watching her face for any reaction.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Your knee is swollen,” you counter.

“Touché”

You’re quiet for a moment, focused on the task. The swelling isn’t as bad as you feared, but it’s enough to set off every alarm in your mind. You sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly.

“You need imaging,” you say firmly. “Just to be safe”

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tone light but her eyes softening. “Because I’m married to the most thorough doctor in this hospital”

“Don’t flirt with me right now,” you say, though your lips twitch in a betrayed smile. “You scared me”

Her expression softens further, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to”

You close your eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. Then, with a deep breath, you stand up, trying to refocus.

“Alright,” you say briskly, grabbing the chart again. “Let’s get you x-rayed and figure out what’s going on. And after that, you’re resting. No arguing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexia says, her smile turning mischievous. “But I might need some help resting”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Careful, Putellas. I can still make you wait for a nurse”

“Please.” She gestures around dramatically. “You’d never leave me at the mercy of hospital food”

“Not unless you keep up that attitude,” you mutter, but your heart is already lighter.

You press a quick kiss to her temple before heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere”

“Where would I go?” she calls after you, gesturing to her knee.

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[vanillamatt]

vanillamatt .. talkingstage!chris & reader

matt trying to convince chris to get out of the talking stage - based on their recent ‘suspect’ tiktok

you’ve been in the “talking stage” with chris for what feels like forever. casual texts, hanging out here and there, but nothing more serious. sometimes you catch him looking at you a little too long, or he gets all soft when you laugh, but when it comes to making things official, he never quite takes that step. it’s like he’s stuck in neutral, and you’re starting to wonder if you’re the only one actually waiting for more.

matt notices, of course. he always does. one night, after chris had been texting you for what felt like hours, matt had had enough. he plops down next to chris on the couch, arms crossed, eyeing his brother with a look that says he knows exactly what’s going on.

“you still doing this, huh?” matt says, his voice light but there’s an edge to it.

“doing what?” chris replies, not even looking up from his phone as his thumb swipes over the screen.

“playing it safe. with y/n.” matt leans forward, poking chris in the side. “dude this whole ‘talking stage’ is getting old.”

chris shifts uncomfortably, setting his phone down like he wasn’t just glued to it. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“come on,” matt says, rolling his eyes. “you like her. i see how you act when her name pops up on your phone. you’re basically glued to your texts with her, and whenever shes around, you act all weird, like you’re trying to hide it, but it’s obvious, man.”

chris looks at him, slightly defensive but also a little lost. “it’s just… i don’t know. i don’t wanna rush things, you know?”

matt shakes his head, leaning back. “you’ve been not rushing for months now. she’s probably waiting for you to do something, but you’re just sitting there like a bitch, acting like everything’s fine. if you don’t make a move, you’re gonna lose your shot.”

chris looks conflicted, glancing at his phone again. he’s silent for a moment, clearly thinking about what matt said, but there’s still that hesitation in his eyes. matt sighs.

“you’ve got to stop being scared, man. if you keep playing it safe, you’re never gonna get anywhere. either you take the risk and find out, or you keep pretending like you’re not into her.”

there’s a long pause, the tension between them thick, before chris finally groans, running a hand through his hair. “you really think i should just… text her? tell her how i feel?”

matt smirks, leaning back against the couch. “hell yeah. if you don’t, i’m gonna do it for you.”

“alright, alright,” chris mutters, picking up his phone. “but you better not say anything to her.”

“promise,” matt says, grinning. “just make sure you don’t screw it up.”

chris lets out a small laugh and starts typing, his fingers moving slow at first, then faster, as if he’s convincing himself more than anyone else. matt watches, arms folded, a look of satisfaction on his face.

it’s about time.

a/n - i feel this is something that would happen

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

"That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likeable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control." "Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything."

"And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavoury, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained."

"When Styles began therapy about five years ago [so in 2017], he was reluctant initially, feeling it was a music industry cliché. "I thought it meant that you were broken," he said. "I wanted to be the one who could say I didn't need it." He returned to the home theme that has underpinned our conversation, explaining that therapy has allowed him to "open up rooms in himself" that he didn't know existed, allowed him to feel things more honestly, where before he had tended to"emotionally coast.""

"Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said."

"You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written."

He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said.

Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

"You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."

"I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said.

““In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band,” he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, “to get people to engage with you, to like you.” He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren’t on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he’d slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who has done something wrong?” he said to me.”

— Harry for Better Homes and Gardens Magazine

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

I love ur writing sm, like I would worship you if you wrote this request, basically, you are the 9th member of skz, yall are all dating, and today, they all had a concert. The first half of it went fine, but somewhere in the second half, you all heard gunshots, you reacting the fastest, saw them heading to (member of your choice) so you shove them out of the way while you take the bullet (chivalrous ikr). The members all immediately stop the concert despite u reassuring then you could finish (with blood everywhere) then the ending is just comfort and angst bc they didn't sallow u to do anything, and you got bored. Plsss take ur time if ur going to make this, I will literally cherish this with my heart if you make it

𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕓𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕖?

Warning: Angst

Summary: Request!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It happened so fast.

One second, Y/N was standing next to Felix and Han, laughing and joking around with them, and the next, there was a blood-curdling scream that shattered the lighthearted atmosphere.

"Guys, duck!" Y/N screamed, her voice sharp and urgent.

She barely had time to process what was happening before instinct took over. In a split second, she shoved Felix and Han out of the way, her hands landing on their shoulders with enough force to knock them off balance. The world seemed to slow as they stumbled back, confusion still clouding their faces.

"Y/N—what—?" Felix started to say, but his words were cut off by the deafening sound of something heavy crashing against the floor.

The moment she pushed them away, Y/N’s eyes darted to the source of the danger. She had been watching them—Felix, Han, and the rest of the group—having fun, playing with the toys and gifts they had gotten from STAY. It was supposed to be a lighthearted day, a sign-meet with fans, some laughter, and silly moments. But something had felt off all day. The atmosphere felt thinner, like the air itself was stretched too tight, and Changbin had been out with a stomach bug, so the energy was lower than usual. They didn’t want to do the event, but it had been scheduled. They had no choice.

They’d gathered so many toys and gifts from STAY that it seemed like they were almost swimming in them. But right now, they were just strolling on stage, talking casually to the fans in the crowd. Y/N had been teasing Chan all day—playfully, of course. Then she had moved on to teasing the members of the Racha subunit—Felix and Han—just like she always did.

"Y/Nnie, look," Felix giggled, suddenly putting a pair of bunny ears on her head.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she grabbed a pair of oversized sunglasses from one of the gifts. "I look ridiculous," she said, still smiling.

"Let's take a picture!" Han beamed, grabbing the selfie stick and clicking a few shots, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Y/N held up a tiny pony plushie in front of them, laughing at how tiny it was. "Look what STAY got me," she giggled, passing it to the two of them.

The pair squatted down, completely entranced by the toy, their faces lighting up with genuine curiosity. Y/N snapped a few pictures of them, capturing how adorable they looked. She smiled softly, feeling a deep warmth in her chest. These were the moments she treasured—the small, quiet seconds when everything felt perfect.

Her gaze shifted over to Hyunjin, who was laughing with his usual carefree energy. She raised an eyebrow, confused, before her eyes landed on Chan.

The sight that met her eyes made her stifle a laugh. Chan, their leader, was wearing a tiara. It was completely ridiculous.

"So silly," she thought, shaking her head with a grin. She opened her mouth to call out to the crowd.

"Stay, don't you think our leader is a little too old to be a princess?" she teased, her voice light and playful.

Before she could even finish her sentence, she heard Chan yell, "Hey!" into the microphone, and a few giggles escaped from the crowd.

STAY responded with loud, drawn-out "nooo's," their laughter ringing out. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully at them but kept her focus on Han and Felix, who were still deeply engrossed in the tiny pony toy.

But something didn’t feel right. A strange sense of unease settled in her chest, making her skin crawl. She was on high alert now, her body rigid as her eyes scanned the surroundings. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

And then it happened.

A sound.

It was faint at first—a click, barely noticeable over the laughter and chatter around her. But it was enough to make Y/N freeze. The sound sent a jolt of adrenaline straight through her, and her military training kicked in. She had been through safety drills before debut, and she knew exactly what that sound was.

A gunshot.

Before she could react, a blur of motion caught her eye. A figure—clad in a large hoodie, with Felix’s SKZOO merch clearly visible—stood up from the crowd. The person’s face was obscured, but their intent was clear. The girl was shaking, tears streaking down her face, but her hands were steady as she raised the weapon in their direction.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Y/N didn’t have time to think. The world moved in slow motion as she lunged forward, adrenaline flooding her body.

"NO!" Y/N screamed, her hands pushing Han and Felix out of the way just as the girl pulled the trigger.

The loud bang of the gunshot reverberated in her ears as Y/N threw herself onto the ground, the sharp, metallic scent of fear thick in the air. Felix and Han hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, their faces contorted in confusion and terror. But Y/N barely noticed.

Her eyes were trained on the girl. The gun had been aimed at the boys, and Y/N’s body had moved before her mind could even catch up.

Everything happened so fast. One second, they were all laughing and smiling, and the next, Y/N had just saved their lives.

But the danger wasn't over. The moment her body hit the ground, she heard the sound of people shouting, running, and chaos erupting all around her.

Security was swift, moving through the chaos like trained professionals, their hands outstretched to clear the crowd and usher the members away from danger. But in the chaos, Felix crawled toward her, his face twisted in panic. His hands grasped at her arm, pulling her closer as he let out a strangled yelp of distress.

"Y/N! No, no, no!" he cried, his voice breaking.

She could barely move, her body feeling heavy and unresponsive. The adrenaline rush was fading, and all that was left was pain. As security worked to move her out of harm's way, Y/N’s side felt like it was on fire. It stung with every movement, sharp and unbearable. She forced her eyes open, her vision hazy, and that’s when she saw it.

Blood.

It was seeping through the fabric of her crop top, dark and spreading quickly. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"Y/N?!" Han’s voice was frantic, barely audible over the chaos, but she could hear the terror in his tone as he tried to reach her. His voice cracked. "Oh my God… Y/N!"

Through the blur of bodies and flashing lights, she saw Chan, Hyunjin, I.N, and Seungmin being pushed away, separated from the group. But even from a distance, Y/N could hear Chan's voice—loud, desperate, shouting for them.

"Do something!" Felix screamed at the security guard who was already dialing 911, his voice thick with panic.

"Y/N? Can you hear me?" Han sobbed, his hands trembling as he tried to pull off her tight clothes to check the wound, his movements erratic in his panic. Felix had moved to her side, gently cradling her head in his hands, trying to keep her conscious.

"We need backup!" the security guard shouted, his voice tense as he spoke into his radio.

Y/N could barely register what was happening. Everything was moving too fast, and she felt too much, too much pressure, too much noise, too many people around her.

"Guys? Where are you?!" I.N shouted, pushing through the commotion, his voice filled with alarm as he searched frantically for his friends.

"Get Chan, I.N!" Felix yelled, his eyes wild with fear. "She got shot! Get him now!"

I.N froze for a second, stunned by the reality of the situation. His gaze swept over Y/N’s body, the blood staining her clothes, and his eyes went wide in shock. "What the hell?!" he gasped, his voice shaking as he took a step back.

"Get Chan, now! Go!" Han shouted again, his voice hoarse from the panic that was threatening to consume him. He reached down, trying to stop the bleeding, but his hands shook too much to do anything useful. He was a mess, just as terrified as Felix.

"Ow..." Y/N gasped, the pain intensifying now that the adrenaline was wearing off. A sharp, searing ache shot through her abdomen, and she couldn’t stop the scream that tore from her throat. It was raw, desperate, and filled with a pain she couldn’t even understand.

Everyone was crowding around her, too many hands, too much noise, too much pressure. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She wanted them all to stop.

"Felix? Han?" she gasped, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. She felt like she was suffocating. "Please... please, let me go." Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t stand it—everything was too much. She wanted space. She wanted air.

"Baby, we’re right here," Felix’s voice was soft, but there was desperation in it. He was cradling her head, his fingers gentle against her skin. "We’re not going anywhere. We're right here, okay?"

"Chan... Chan..." Y/N whimpered, her hands trembling as she reached out for anything, anything to grab onto. Her fingers found nothing but air. She could feel the pain growing, spreading through her body, and she knew she couldn’t last much longer without him.

"Chan..." she repeated, her voice breaking as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to hold on.

The paramedics were on her now, their hands moving quickly as they hooked her up to various machines, pushing IVs into her arms, trying to stabilize her. Y/N barely felt it. The sharp prick of the needles was nothing compared to the agony she felt in her abdomen.

"We need space!" one of the paramedics barked, his voice cold and professional, as the others worked to stabilize her. The security guards, looking frantic themselves, began pushing Felix and Han away to give the paramedics room to work.

"No!" Felix shouted, struggling against the security guard’s hold. His heart was hammering in his chest. "I need to be right here! She’s claustrophobic—don’t you see? She’ll panic if you take us away!"

"Please, we need space to work!" the paramedic insisted, his voice hardening as he tried to maintain control of the situation.

But Felix wasn’t backing down. He twisted in the guard’s grip, desperation clear on his face. "No! You don’t understand! She’ll freak out! She needs us! She needs me!"

"Where is she?! Where is she?!" Chan’s voice rang through the air, raw with panic as he shoved his way through the crowd. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with tears, and his entire body trembled with rage and fear.

I.N had reached him, breathless from running, and before he could say anything, Chan’s eyes locked onto him, wild and frantic. "Where is she?!" he demanded again, his voice breaking.

"She’s over here! She’s over here!" I.N shouted, pointing through the crowd. "They’re working on her, Chan. They’re trying to save her."

The scene in front of him was like a nightmare. Chan’s heart stopped for a moment as he caught sight of Y/N, bloodied and pale, surrounded by paramedics, with Felix and Han still hovering anxiously at her side. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

He had to get to her. He had too. He couldn’t lose her.

With one final push, Chan broke through the crowd, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. "Y/N!" he cried, reaching for her.

His hands gripped hers with a desperation that didn’t care about the blood soaking into his clothes. The warmth of her skin, so pale and lifeless, felt like the last connection he had to her.

"We need to transfer her now," the paramedic said, his voice steady but urgent. "I’m sorry, sir. You can ride with us if you’d like."

Chan barely heard him. His focus was on Y/N, on her cold hand slipping from his as the paramedics gently lifted her onto the stretcher. His grip faltered, but he didn’t want to let go. Please don’t leave me, his mind screamed, but reality was moving too fast.

“Y-yeah, I’m coming,” he whispered, wiping his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the tears, but it didn’t matter. They kept coming. He took a shaky breath and stood up, his legs feeling like they might collapse beneath him. He had to move.

“I need Lee Know. Where is he?” Chan asked, his voice hoarse as he searched frantically for a familiar face.

One of the managers, still on the phone, glanced up from her conversation. “His changing room. He doesn’t know anything’s going on right now,” she said quickly, cutting off the call. “Go get Lee Know now,” she ordered another staff member, who immediately ran off in search of the missing member.

Chan nodded, turning to go after Y/N’s stretcher, but a shout stopped him in his tracks.

“Hyung!”

His heart skipped a beat. He turned, finding Felix in I.N’s arms, his face streaked with tears, his body shaking violently. Han, still in a state of panic, had managed to get through the crowd and was now crumpled into Chan’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“This is my fault, hyung! This is all my fault!” Han choked out between gasps for air, his voice thick with guilt. “She won’t forgive me, she won’t forgive me…”

Chan’s heart broke for him. He pulled Han closer, trying to soothe him, even though his own chest felt like it was being crushed. “Hey… shh,” he cooed softly, brushing his hand through Han’s hair. “Stop. It’s not your fault. You hear me? None of this is your fault. Don’t think like that.”

Han’s sobs only grew louder, and Chan, desperate to calm him, took off his sweater and wrapped it around Han’s shoulders. He was only wearing a vest, and Chan could see how shaken and cold he was. “Let’s go to the hospital, yeah?” Chan said, his voice firm but gentle.

Han nodded slowly, wiping his face with a trembling hand. “Yeah… yeah, hyung.”

Before they could move, another voice cut through the commotion, sharp and full of rage.

“Hyung?! What the hell?!”

Chan turned to find Lee Know standing at the edge of the crowd, his face flushed with anger and confusion. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes—bloodshot from lack of sleep and stress—were scanning the room in disbelief.

“Why wasn’t I told before? Where is she? What the hell happened?” Lee Know was seething, his voice low but furious, and Chan felt his stomach drop.

“She’s with the paramedics,” Chan said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chaos. “I need you to take the kids and meet me at the hospital. Please.”

Lee Know barely seemed to hear him. His eyes were still darting around the room, searching for something, anything, that could make sense of the mess. “Okay, but if she dies, I swear to God…” His voice trembled with emotion, a dangerous edge creeping into his words. “I’ll sue this company. I don’t care about my image. If anything happens to her…”

“Lee Know, not now, please…” Chan interrupted, his voice pleading as he grabbed his phone from the assistant who had been trying to help him. He needed to leave. He needed to be with her. “Just take care of the kids. Get them to the hospital.”

Lee Know nodded sharply, his face tight with a mix of anger and worry. He didn’t say anything more as he reached for Han, pulling him gently out of Chan’s arms. “I got you, Han. Let’s go.”

Chan didn’t have time to process it all. He was already rushing through the crowd, trying to catch up with the paramedics. His mind was a blur, thoughts racing too fast to make sense of them. All that mattered was Y/N. He had to be with her.

As he finally caught up with the paramedics, his heart skipped again. He sat in the back as he watched them work. He could hear them talking to each other, medical jargon flying over his head, but he didn’t care about any of it. His eyes were fixed on Y/N’s pale form, her chest rising and falling with the aid of an oxygen mask. Her face was still, and the blood on her clothes haunted him, more than any words could.

"Y/N…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please, stay with me. Please."

One of the paramedics glanced at him, then at Y/N. "We’re almost there, sir. We need you to stay calm. We’ll do everything we can."

But Chan barely heard them. His grip on his phone tightened, his thumb brushing over the screen as he dialed Changbin, his mind only focused on one thing: whoever did this had to pay.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you @galaxy4489!

Taglist: @ihrtlix@bowsnbang@katsukis1wife@thegingerthatwaited@thicccurls

@xxeiraxx @paleangelsweets @klaydohart @eastleighsblog @ivrespace

@galaxy4489 @purplepursepaint @catlove83 @sillystormsstuff @iwuberic

@cocofia143 @royal-shinigami @virluna148 @galaxycatdrawz @memersanonymous

@skz-stay13 @seungminsbest @hogwartslife64 @sinfulfic @hyunnesblog

@maisyyyyyy @cluelessred3 @leezanetheofficial @cocofia143 @lemonn015

@kkamismom12 @mei0packet @igetcarriedawaywithyou @hyuneyeon @iris-iiridescent

@mbioooo0000 @newbbystay @hanniemylovelyquokka @jc003 @kokinu09

@aalexyuuuhm @kenaicantcommunicate @fiestaplum-skz

[bucketbueckers]

mess me up - paige bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 6.1k content warnings: language, abuse of italics, grammatically incorrect past tense flashback, smut robbery(?), pretty mature but nothing graphic synopsis: your friends invited you out to a frat party to celebrate the men’s team winning the NCAA tournament where you bump into paige bueckers, the girl who you're in love with and who you ghosted for a month after hooking up with her. a much-needed conversation at the party forces you to revisit difficult memories and give her the closure she’s been seeking. notes: idk what this is! based loosely off of 'friends' and 'mess me up' by chase atlantic. unfortunately the smut robbery line is for real, like it's smut in the way lacroix tastes like real fruit (which is to say it's not smut, but like concepts of smut... 😝 (i've never had lacroix idk if this is accurate)) side note i hate writing in past tense but doing a traditional flashback scene is corny as hell! idk if it matters but this is set april 2024 (w/ a february 2024 flashback); doesn't really affect anything, so... anyway, second post on tumblr, lmk if we're rocking w it 🙂‍↕️

For the record, you didn’t want to come to this party.

It’s hot, sweaty, loud, and all you can smell is the same brand of men’s cologne and weed. The air is both stale and somehow feels wet and all you can think about is getting back to your apartment so you can shower and go to bed. You had a mock trial bright and early the next morning and your law professor was a stickler for punctuality and presentability – showing up with wrinkled clothes and smelling like a frat party was a sure-fire way to fail, and you had too much riding on your grades to let that happen.

The frat (whose name you’ve already forgotten) was celebrating the NCAA tournament win for the UCONN men’s basketball team. They’d apparently gone back to back, which you guess is cool, but you swore off basketball a long time ago. If you had your way, you’d be at home, three steps into your skincare routine, but you let peer pressure get the best of you and allowed your friends to drag you out.

It’d be fun, they said. You never come out with us! You’re spending all this tuition money and you’re not even taking advantage of it. How can you say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?

You only remember that your friends are law students, too, in the most unfortunate of moments when they put their persuasiveness to the test. In the most unfortunate of moments, you’re also reminded of the fact that they’re college students, too, because they’re leaving you at the door and rushing off to find something to drink. You weren’t upset they dragged you out. Not necessarily. You were grown enough to say no. Perhaps you’d simply set your expectations too high when they begged you to come out and you thought they would spend at least a little bit of time with you before doing their own thing. But sure. It’s whatever.

So, here you are – standing alone in the corner of a frat party, watching as drunk college students grind against each other, laugh, and have a good time. A part of you feels like you’re missing out, but as you watch somebody throw up into a plant, you feel like you’re just fine where you are.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when a man wearing a backwards cap suddenly shows up next to you. “Yo, you thirsty?” he yells over the music, thrusting a red solo cup into your empty hands. You don’t have the time to say anything to him before he’s grinning at you, eyes red and hooded. “Come dance with me. You’re too pretty to be standin’ here all alone.”

You hear her before you see her.

“She’s good, bro, trust,” Paige interrupts smoothly, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders. You feel too much like a damsel in distress, but sensing the gravity of the situation, you flash the guy a light smile and lean into Paige slightly. Her grip tightens. You try to not let it bother you.

He raises his hands, surrendering. “My bad. You got it.”

Paige hums, unconvinced, as he leaves. When he’s out of your sight, you wrench yourself out of her grip. “Thank you, but not necessary,” you tell her sharply, red solo cup still in your hand. If this was how your night was going to go, then you need to be a little tipsy to survive it. You barely have it halfway to your mouth before Paige is pulling it out of your grasp, pouring its contents into a potted plant and chucking the cup into a nearby trash can. “What the fu–”

“First of all,” she begins, arms crossing protectively, “never accept a drink at a party that you didn’t pour, didn’t see someone else pour, or a drink that’s already open; matter fact, don’t accept a drink unless you opened it or brought it in yourself.”

You roll your eyes slightly. “This is Storrs, Paige. Do the frats really get down like that here?”

Her gaze is unimpressed. “You’re the law student, ma, you tell me the numbers. Second of all, you’re welcome. That was Kylin. He doesn’t take no for an answer in the first place but he’s all kinds of fucked up right now. I’d say I did you a favor but I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“Funny,” you deadpan. “Here? Now?”

“What are you doing here?” she asks you, ignoring your snippy words. “Thought this wasn’t your scene.”

You pause. “It’s not,” you confirm. “Jos and Chelsea wanted me to come out. Figured I should be a good friend once in a while.”

Paige raises a brow. “Jos and Chelsea are too busy playing strip poker with dudes from Kappa Phi to keep an eye on you, and you’re worried about having to be a good friend?”

“First of all,” you say in the know-it-all tone that Paige had used on you, “I don’t need them to keep an eye on me.” The blonde hums again, not entirely convinced, and the heat of her gaze makes you stumble over your words slightly. “Second of all, why do you even care?”

“We’re friends,” she states.

“We were once,” you correct, voice softening. It’s no secret that you and Paige had fucked up whatever you had going on. It’s never been clear whose fault your fallout was (it was yours), nor could the two of you ever agree on what destroyed you (you would argue that you shouldn’t hook up with your friends, especially not the ones you were in love with). It was a messy situation that you were sure the two of you couldn’t recover from (you didn’t want to be friends with someone you couldn’t have; Paige just wants you to give her the chance to prove you otherwise).

“Sure,” she agrees half-heartedly, knowing your spiel by heart now. “Kinda fucked up you think I need a reason to care.” You don’t dignify that with a proper response, feeling something strangely like guilt corroding your heart. “Come outside and get some air with me? Please? Just wanna talk, no funny shit, I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself fall back into all too familiar routines. You had a near inability to say no to Paige most times – it was the reason why you had to put a stop to your friendship. And here you are now, undoing all of the progress you’ve made since you’ve been apart (a small part of you knows better; you’re moving forward but you’re not really doing any better. You’re not progressing. You’re just stuck now, only this time, you have less than you did before). “Jos and Chelsea–”

“–made their choice,” she finishes for you. “And their choice was strip poker with a guy named Anthony,” she adds solemnly. You can’t help but quirk a smile at the absurdity of your life right now. “C’mon, please? It fucking reeks in here. They’ve got a porch swing outside and it’s all quiet and shit.”

“You’ve always had a way with words,” you tease.

“You comin’ or nah?” she asks, but you shove her forward (she lets you) and she leads you through the crowd to the door. They part like the Red Sea and you can’t help but admire the way she silently commands the room, feeling a flutter in your chest you try desperately to stomp out. It’s like a fire; all it takes is a small spark before it eventually grows out of proportion. You know better now.

The door shuts behind the two of you and you sit on the porch swing. You can still hear the music’s pounding bass, but it’s muted. You feel like you can hear your thoughts now. The tension in your shoulders eases as you take in the crisp night air, the crickets’ chirps, the occasional owl’s hoot. For a moment, you forget all of the complicated history between you and Paige; the way she held your hand as she kissed up your thigh, the way she stayed afterwards, cleaning you up and bringing you water. It almost seems as Paige is reliving all of it, too, as she looks at you, and that thought is sobering enough to bring you back to the moment.

You finally get a good look at what she’s wearing. It’s nothing outstanding; a gray Nike tech suit and a pair of dunks, although she’s opted to leave her jacket unzipped, revealing the crop top underneath. She’s dressed for comfort, though the most unfair part of it all is how good she looks when she’s not trying. Her cheekbones are sharp, eyes blue and wide and alert, and you can’t help but notice how fitting a slick-back bun is on her.

This was precisely why you needed your space. You couldn’t control your thoughts or feelings. It was manageable when you minded your business – the phrase out of sight, out of mind did wonders for you and you were usually busy enough that she only crossed your mind once or twice a week when the student population was buzzing about a recent game. But now? Now you’re fucked. You’re inches away from her and you’ve allowed her to pull you back into her orbit. She’s the Earth and you’re a meteor – any closer and you won’t be able to come back from the damage you would do to each other. She would survive, you’re sure, but you’d be destroyed in the process.

“So,” she says slowly. You avert your eyes, staring at anything but her. “How you been?”

“Good,” you lie. “Keeping busy.” That part was less of a lie, but it wasn’t her business to know.

Paige has always been good at reading you, so she gazes at you like she’s not convinced. “I think we’re overdue a conversation,” she says, surprising you. “A real one. No more of this running in circles bullshit.”

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly. You finally meet her eyes. They’re strikingly blue, disarming, and you feel an odd mixture of guilt and longing eat away at your insides. She looks like she’s drinking you in, like she’s trying to understand why you did what you did; her eyes soften in the dim glow of the porchlight and you can’t help but flush under her gaze. She always understands you in spite of how often you push her away – she seems to understand why you keep her at arm’s length, too, and it’s then that you fully understand how overwhelming it is to be known.

“Why did you leave?” she asks finally. You have to swallow back the bile in your throat. “The morning after.” Her clarification does nothing to soothe the turmoil in your stomach. “I thought…” Paige’s throat bobs as she tries to find the words. “It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me. So why did you leave like that shit ain’t matter to you?”

That night in February comes back to you in the blur of a memory. You’ve thought about it so often that you could write a play-by-play of it; every single unremarkable detail comes back to you in a flourish of vibrant color – the way the floor felt beneath your feet as Paige guided you into her room, the slight scratch of her nail against the base of your neck as her hands found purchase in your hair. Paige was wrong. It meant something to you, too much to you. You often remind yourself, if it meant that much, why was it easier to run away? Jumping off of a diving board into a pool conceptually means the same thing as jumping off of a cliffside into beach waves; the jump isn’t the hard part, it’s the reminder of the distance between your feet and the surface. Your feelings for Paige are too consuming. It’s easier to not make the jump at all than it is to worry if you’ll be able to come up for air.

She was in high spirits, drunk off of their win against Villanova. They weren’t an opponent you’d typically call home for, but the Huskies were having a tough season with several injured players and a lot of underclassmen. It was close, 67-46; Paige had contributed to a little less than half of their points overall with a solid 31. She was happy, the rest of her team was happy, and she’d begged you to come over to her apartment for the post-game festivities – which was usually games and snacks as they weren’t big on drinking during the season. You’d nearly refused at first. It was supposed to be a small team get-together and you had some work to catch up on. You eventually gave in, like you always do. Paige had flashed her typical, charming smile, looping an arm around your waist, and you were a goner.

The team accepted you like you were one of their own, too. That was new. You didn’t spend as much time with them as you did with Jos and Chelsea, but it felt like you knew them better than you knew Jos and Chelsea, anyway. Ice and KK were two menacing peas in a pod – they were like sisters separated at birth and whenever they were together, something chaotic was bound to happen, but they loved and protected fiercely despite the way they teased each other and the team. Caroline was like the team mother and many of the girls called her such. Nika was intense on the court, but off of it, she was Paige’s twin through and through – they always had something to say to each other and their banter often brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Azzi was sweet and well-loved by the team (and the student population in general). She introduced you to her and Paige’s son Ines, which confused you at first, but Paige threw her arm over your shoulder and assured you that they’re only co-parenting because Carol has enough children and they didn’t want Ines to be a ward of the court. You couldn’t help but smile at that, leaning into Paige – something about the team’s dynamic healed you a little, and Ines joked that Paige went out and got her a stepmom.

You felt the blush creep up your neck as Paige tightened her grip around you slightly. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, son,” Paige had said somberly, pretending to look sad as Azzi rolled her eyes. “Your mother was havin’ an affair–”

“Oh, bullshit!” Azzi cried. The entire room broke out into fits of giggles.

“Now I understand why Paige wifed up a lawyer,” KK said in between laughter. “Tryna get a discount on that divorce, huh?”

The team had tears in their eyes from their excitement – you didn’t have the heart to tell them you were hoping to specialize in civil litigation, so you just laughed along. The conversation continued to flow as games were played. Nika was exceptionally bad at UNO and Paige never let her hear the end of it. You guys only managed to play a couple of rounds before Nika suddenly got good and played a +4, prompting Ice and KK to stack +4s of their own onto it – Paige stared in disbelief for a solid thirty seconds before picking up 12 cards and rage-quitting one turn later when KK skipped her.

“There, there,” you’d said, lips trembling as you tried not to laugh at the look on Paige’s face. You rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and she pushed you off her gently, her own lips quirking in amusement. “Show this card game who’s boss.”

“Bro,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she leaned back into the couch, her arm finding home over the back of your shoulders once more. You remember wondering if this is what normal felt like, what finally finding a community was like – you fit in too well with Paige’s teammates and they made you feel at home. Being near Paige made you feel at home. She was talented that way. She had an uncanny ability to make people feel at ease, regaling them with jokes and an endless supply of charm. When you realized you were in love with Paige Bueckers, you weren’t surprised about it. If anything, you might have been a little upset with yourself – you were sure you weren’t the only person she’d drawn in unintentionally, ensnared in a web whose latticework was meticulously shaped like basketball netting.

As the night went on, more and more laughs were shared until the clock reached midnight and many of Paige’s teammates got up to leave. Everyone shared hugs and affectionate goodnights. All of them even looped around to hug you – which was… nice. Paige shared her apartment with Azzi and Aubrey, so they retired to their own rooms after curious glances to you and Paige, still curled up together on the couch.

The apartment was quiet. You could hear the ring of silence as it enveloped the two of you, Paige’s gentle breathing, and the tick of the clock. It was oddly comforting; normally, it would have lulled you into a drowsy state, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of Paige’s body next to yours, the brush of her thumb against your shoulder. Feeling both unmoored and tethered, you shift next to Paige, gathering her attention. “I should go,” you’d whispered. Her thumb halted.

“Stay,” she requested. She tilted her head. Her gaze met yours. You expected her eyes to be half-closed, dim with sleep. The rasp of her voice was attributed to a tone you knew she’d adopt when she was exhausted, but her eyes were wide, alert, dilated, a blue so dark you were sure you almost mistook the sheer want for something else. “Stay,” she murmured again. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you agreed almost breathlessly, feeling her hand squeeze your shoulder gently. “Sure.” She untangles from you and stands from the couch, offering you her hand, and you take it. She led you seamlessly through the dark of her apartment into her bedroom, where she released you long enough to rifle through her drawers, having found you a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt for you to wear to bed. Paige pointed you towards the bathroom. You changed into her clothes. Your fingers had shook with anticipation at the sheer domesticity of it all as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your – her – t-shirt read HOPKINS GIRLS BASKETBALL. It had all felt so different now. You hadn’t been sure at the moment if it terrified you or excited you.

You exited the bathroom to find Paige’s back to you, adjusting the band of a pair of basketball shorts around her hips. Her hair was out of her bun and it cascaded down her back in loose, wavy strands; you’d felt an inexplicable urge to run your fingers through it, to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked. She was wearing a dark black sports bra. The two of you were friends. Granted, you were in love with her, but the sight of her wearing nothing but ball shorts and her Nike bra shouldn’t have done the things it did to you.

“Which side is yours?” you’d asked, mostly to break the silence. You ignored the crack in your voice. Paige paid it no mind as she turned, which forced you to avert your eyes, trying not to glance at her abdominals.

“Don’t matter,” she responded. You watched the way she moved, sitting low on the bed, legs long and stark against the purple of her comfort. “You gettin’ in or what?” You hoped she couldn’t see the flush on your neck. You slid into bed next to her, hoping to maintain some sort of distance, but she refused to let you get too far. She slung her arm over your waist, fingers brushing against your skin where your shirt rode up. Her breath was even against your neck and the heat of her body nearly turned your brain into mush. “This okay?” she asked, tone softer.

“Mhm,” you hummed, afraid to speak or you might fuck up and tell her just how okay it actually was. Paige was just a touchy person, you tried to remind yourself as you felt the tickle of her hair against the nape of your neck. This doesn’t mean anything to her. It was all for naught. It did little to quell the way your heart raced, the way the heat pooled low in your belly.

“You looked good tonight,” she said casually. You tried to stop the goosebumps as they rose on your flesh. “You always do.”

Unable to think of something smart to say, you shifted your body slightly, your fingers splaying over the arm she held tight around your midsection. “Oh, yeah?” Her fingers brushed a little lower on your stomach, grazing the waistband of your shorts.

She hummed an affirmative, pulling you tighter against herself, and you could barely breathe. It was overwhelming in the best way – she was all around you. Physically, you felt as though you were in her skin as she greedily pulled you in. The scent of her was everywhere; the shampoo that seeped into her pillows, the cologne on her neck. Your hair stood on end as her lips brushed almost imperceptibly against the shell of your ear. “‘M glad you came tonight,” she whispered.

You flipped on your side, face-to-face with Paige. Her arm moved enough for you to get situated and once you were, her hand found the small of your back, her palm warm against your skin. You can’t help the way your breath hitched, even as Paige’s eyes seemed to take in the stuttering rise and fall of your chest. Having found some courage, you poked her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to yours. “What are we doing?” you asked finally, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Her brow raised slightly, the dark blue of her gaze illuminated by the streaks of moonlight through her window. “No funny shit, Paige. You touch me like you want me, claim me in front of your friends.” You searched her eyes as she fell silent. “What are we doing?” you repeated, voice firmer.

“I want you,” she confessed after a few heartbeats of contemplation. She leaned in closer to you, your noses nearly brushing, and she continued, “I want you so fucking bad. Don’t wanna do anything you’ont want, but–”

Your lips were on hers before she had the chance to finish. She responded eagerly, one hand firm around your waist as she flipped the both of you over, pulling you to straddle her waist. You leaned down, your chest against hers, hands on each side of her neck. You felt the thundering of her pulse under your fingers. It was stabilizing in a sense – words were one thing, but to feel how badly you’d been able to affect her, too, did wonders for your growing ego. Paige’s hands had found your hips, keeping you pressed against her body.

You parted briefly to catch your breath. Paige’s chest heaved, her lips shiny and swollen. She was hard to look away from. For a moment, you’d wondered if this was worth it. Your heart had raced, beating uncontrollably; it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Everything would change between the two of you. Was one night with Paige worth the risk of losing your friendship? You feel too strongly, too much, overwhelmingly. You’ve been told by an ex or two that you were simply too much. You wouldn’t want to subject Paige to that.

Her right hand met your face, tracing the line of your bottom lip. “You want this?” she asked. Her eyes were blown wide, more pupil than iris, but something about it entranced you. The desire in her eyes had brought fresh heat to your stomach, but coupled with the fact she’d be willing to stop made your heart beat a little faster. She was enough to quell your worries, settling the irregularity of your thoughts. You nodded, leaning down to connect your lips again, but her hand was insistent against your jaw as she held you back. “Words,” she commanded.

You’d barely resisted an eyeroll. “Yes, Paige,” you affirmed. Her hand loosened, eyes searching yours. “Want you.”

Her smile turned smug. “Yeah? How bad?”

The tease sent white-hot desire straight through your body as your hips rolled against hers, trying to find some relief. Her hands fall back down to your waist, helping you rut against her thigh as a shared flush creeped up both of your necks. “You gonna touch me?” you breathed against her lips. Her breath came out a disjointed stutter when you guided her hand to the swell of your ass. It was unnatural – Paige was so sure, so confident. To have her nearly at your mercy was like a drug through your veins, but you didn’t want her there. You wanted Paige fully in control; you wanted her to take care of you, to give you everything you’d fantasized about for months on end. You wanted her so bad it rewired the coding in your brain. There was something about her that broke down all of the walls you spent years building.

Your actions and words had been the only permission she needed. One of her hands gripped the flesh of your ass as the other one cupped the back of your neck. Her nail scratched you inadvertently as she dragged you back down to connect your lips – the slight echo of pain caused you to whine against her lips, a sound she swallowed greedily before she flipped the two of you over once more. Your head fell back against her pillows as she rucked up your shirt, finding that you’d opted to not wear a bra. She groaned indulgently, one large hand coming up to squeeze one of your breasts and her mouth finding the other one.

You ran your fingers through her hair, gripping it tight as she lavished you with attention. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she murmured against you, voice dripping with want. She pressed her knee against your core as she found her way back to your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing another whimper from your parted lips. It sent a jolt through your body. “You gon’ let me do what I want, huh? Get you right?”

“Paige, please,” you begged, all of the shame having left your body as you ground down against her knee, feeling the pleasure and relief simultaneously. “Fuck, do what you want, I don’t care – just please fucking touch me.”

She shushed you, lips back on yours, tongue brushing against your lips like she was trying to take whatever you’d give her. And at that point, you would have given her anything if it meant she’d stop teasing you. “I got you, ma, jus’ relax,” she whispered against your lips. She trailed a blazing path down your chest, leaving hickies as she went. Paige reached the waistband of your shorts; she pressed a sloppy kiss to your navel before bunching her fingers in and pulling them off, throwing them haphazardly into the room.

The air was cold against you. You were breathing heavily by then, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Her hand untwisted yours from the bedsheets, linking your fingers together, and that touch alone was enough to bring you back down to earth. “I got you,” she promised again, reminding you, pressing diligent kisses against the inside of your thigh. You relaxed ever so slightly against her, feeling as though you could breathe a little easier, but your body was still incredibly high strung. Paige squeezed your hand. Then her mouth was on you, and you were done for.

She held your hand as she went down on you, talking you through it until your orgasm reached its peak and you sunk into the bed bonelessly. She didn’t release you when she came back up, her smile a mix of smugness, pride, and quiet adoration. Paige kissed your knuckles, your cheeks, your lips, drawing a contented sigh out of you. “You good?” she asked, brushing your hair out of your eyes, hand cradling your jaw.

Exhausted, all you could do was hum an affirmative. Paige flashed a small smile again, pressing a kiss to your forehead and crawling off the bed, much to your surprise. “Lemme get you some water,” she said. “‘M coming right back, I promise.”

You nodded wordlessly, closing your eyes and sinking back into the pillows as your breathing evens out. She left her room, the door shutting with a silent click. In the silence of Paige’s bedroom, curled up in her purple comforter, all you can think about is how the future of your friendship has inexplicably changed forever. She said she wanted you. Did she just mean sexually? Paige was always intentional in her communication, a byproduct of her media training. Tears brimmed your eyes when you considered the idea that you might have just been another Wednesday night fling for her. Here you are again, feeling stupid about the overwhelming feelings you harbored for Paige despite your better judgment. The worst part was that it wasn’t her fault. You got your hopes up.

You wiped your eyes when you heard the door open again. Paige crossed the room, cracking open a cold bottle of water for you and pressing it to your lips. You nearly forgot about your inner turmoil when she smiled at you again, having thrown her hair back up into its bun. “Gonna clean you up, okay?” she informed you. At your nod, she runs a warm washcloth between your thighs, getting rid of the lingering stickiness. She carefully redressed you, squeezing your hips gently, and you’re left feeling so incredibly conflicted that you’re breathless with the anxiety. Paige disposed of the washcloth and curled up next to you in bed once more, an arm wrapping around your midsection. You’d told each other goodnight, but as her breath evens out against your neck, your mind races.

You slept fitfully through the night. And when morning light rolled around, you extracted yourself from Paige’s grip, sliding a pillow into her arms. The nervousness and all of your overthinking thoughts made you queasy with grief. You were in love with Paige Bueckers. That much was true. You were too head over heels for her to return to normalcy; you couldn’t. At that point, it would be easier for you to not be friends with her at all than to pretend like she wasn’t everything you’d ever wanted.

As she slept, you casted one last guilty look over your shoulder and you ran.

But that night in February has long since passed, and on the porch swing on a much warmer night in April, Paige stares at you in desperation, seeking answers to the questions you’ve withheld for over a month. “Why did you leave?” she asks you again. “Fuck, tell me the truth, lie to me, whatever, just please give me something to work with.”

“It was overwhelming,” you finally admit, twisting the rings on your fingers. You feel terrible as you glance at Paige, whose eyes soften when she takes in your expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shoulda seen that something was wrong.”

You close your eyes, lips trembling. You’re touched at how she instantly takes responsibility for your fuck ups, thinking she’s done something wrong. “No, Paige,” you correct her. “Fuck. It wasn’t you. It was never you.” You pick at a loose string on your shorts. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “You were so gentle. That night meant everything to me, and that was the problem. I wanted you so bad – Jesus Christ, I was in love with you for months. I don’t do casual. I always feel too strongly and I loved you so much that it was fucking overwhelming. I woke up and nearly lost it because I couldn’t handle the idea of having you like that and having to pretend like I didn’t want you like that forever. It was so much easier to run and not face the possibility of having to be your friend when all I’ve wanted was more.”

When you finally look back to Paige, her eyes are wide with something that looks strangely like grief, like you’ve pulled the rug from under her feet and watched as she fell. As you think about it, that’s probably what you’ve done, anyway. She spent so long thinking that your fallout was her fault, that it was something she’d done, but the ugly truth of the matter was that you were too scared of the way you felt for her that you ran from it instead. Paige runs a frustrated hand over her jaw, her expression nearly unreadable. You frown. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, knowing that your apology is long overdue. You fucked up so incredibly bad with her. Your brain remembers her prior words, the ‘It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me,’ and you suddenly feel like an idiot. God, it was mutual this entire time and you were too caught up in yourself to realize it.

“You think too fucking much,” Paige says finally, and you hardly have the time to react before she’s kissing you, her hands gripping your hips. You nearly gasp against her lips before you fully register what’s happening. Sinking into it, you wrap your arms around her neck, feeling suddenly like everything is finally aligning, that all of your blurred focal points sharpen. When she pulls away, her eyes are alight with understanding. “So, lemme get this straight. You pushed me away ‘cause you’re in love with me, then we fucked, and you thought I wouldn’t wife you up?”

You frown, feeling stupid all over again. “Well, when you put it like that…yeah?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. Look at my lawyer – you’d send dudes to jail left and fucking right ‘cause you jump to conclusions too early. Thank God you’re not going into criminal defense.”

You shove her away from you, feeling the embarrassment bloom on your cheeks. You can’t help but laugh as you say, “You’re an asshole.”

She guffaws, reaching for your hands, intertwining your fingers. “Says you! You ghosted me for a month and let me think I fucked us up. Jesus Christ.” She twists the ring on your finger mindlessly as she searches for the right words. “Okay, lemme be really fucking clear. I’m in love with you, too. Like, I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. There is nobody but you. You aren’t too much for me – I love you for you, no ifs, ands, buts, whys, hows, nothing. I know you thought you were protecting us by pushin’ me away, but you gotta let me make that choice, too. I want this with you, alright? Will you gimme that chance?”

Her words leave the two of you in silence. You can still hear the chirp of the crickets, the thrumming from the party indoors. You can feel the way her thumb brushes over your knuckles, the way her eyes bore into yours, patiently waiting for your decision. But distinctly, you can see the plea, the desperation for you to just give into what she knows the both of you are feeling. Your anxiety and constant overthinking never ruined the two of you. It may have set you back, but you and Paige found your way back to each other. Maybe you’re not a meteor, dangerously crashing into her and disintegrating on impact. Maybe the two of you are something simpler – the moon and the tide. She was never going to let you get hurt if only you’d give her the opportunity to show you that.

So, you take that leap – whether it’s off the diving board into the pool or the cliffside into beach waves, you don’t care. You know now that Paige is waiting for you at the surface. “I want this, too,” you affirm, watching the smile bloom on her face like springtime flowers, and you seal the deal by pressing your lips to hers. She responds eagerly, her arms tight around you. You loathe that it took the two of you this long, that it was your fault for not trusting Paige with your heart when she’s given you no real reason to doubt her; despite this, her lips taste like forgiveness and yours like atonement. In spite of everything, you made it here in the end, and it was worth it.

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 3

pairing: you x drew starkey

The night Drew came back from his so-called “night out with the boys”, the tension was thick in the apartment. The sound of the front door creaking open felt like a bomb going off. You had been sitting on the couch for the last hour, alternatives between staring at your phone and looking out the window, hoping that something – anything – would make the ache in your chest fade. But the pain only deepened, and as the door clicked closed behind him, your stomach churned in a mix for dread and anger.

Drew walked in, his usual confident stride slowing when he saw you sitting there. There was a slight hesitation in his step, a quiet sign that he knew something was off. His eyes immediately darted to you, a mix of concern and something else that you couldn’t quite read. But the moment he stepped further into the room, your frustration broke free.

You didn’t even give him a chance to greet you, the words spilling out before he could say a word. “You’re late,” you said, your voice flat but filled with an edge he hadn’t heard in a long time.

Drew stopped in his tracks, glancing at his watch. “I told you, it was just a night out with the guys. Nothing big.” He said, his tone light, almost too casual. But you saw right through it. His words didn’t feel genuine anymore. You had heard the excuses before, and they were getting old.

You stood up, not wanting to be so passive about it anymore. “A night out with the guys? Really? That’s what you’re going with?” The bitterness in your voice caught you off guard, but there was no going back now.

Drew looked taken aback by the sharpness in your voice. “What’s going on, y/n?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you saw those photos.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to contain the words that had been bubbling up inside for days. “Yeah, I saw the photos, Drew. You and Odessa. Out in public again. Walking around like everything is fine. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“No. Don’t you dare try to explain it away. I’m not stupid. I can see exactly what’s going on.” You could feel the anger rising in your chest, a mix of hurt and frustration that you couldn’t keep bottled up any longer. “You’re out with her, looking all cozy, like she’s the one you want. Not me. And I just … I don’t get it. You told me it was all fake, just for the cameras, but I can’t keep pretending that I believe you.”

Drew’s face hardened, and the disappointment in his eyes stung more than anything. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his cool, but you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making something out of nothing. It’s just part of the job, I swear. She’s just a co-star, and this is all for publicity. You know that. I thought you understood that.”

“Understand?” you laughed bitterly, but the sound came out more like a sob. “You think I understand? You think I’m supposed to just sit here and watch you with her while pretending like everything is fine? No, Drew. I can’t do that. I can’t keep pretending that this isn’t hurting me. That I’m not losing you, piece by piece.”

Drew stepped closer to you, his expression softening as if trying to reach you, but you were too far gone. Too far past the point of no return.

“I’m trying okay?” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was being honest, but it didn’t change anything. “I’m trying to make this work, but this whole thing is a mess. I never wanted it to be like this.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of his words like a slap across your face. “Make it work? How do you expect me to trust you when I see you out there with her, smiling like nothing’s wrong? How do you expect me to keep believing you when I know that every word you’ve said about us was just...  just a lie?”

Drew’s face darkened at your accusation, his voice rising as the frustration that had been simmering inside him for days boiled over. “I’m not lying to you, Y/N! I never wanted this to happen either, but this is the way things are right now. I’m doing what I have to do, for both of us.”

“For both of us?” you scoffed, the tears that had been building in your eyes finally breaking free. “This is for you, Drew. It’s always been for you. For your career, for your image. And I’m just supposed to sit here and be okay with it? You’re asking me to pretend like I’m okay with being second to her, to everything you’re doing for the cameras. You know what, Drew? I can’t do that anymore. I’m done pretending.”

There was a long, tense silence between you, both of you staring at each other as if trying to make sense of the chaos you had created. Drew ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained but you were beyond caring. You had tried so hard to hold on, to believe him and in what you had, but every day felt like a betrayal.

You stepped back, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t trust you anymore, Drew. Not after everything. You’ve lied to me over and over, and I don’t even know who you are anymore. I’m not going to keep living in this lie, this lie that both of you have created for the world.”

Drew looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he just closed his eyes, the weight of your words crashing over him. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and for the first time, you realized he was just as lost as you were. But that didn’t change the fact it was too late.

Without another word, you grabbed your jacket, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that apartment with him. Not like this. You needed space, you needed to breathe.

You walked the streets aimlessly, tears still wet on your cheeks as the cold air bit at your skin. Every step felt like a weight, each one dragging you further from the man you thought you knew. The city lights flickered in the distance, but they did nothing to brighten the darkness in your heart.

You didn’t even know how far you had walked until you found yourself standing in front of a quiet park by the water. The silence felt both comforting and unbearable, as if the world around you had completely disappeared. You collapsed onto a bench, hugging your arms to your chest to stave off the cold, but it did little to ease the storm inside of you.

The moments from earlier replayed in your mind – the fight, Drew’s words, your own pain – and all you could do was sit there and feel the weight of it all.

That’s when the flash of camera lights caught your attention.

At first, you didn’t react, too numb to care about the photographers who had followed you. But then, the flashes intensified. You wiped your face quickly, but it didn’t stop them. The tears you had tried to hide were now on full display, and you felt like your privacy, your pain was being exposed to the world.

“Y/N! Over here! A little smile for us!” A photographer called out, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the strength to smile, not when everything felt so broken.

Your heart thudded in your chest as more flashes went off, capturing the raw emotion on your face – the hurt, the betrayal, the confusion. You could hear their voices, the jarring sound of camera clicks, as they shouted for you to look at the camera. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to perform for them. Not anymore.

You turned away, trying to escape their prying eyes, but you knew it was futile. The pictures will be everywhere tomorrow. The world would see you in this vulnerable state, and it felt like another punch to the gut.

You couldn’t stop the tears now. You couldn’t stop the feeling of being exposed, of being broke, of being so utterly alone in a world that seemed to move on without you.

A/N: please don’t hate me LOL😭

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291

[kinzhae]

Just Want To Talk

Angst, Neglected Reader X Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, No Comfort.

Part 2

Gojo Satoru

It had become a routine. Satoru would come home late, half-heartedly ask about your day, then disappear into his room or his phone as if you weren’t even there. You told yourself it was his work—the missions, the endless responsibilities of being the strongest. But deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Tonight, you were determined to confront him. When he walked through the door, his blindfold pushed up to his forehead, exhaustion written across his face, you stood in the middle of the living room, waiting.

“Satoru, we need to talk,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot in your chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Can we not do this right now? It’s been a long day.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “This can’t wait. I’m tired of pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. You’ve been distant, cold, and I don’t even know where I stand with you anymore.”

He froze for a moment, his usual playful demeanor slipping. But instead of softening, his expression hardened. “Y/N, why do you always do this? Why do you have to make everything about you?”

His words stung, but you refused to back down. “I’m not making it about me. I’m asking you to show me that I matter to you!”

Gojo laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Matter? Do you have any idea what I deal with every day? The world doesn’t revolve around your feelings, Y/N. I have actual problems to deal with.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “So I’m just another burden to you?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice sharp. “Maybe you are.”

The air left your lungs as his words settled over you like a crushing weight. Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let him see you break. “If that’s how you feel, then maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your coat and walked out, slamming the door behind you.

Geto Suguru

The man you fell in love with was gone. At least, that’s how it felt as you watched Suguru pace the room, his sharp eyes fixed on a map of his next mission. His once-kind demeanor had been replaced by cold determination, and you felt like a ghost in your own relationship.

“Suguru,” you said softly, stepping closer.

“Not now,” he muttered without looking up.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you pressed on. “It’s always ‘not now.’ When will it ever be the right time to talk about us?”

He froze, his jaw tightening. “What do you want me to say, Y/N? That everything’s fine? That I’m still the same person you fell in love with? Because I’m not.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “I know you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you have to shut me out. I’m trying to help you, Suguru. Why won’t you let me?”

He turned to you, his expression cold. “Because you can’t help me. You wouldn’t understand what I’m going through. You’re too weak to understand.”

The words struck like a physical blow, leaving you breathless. “Weak?” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’ve stood by your side through everything. I’ve supported you, defended you, and you call me weak?”

He didn’t respond, his silence louder than any words. Without another word, you turned and walked out, your heart breaking with each step.

Nanami Kento

Being with Nanami meant understanding his disciplined nature, his need for routine, and his intense focus on his work. But lately, it felt like his focus never shifted from his responsibilities to you. Dinners were silent affairs, conversations stilted and brief. You tried to chalk it up to his busy schedule, but the hollow feeling in your chest grew with each passing day.

Tonight, as he sat at the kitchen table, papers spread out before him, you decided to try again. You approached cautiously, placing a cup of tea by his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, not even glancing up.

You hesitated before speaking. “Kento, can we talk?”

“Is it important?” he asked, flipping through a file.

Your heart sank, but you pressed on. “It is to me.”

Finally, he looked up, his expression unreadable. “What is it, Y/N? I’m in the middle of something.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling. “I feel like you’ve been distant. Like I don’t matter to you anymore.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/N, I don’t have time for this right now. I have a lot on my plate.”

“You always have a lot on your plate,” you said, your voice breaking. “But where do I fit in? Do I even fit in anymore?”

His expression hardened, and his words came out sharper than you expected. “You want the truth? I don’t have the energy to deal with your insecurities on top of everything else. I’m doing the best I can, and if that’s not enough for you, maybe you should reevaluate what you want from me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Tears welled in your eyes as you stared at him, unable to process the coldness in his voice. “I never asked for you to be perfect, Kento. I just wanted to feel like I mattered to you.”

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, returning to his work. “Go get some rest.”

You stood there for a moment, hoping he’d say something more, but he didn’t. The silence was deafening as you turned and left the room, your heart shattering with every step.

Choso

Choso had always been a quiet person. But lately, his silence had become suffocating. You knew something was wrong, but every time you tried to reach out, he pulled away further. The moments you once shared, quiet and simple, now felt like distant memories. He wasn’t the person you knew anymore, and you weren’t sure if you still knew how to reach him.

Tonight, you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood by the door of his room, gathering every ounce of courage to face him. After a long moment of hesitation, you knocked softly.

“Choso?” you called gently.

“Not now, Y/N,” came his muffled response from inside.

But you pushed through, opening the door to find him sitting at the window, staring out into the night. His back was tense, his shoulders stiff as he avoided looking at you.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the crack in it.

He didn’t respond at first, his silence speaking volumes. Finally, he turned to you, his expression closed off. “What do you want to talk about, Y/N? Is it about me not being around? Or the fact that I don’t have time for you anymore?”

You flinched, his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Choso… that’s not fair. I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I miss you. I miss us. I just want to know why you’ve been pushing me away.”

His gaze hardened, and he finally met your eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said bitterly. “I’m not the same person I was before. I’m not someone who can just go back to the way things were, Y/N. I’m broken, and I’m doing this for your own good. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

The tears you had been holding back finally fell, your heart aching as you stepped toward him. “I don’t care if you’re broken, Choso. I’m not asking you to be perfect. I just want to be there for you, like you’ve always been there for me. You can’t shut me out like this.”

He stood abruptly, the tension in his body palpable. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared of what I’ll become, Y/N. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“You’re not alone in this, Choso,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You never have to go through it by yourself. I’m here. Always.”

Ryomen Sukuna

The halls of Sukuna’s palace were cold, unwelcoming, and as lifeless as you had come to feel over the weeks. It had been days, maybe weeks since Sukuna last spoke to you without contempt or dismissiveness. You told yourself to be patient, that the King of Curses wasn’t the type to express affection in conventional ways. Yet each ignored glance, each sarcastic quip, and each night spent alone chipped away at your resolve.

Tonight was no different. You sat alone in the chamber you shared—or were supposed to share—with Sukuna. Your fingers curled around the soft fabric of your cloak, pulling it tighter against the chill in the air. You hated how empty the space felt without him. But more than that, you hated yourself for missing someone who treated you like you were invisible.

You had to talk to him. Something had to change, or you were going to break.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you left the chamber and walked down the grand hallway to the throne room, where you knew he would be. The heavy doors were slightly ajar, and his voice carried out to you—a commanding, cold tone as he addressed his subordinates. When you entered, he didn’t even look up.

“Sukuna,” you called out, your voice trembling. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to get the attention of the room.

He glanced at you briefly before turning back to the group of curses kneeling before him. “Leave us,” he commanded. His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. Without hesitation, the subordinates filed out, casting curious glances your way as they passed.

Once the doors closed, an oppressive silence filled the room. Sukuna leaned back on his throne, one arm resting lazily on the armrest, his crimson eyes fixed on you with an air of impatience. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone sharp and dismissive.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breathing. “I need to talk to you. Please.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Talk, then. But make it quick—I don’t have time for your whining.”

His words struck you like a slap, but you pushed through the pain, refusing to let him see you falter. “I feel like I don’t matter to you anymore,” you said, your voice trembling but steady. “You’ve been so distant, so cold. I just… I want to understand what I did wrong. Why you’re treating me like this.”

He scoffed, leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what this is about? Your feelings? I don’t have time to coddle you, Y/N. You’re lucky I even let you stay here.”

Your heart sank, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “Sukuna, I’ve stayed by your side through everything. I’ve endured your temper, your cruelty, because I believed there was something worth holding on to. But now… now I’m not so sure.”

His smirk disappeared, replaced by a cold, hard stare. “You think you’re special? That you’re different from anyone else who has ever stood before me? You’re not. You’re nothing more than a distraction—a fleeting amusement.”

The air was knocked out of you as if he had physically struck you. You stared at him, disbelief and heartbreak etched across your face. “How can you say that to me?” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Because it’s the truth,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’re weak. Pathetic. If you can’t handle that, then leave. I won’t stop you.”

The room spun around you as his words settled in your mind. Weak. Pathetic. Nothing. The man you had given everything to saw you as nothing more than an inconvenience. You didn’t say another word. You couldn’t. Turning on your heel, you fled the throne room, his laughter ringing in your ears like a cruel melody.

[keikikait]

ᴛᴡᴏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴇᴅ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part two. for part one, click here!

pairing: rafe cameron x kook!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.4k

summary: rafe gives you an ultimatum, and in the setting sun, you see another

warnings: ANGST!!!!, pining/whipped reader, kook!reader & kook!rafe, suggestive but no outright smut, ultimatums, jj is alive, arguing, not proofread

a note: i'm sorry this is late!

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Were you being punished by your love for him?

You tried to move on, you really did. You tried everything you could think of, bar from ignoring Rafe all together. You had even joined a dating app, where you met a fellow Kook named Alexander, and you went on a few dates with him. He was a great guy, handsome, smart, and charming, but he wasn’t Rafe. Alexander didn’t draw your attention away from your best friend that you were hopelessly still in love with, even after trying to gaslight yourself into believing that you had a crush on him.

You kept Alexander around for a while. He was a fun guy, he paid for your little lunch or coffee shop dates, and he was a good fuck. You had lied and told him that you just weren’t a very vocal girl in bed, but in reality you were biting your tongue to keep from moaning Rafe’s name into his ear. It had been a few weeks, and even after everything, Rafe was still the only person you thought of when you slipped your hands under your panties at night. You eventually started to feel bad about leading him on and tried to break things off amicably. He didn’t take it well, but you didn’t expect him to.

You had tried to distract yourself, going to party after party and club after club, making out with whatever guy you could get your hands on. But nothing worked. You couldn’t stop thinking about your Kook prince, the most feared man on Kildare that had a soft spot in his heart for you. 

You had almost hoped that Rafe would’ve ditched you, would’ve kicked you to the side like a dog. At least it would be easier to move on that way, and you wouldn’t be stuck under his thumb, thinking about the ways you could get out of the hold he has on you. He still wanted to see you and be around you, constantly calling and texting like it was normal, like you hadn’t professed your undying love to him only three weeks ago. You felt like a two-headed monster. One head was his best friend, one head was deeply in love with him.

You know he’s fine, but what about you? What do you do?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Even after everything, you still have to show up for your Friday night tradition; sitting on Rafe’s sofa, tucked under his arm, watching a shitty 80s zombie movies while eating a Costco pizza. You shouldn’t have agreed, knowing it would only make things harder, but you would do anything for him. Your poor heart would always surrender to him.

Maybe this time he would start falling for you, too.

You pull into the driveway of his new house, grabbing the pizza from the backseat before heading up to the front door, balancing the giant box with one hand as you knock.

The door swings open a second later, with Rafe standing in the doorway, grinning at the sight of the pizza box in your hands. He steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. “You’ve arrived with the goods, I see.”

You swallow hard. He looks so fucking good, wearing a tight black t-shirt and a pair of dark green sweatpants. You hug him with one arm, burying your face in his shoulder and inhaling deep. Your eyebrows furrow slightly and your free hand clenches around your keys. He smells different. Sweeter. Almost like candy.

Sofia must’ve been here earlier.

You pull away, carrying the pizza box into his living room. “Yup. I got you extra cheese, too.”

He follows behind you, shutting the door behind the two of you. His arm wraps around your shoulder when you reach the sofa, pulling you in tight to his side. “Extra cheese for my girl.” he teases, taking the box from you to set on the coffee table. You’re on the edge while he’s so goddamn polite and composed.

You tense up slightly as you settle into his sofa, grabbing the remote. You turn the TV on, trying to distract yourself from the empty feeling building up inside of you and gnawing at your guts. “Which movie are we watching tonight?”

“Mm…” He stretches out on the sofa, his legs tangling with yours as he looks over your shoulder at the TV. His body is pressed up against yours, and as usual, his proximity starts to stir up feelings deep inside of you. Feelings you thought you had managed to repress. “How about Romero?”

Your eyebrows furrow again. This man was going to give you wrinkles. “I thought we were watching zombie movies. Not ones about a Salvadoran archbishop.”

“No, not Romero like the actual archbishop, I mean like--” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “The man who invented the zombie film genre, dumbass. Do you need me to find a new best friend or something? Because you’re starting to get a little too idiotic for me.”

What the fuck? “Excuse me?”

He snorts, watching you get defensive. “Come on, it was a joke,” he says, nudging you with his knee. “Lighten up, I’m just teasing.”

“It wasn’t funny.” You say.

It’s then that he notices the way your shoulders are tense. Your jaw is clenched, and your eyes focus on the screen in front of the two of you with a bit too much intent. You’re upset. He can feel the agitation radiating off of you, and he hates it. He’s too used to his best friend being comfortable with him, happy around him. He lets out a breath, sitting up straight. “Don’t be like that,” he mutters. “Relax.”

“You don’t get to call me a dumbass, Rafe.” You say, your tone sharp.

Rafe stares at you, his irritation rising bit by bit. He takes in your expression, your sharp tone, the agitation that was practically coming off of you in waves. This was new territory for him. You weren’t just being cold, you were pissed. He’d never seen you this pissed at him. He didn’t like it.

He wanted the old you back, the you he thought you were. His best friend, his confidant, not the girl who’s helplessly in love with him, not the girl who lies awake all night thinking about him. Not the girl who moans his name into her pillow as she cums, hoping one day he would fall in love with her, too. He wanted you to just move on, to give up, to completely wipe your romantic feelings for him clean. He wanted more, while leaving you with less.

“You didn't use to care about this shit,” He says. “Not until you decided you were in love with me or whatever.”

“Decided?” You ask, scoffing. “It isn’t something you just wake up and decide.”

Rafe stares at you, his gaze hard, almost like he’s trying to search for the words that he wants to say. He was never good at this, talking about his feelings. He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I… I don’t know.” He mutters, staring down at the floor. “I just wish things were the way they used to be, okay? I didn’t ask for all this bullshit. I never asked you to feel this way, so why are you making things so difficult?”

“I didn’t ask for this either.” You say.

“Well, you’re the one whose in love.” He says, the words almost bitter on his tongue. “You’re the one who made things difficult. I didn’t ask you to feel this way. I didn’t tell you to go and fall in love with me. So why are you getting pissed because I’m not in love with you too?”

“I’m not pissed, Rafe,” You say, although deep down you truly are. “I knew from the very beginning that I had no chance with you. I wouldn’t love me, either.”

He falls silent, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He knew that wasn’t true. He knows that you’re beautiful, and sweet, and kind, and funny. He knew that you should have every chance with him. But he just didn’t love you that way. “How many times do we have to go over this?” He asks, his voice soft. “I’ve never loved you like that. You’re my best friend, you know that.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” You say bitterly.

He grits his jaw, frustrated now. He hated how bitter you were when it came to this. He hated that you expected him to be in love with you back when he just didn’t see you that way. He hated that he had to keep explaining this over and over again to you, and he hated the fact that you were just sitting here, pouting like a toddler. Like a girl who was in love.

He was tired of being the bad guy in this. “Then you shouldn’t have fallen in love with me.”

“I wish I never did.” You say.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. He just turns to look at the movie, his jaw clenched. He hated that you said that. He hated that you wished you’d never fallen for him. He didn’t want you to wish that. If you didn’t fall for him, how long would it be before you fell for someone else? Someone who wasn’t him? He didn’t want the thought of you with another guy to piss him off so much.

Rafe sighs. “Quit looking at me like I’m the bad guy here.”

“Do you want me to pretend you’re a good guy?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I am the good guy,” He snaps, his eyes narrowing. What the hell? He knew he wasn’t an angel by any means, but he was a good guy. He took care of his family, protected his friends, and stayed loyal to his girlfriend. “You’re the one who fell in love with me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sigh, looking away. This was pointless, even more pointless than the daydreams you filled your mind with when you couldn’t sleep. “Whatever.”

He looks at you for a moment, jaw clenched, his body tense.

“You know, this whole self-pitying, 'woe is me, Rafe is the bad guy' bullshit is starting to piss me off. It’s getting annoying.” He says.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Rafe.” You say.

“Stop acting as if I’ve done something wrong. Like I’ve wronged you,” He says, exasperated. He can’t understand why you’re being like this, and it’s pissing him off even more. “I don’t like you that way. I’ve never liked you that way. Why is that such a hard concept for you to accept?”

“It isn’t,” You say, your voice starting to get thick with emotion. “I know you don’t like me, I know you aren’t attracted to me, I just… it’s just so hard for me to move on, and I don’t know why.”

Rafe is silent for a moment, watching as your face starts to crumble. He can’t help but sigh. He moves closer to you, placing his hand on your thigh. Normally, it was the opposite. Normally it was you comforting him, not him trying to comfort you. “It’ll pass. You’ll get over it eventually.”

It’ll pass.

It’ll pass.

It will never pass, will it?

You sniffle, one hand reaching up to wipe the corners of your eyes. “I should go.”

He catches your wrist, tugging you back down on the sofa. “Sit down,” he says, his voice firm. “You’re not going anywhere yet. We need to talk about something.”

“About what?” You ask, not looking at him.

He lets go of your wrist, crossing his arms over his chest. “This,” He says simply, gesturing towards your face. “This…depression, sadness, self-pity bullshit. I hate seeing you the way you are right now, like you’ve just been kicked down. It’s pathetic. It’s not you.”

You don’t reply, finally looking over at him, eyes red rimmed with tears.

He stares back, his expression unchanging. You think he would’ve softened up at the sight of you, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to see you like this anymore. You’re supposed to be his best friend, the person he confides in and takes comfort in. “You’re supposed to be the person I come to when I’m upset. Not the other way around. This pity party you have going on needs to end. You’re better than that.”

You look back down at your lap, starting to pick at the skin around your thumbnails. “What do you want me to do?”

“Move on,” Rafe says, his tone harsher than he intended. “Move the fuck on. I want my best friend again, not this whiney, insecure brat. I don’t have any romantic feelings for you, and I’m tired of treating you with kid gloves because you can’t handle the truth. Get a grip and get over it. You either move on, and things go back to normal, or we stop being friends.”

You feel your stomach drop, your throat constricting, air getting caught in your windpipe. You don’t look at him, continuing to dig your fingernails into your skin. He watches you for a moment, noticing the way your chest shakes as you try to keep back the tears. He knew your habits by now, and he noticed the way your hands started to fiddle and pick. You did that when you were trying to distract yourself. You did that when you were upset, hurt. 

“Stop that,” He mumbles, reaching out and grabbing your hand.

You pull your hand away and stand up, fists clenching as your chest shakes. You couldn’t break down. Not here, not in front of him. “I should go.”

Rafe reaches out, grabbing your wrist again. He stands up too, using his grip to tug you back towards him. “We need to talk about this. Sit down.”

You pull away again, taking a step back, a soft squeak tumbling out of your mouth as you start to cry.

The squeak causes his stomach to twist. His face falls. “Don’t pull away from me.” He pleads softly, his hand reaching out for you again.

You retreat again, shaking your head as more tears start to fall. Your legs shake, your hands coming up to cover your face.

He grabs your wrist again, gently pulling you into his arms. “Stop it,” he says firmly, pulling you in close to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around your trembling frame. “Stop.”

You sob into his chest, your hands still covering your face, shoulders shaking violently as you try and take a deep breath.

He stays quiet, one arm wrapped around your waist to hold you firmly against him. His other hand comes up to tangle in your hair, playing with the roots of it as his chin rests on the top of your head. “Stop crying,” He repeats, his voice a bit gentler. “I’m not worth it.”

“Yes you are.” You mumble, wiping your tears with your fingers, palms still pressed against your face, mascara smearing across your cheeks.

“No, I’m not,” He says firmly, his breath fanning over the crown of your head. His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, rubbing slow circles into your scalp. Not to offer comfort. No, he knew that wouldn’t work. But to just keep you where you were, firmly held against his chest. “I’m a disaster. Even after everything, after trying to change, I’m still a disaster.”

“You're not a disaster.” You say, pulling back to look at him.

He stares down at you, his expression hard to read. He has his usual, guarded look on, but the way his hand reaches up to gently wipe away one of your tears gives away the fact that he’s affected. “I am,” He repeats, his voice quiet. “And I won’t ever be the man you think I am.”

You hesitate. “I want the Rafe I’m looking at. Not the picture of you in my head.”

He lets a huff of air out through his nose, his expression softening for the briefest of moments as he looks down at you. You were so beautiful, even when you were crying and on the edge of a breakdown. But he couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in it again, like in high school. He had moved on. At least, in his mind. “You’ll never be satisfied with that. I’m no saint, and I’ll never be the romantic, fairy tale guy you want me to be.”

“I just want--” You try to correct yourself, although you meant the former. “I just wanted to be yours.”

He stiffens for a second, his gaze hardening again as he studies your face. “No,” he mutters, a tinge of something you can’t place in his voice. “You can’t be mine. I’m not yours, and I’ll never be yours. You’re not mine to keep, you’re not the one I want, you’re not the one I’m in love with.”

You sigh, your voice soft. “I know.”

He lets out a breath, the expression on his face pained. He cupped your face, wiping away some of the smeared mascara. “I don’t want to keep hurting you,” He says softly. “I don’t want to keep making you cry. I don’t want to keep disappointing you.”

“I’m hurting myself,” You say. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who just can’t move on.”

“You’re not the one at fault,” Rafe says, his thumb still wiping at the tear stains on your cheek. “I’m the one who can’t love you the way you want to be loved. And I’ll never be able to. You deserve someone who can, and I want you to find that person.”

You did find that person, the one holding your face and looking at you like you’re his saving light in eternal darkness. You had ignored so many bad omens, hoping that the universe was wrong, that they made a mistake, that your red strings of fate were intertwined in the stars.

But they weren’t.

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder. To get over you.”

“Good.” He says, his thumb brushing under your eye one last time, wiping away a tear. His thumb brushes across your cheek, pressing down slightly to feel the softness of your skin. He moves his other hand to your jaw, moving his thumb side to side on your neck, feeling your pulse. 

His eyes meet yours before his gaze travels over your face, soaking in every detail of you. They linger on your lips, just for a second too long, and much to his dismay, you notice it. His eyes move back up to look into yours.

Your breath hitches ever so slightly, your lips parting. Rafe purses his lips together slightly, rubbing them together, his eyes looking back down at your mouth. He mumbles your name quietly, his voice soft.

“What?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer. 

His eyes are still looking at your mouth. He watches your lips move as you speak, watches how your tongue peeks out of the corner of your mouth ever so slightly. 

He can’t think straight. He can’t think at all. His mind has gone fuzzy, and every cell of his body is telling him something he knows he shouldn’t do. 

His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, and he pulls you in closer.

He places a kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing.

Your eye twitches, your stomach churning, your face getting hot with shame and embarrassment.

He pulls away, looking down at you. “I’m sorry, alright? Can we just… can we just chill and watch a movie?”

You should say no. You should scream at him, yell at him for manipulating you, for looking at you like that and acting like he was going to kiss you.

But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to hate him, even after this. 

You swallow hard, blinking a few times as you look at the long forgotten pizza box on the coffee table. “Yeah. We can watch a movie.”

He feels relieved. That’s good. 

He gives you a small smile, placing a hand on the small of your back and ushering you towards the sofa. He turns you towards the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down, his hand still lingering on your back, the feel of your skin under your sweater making his heart race. 

His eyes linger on you for a moment, before he turns to grab the remote off of the coffee table. He sits down next to you, trying to keep a normal distance between the two of you, instead of pressing himself up against your side. He opens the pizza box as he opens Hulu, handing you a slice. 

You take it, your fingers and hands numb and tingling as you try to suppress the bile in your throat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The Outer Banks is truly paradise on Earth.

Although The Boneyard isn’t the nicest beach on the island, it has a few secluded spots that still manage to take your breath away. You find your favourite spot easily, a small sandbank by the entrance to a long-forgotten cove. It was once filled with rumours of pirates and treasures, but now it’s full of seaweed.

You settle into the sand, holding your sandals in your hands, arms draped over your knees. You watch the sunset pink and orange streaking across the sky, listening to the soft crashing of the waves and the distant call of a seagull. The wind gently pulls through your hair, and you push some behind your ears, closing your eyes as you feel the sun on your face.

It’s peaceful.

Another soft breeze brushes over you, carrying with it the scent of weed, an uncommon occurrence for this particular spot. Not a lot of other people on the island knew of your spot, mainly just Rafe and Sarah.

You turn your gaze to your left, finding a familiar figure sitting about a yard away from you.

JJ smiles, head tilted to the side, a lit joint between his fingers. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You say, smiling softly. You had always had a little soft spot for JJ, considering him to be one of the few Pogues you could actually stand, maybe other than Kiara.

JJ takes a hit of the joint, looking out over the ocean, the sun starting to descend towards the horizon. He sighs contently before turning to look at you again, raising his eyebrows as he studies you. “What’re doing out here all alone?”

“Just watching the sunset.” You say. You pat the sand next to you, inviting him to take a seat.

“Yeah? Me too,” He says, moving closer to take a seat next to you. He stretches out his legs, leaning back onto his hands and resting his head against the sand. He takes another hit from the joint, sighing out the smoke before offering it to you. “Want a hit?”

You nod, taking it between your thumb and pointer finger. You take a deep hit, sucking in the smoke and blowing it out in a thick white cloud. You hold it out towards him. “Thanks.”

He takes it from you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Anytime,” He says, leaning back. He watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. The sun is setting in front of you, casting a warm, orange glow illuminating you that catches on your hair. He can’t help but admire the way the sunset looks against your figure, casting a glowing haze around you. His gaze softens in the presence of your soft glow. “You look pretty tonight.”

You smile softly, feeling your face get warm. “Thanks, JJ. So do you.”

He smiles back, his eyes locking with yours. It’s just the two of you out here, and JJ likes it that way. Just you and him sitting alone on the beach, watching the sunset. “Just pretty?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Handsome.” You add.

He’s silent for a moment, staring back at you. He lets out a breath through his nose, trying to hide the grin on his face as his cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, but it’s still clear on his face. “Damn right, I am.” He mutters. The two of you just stare at each other for a minute, the quiet sounds of the ocean in front of you and the distant sound of a fish jumping, trying to catch a bug flying across the water.

You smile at him again, looking back over the water.

JJ studies your profile for a moment, taking a hit off of his joint before passing it back to you, still staring at you. His eyes linger on your eyes, before slowly dropping down to your lips. He watches you, the soft expression on your face and how your hair blows in the wind. He’s always liked the way you look when you’re relaxed. You always look pretty, but you really look beautiful when you’re relaxed, when there’s no stress or worry in your mind. 

He studies your face, committing every detail to memory. He sits up straighter, placing the joint back in his mouth. He hesitates before throwing one arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. You oblige, slotting yourself against him, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

He smiles to himself, feeling you move closer. His arm tightens around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles into your shoulder. He watches the sun over the ocean, noticing how the light dances over the rippling water. He takes the joint from his mouth once again, taking a hit. He holds it in his lungs for a second, before leaning forward slightly, his gaze shifting down to your cheek. He lets out a cloud of smoke from his mouth, the smoke hovering in the air between the two of you.

You take the joint from him and take a hit before handing it back, holding it in your lungs before exhaling slowly. You look up at him, watching as he puts the joint in his mouth as he shifts in the sand. You smile softly again, admiring the way his eyes shine in the pink and orange hues of the setting sun.

Sometimes the one you want is not the one you need.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part three?

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21, @drewsphswife, @gilwm, @watchmerora, @odairtrqsh, @wearemadeofstardust0, @rafesbabygirlx, @slumnit, @babygirlwilly, @rafeyswife, @maybanksgirl69, @evermorx89, @ivy-34, @marlenee3e, @koibleufish, @user381963, @monkey-d-juliana, @ursogorgeous1313, @drewstarkeysstuff, @ts1mp0ne, @kayreblogs, @rafeycameronsgf, @lulbabes, @karmasloverrr, @greyswaren, @tini5, @witchmoon10, @xcinnamonmalfoyx, @arivh, @devils-blackrose, @goldsainz, @vonhoe, @exhaustedbutelated, @enjoymyloves, @rinasauruss, @danikasthings, @danicl25, @outlawedmando, @lucifersie, @wtfisastiles, @maybankslover (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

join my permanent obx taglist here!

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 2)

I was so excited to hear this Takeover since it is only Sonic and Shadow talking to each other and answering question. It is one of those times where you get to see their dynamic without anyone else's input.

Since I feel like I could write an essay about these two, I decided to instead put all my thoughts into bullet points, this being Part 2 of my list:

Obligatory ''Shadow likes Latinas'' joke.

I love how Sonic sees their rivalry as a friendly competition, even describing it as being two sides of the same coin and pushing each other to be better. Shadow points out how he fights because he has a purpose and he will fight Sonic if their ideals clash. Sonic isn't buying it, though. He really wants to make it clear that his presence is important to Shadow and he wants to hear that from Shadow himself. Shadow finally agrees, with Sonic sounding so proud of himself.

Addendum: Considering how the cutscene battle in Sonic X Shadow Generations went, Shadow definitely can't resist fighting Sonic to best him, regardless of his own goals. Their rivalry gives him purpose.

''GO OFF KING!!'' Sonic, what?! X3

Shadow goes on a rant about Super Monkey Ball, with Sonic immediately trying to apologize for the whole thing. It's hilarious!

''THOSE MONKEYS NEED TO PUT ON SOME PANTS!!'' Shadow, you don't even wear pants.

I love how when Sonic and Shadow talk about Jet, Sonic immediately turns the question to be about their rivalry, pointing out how their little competition is why Shadow keeps Sonic around. Shadow just groans in exasperation, but we all know Sonic's telling the truth.

Black Doom really has an obsession with Radical Highway. I suppose Radical Highway is to Shadow what Green Hill Zone is to Sonic. Also, love how Shadow retorts to Sonic's ''Radical'' pun by calling him ''Mr. Green Hill Zone''.

When they're asked to draw something, their immediate response is to draw each other, with Sonic even trying to give some input to Shadow. They're not the best at it, though; something they wholeheartedly agree on.

Shadow is so proud to have his Year, and Sonic likes it too, to the point of showering him with constant compliments. Shadow enjoys it, but claims how he's not ''seeking attention''. Nobody's buying that Shadow.

Sonic Shuffle get mentioned!!

Shadow played chess with Maria, which is really nice. Also, if Sonic ever plays chess with Shadow, he'd totally be the guy who eats the chess pieces, much to Shadow's confusion. Also, the fact that Shadow claims how Sonic would lose on purpose to annoy him is both hilarious and also kinda sweet, considering how Sonic has been acting in this whole Takeover.

Fadel is back and trying to get into either Team Hero or Team Dark... and Sonic and Shadow clearly refuse to have him on their teams. I find it hilarious how Sonic immediately directs him to Team Dark and Shadow claims how applications are closed, then points him at Team Hero and gaslights Sonic into reluctantly accepting Fadel into the team.

I actually watched Games Cage's reaction to that, and he is completely oblivious to the fact that Sonic is being passive-aggressive by mentioning how Tails called dibs on their only parachute, meaning Sonic is cool with letting the guy fall off the Tornado. X3

Sonic is so persistent about wanting to hug Shadow! I get Sonic Prime vibes from this and I'm loving it.

''I don't need... your kind of hugs.'' There's two things I can conclude from this:

Shadow only likes the hugs Maria and Amy gave.

Shadow actually would be fine with Sonic hugging him, but they have to be meaningful rather than fleeting considering his earlier comment. Sonic is totally oblivious to that, though.

Sonic Boom ''Shadow broods in a cave'' reference!

Besides training, Shadow's hobby is reading. He's a bookworm, and Sonic sounds so excited about learning that. I can totally see Sonic thinking about dragging Shadow into another Storybook Adventure.

Shadow's first time turning Super was still him learning how to control that power. It explains why he ran out of energy back then, while Sonic had more experience and could keep it longer. Sonic also keeps complimenting Shadow about looking cool in his Super Form, even calling him wise for pointing out how that power needs to be controlled.

WHY DOES SONIC HAVE ABRAHAM TOWER ON SPEED DIAL?!

Shadow definitely doesn't work for G.U.N. That's something that has been confirmed. I have to say, the whole conversation between the Commander and Shadow was really awkward, but the kicker is Sonic's being oblivious to the whole awkwardness. He is so proud that he arranged a call between them.

I love how Sonic's neutral opinion about Orbot changes immediately the moment he hears Shadow's own thoughts on the robot. Once Shadow says he dislikes Orbot, Sonic immediately agrees with him, and when Orbot offers to get them coffee, causing Shadow to like him, Sonic also agrees that Orbot is fine. This really feels like Sonic wants Shadow's approval by agreeing with his opinions.

Sonic and Shadow are arguing about who is better at raising their Chao. They legit sound like married couple arguing about how to take care of their children. Sonic is definitely the fun dad, while Shadow has to take care of the discipline.

Shadow doesn't believe in ghosts, despite Sonic pointing out how they ran into paranormal stuff several times. Sonic also tries to scare him a couple of times, with Shadow showing no reaction.

Shadow's favorite Doom Power is Doom Morph, and Sonic is a little jealous of that form once he hears more about it. The fact that Shadow just keeps bragging about it and annoying Sonic is hilarious.

''Skill issue!'' Lol, Shadow. I can imagine Sonic rolling his eyes at that comment.

Shadow scolds the person who listens to the Twitter Takeover instead of studying for their exam. He really cares about their education, while Sonic points out how he needs to lighten up.

Let's be honest, Sonic and Shadow definitely love hanging out with each other, admitting it in their own way that they care about each other.

I believe that this Takeover proves that Sonic and Shadow really have a good dynamic when they sit down and hang out with each other. They bicker, they tease each other, they come to agreements and disagreements, they care... It is so enjoyable to listen to them and I'm looking forward to seeing more!

Oh, and yeah, this was a feast for the Sonadow fans, if you ask me. I hope you guys will enjoy my notes, because I'm definitely going to take advantage of all the new information I got. I can't wait for the meal we'll get once the Sonic the Hedgehog 3 movie comes out.

#Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 1)

#Sonic Cyber Revolution (Masterlist)

[dadsbongos]

one must imagine violet happy...

14 k words / warnings - cunnilingus, fingering, choking, strap on (vi giving), drinking your feelings, emotional detachment and flip-flopping, reader's ex is an offscreen 'Her', fem reader

summary - despite vi's (and yours) red flags, you like her so much you can't let go. you think you two can graduate from casual fling to dedicated relationship despite still grieving your exes...

it started out as being vi’s little rebound fuck:

After another win she's drinking and masquerading it as a celebration when there's a meek tap on her shoulder. Vi can barely feel the sheepish, fleeting contact through her thick jacket; but she can make out the sight of a figure right beside her. It's a little wiggly and fuzzy, melting into the background as the warm washes of alcohol begin buzzing beneath her skin.

Vi twirls on the stool, frowning at you, "Yeah?"

Her tone is vicious, full of snot and ridicule, eyes narrowed. Black shade smearing over her cheekbones from the influence of sweat. Similarly, her hair is sweat-slicked, unevenly dyed strands dewy against her temples.

"Uhm, Vi, right?" you clear your throat, leaning close because you're petrified she won't hear you.

"What?" she spits again, though cants toward you -unbalanced.

"Hey, so," your hands knot behind your back, forcing your chest to jut out. Gnawing your bottom lip and eyelashes batting up at her, "I'm kinda like your biggest fan..."

"Hah?" her jaw hangs open, an eye squinting at you in disbelief, "You fuckin' serious?"

"Super serious," you giggle in earnest, hoping maybe a bit more charm will make her hard exterior crack, "I think you're crazy out there."

Vi sighs, surely about to reject you when a hand lands on her shoulder -a brunette man shrugs at her, giving a tiny smile- and she visibly loosens. Shoulders slacking and creased brows smoothing. She turns toward you again.

Heart hammering between your ribs, you catch her gray eyes drifting from your pert face and over your chest and down your hips along your thighs. All sleazy like.

The man murmurs into her ear as she blatantly leers at you. Barely do you catch his advice over the thrumming music: have a little fun.

Vi nods against his tilted head and pats the stool beside her, "Alright, fangirl, hop on."

You've got to clench your bottom lip in razor teeth to withhold a squeal, nodding excitedly and bouncing up onto the seat. Swiveled to face her. Vi reaches boldly between your legs, grasping the chilled metal underside to yank your stool flush against hers. The sides clack, vibrating you in place.

“You drunk?” she slurs at you.

“Uh, no…”

“You want a drink?” she tosses a thumb over her shoulder, toward the shiny shelves of liquor jugs.

“Uh, sure!”

“You picky? What do you want?”

“Uh, whatever you’re having is fine!”

Vi’s brows raise, lips quirking in amusement, “Do you ever start a sentence without some moaning, sweetheart?”

Pushing your lips tight, you have to swallow down the ditzy ‘uhm’ rushing up your throat to refuse, “No! I’m normally super good at speaking.”

“Are you?”

You shrug, “I think so.”

Vi laughs -well more like a loose snicker but still!- and shakes her head at you, combing a wrapped hand through her patchy hair, “You that starstruck?”

“Are you kidding? You’re so cool,” you gush, hands falling to your knees. Squeezing around bone nervously, “I’m totally obsessed with watching you out there.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Ooh,” Vi’s fingers, calloused and bruising, so tenderly draw beneath the strap of your bra. Thumbing the extra frills along each edge and pausing at the bow nestled just above the cups, she pushes the minuscule ribbons up with a blunt nail. Bottom lip trapped between her teeth, “This is cute, cupcake.”

“Yeah!”

.

.

.

“Cupcake?” you giggle, a bit ditzy with confusion swirling with anticipation -clogging your throat.

“Uh-huh,” she hums, blinking stiffly. Steely eyes flocking up from your chest to your face before tumbling back down. Fat spilling over the thin fabric, jiggling with your every labored breath. Vi wraps her other arm around your back, swiftly unweaving the hook, “I gotta get this off you.”

Bending into her grasp, you let Vi greedily peel your bra off; eyes tearing into the way your breasts drop free. One hand cinching the loose lace and the other eagerly pawing at your chest. Pinching a nipple solely to hear you gasp.

“So cute,” her eyes have some faraway film over them regardless of how active her hands are at your bosom as if acting out instinctually, like how she’d brush her teeth or breathe without thought.

“Vi,” you whine, raising your hands toward her arms and burning your prints into her forearm. Searing over her joints and up her bicep before wringing around her neck. Tangling fingers into her hair, “You seem distracted…”

“A little,” she admits, looking up at you so dejectedly you’re almost compelled to avoid eye contact. It’s wrong to see her so welpy and limp in spirit; goes against everything you’ve sifted of her personality through watching her fights.

“Should I go?”

“Don’t…”

“Vi, I’m worried-!”

You yelp then as she wrangles you forward by the hips, plying the flesh carelessly. She surges forward, chapped lips against yours with heat -- chaste pecks a ruse of affection before she’s licking into your mouth. Sour beer invades your senses as she cups your cheek and brings you closer. The brush of her thumb along your cheekbone is jarringly tender.

“Don’t talk,” she grunts, flipping and backing you into her makeshift mattress.

The hand not hovering your face massages your bare thigh. She punches up onto her knees, gasping openly against your mouth before rushing a thigh into the gap. Spreading you open while grinding her knee on your mound. Her palm rounds the top of your thigh to dig the warm inside. Merely squeezing her way down, closer and closer toward the crease where leg meets pelvis until her thumb slips beneath the gusset of your panties. Gliding over where you’re hottest to circle your clit with the pooling juices.

Bucking into her digit makes her laugh openly into your mouth.

Hand fluttering down from your face, Vi draws clipped nails over your neck and traces the swell of your breast -traversing your ribs and stomach before she meets the band of your underwear. Another bow greets her and she laughs again, twiddling the velveteen ornament.

“Dressed up just for me, cupcake?”

When her eyes are shut, she can’t see you preparing to speak but she can feel it -- must be able to because before you can confirm that yes, yes, Vi, I did and I wanted you to see me and notice how the set matches it’s my only one she kisses you again. But somehow, someway you need her to know the truth; you moan as you return the wet smooch.

Frantically humping her palm, anxious to dip her long fingers inside you, with a swooning wordless mewl. Vi purposefully ignores the mindless need, ‘tsk’ vibrating through your lips -she leisurely snags and drags your panties down your thighs. Dark fabric wrinkling between her knuckles, which blister white while following the planes of your legs. Her patience lasts until your ankles, where she finally and appropriately rips the cloth free. Tossing it aside. Then pinning your knee aside with the freshly spare hand.

Vi’s lips leave yours, she sighs and leans back to watch herself fan your cunt open, “You even realize you’re clenching right now? Or are you so desperate I’m all you’re thinking about?”

“I just want you,” you wail, back bending up to jam your tits in her face.

“‘Course you do,” she tucks her face into the junction of your neck. Digging canines into your pulse and sucking a welt as unavoidable evidence you had her between your thighs.

You’d let her vacuum hickies all down your body -- she doesn’t even have to ask.

A ragged gasp barbs your lungs as Vi slips her middle finger into you, curling toward the pouch of your stomach. Crescending from slow drawls into solid pistons, pushing out whines and curses between your teeth. She slides a second finger in, thumb sloppily drawing up to your clit.

Suddenly she’s braced overhead, studying your pinched face with intent. Heaving like she’s the one getting fucked. Gray eyes nonstop racing between your sploshing cunt wrapped around her fingers up to your chest and into your teary lashes. The rough pad of her thumb slides distinct characters along your bud.

You could be delusional, or she could be carving her name into you.

The thought she is makes you seize-- then a hard shot through your gut forces your head back. Lips crowning an ‘o’-shape.

“Breathe, baby,” she coos, pushing against your tummy as she continues fingering you through each spasm, “Breathe for me.”

You do as she says, reaping a big deep breath just for her -- with padded air, you sing, “Oh, Vi!” whole body jittering.

“Good job, cupcake,” she lays an overly sentimental kiss on your forehead as you pant back to normality.

Eyes low, you fling hands out to greedily caress her firm stomach careening toward her chunky belt. Rough hands pause you, Vi shakes her head and cups your face again to kiss you hard, pressing you onto the stiff bed with her weight over yours.

“Just wanna fuck you, cupcake,” she groans, taking a snip from your bottom lip. It stings faintly but she’s pleased with herself so you just run your tongue over the sore.

Then, she slinks away. Shortly, only as far as her nightstand, but you're worming down the bed to sap up her heat again. Vi unleashes something jarring, though not unwelcomed. You watch in stunned silence while she unveils it: a shadowy magenta-hued dildo rigged into black leather. She locks eyes, raising a brow: you get it, this is your chance. If you don't want to get fucked, you should leave. Good for Vi, getting fucked was exactly what you were wanting when you approached her.

Vi presses your hips down on the bed flat. Every fluid thrust into you ends with a deep electric pop. Her fingers stretch out until the silky head of her strap taps her skin and then she speeds up until that tapping is a battering. Her back straightens as you wheeze a sweet sigh; leaning upright. Arm stiffening to cuff your throat, thumb affectionately scrubbing along your pulse. Spare hand grappling beneath your knee to widen the gap between your thighs.

Drilling into you, Vi manages to jolt you across her bed mat. And like a fly to honey, she chases -in a flurry to not leave your cunt too long before returning with a slam. Genuine groans and hums singe her throat: heat spiraling down her arm until your hips hop up toward her pelvis.

“Beautiful, baby,” she grunts, eyes fluttering back in her skull.

Skin slapping skin merges with the music of your wetness wailing around Vi. Firework displays of arousal beget more arousal -- watching her crinkle and fall over you makes you clench around her. Something about her borderline manic moans and drooling makes you feel like she somehow feels it.

Vi squeezes your throat before releasing your windpipe: now using both hands to swerve and press your thighs against your bouncing chest. Cock reaching mysteriously deeper. She folds your torso in half, squatting over you so there’s no escape from her dick. Every twitch away is easily overpowered. Her entire weight crashing into your soaked cunt.

Curses flicking between Vi’s clenched teeth when she finally pulses hard, hard into you. Sitting base deep and grinding, swishing back and forth as her eyes widen and glisten.

“Aw, fuck, baby,” she sounds a bit pathetic but the sounds more intoxicating than what you drank tonight, “Baby, baby, cupcake, so good!”

She lowers to kiss you. Once. Then twice. Then she pulls back to smile down at you. Sleepy and lopsided and hazed with serenity.

After precisely one second, she slowly pulls out. Very kindly massaging your thighs as she lowers both legs before rising from the bed.

Vi meanders toward the bathroom -- kitchen sink hissing to life soon after.

Hands unwound by your head and legs smeared across her bed, your chest thunders with each heave for air. Soft padded steps veer closer before pausing completely at the foot of the bedroom.

“Need a walk down?” Vi’s shoulder burdens the doorway, head tipped toward the frame.

Oh, were you being rude?

Maybe so…

“Yes,” you grunt, hips uncooperative as you slide off her lackluster bed. Vi does not rush over to cradle you off but watches with a satisfied smear. Fighting on your clothing, sans the bra flung somewhere over her shoulder, you eventually crash into Vi’s side.

“Trouble walking?”

“Shut up…”

Vi snorts, sympathetic enough to wring an arm around you. Brunting your weight as you both shuffle toward the door, cracking it open to an uncaring brisk wind. Shivering deeper into the burrow of her side, the cold emboldens you enough to wrap both arms around her waist. Borderline snuggling as she hefts you toward the stairs.

“Cold?” a question, you think. Vi says it with plain confidence. Not that she needed that confidence to declare something bare before her eyes. Sometimes when the sky is dark and a dog is barking, you just have to call them as they are.

You’re fucking freezing.

Wordlessly, Vi shrugs off her jacket -- red leather squeaking along her arms and over yours. Her eyes pounce over you, it could be predatory if you didn’t like it so much- before she ‘hmph’s, “You should keep that. I like it on you,” she jumbles you around easily, “Besides, you should start dressing warmer.”

“Are you telling me to cover up?”

She croons over your pout, blatantly looking down your low top -- nipples cutting through the thin fabric and soon-swelling lovebites on display, “Nope. Maybe a long-sleeve couldn’t hurt, though.”

“Oh?” a sudden stroke of genius (and desperation) lathes you, “And would you come give a second opinion?”

Tone lilting just enough to be casual, you could absolutely play this off as a joke! …but you’re not joking.

“If you want me to,” she shrugs.

No fucking way it worked.

“Yeah, really?” your entire point of cool and casual melts without restraint, an audibly nervous, bumpy chuckle flipping through your throat, “I’d -yeah- I’d like that.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“For sure,” you giggle, positively lightheaded.

“You got it from here?”

“Oh, yeah, I can get home…” when you glance her way, Vi’s eyes are over your shoulder. Her knuckles blistering around the banister, “I don’t live far, really.”

“Yeah?” her foot taps anxiously. You nod with a quiet ‘yeah, vi, promise’ and she returns the gesture. Then pats your padded shoulders, fingers tightening around familiar leather, “Jacket should be enough warning, anyway.”

“You’re just that big and bad?”

“Oh, yeah,” she mimics you, shooting a wink before turning up toward the steps, “Find me tomorrow if you’re serious about that little shopping trip.”

Oh God she’s turning away, she’s about to waltz right out and you know yourself. You know you’ll lose this spontaneous courage as soon as her back has faded up the stairs, so you blurt out:

“Uhm, actually!”

“Huh?”

“...do you want to stay the night at mine?”

Vi blinks herself from her stupor, tackling a single step down with the most conflicted confusion lashing her cheekbones. Rolling the proposal from one tooth, around the ring of her jaw, and finally swallowing, “You want me in your house?”

“I can make you breakfast,” you add, to avoid the accusation of being overtly domestic you then throw in a softening, “I have bread and eggs.”

Unthinkingly, she snubs a hand over her stomach -- merely mentioning food has her guts flipping. Phantom curls of toast twist into her nose, saliva gushing freshening her palette. Vi takes another step down, then another, and another, and she grabs your hand -yoinking you forward silently until you’re guiding her toward your apartment.

***

Wet heat. Feathered scratches. Someone’s mewling.

Oh, oh, oh God -it’s you.

Fingers are already knotting into sheets, hips quirking. Gut clenching.

Startling awake with a gasp, your back’s already sharpened upward. Head thrown back into the pillows and legs tossed over Vi’s shoulders. Thighs shaking around her ears. Instinctually, you try raising your hips from her maw- squirming up the thin mattress for relief- but Vi easily rakes you back down. Blunt nails shoveling into your hips, pushing down to keep you still.

Tongue parting your folds crudely, Vi revels in your apparent distress; blinking up at you slowly as you grapple a fistful of hair. She even has the gall to chuckle at you. Vibrations spiraling and fizzing out in the balls of your hips, but still just knowing it’s her makes your chest tighten. Another squeal tumbles out, tongue fighting its way into your cheek to no avail. Every attempt is halted swiftly with Vi lewdly, loudly, and unabashedly sucking syrupy cum from your hole.

Moaning for more, she swivels her face into your cunt before pulling back to flay a broad stroke over your clit. Circling the bud precisely just to hear your staggered huffs. Frustrated tears well in the corners of your eyes.

Palming her flushed forehead, your shuddering arm tries in vain to shove her away. Vi shakes her head into you again, scolding you with her eyes as she suckles your clit -- pulling away just to ‘tsk’,

“I’m trying to clean you up here, you know?”

An uneven puff of breath leaves you, chest jittering and head flinging limply, “‘s too much, Vi…”

“Too much?” she leans upon her elbows, wrapping an arm around your leg to push two fingers across your cunt, spreading you open and watching you clench around nothing, “But you’re still so wet, baby.”

“Yeah, you’re too much,” you manage to pant out, fractionally grateful for the break and partially wondering if it’d be too hypocritical to hump her shiny face now.

Vi mimics a frown, way dramatically downturning her lips, “Am I?” you nod, “So, should I stop?”

You bite your lip.

You shake your head.

“Aw, okay then,” she slaps your thigh, “Stop whining so much, yeah?”

Vi really is so mean to you.

***

First stop on your mental list is also the sole stop, so ideally, this trip would not last long. Of course, before you two make it far, you’re distracted:

“Nice comb, probably expensive,” Vi gruffs from over your shoulder. She saw and fully knew you were going the wrong way and said nothing, only followed with hunched shoulders and hands in her pockets. Mean glares passed onto leering men.

Squeaking in shock, you cradle the comb to your chest and pray it calms the rapid beating of your heart. Flipping the smooth darkwood in your hand, skimming your fingers along the teeth just to feel each fine spike.

“I can afford it,” you insist.

“You got a job?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Vi’s almost startled by your offense, raising her hands in surrender with a small shrug, “How am I supposed to know? You’re always on me.”

“What?” you pout dejectedly, “You got a problem with that?”

“Nah,” Vi snatches the comb from your hand before twining your fingers together, “I like having a pretty thing around,” she holds the tool up over your head before you can grab it, snickering as you try stretching over her to grab it back, “What do you do anyway?”

“Huh?”

“For work,” she kindly elbows you flat onto your feet, squeezing your hand as she guides you through the coagulated market, “What do you do?”

“I’m a waitress, kinda,” you quiet, leaning your face against her thick bicep. It’s warm against your face, skin soft regardless of her own career, “I open at Bombshells…”

“Didn’t know that place was open before night.”

“Our dancers don’t show up until then, yeah.”

“Slow, huh?”

“I mostly clean with the other girl.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Says you.”

“I’m fine as long as I win,” she grins wolfishly, canines glinting in the sunlight leaking from above. A honeyed glow cast over her faded dye, “Which I always do.”

Cheeks heating at the dichotomy between jagged danger and her big eyes and pretty face, your gaze darts away. Vi ghosts her lips over your temple, it could’ve been a kiss but you mostly just felt her smirking against you. Whenever an unfortunate head turns your way she fastens you deeper into her side, undoubtedly possessive. Terrible a trait as that is, especially given how the two of you aren’t official, you’re bewitched by the showmanship.

You assume it's a good thing: that she wants you.

When she leads you up to the vendor and uses her own coin to pay for your comb, your assumptions only sink deeper. You pray not into delusion, but you’re sure that possibility isn’t off the table.

“Take care of that thing,” she says with finality, as if you need the warning.

A wood so dark it burns red, strips of yellowish discolor vining diagonally along the middle. Shining in your palm with searing polish. You had a prettier comb when you were little -- a gold spine and black veneer, you carried it everywhere. Until you lost it. Losing that comb was hardly the worst thing in your life, especially at the time, although it was very beautiful and so pricey. This comb, if you lost this comb, you can only guess that the world itself would end.

Again cradling the comb against your chest, now with sincerity, you squeeze the hand Vi has wrapped around yours, “I think it’s my favorite.”

Vi laughs at you. Good-natured, you think. You hope.

She takes your hand in hers back on the way toward shirts all the same.

Vi occasionally has to redirect your sights back onto long-sleeves from tiny cut tops. You manage to pluck two that caught your eye and Vi’s little smirk and nod as she says, “you’ll have to model for me.” makes you weak in the knees.

And the downright perverse way her eyes crawl down your torso doesn’t help. She’s slouched back onto the bed, one thigh bouncing in frenzy.

“C’mere,” Vi slurs, raking you between her spread legs with hands on your hips.

“Vi!” you giggle, maybe a little more vapid than necessary, and try to balance yourself against her shoulders.

Without much concern or forethought, Vi is prying the shirt over your head. Mumbling to herself, just loud enough for you to catch snippets, desperate claws to see your skin. How much she misses it already. Calloused hands scar up from your sides to cradle your back while her lips tease down the swell of your breasts. Laving your nipples in broad tongue-strokes before softly tucking one in her mouth, cheeks hollowing. She croons around the bud as if it’s doing anything for her.

As she pops off, you catch the rouge caked into her cheeks. Webs of slobber stitching her swollen lips to your stiff nipple. Shining with saliva.

Then she’s pushing you away, a non-committed attempt at a kiss ghosts your lips before Vi is turning away. She clears her throat and pets through her hair.

“I’ve gotta get to the bar,” as if she can sense the wild request gushing up your gullet, she adds, “You should stay home and get some rest,” she must feel bad because she turns again to give you another chance at a kiss. Chaste and speedy before she’s darting out, “See you around, babe.”

Baffled as you are by her sudden disappearance, you’re equally -maybe even more- flattered by the pet name.

And in the quiet of her distance, you abruptly and sharply realize:

Oh, I didn’t go to work.

Oops.

Well, it’s too late now.

And the thought of finishing off what Vi started between your thighs sounds rich right about now. Your fingers may not be as satisfying but they’ve finished the job before, they can do it again.

Three sharp taps quake the door. Shrieking hinges shooting you alert. What are those odds? They must be good, right? Who else could be coming to your residence?

Did she forget something?

Does she miss you, too?

Skidding along the flat floor, a shirt hanging over your shoulders with skimpy panties beneath, you fling the door wide. Arms speared on either side, eager to wrap around the disheveled woman. You’re about to pile over her when your eyes hone on the face at your stoop.

Avont.

A grizzled man with wiry black hair curling around his jaw, bridging over his top lip, and connected to the slick-black ‘do of a proper undercity businessman.

“What happened?” oak eyes scrutinize you, scanning from your mussed hair to your bare legs, “Are you okay? You didn’t show.”

Ohhhhh maybe the boss you flaked on. That’s someone who might show up late at night, duh. Completely normal.

Well, fairly: it is normal when it’s Avont.

A faux sniffle schlucks up your nose easier than the throat-stabbing cough you force. Stumbling into the doorway with a very sudden, very apparent light-headedness, “I got- !” you silence yourself with another cough, forcing your voice down into the base of your chest, “Caught something… at that bar…”

Scoffing, Avont nods, “Big surprise. That place is nasty as shit. I keep tellin’ you stop going there,” here he goes again -you mentally retreat, planning the next ploy to aid your virus story, while he spiels, “You’re too nice for a gross ass place like that. No little crush is worth that black-eye waiting to happen! You need to listen to me, I was right about that girl and I’m right about that bar!”

Clearing your throat and shaking off both his lecture and the subtle jab at your dating history, you apologize softly and assure him, “I’ll be back on my feet soon…”

“Get rest, kid. I better not see your ass prancing in the lanes…”

Ugh, no faith. Like he thinks you’re a liar or something!

You feign a pained swallow and show a ‘thumbs up’. Nodding curtly. Shutting the door as he turns away. Returning to bed orgasm-less, and now dulled of all carnal heat upon the sight of your boss ]

***

Rising from bed provides a fresh ache, unrelated to the -still recovering- fingerprints scorched along your hips or the bite marks on your chest. This one curdles inside: above the vagina and below your throat. Acting more as a realization than a concrete feeling, one you think is meant to be stifled instead of acted upon. Not that self-awareness helps any.

Because whether it’s embarrassing or not, you’re itching to see Vi again. No amount of maturity or hindsight can pin that into a designated place. It rattles around, bowling one end of your stomach to the other like a wild hog until you’re shuffling out of bed. Intent on somehow finding those slate eyes on you again.

Skimping on work is something you’d be scolded for at home, which makes you thankful you’re not: you get to flee your house without a lecture on the importance of career dedication.

You planned on waiting before seeing Vi, you could picture it so well: you, posted at the bar by yourself in a cute little number with a drink you took one sip from. Lipstick around the rim. Lashes thick and batting over your shoulder as she approaches you for once.

All of that daydreaming is dashed as soon as you step foot inside.

Vi is already there. Black face paint thick around the eyes, strewn down her cheeks nearing the corners of her mouth -- black lipstick around there, too. Outgrown strands flattening out around her neck like oiled feathers. Individual pieces compiling to craft this perfect ego, some mask to make herself unattainable.

Always there. Always lingering. Always looking despite the danger ahead.

It makes you wonder what she serves. You want to know more. You need her to tell you, whisper it against your lips with her tongue in your mouth.

But she’s always there.

Does she live here or something?

Between strobing lights and swamped bodies, you manage to make out Vi’s stained silhouette. Ear cuffs shining back into your retinas.

Now you struggle with how to approach… should you be upfront? Should you tease from the sidelines and pray she notices?

Before you can formulate the most immaculate lie, Vi spots you in the faded crowd. Her eyebrows raise a smidge, a smoke visibly clearing from her gaze upon the sight of you. As if you could have no other prerogative than her (you don’t), she beckons you forward with two flicks of her middlemost fingers -- effectively eliminating the most awkward part of approaching her. Good!

Bounding toward the woman, you shyly tuck your hands at your hip and give a coy, “Hey, Vi…”

“What’re you doing here?”

Fuck!

“I’m here all the time,” not really a lie, just strategically subtracting the part where you come solely to catch glimpses of her beneath floodlights.

“Sure,” she pushes off the crackled counter, sliding back toward the door.

“I was just bored…” you admit glumly, reduced to a miserable, truthful goop beneath her glittering eyes, “Couldn’t think of anything but this place.”

Vi, naturally, chooses to pick on you, “You thinking of me?”

“Wha- ! Ugh, uh, no. Not really. Not even,” again, your bluffs disperse as simply as smoke with a mere flick of her eyes, “Just super bored.”

“Uh-huh,” she shrugs, jerking her head toward the back of the room, “You bored enough for a quickie in the bathroom? I gotta go out in ten for my first fight, need something to get my heart started.”

“First fight?”

“I get double-booked most nights, sweetpea.”

Your automatic reaction is to squeeze your thighs, feeling that slight nudge of fat ripe against your clit -- the friction. The resounding echo of your heartbeat against each rib bone. A dodgy snort racketing through your sinus, “You need to work on your nicknames.”

Vi’s initial response is to roll her eyes as if she could read the arousal off you like text -- her second response is to quietly mumble, “Forget that one from last night.”

Out of respect, you singularly nod and say nothing else, no matter how oddly the request strikes you.

And when Vi links an arm through yours, out of respect, you let her drag you into the bathroom. Spiked jacket collars dig into you as she crushes you toward the back wall -- rigging a janky lock last-minute; you’re not sure it ever clicked, and you’re also not sure that you care.

She keeps you pinned against the tile wall when you try slinking down her body. Vi ‘tsk’s in your face, nipping your neck, black fingernails already dipping beneath your waistband. Fluttering your bottoms down your thighs before whirling you around yet again. She slides onto the lidded toilet, legs spread wide. One thigh braised, muscle tense. She sits you on that thigh.

“Come on, baby,” she viciously swipes your cunt along her thumping thigh, swerving your hips by force. Rudely mimicking your pathetic whimpers back to you, airy, echoed “ah, ah, ah”s passing between sloppy kisses, “You gonna cum for me?”

Hard pressure and stroke against your clit has a ragged gasp raking through your chest, you spread your legs and wrangle hands into her jacket.

Then twisting those hands up toward her blackened hair. Vi has no sympathy, only pushing down harder and sliding you wetly over her skin.

“Come on, girl,” she moans quietly, “Give it to me. I need to watch you cum.”

Your gut twists at the desperate husk in her voice. Thighs quaking around hers. Nails snagging the nape of her neck.

She nudges up into you on each stroke, pressing her lips to yours.

“Uh- !” you gasp, knot blistering apart in your stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Hah…!”

“Uh-huh, baby,” she slowly releases your hips, allowing you to rut at your own pace while you come down from your orgasm.

“Oh, Vi…”

“Good girl,” she pecks your cheeks. Papping the black lipstick stains away kindly, “I needed that.”

Vi has enough decorum to help you yank up your clothes before shuffling you back out into the crowd.

Her thick jacket is laid over you. She pats the two-headed hound over your back with a playful shrug and chooses to not acknowledge the way you solely gaze at her chest beneath the wrap top. What a merciful and kind woman.

You slide your arms through the sleeves of the heavy jacket, letting Vi guide you via a hand just above your ass. Until you’re squishing through raised pews, not mumbling apologies quick enough for all the shoes you’re trampling. Too fast you’re moving in a space too dark.

“Here, baby,” Vi gruffs from behind you, shoving you as politely as possible onto the stone seat beside a man over thrice your size. She pats your padded shoulder and beams at the man while saying your name, then turns to you amongst the cheering crowd and says, “This is my friend! Just stick with him and nobody’ll fuck with you while I’m down there!”

Eagerly nodding along, you perk up as Vi leans down. One hand on your cheek and the other darting between the open drawls of her jacket -- not-so-subtly copping a squeeze of your tit -- pressing you with a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Then she hops down the pews vertically, carelessly shoving aside viewers. People scream after her in outrage but don’t change their bets on her win.

An elbow jutting into your side knocks you violently into Vi’s friend. Rather than become as upset as the patrons, he smiles down at you softly and slinks an arm around your back to keep you away from the rowdiness.

Lights dim, then shoot alive. Flashing down into the pit. Circling and circling like scavenger birds as a man rippling with black ink enters directly across from Vi.

You sit up seeing her. Eyes widening as if that could provide some higher definition sight of her.

The man keeps you upright among the thrashing throng. He has no room to say it, but the lovestruck haze on your face both terrifies and moves him. He prays for both yours and Vi’s sake that Vi is big enough with those muscles to dwarf her past. He’d love to put the idea of caution in your head, of a safe distance. But for one: the mob is shrieking, and two: your eyes are soaking wet with infatuation.

Even when Vi is making a man even bigger than himself spit out teeth and blood, you look down at her like she’s gifting a ribboned bouquet.

Post win, reveling in the coins freshly lining her pockets, Vi has you on her arm while her friend repeatedly gathers the bartender’s attention with his broader, taller stature.

Stares linger. Regular betters spotting this man with Vi is not unusual, but you are. A glaring lime green dot in the center of this portrait. Girls stray, syrupy voices sultry to lure Vi from her seat; yet it never works.

Her arm hooked around your waist tightens every time, screwing you into her side until your skin is basically glued against hers. If, at any point, you could be worried about her taking a different girl home: she quickly remedies that by how sparingly she diverts her attention from you.

It was always going to be you she takes home, and you were always going to say yes.

“This is cute,” Vi holds, between two fingers, your absolute embarrassment, “You carry this wherever you go?”

“Why are you riffling through my things?!”

You launch forward to rip your bag out of her lap and try snatching the comb from her fingers but she tosses it aside to wrench you forward. Both arms wrapping around your waist; wrapped hands with dried blood around the knuckles securing you against her.

“I trusted you…” you seethe, albeit non-seriously, and slap her shoulder, “I leave you alone for two seconds and you try teasing me.”

“It’s cute! You got a little reminder charm in your purse, it’s adorable,” when you only pout harder, Vi relents, “Sorry for betraying your trust while you pissed.”

“Ew, don’t say it like that…”

“So sensitive,” she lulls onto her back, bringing you with her so you’re fully nestled on her chest.

Grumbling protests into her bosom, you squeeze yourself around her. Throwing a leg over both of hers. Her blunt nails barely make an indent against your back as she draws lines and circles -and hearts you think?- along your spine. Despite her heavy-handedness and rough pads, the ministrations are incredibly soothing. So gentle and sweet that you find your lids drooping.

Heavy lashes beating down onto your cheeks. Breaths evening and slowing. A fragile yawn escapes your parted lips.

Just as your mind is leaking blank, you’re jostled.

“Alright,” she coughs awkwardly, clapping the fat of your ass until you’re shuffling upward, leaning upon your elbows. Lashes clumped by black dye beat up at you, she presses her lips with furrowed brows, “Let’s get you home.”

“At this hour?” you yawn.

Slipping out from beneath you, Vi is already stuffing her shoes back on. Carding long fingers through her tangled hair as she murmurs, “I’ll walk you.”

You don’t suppose that’s the warmest invitation, and so slink off Vi’s board of a bed.

Much of the creep towards your apartment is as silent as it is prolonged. Her silence could speak volumes if she wasn't so flagrantly dragging her feet, pointing into the smokey, unclear sky to attract your attention or pausing you at each sketchy corner to 'scope' rounding dangers. Patiently, you wait for her to tell you any of the multitude of thoughts she's withholding, but that doesn't come before she's clomping outside your door. "Well, sweets, looks like it's goodnight. Keep those bugs away, huh?" lame, yet charming. You wouldn't have imagined someone as made-up and scenic as Vi would have a shamelessly cringe bone in their body and yet she surprises you. You're desperate to see more.

She’s turning, she’s getting away. For some odd reason no matter how much time you siphon from her it is never enough.

“Wait, Vi!” you clap a hand over your mouth as soon as the call has left your mouth.

She quirks a brow at you silently.

“Uhm,” now you can’t retract it. Commit or die of embarrassment, “Are you hungry?”

Vi’s lips raise in disbelief, disbelief that suffocates itself with a confused smile, “I haven’t eaten.”

“Do you want to come in? I’ll make you something good.”

Vi, for an unbearable few seconds of stunted silence, contemplates the offer before shrugging. Face elongating in pure why not energy -- skimming your side as she slides into your apartment. Saddling your stove impatiently with big puppy eyes, just waiting until you follow in.

“I wanna have a special nickname for you…”

“Give me one, then.”

“How about…” you hum thoughtfully, “Red? Like the jacket?”

Vi tenses, then shakes her head wildly, “Too close to one I don’t like.”

“Uh, okay, then… uhm… ughhh, there’s not enough to work with… I don’t wanna just call you ‘V’, that feels so cheap.”

“Full name’s Violet, if you really want more ammo.”

“Violet,” you sing it so sweetly that it makes heat swoon to her cheeks -she almost clutches her palms over her face like a child at the realization- “What if I just call you that? Is that okay?”

The blush is immediately overwritten by a heinous cackle, “That’s the exact opposite of a nickname.”

“Yeah, but it’s just as special because only I’ll call you that. It’s a name-extender, or something.”

“Uh-huh, or something,” when you don’t retort, instead just blinking up at her bashfully, Vi tilts her head sardonically, “Yes?”

“Do I get a nickname, too?”

“Oh, yeah, let’s go. How about ‘princess’?”

“No! It has to be related to me!”

“You don’t see how ‘princess’ is related to you?” brattishly, you shake your head and Vi rolls her eyes (albeit not with any malintent), “Alright, then… Pumpkin? Candy lady? Sweet girl?”

The last one makes you clench and rub your thighs, but you press that down, down, down and pretend to be normal.

“Why are all my nicknames so ‘sweets’ related?”

She answers, or instead dodges, your question with another one, “How can you sit there and be so nice all the time anyway?”

“I don’t know, it just feels better than being spiteful.”

“Okay, well. Sometimes you have to be.”

“Yeah! I didn’t mean anything by it… just, for me. Right? I didn’t mean anything.”

Vi doesn’t seem to buy it, which is confusing because you don’t think you ever gave her a reason to think you would lie.

“Where are you from?” her gaze narrows.

“Huh? How does that matter?”

“Where were you born?”

“Vi, if you just want someone to be mad at you then why are you with me?” sensing she won’t drop the topic anytime soon, you sigh and answer with great hesitance, “Piltover. I moved here when I was sixteen.”

“Why?”

Her questioning makes your skin crawl. You don’t like her sneer. You don’t like thinking about your past. And you don’t want to explain yourself to someone you thought would understand.

“A girlfriend,” you try to wave the answer away beneath the pan’s sizzle, but Vi catches it.

“You moved down here?” you hum and nod passively, praying she’d only drop the subject, but instead she scoffs, “She was stupid to not move over.”

“She had a family to take care of…”

“She could’ve moved them all.”

“Why does it matter?” you move the pan and swing around after stifling the stove, hands clutching your counter and sights rounding with juicy globs of upset. You already know why it matters. You heard it two years ago and you’re reading it in the displeased lines of Vi’s scowl.

“You don’t belong down here,” she speaks so casually.

“I belong wherever I want.”

“Not down here.”

“Not with you?”

Vi inhales slowly, eyes fluttering shut and arms folding, “Come on, you know that’s-!“

“No, you come on! That’s what you’re saying!” you wail, pushing into the rusting stove when Vi steps closer, “That’s what you’re thinking. That’s why you’re saying all this, right? Why else would you care so much about shit I don’t even think about.”

Vi approaches, hands uncomfortably stuffed into her pockets, “I just can’t understand not being angry about anything.”

“That’s not because you’re from Zaun, that’s because your life was hard.”

“My life is hard because I’m from Zaun,” she bites, “I had a little stay topside, and it was still shit for me.”

Again, you can read what she’s thinking. The sudden crease between her brows says it all -- that vengeful twinge and aggravated quirk of her lips. And again, your heart tells you with fiery anguish that you must hear her confirm it verbally,

“Why were you in Piltover?”

Vi looks down at you over the bridge of her nose, “For a girlfriend.”

Staring each other down with only the rocking of your unsteady body against the stove droning through your apartment. You frown while Vi smiles cruelly. She wants you to say it back. You didn’t belong there. She wants you to bang the pan in her face.

“I’m sorry it was so shit for you,” you cough between bulbing sobs, and the urge to spit them out only grows when Vi is visibly disappointed in your response, “If you’re looking for a fight then you should go back to your own place.”

Vi leans back into the counter opposite you. Arms coming up to fold across her chest. She burns thumb and forefinger into her eyes, then massages her brow and trails across to her temple, “You’re so sweet.”

A mirthless laugh scatters from your deflated self, “Like sugar?”

“Yeah…” she sniffs and clears her throat, “Like sugar.”

Foolishly, you allow the disagreement to settle over her stunted compliment(?), “I still don’t like that. You sound like some hounding drunk.”

“It’s all I got.”

“We should work on your nicknaming skills, Violet.”

“Yeah, whatever ‘name-extender’.”

***

Waking up hours earlier than your routine calls for does not suit you finely. But, alas, you do it for Violet. Violet.

Gorgeous name for such a rugged girl. Her scarred lip and gnarly dye-job don’t scream ‘fragile lavender flowers’. Sometimes there are things you can connect Violet to violets over: soft, round eyes and flushing skin and the taste of her lips. Violet. You roll the name between your brain-folds -- like a marble through grout, contemplating the history behind it. Has she always preferred Vi? When did that nickname sprout? Why is it tattooed on her cheek? Would she let you kiss her tattoo? Would she let you moan Violet when she’s inside you?

For the tenth time this morning, you shoot the clock a deadly scathe. Half past ten.

No longer satiated passing time examining her name, you stand to swing the door and survey your floor. Clean of any body, let alone the significant profile Vi provides.

Vi never struck you as a punctual person, definitely seeming the type to be fashionably late even to her own party, but this was grating. Surely she didn’t choke on vomit in the middle of the night, right?

Momentarily, you feel inspired to burst out and give chase: rush to her studio and cradle whatever hungover pieces remain. Then comes the concern: what if she comes here, and you’re out trying to hunt her down?

To avoid creating a complicated circle, you stay plopped on your couch with your elbows stabbed into your knees and your face hanging into your palms. Every time sleepiness creeps over you, dizzying your head or yanking your lids, you’re shocked awake with anxiety: what if she knocks and you don’t hear it?

To avoid inconveniencing Vi, you stay wide awake on your couch. For uninterrupted hours.

Until you’re forced to rise upon the realization that the sun has crashed beneath the horizon. Indigo glows of nighttime bruise your carpet through dusty windows. Slowly waking, the moon yawns behind a veil of thick smoke. Discoloring it to a vague yellow-ish-green-ish.

You’re a very punctual person. Vi tells you a time, and you find a way to be there two minutes early. So ideally, when she said she’d be showing off at 21:00- you would’ve caught her in the ring.

After elbowing toward the front, hands clasped around the top rail to haul you up high above the fighting -eyes wide to peek at Vi’s rough physique and soft face up close. Only to find two burly men duking in the center. Teeth and blood splattered across the chipped floor.

Bathroom, perhaps?

Shuffling around the edge of the room, you budge toward the back where a single light flickers above the sign with missing letters spelling: RE R O

All you find in the bathroom is another hot couple sweating and moaning in a broken-lock stall. Too caught in their rambunctious whirl of passion, neither pays you any mind before you gather the wherewithal to duck out and slam the door.

Between flashes of light and thumping music, you make out that none of the faces in the crowd are Vi.

Outside, then?

Maybe?

You dash outside, cutting between sweat-slick bodies until the cold air greets you. Music muffled behind steel walls and cigarette smoke curdling around unfamiliar faces. Kiramman banners reflect sickly green beneath the street lamps. They don’t swing in the faint billowing wind; stiff material snaking in jagged lines that hide trashed gutters. A girl with long hair stands in the center, shouting and hugging a boy shorter than her -- you would bet she reeks of Zaun’s finest.

Outside was no luck, you twirl vapidly in the street -as if Vi is standing just out of sight to tease you. Then you find the flight up to her apartment: if Vi’s nowhere, she must be up there.

Bracing the trek two steps at a time, you find a conflicting hint to Vi’s whereabouts.

Coming down the same stairs is the big man Vi usually slinks around with, brushing off his hands with an unbuttoned coat and flushed cheeks. You typically think so kindly of this stranger, but whether it's the swollen concern or aching longing you’re quickly assuming the worst of him. Marching up and pushing him back (rather, he’s polite enough to pretend you forced him back).

He stares down at you with lidded eyes. Bloodshot with heavy bags. He’s frowning.

“What’d you do with her?” despite the comically obvious size difference, you shove at the man’s broad chest with both hands. Face twisted up at him and teeth bared, “I thought you were her friend!”

He merely throws a hand toward the stairs, moving aside for you to fly up the steps and throw yourself into her door. Roughly jerking the knob, finding it unlocked for any passerby, and flinging yourself inside with a panicked call,

“Vi?!”

The door clicks shut behind you, and the sullen strange man stalks away.

“Shhh!”

On her side -eyes clenched and legs twisted around one another with both arms flopped out on opposite sides- Vi is thrown into bed. She looks like she got dumped off by a truck and decided moving wasn’t worth the struggle. You imagine she’s feeling that way, too, if the clattering bottles you kick over when trying to enter are any indication. Her teeth bared with the dangerous shush.

An empty brown glass rolls into an empty green one and the dying orange sun makes them glitter into each other. Cautious to not make too much noise, you step over the two bottles and creak her door shut. A black bucket is beside her bed, angled beneath her face (for easy puking, you imagine). Several more emptied bottles marble the floor, and with the new vantage point inside her room, you spot a bottle on its side spewing bubbly beer. No doubt already soaking into the floorboards.

“Oh, Vi…” you husk, ambling through her maze to pick up the abandoned glass. Setting it on her side table and searching for anything to mop up the impending stain.

Your attention is speedily diverted.

“Don’t,” she spits, eyes still crinkled shut.

“Hmm?” you hum, inching forward to gently card hair from her face. It’s a tad too pliant, not so much soft as it is greasy, “‘Don’t’ what?”

“Say that… my name,” you could’ve laughed if she didn’t sound so deadly serious, “‘Oh, Vi’ like you give a shit…”

“I do,” you hope that regardless of your hushed tone, the firmness behind it is all the assurance she needs, “Vi, I care,” she doesn’t reply to that, instead groaning and leaning her head further off the edge of the bed. You silently adjust the puke bucket so it’s closer to her gaping mouth, “Vi, we should shower.”

“‘m fucked up, babe.”

“I can see the alcohol, Vi.”

“Sure…”

“Are you okay to stand?”

“You’re serious about a bath?”

“Super,” you comb through her fringe, “You’ll feel better afterward. All nice and clean, and then you can pass out all you want.”

“I don’t wanna stand,” she huffs.

“Then I’ll wash you.”

She snorts. Then shrugs, “Pick me up, then.”

Standing, you preemptively remove your thin shirt and shorts before cautiously hauling Vi into a sit. Looping one of her arms around your shoulder and dragging her into the bathroom. Vi silently lets you lay her in her itty bitty tub and twist on the water.

“Is it too cold?”

She remains silent. So you assume she’s fine.

As you tip her head, scaling water over matted black knots and scrubbing pigment straight off her neck with gentle ministrations -Vi is leering through the corner of her eye.

“You stripped,” she notices.

“I did,” you scratch soap into her discolored hair, “Should I throw on a towel or something?”

“No,” Vi leans back into your hands, a soft moan escaping as you massage her scalp, “Bath and a show. I like it.”

“I just didn’t want you ruining my clothes. You look like a splasher.”

“It’s water.”

“Yeah, bathwater.”

Vi laughs quietly, proving your point with a flick of her wrist and sending a small sploosh of water up into your chest. Powder blue eyes locked on the way your breasts bounce in your bra as you flinch away, then how they jiggle when you try scolding her,

“Vi!”

“You should walk around like this more often,” she grins up at you.

“Whatever,” you try hiding your face in your arm.

“Yeah,” one of her hands dips out of the water to flip your tit, giggling maniacally as you screech and retch back, “Whatever, huh? Listen when I talk, babe.”

Standing abruptly at the new title of ‘babe’, you shudder and shake out the nerves bottling in your gut, “I might as well join you if you’re gonna soak me.”

“You should,” Vi spreads her legs while leaning back, making an obvious gap for you to fill. Rapping her knuckles against the side of the cramped tub, “I’ll treat you real nice in here.”

“Liar,” you smother your humiliation beneath indignation, then a thin spread of frustration, “You’re getting pruney, let me finish washing you.”

“What if I wanna wash you?”

“Do you? Or do you just want me in the water?”

Vi shrugs playfully, a drunken smile on her face, “Never tell.”

“Okay, Vi,” you roll your eyes, rinsing suds from her hair and watching as the water browns beneath her.

Her skin gleams beneath the shoddy yellow lights now, and you can clearly make out each intricate line in the tattoo going down her spine. Branching off either arm and licking up her neck. Outgrown hair hides some of the neck detail.

“When’s the last time you got a cut?” you wonder aloud. Not really expecting a response.

Vi stiffens, arms locking around her bent knees, eyes unfocused and breath heavy as she answers, “Couple months now.”

Patting Vi’s shoulder into a rise, you unplug the tub before assisting Vi out. She trips over herself and just snickers as you scramble to keep her upright. Vi yawns while you lead her toward her makeshift bed with both hands. Kicking aside empty liquor bottles as you do.

“Wanna get dressed for bed? Or total commando?”

“Naked,” she stumbles up, caught by diligent hands and escorted back onto her stiff, patchwork mats, “Thanks.”

“Hm? Uh, oh, sure. I don’t mind.”

“Okay…”

Despite technically fulfilling her request: you feel guilty leaving Vi there, bare to the sprawling draft on a thin mosaic of lumpy cots. She curls tightly, spiraling around herself with her clasped hands as a pillow. Heart drowning in stomach acid, you sigh and drop onto your knees,

“Vi, don’t you have a blanket around here somewhere?”

She mumbles something and flings an arm straight out, a single finger pointed straight toward the boarded floor. Crouching beneath the bed frame, you reach out blindly into the dark undercarriage; fully unaware there was even enough space down here to fit something. After uncarefully scrounging for all of two seconds, you find bundled fabric. Absolutely not soft enough to be a genuine thread blanket, even from the fissures.

The material itself is… off. Thin, sure, but almost plastic-esque. Not vinyl. Not a sheet.

Yanking the cloth out and flattening it across your lap. No matter how dark Vi’s room grew with the sunlight’s decline, you could make out that boorish symbol anywhere. Hard lines stacked into the most offensive polygon you’ve ever seen;

A Kiramman crest flag.

Did she just rip it from a post? Surely with all she wins, she could’ve gotten something more… well, like a blanket.

“Vi, you can’t wear this, it won’t keep you warm…”

She snores and twists away from you. Jet-black ink staring you in the face, now. Swaying with her breath, but otherwise motionless: perfect opportunity to scan down her spine. Because that’s where her tattoo sits, of course.

Hard rectangular blocks, exceptionally round, screw-like joints and gear types at either shoulder. Never before could you conflate Vi with mechanics because everything about her is so hot.

Blood and skin. Layered hair. Bloodshot eyes. Pink lips. A heartbeat. Flaying lashes.

Perhaps that’s an old part of her. Locked away behind the years since she got the tattoo done. Maybe she doesn’t even remember what the meaning is.

What if it just looks cool?

Slammed out of your thoughts, Vi rolls around again with a strung-out huff. Now a silvering scar denting her top lip stares you in the face. A nose ring glints just to the left, teasing you to stick around. You see both so much better without those black shades she packs on before each rumble. For as much as you adore the hardened painting, you think she’s prettier like this. You catch the roundness of her cheeks better. The wideness of her eyes. Her collarbones.

You inhale slowly and stumble back into a stand. Hands shaking at the sudden, frightening swell of affection.

You should probably go.

Vi shivers, big eyes clenching tight and burly arms roping around herself for cover.

Dropping into a speedy squat, you snatch the Kiramman flag and splay it across her although it does your heart no favors. Still unpleasantly contracting.

She could get sick…

She’s doused by moldy colors. Surely the material is scratchy, too.

“At least I know what’s watching me…” rouses you from the fresh concern.

“Huh?”

“Can’t sleep like this,” Vi laughs, stifling it in the hull of her throat before rolling to sit up. Staring up at you tiredly, “Felt like I was being watched.”

“Oh, I guess I was… I wasn’t, I mean- not like that,” you groan, scrubbing exasperation from your tense eyes, “I don’t wanna hurt you, Vi.”

“Comforting.”

“Just worried… you’ll get sick, you know?”

Vi pushes off to stand, smirking when your eyes momentarily sink toward her chest -- she pinches your cheek, “Cute.”

Shirking a stringy black top and boxers on, Vi snags the flag -and kicks it back beneath her bed before assuring you, “I’ll find something else, okay?”

“Okay…”

Striding past you, Vi opens her door and knocks her head into the frame before gesturing you through, “Ladies first.”

You chuckle, good-naturedly rolling your eyes and flouncing out of her apartment, “You’re a lady, too.”

“Mhmm,” she shuts it behind you both -impulsively going to jam her hands in pockets until she realizes there are none there. She says nothing but leads you toward the wide staircase, “Not like you, though. Coming all this way for me… Undercity’s finest.”

“Not even,” you’re glowing beneath the praise. Goofy smiling and cheeks heated. So you intentionally stray a few steps behind, so she cannot see you.

As you dust the final step, looking out into the narrow alleys -flaying Kiramman flags mystifying the space, so crowded together you can no longer see between them as the wind raises each flap- you realize you have a longer way to go.

Vi must come to the same conclusion simultaneously. Already staring down at you when you peek toward her.

Her mouth opens, lips faintly stained blue around the ridges and smears of black lingering beneath her lashes. Vi’s eyes trace you, hands shaking at her sides. Then she sighs, eyes blinking half a second apart, “I might be too drunk to walk you home, sugar.”

Knowing she’s inebriated gives you an edge -knowing that perhaps tomorrow her head will pound so hard she won’t remember this conversation- you straighten your shoulders, “Then why don’t I stay the night?”

Blinking down at you, drowsy lashes hanging for a moment, Vi hums thoughtfully even though you can see the rejection already in her face, “You shouldn’t…” eyes sliding away from you, “You won’t get much sleep…” she laughs at herself before bumbling out, “the mattress is uncomfortable.”

“Huh,” you twist uncomfortably, an overbearing and embarrassing tension rising as you battle uphill to get back into that apartment, “I’ll miss you then.”

“Stay safe, sugar,” she soothes a hand up your arm before slinking away. Overly cool and completely unbothered, she has to white-knuckle the rail as she climbs back toward her lonely studio apartment.

A biting wind slithers up your back.

You forgot Vi’s jacket at home.

***

Technically, there was no plan to see each other again.

That doesn’t mean you want to any less.

Work is disinteresting and despite living here for coming to eight years, you have yet to establish a social circle independent of work or… Her. Who shall not be named.

The most social stimulation you’ve had today was another knock-switcharoo incident. Flurrying toward the sound, expecting Vi to be leaning there with her muscles and soft lips, you opened the door to find your next-door neighbor with a crooked smile. She held out a silver key and asked you to keep it because it’s a new copy and I don’t trust myself with the duplicate….

That was two hours after you woke up. Many more have passed since then.

A momentary pass of awareness scoops you up: is everyone right? That you don’t belong here? Should you go back home? Would that help you re-grow your spine, would that re-inspire your social battery? Would that alleviate the doubts still gnawing at you with Her teeth?

But then you wouldn’t get to see Vi if you moved back home…

Maybe you shouldn’t.

You sit at home. You don’t know what to do with yourself alone except for craving Violet.

Antsy for something to do, you resolve to rid yourself of the last fossil from two years ago: throwing apart the cabinets above your speckled stove, nearly tearing one door from its hinges. Sparkling from the back, unhidden, is a bottle you haven’t touched since She stormed out of your apartment. Leaving you with a two-bedroom to hemorrhage money over while her things slowly disappeared overnight. Its waxy red neck shivers for warmth, and your palm is awfully sweaty -- it needs something cold to wrap around.

Thrilled spines pierce along your spine and into the arm you’re extending for the bottle. Amber liquid swirls kindly at you, calling your name with such foreign affection that you have no choice but to politely reciprocate. Unscrewing the cap and abandoning it into the garbage. Swigging like water until your throat burns, then you drink more to pacify the sting.

Once your belly is buzzing and hot, and any thought past breathing is too hard for your head to compute: you decide you’re in perfect condition to get out of your stuffy apartment.

After all, don’t you deserve it?

You’ve been locked away too long, you should get out. You should dress up. You should keep the bottle with you as you get dolled up. And you should roam deep into the inner city. For no specific reason except that’s usually where the excitement thrives. Your ex taught you that.

Deep in a cardboard box buried in the back of your closet is a matching set. Your only one. You only wore it twice.

Black thread is thickest in the outline: straps and cups, then a sheer mesh. Wine tinted over your flesh and purple bows on either bra strap, right at the pit of your arm, and over the front of your panties. Vi loved it the first time, she’ll have to love it again. It’ll remind her of that first night: the heat, the passion, she could’ve eaten you alive and it was enchanting.

Over that, you tug a pink dress. Short to let your legs breathe. Hugging around your hips and chest. Simple enough to be unassuming as a slip dress, but undoubtedly tempting for someone like Vi.

When did this abrupt outing become about Vi?

…you don’t remember…

You don’t care too much, either.

A dangerous walk to the pit is nothing to your drunken mind. Determined with nothing but soot in your hands, dust blowing out of your fists without you realizing.

Vi doesn’t notice you with her back turned. She’s alone and hunched over the counter with a vice grip around a glass bottle. Her cheeks are rosy and the glass has only been dug into a fifth of the way. You approach, and she must catch your glinting smile in her peripherals because her head glides your way.

Releasing the bottle, Vi tilts her head onto her newly spare hand while reaching out for you with the other. Fondly, she massages the back of your hand with her thumb -- settling you onto the stool beside her and tugging you flush into her side. She pats your thigh and cups your cheek.

Vi snickers, drawing a thumb beneath your bottom lip and swiping up-away from the corner. Only once you see the crimson smear on her skin do you realize she was cleaning up drooping lipstick. What a romantic…

“You look like me, sugar,” she says strangely. Not happy. Not sad. Just quiet. And her face betrays nothing at all.

“Are you happy to see me?”

“You drink before showing up?”

Her question flies out so quickly it doesn’t occur to you that she completely dodged your own.

“Can you tell?”

She nods, “Hard not to when I can smell it.”

“Augh…”

“You’re still cute,” she promises and swings back her next drink. Dragging the back of her hand across her jaw to catch sour dribbles, “I just have to catch up now.”

Before she can poke even a little, you’re clawing an open hole through your stomach. Guts piling onto the counter in front of her. An earnest glow overtaking your face, and a desperate rag choking your sweet tone, “Vi, I missed you.”

“Did you?” she swallows another shot from the bottle.

“I want you totally, Vi.”

“Do you?”

Now she looks at you again. Your face is spared two seconds before her steely eyes drop toward your cleavage. Elated with having her stare on you again, you don’t catch the pure carnality electrifying her. Raw desire infects her sloppy judgment when she nods.

“I want you too, sugar.”

“Seriously?” despite all your dreams, you hadn’t thought she would agree. Preparing yourself for the utter worst, now you don’t know what to do as she hops down (stealing the whole bottle with her, you notice).

“What else would you be doing here?” she grins up at you from your perch on the stool, “Now come on, are you gonna sit here and make me go home alone?”

She already knows, you can tell by that smarmy lilt in her voice, she must know that isn’t what you came here for.

Taking her offered hand is natural. Medical wrap comfortably fitting into the grooves of your clasp. When you trip over the first step, she dramatically sweeps you up into her arms. Barking a laugh when you scream and curl both arms around her neck in panic, legs tightening and smacking against her clavicle. Regardless of her not being winded or in any detectable pain, you rush to kiss her cheek and spew apologies.

“I’m tough, sugar, don’t be sorry,” she carries you up the steps, “Feel free to keep kissing me though.”

So you do.

Red lip print after red lip print, overlapping and staining her pale cheek. Mingling and murkying with her long-drawn eye makeup. And when you sear your lips against her jaw you see that black shades over some of the red.

As a test, you kiss down her neck and again: black in red. She stained you, too.

It makes you giddier than it should, but you blame it on the alcohol and not your festering obsession.

Vi lets you off after kicking her door open, finding plenty of joy in how you -again- squeal in shock and cling tighter to her. Bonking your forehead against her. Her laugh is so full of fluff, delighted by your dread -she still sounds so pretty. She kneels to unclasp your shoes and slips you out of them with black tar kisses on your knees and shins.

Unlooping the straps of your slip until it bleeds onto the floor: pooling around your ankles. You hop out of it without a second thought.

Kicking off her own shoes, Vi slides her hands over your neck and smooches both cheeks -- grinning broadly with bloodshot eyes at the sight of her lips printed on your skin.

With the door open, you feel free. Unhidden. A bottle about to be chugged. Her hands on your neck, so warm and so gentle. You feel buzzy in your belly and overwhelmed by endearment, you pry your ribs back to expose a still-beating heart. Vi can take it. She should take it.

“I think I love you, Vi.”

Hands tighten around your throat before snaking off, fastening at her sides. Red eyes come alight like she didn’t just carry you up the stairs and kiss your legs, “What?”

“I’m - I mean, uh… I… I want you, I want us…” your shoulders slump, brows furrowing, “I thought…”

“You thought?” she prods, eyes wide and chest erratically pumping. Each breath a gunshot.

“I just thought…”

“Thought what?” she spits, glare spearing you against her bedroom wall, the radiating chill washing your back keeps you stiff, “What could you possibly have thought this was?”

“Uh,” you lull, shoulders rising toward your ears and eyes drooping onto the floor, “uh,” you hesitate and let your arms flop out on both sides, “uh…”

“God!” she scoffs, and it teeters off into a snaking laugh by the end, “Do you ever start a thought without moaning?” Vi shakes her head, eyes cutting aside -toward her cracked mirror, “What did you think I was gonna be for you? What you were for me?” she looks back onto you, low and angry. She’s never looked at you like that, “You can’t be that dumb.”

“Oh,” your chin falls into your collarbones, eyes pointed onto your socked feet and beginning to sting. Hands come up belatedly and curl around yourself, “...oh…”

Vi steps back and collapses on her bed. It creaks beneath her. She isn’t looking at you. You’re not looking at her.

Instead, you’re focused on your clothes strewn over her floor. A baby pink slip you ripped from the lanes -a thin film of soot caked into the fabric- and Vi’s old red jacket. A toppled pair of flats with the soles beginning to poke through the bottom kicked by her door. An unfortunate glance cast toward her mirror confirms the lipstick you wore is now smudged sideways. Hair mussed and whole body constricting to hide itself.

Vi stares at the floor. You feel so stupid.

“Was I actually just sex to you?” you finally ask. A whisper into the buzzing coffin.

Like a nail beneath the hammer, Vi answers, “What else could you have been?”

Maybe her girlfriend.

You don’t suggest that. You just nod. You step back into your dress, pulling each thin strap slowly around the curve of your shoulders. She says nothing. It’s so quiet you can hear the extra step it takes for you to skip over her old jacket and slip each shoe back on.

Fingers tighten around the brass knob, twisting until it squeaks and pops out of frame.

“It’s weird to leave your place without you walking me down,” you whisper, gaze hooking back just to see if she’ll flinch. Vi remains static, bent over herself on the bed.

“You’re still upright,” she mutters, voice low and strapped with razor wire.

“I tried really hard to look nice, Vi.”

She shivers as her name crawls off your tongue, tucking her head down and away from sight. You’re not sure what else you expected. She obviously wants you out, yet you stand just to delay the inevitable. You’ve never spent the night before, that won’t change because you confess how pathetic you are for her.

Leaving feels wrong, staying is wrong.

You step out slowly, as if to taunt Vi into grabbing your hips and yanking you into her chest. As if she would.

“Goodnight, Vi.”

A stiff, low nod is all you get. And the only evidence that’s what you even got was the rustle of tarred hair flapping.

Sliding the door shut behind you, you pull the knob hard to ensure it surely shut. Silently stepping back, you coil around yourself upon a sweeping breeze; peeled eyes set on that dilapidated door. No shuffling, no screaming, no banging. Vi sits on her bed, then, and quietly forgets you were ever there. But you can’t stop thinking about it.

Feet dragging down each step and an unsteady hand clutching the rail. Sniffling. Reconsidering everything you said, every spot in her room you looked too closely at, how you didn’t rush to touch her -hug her, hold her, soothe her. Wondering if maybe had you kept your mouth shut tonight then she could’ve fallen for you, that maybe all she needed was more time. After tonight, she could’ve been yours, right? She just needed time, now she wants nothing to do with you.

But you keep hoping she’ll run down after you. She should be tripping over herself, racing the wind, and skipping three steps at a time to scoop you into her big arms.

A nasty, soaked hiccup chokes you. Cupping a hand over your mouth stifles nothing, but it does make you light-headed with the sudden lack of oxygen. Maybe if you pass out now she’ll find you and feel so bad she just takes you with her anyway.

Or maybe someone else will find you and feel so much pity they stomp you out right there.

Either way, you would have been saved from the humiliating task of blubbering all the way home by yourself.

Only once you’ve stripped and kicked off your shoes do you realize -you left a comb on Vi’s bedside table. Your favorite one. And your favorite bra, too, was thrown somewhere across her bedroom. With much hesitation and more regret, you swallow the fact you’re never seeing either again and climb into bed.

Steely cold sheets slither over your skin, flatly covering with no comfort -- and surely no softness. Despite the conditions, your eyes close and you clasp your hands over your chest, rolled up tight on your side. Never before has your breathing sounded so lonely, ravaged by a swelling throat with lungs knotting around your heart. Slowly unballing your fists, smushing them flat over your eyes just to catch the dripping wetness.

Maybe if you collect it all, and show the swirling cups to Vi she’ll let you stay and cry for her a little bit more.

Or maybe she’d just shut the door in your face.

***

Nights are long. You sleep to get to morning and sleep some more to ignore the day. Tempting is the bottle, but then you'd be flat broke and with all those sick days recently you doubt your boss will be thrilled to keep you around on tough times.

Rolling out of bed for a shift feels how you'd imagine a glass blade dragging over your face feels. Dramatic, possibly, but if someone could bare their palms around your every thought then they'd know the comparison was real. Much dread fills you, so full and so bloated with trepidation that you could spew it out unto neighbors as you walk.

A blinking red sign awaits overhead. Few letters are stubborn enough to remain lit the four minutes you spend procrastinating outside. The rest flicker without remorse, spelling a stuttered and ill-aged: BOM S

Deciding to brave a striding entrance rather than being dragged in by your glaring coworker, you finally push open the cracked glass door. Fingerprints and blood smears of varying degrees of dryness paint the exterior. No new faces decorate the floor: a promise that you still have a position. After all, not many are bustling to work at the poorly managed, poorly budgeted titty bar.

Skidding past the curious and agitated faces of coworkers, you veer into the back room. Pleased to find your locker intact and untouched.

Your name plated across a dinky silver tag with a crooked back pin is still stitched into place over the heart of your black apron. Which smells as clean as you left it. Same with your tiny black shorts and low-cut top. Shucking on the minimalist uniform, you speedily whip out onto the floor and ignore the incredulous stare of your fellow opening girl.

Levaya storms your way while the floor is still empty, an uneasy morning dust still coating each table. Sticky beer clicking your heels into place on the floor. Monte is still at the bar area, wiping the counter before getting to any part of the restaurant used at this time of day - which makes total sense, of course.

Her red lips are twisted furiously, though the pinch in her eyebrows unveils deep concern, “Where have you been? We thought you died!”

“I was sick. Really out of it.”

Scoffing, she rolls her eyes, “You’re always out of it. Just tell Avont before your story changes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you watch her storm off, “whatever.”

Mornings at Bombshells are never, ever busy enough to justify having two servers on staff -- you doubt there was a sudden influx of patrons before afternoon that has Levaya salty. If anything she must have just been so concerned she gave herself a stress headache, as if that’s your fault.

In any case, you end up outside Avont’s office before the first hour of your shift ends. His name is seared into a rusty board, too thin to be the plaque he insists it is. You knock out of courtesy before simply opening the door, which is never locked because there is no lock. He blew that budget on the front door, a smarter venture given the location.

Avont sighs when he sees you, “Where’ve you been?”

“I was sick, real loopy. Couldn’t tell time, kept falling in and out of sleep.”

“Right, m’kay,” he scrawls -you assume that excuse- in the corner of a paper before waving a hand to shoo you out. As you’re trying to exit, you swear he mutters, “Hope it was worth it…”

The wish makes you swallow hard, and gaze upon the hollow chairs -ghostly tables. Were you better off here than out in the pits?

Levaya palms your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin, she tilts her head, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re usually spacey, but not this bad.”

“Uh,” you clear your throat -you should start thinking without moaning, apparently it’s scathing- “Fine. I'm fine.”

Snapping catches both of your attention, Monte holding out a bucket and two rags. A silent prod if you got time to lean, you got time to clean -- which usually doesn’t bother you, after all, you could’ve moved to the night shift when people actually show up if cleaning bothered you. But right now you’re almost too devastated just standing, let alone scrubbing and soaping.

“Technically,” Levaya seethes, “One of us should be at the host stand,” she snatches the harder job up right in front of your eyes and waves the rag at you like you’re a child, “And you owe me, so you have to take it! No arguing!”

You don’t get to open your mouth before she’s whipping you in the ass with the rag.

So you quietly meander to the so-called ‘host stand’ which is just leaning against the peeling wallpaper and waving at bypassing citizens. Nobody stops in. Nobody ever does since Avont axed the cheap lunch specials. Why would anybody stop into a place like this without dancers otherwise?

Why would someone go where they aren’t fulfilled?

Why do you stay in the undercity?

Levaya swears at a chunk of dried gum beneath a table. Monte laughs. Avont waves papers in his office.

Your name is shot from Avont’s cracked doorway, he flaps a clipboard at you, “You have to sign these!” when you don’t jump up from the wall, he grumbles, “For your sick days, kid, let’s go!”

Waltzing out of Avon’t office provides the kind of show you’ve missed at Bombshells since moving to the morning crew. Shouting. Angry shouting.

.

.

.

Levaya is wringing her grayed rag with fury, mouth similarly twisted as she glares upward, “Get out! I don’t know who you think you are, but she’s not here! And if you don’t get out now, I’ll make you!”

Rarely do you see the dark-haired woman so enraged. So you eagerly round the corner to peek at her opponent to find-

Violet.

Completely pliant to the person screaming in her face. Dormant in a corpse way. Eyes low and fingers knotted kindly although she doesn’t seem to be listening at all.

“Get! Out!” Levaya whacks Vi in the arm.

The woman flinches, glaring down at your coworker but otherwise still. Pale gaze warping around the floor just to find you.

“Vi…?”

She finds you.

Levaya scoffs your name, “Come on!”

You wonder how she knows you so well.

“We should talk outside,” you rush over, pushing Vi around and forward by the shoulder. She moves easier than water, entirely soft beneath your fingertips. Nothing like the stonewall woman you’ve known.

“Good friend,” Vi mutters as soon as the glass doors clink shut.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was drunk last night…”

“You were drunk a lot of nights.”

Vi sighs through her nose. Eyes scrunching shut. Her hands are tight in her pockets.

“But last night, I wasn’t. I didn’t,” she groans, “I wasn’t thinking last night. I got scared.”

“You got scared?”

“I got scared,” she confirms, “And it wasn’t you, it’s everything behind you. It’s topside.”

“I don’t live there, there’s nothing for me up there,” or down here, but you don’t say that, “I can’t be loyal to a place I left.”

“It’s not about loyalty,” Vi lets the statement linger so long you almost start a refusal when she bursts out with, “Last time I had a topside girl, my spirit was crushed. I just don’t want to be that way again. Blinded and unsure, it’s not good,” she gestures to herself as if to add humor but it truly just makes you sad, “You’ve seen the results.”

“I like you, Vi, I like what I see. You treat yourself like a chore forced onto me, but if I didn’t want to be with you then I wouldn’t be,” such generic statements make you nauseous, but it’s the single truest thing you could think to say. The most honest you can be is in those blanket statements.

Vi’s eyes soften, self-loathing dissolving into something much more passionate. She looks down at you sweetly, though her thoughts are anything but: you’re so pretty she wants to choke herself and so kind she wants to pluck out her own eye. You’re terrifying because she knows she could fall for you, and you don’t belong with her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Vi.”

And yet you’re so concerned with how she feels.

“I don’t wanna hurt you either,” she lets out her pocketed hands just to ball them at her sides, shaky with frustration and red hot need, “I just want you around. Everything’s boring when you’re gone. And your apartment is more comfortable than mine now,” frantically, she cards a hand through her hair and wets her lips, “Or maybe it’s just you because I swear the one time I could lay on my shitty bed without a backache was when you were in it.”

“Why push me away, then?”

“I was scared. But I’m more scared of never seeing you again,” she palms the back of her neck, almost shyly, and nudges her head toward the glass doors, “So, can I see you again?”

“You wanna watch me work for the next six hours? Nothing happens on mornings…”

“But you’ll be here, sugar,” she beams, you can tell she’s trying to be suave but it all cracks into unadulterated glee as you nod.

“Well, I guess you’ll be my first customer…”

“What an honor, I’m sure the service will be great.”

“The best.”

“For some reason, I doubt that,” Vi entwines a shaky hand with yours, dragging you toward Bombshells. Re-entering, but now, you think- you plainly assume- as a couple.

If not, then at this point, what the fuck else could you possibly be?

tagging people i thought would be interested:

@wowcatboys + @ch6douin + @deathrose36 + @opoyend + @fortheharbingers ? *metal on metal screeching sound* maybe y'all?

[frannyzooey]

Sun Drenched

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: a little something I wrote after the premiere of the trailer — enjoy while I work on some other things! ❤️

—

Marcus’s fingers drum on the table, his eyes drifting over the wood. His gaze is unfocused, every color and fine line blending together, his mind distant from the talk of battle around the room. 

The whorls remind him of your curves, the ones he left draped in his sheets. 

The slow rise and fall of your breathing, your bare chest on display. He plays with the curve of your breast, reveling in the petal soft skin: fingertips circling your peaked nipple, his thumb skating over the plump weight. Bending to give it a kiss, the skin feels like velvet under his lips. A butterfly’s wings, delicate and achingly soft. 

Your fingers run through his curls on a soothing loop, his scruffed cheek resting over your heart. His touch dancing along the inside of your thigh, the bend of your knee, the sloped indent of your waist. 

Sated and spent, every sense satisfied. 

Touch, taste, smell, all nourished for the time being. 

You hum, and he listens, closing his eyes. 

“General Acacius?”

His name brings him back to the present, a table of men staring at him. 

“Hm?”

Some chuckle, some barely hide their impatience. 

“Looks like his mind is elsewhere.”

“Between his lover’s legs, more like.”

“Can you blame the man? He’s been away for almost a year.”

His smile is tired, but good natured. He holds his hand up, silencing their comments.  

“My apologies. Please, continue.”

They do, Marcus trying his hardest to focus on the plans they have laid before him, the training suggestions, the maps. Everything plotted, everyone with an opinion to voice. They fight across the table; old men and young.

“Do you have to go?”

He turns, thumbing at a mark you’ve left on his bare chest while riding him this morning. 

“I can’t neglect my duty to Rome,” he says, drinking deeply from a cup of wine. 

“And what about your duty to me?” you tease, pulling your naked leg out from under the sheets. Your hand drifts down along the inside of your thigh, and he stops his search for a tunic, watching. You skim it higher, and then higher still and his eyes darken when you slip it under the sheets between your legs, just out of sight. 

“I think I’ve more than satisfied that,” he replies, abandoning his search for clothing. Climbing up onto the bed to join you, he takes your ankle in his hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips drift higher, his grin pressing into your leg at the giggle you let out when he tugs the sheet from your body. 

Settling heavy and warm on top of you, his mouth immediately seeks your own. 

His voice is heard above the rest in the end. Plans settled for the day, he stands from the table, rubbing at the stiffness in his lower back from years spent in the training yard, sitting in a saddle, sleeping on the ground. The men shake his hand one at a time as they file out of the room, and he follows, walking out into the courtyard. 

The sun shines down on his face, and he tilts it upwards, soaking in all he can before he’s summoned again. A council with the emperors is next, the future of Rome to be decided. More old men sitting around on their pompous asses to decide the fates of both himself, and the men that fight beside him. 

Passing the training yard, the men shout their greetings to him as he passes. He molded so many of them, took them from their cradles into manhood, taught them how to be worthy of protecting one of the greatest cities in the world.  He pauses, watching, the clang of swords melting into the background. 

You buck underneath him, your bare skin flush with his own, your hands splayed across his chest with a shove. As hard as you can, you try to budge him, and he grins above you. 

“You can do better than that, my love,” he teases. Still, he lets up a fraction and you use your weight to roll him onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. Your breasts bounce with the movement, and his mouth waters. 

“It’s not fair,” you complain, slightly breathless, your pretty pout making him thicken underneath you. “You’re so much stronger than me.” A mischievous glint dances in your eyes. “Maybe I should wander down to the training yard. See if grappling with those men makes me any better.”

Your fingers entwine with his, and he takes advantage of your momentary distraction to let you catch your breath – and then he lunges. Sitting up with a cinch, he pins your hands behind your back and tips you backwards into the bedding, trapping your arms. You laugh and fight back, trying hard to ignore the stiff weight of his cock as it brushes between your legs. 

“Why, when you have the best one in your bed already?”

You try to dodge him, rolling to the side to see if you can escape the bed, and he snatches you back into place, his strong arm banding across your stomach. Faster than you can react, he’s pinned you face down into the sheets, and his knees force your legs open, his hand wrapping firmly around your plush hips to jerk them up. 

Breathless and hard won, he lines up and shoves himself forward, fucking his victory into you.  

Stuck longer than he would have liked in councils this afternoon, he feared they would turn into a dinner invitation. The emperors were fond of drawn out, elaborate affairs, tables of food and wine, pleasantries exchanged with the secret intents hidden beneath smiles. 

He walks with a purposeful stride and a stern expression, one he’s practiced among the years. It’s a commanding gait he hopes will deter anyone from stopping him for an idle chat. He’s had enough of Rome’s business for today. 

“General Acacius.”

A guard greets him as he passes, the man snapping into a rigid stance.

“Is she in there?” Marcus asks. 

“She hasn’t left all day, sir. Just like you asked.”

Marcus nods, rounding the corner to his private chambers. Opening the door, he’s greeted with silence. 

It’s a peaceful silence, the room drenched in the sunlight of the late afternoon, the lingering smell of the rich oil you use on your skin in the air, the curtains to his balcony billowing in the breeze. It’s there where he finds you, fast asleep on a chaise. A book open and laid flat across your chest, he admires the softness of your profile for a moment. 

Long lashes, plump lips, beautiful, soft skin – and completely naked, underneath your thin robe. 

He carefully takes a seat and you stir at the shadow that overtakes you, giving him a gentle, lazy smile in greeting. 

“You’re back.”

“Finally,” he says, lifting the book from your chest. He gives it a glance, flipping through the pages for a moment before setting it down. “Is this how you spent the day?” he teases warmly. “Lazing in the sun?”

You roll onto your side, your robe sliding open with the movement. His eyes drop to the exposed juncture between your thighs before slowly drifting upwards: the soft curve of your belly peeking through the folds of fabric, the plane of your chest awash in sunlight. Your skin looks freshly oiled and warm, and he longs to press his face against it. 

Instead, he leans in for a kiss. 

“You told me not to leave, sir.” You murmur the words against his lips, your hand slipping over the curve of his bare thigh, sliding up underneath the hem of his tunic. “So I didn’t.”

He hums, pulling back with a lick of his lips. His eyes make a hooded, dark circuit down your naked body only to slowly crawl back up. 

“Did you have a good day, my pet?”

The endearment is one that he knows you like, the implication that you exist only for his leisure and pleasure. If only you knew it was actually the other way around, that you held the leash of the world’s most feared general. 

“I did. I’d hoped you’d join me for dinner,” you smile, bringing his attention back to your face. 

“And what’s for dinner?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low, raspy tone. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, cupping you wholly between your legs. “This?”

His fingers press against your damp curls, searching, exploring. His hold tightens, and you suck in a breath before melting into the chaise. 

“If you wish,” you sigh, letting your legs fall open. 

He does. He’s been waiting all day to settle between your plush thighs, to be wrapped in the warm embrace of your body. So much softness, after a life spent so hard. The way he stirs for you makes him feel like a young man again; it’s constant, his wanting. He shifts to his knees, the stone digging into his skin. 

The sun catches the chestnut hidden in his curls when he bends for a taste of your sweet cunt, and you brush through the soft locks, twirling them around your finger. Every lap of his tongue makes you lazy and warm with arousal, until his nicked hand splays across the inside of your thigh to open you wider – and then the heat that he’s been stoking turns into a bright flame, his tongue flicking faster and faster. 

“Marcus,” you moan, your thighs tensing around his scruffed cheeks. 

With a suck, he pushes you over the edge. And when he pulls back, another flame licks hot through you at the sight of his glistening chin. 

Status and wealth, lands and glory. Respected and feared, a place of honor in the Roman Empire. 

All of it at your feet, lapping at your cunt. 

He stands, stripping himself of his tunic, his sandals. Your own robe discarded on the ground, he kneels on the chaise and the body that he’s molded over the years both in the training yard and in battle is bare and firm, your fingers stretching out to brush through the dark hair that collects beneath his navel. His stomach is a soft curve, his cock heavy between his thighs, and you drift your touch down, wrapping your hold around it and giving it a tug. Hard and aching just for you, he groans as you explore the velvet skin, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. 

Stopping, you pull him down to join you and he lines up, pushing himself inside. 

He fucks like he’ll never be able to stop. 

Like he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance again. 

Like every push inside is a claim, like every kiss is a mark he’s branding on your skin. 

The silver at his temples and that dusts the corners of his jaw are indicators of his age, and he fucks with the same experience it would imply. 

He fucks like he fights; ruthless and hard. With his hand wrapped around the curve of your shoulder, to keep you underneath him. With your leg hitched high over his hip to force himself deeper.

He’s insatiable; your cunt sore, and yet begging for more. 

Sweat slicks across his back, the sun of the fading day beating down upon it. He sits back on his heels, and brings you with him, and then you’re both drenched in the light. Your arms wound tight around his broad shoulders, his arms keeping you in place on his lap. 

His mouth lingers against your own, labored breathing passed between the two of you and he fucks until you cry out his name into the sky, your own on his lips shortly after. 

Then he lays with you, entwined, until dusk dims the sky. 

The warm breeze skims across your flushed skin, and he stands, walking back into his room. 

Admiring his bare ass and strong back, you watch him call to a guard for dinner – and then close your eyes, stretching with content.

[deathbxnny]

May I request some headcanons about Victor, selika, Vander and Vi about caring and being with a S/O with ADHD.

Please and thank you

Arcane characters with an s/o that has ADHD. | Viktor, Sevika, Vander and Vi

Thank you for your request, and I hope you'll enjoy this!<3

Content: No spoilers for season 2, season 1 Viktor, established romantic relationships, fluff, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

He was the first to notice and accommodate to your ADHD, mainly as he knew what it's like to live with something that makes life a little harder in general.

Viktor is very patient and gentle with you when you're having a hard time focusing on tasks or are procrastinating on projects. He understands it just fine and works with you to find strategies that make everything a bit easier. Whether it's studying with you or helping you out on research papers, you both spend a lot of time together, to say the least.

You two enjoy working on your own things in eachothers presence, as it helps you get over your lack of motivation and gives you a chance to talk his ear off freely. Thankfully, he's good at multitasking when it comes to you. Some may think your talking is excessive, but he finds it cute.

Whenever you're a bit more fidgety than usual, he'll hold your hand or give you a reassuring smile, yet doesn't stop your body from regulating itself naturally.

Viktor takes your diagnosis as a simple fact, nothing that defines or undermines your ability to be his s/o. If you need a little help, then he's very clearly okay with that.

》SEVIKA

She doesn't initially understand the concept of ADHD and doesn't care much about it either. Sure, she gets that it affects your day to day life, but she was going to help you out with anything either way even without the diagnosis. So, in other words, she's ready to learn and do as you please.

Your fidgety nature was something she definitely had to get used to, as she mistook it as fear or nervousness rather often. This typically meant that she'll ask you if you're alright a lot or if there was someone bothering you. Over time, she learns to look past it and see it as a natural part of you. If you can't sit still, then she'll let you roam around whilst her eyes watch you closely.

Your endless ramblings and deep interests about the most nichest topics also needed some time for her, but what got her the most was your procrastination issues. She did get not want to do things at all, but she would still attempt to make work as fun as possible in her own way. She'll accompany you everywhere and take care of the heavy lifting.

When she said that she was loyal, she was definitely not kidding around. Your ADHD changes nothing about the way she views you, and so she doesn't make a big deal out of it either.

》VANDER

Probably the most patient and understanding of your ADHD and its symptoms by far. He sees them as a part of you in a good way and simply accepts them as they are.

Whenever you procrastinate on chores or work, he'll try and make it more enjoyable by either helping out or promising you a nice treat after. If it's really bad, though, he'll just do things himself to not stress you out about them too much.

He's the same with your lack of focus, although he sometimes does get concerned about you zoning out when things get serious. Vander will still find his own innovative ideas on making you focus when he needs you to.

He loves listening to you talk to him about the most random things possible, mainly as it shows him that you're comfortable enough with the care he gives you. He also just enjoys weighing in with his own opinions about the many various topics you bring forth at rapid speed.

Either way, he skillfully navigates your diagnosis with ease and doesn't ever let you feel like you're burdening him with it.

》VI

Well, she certainly may have outlandish ideas at times when it comes to working with your ADHD, but she definitely at least has the spirit for it!

Your natural fidgeting and inability to stay still gets interpreted in you just needing to power yourself out. This makes you often find yourself in front of a punching bag with an excited Vi telling you to go ahead and let it alllll out. Whether it works or not is up to you, but you appreciate the effort even after you had explain it wasn't that easy.

Vi will make it her mission to help you out on projects or with work whenever the procrastination gets too bad. She'll also help you out with simpler tasks when she can but will otherwise try to make things fun, at least.

You two enjoy rambling away with each other, and it is her favorite thing. You're both bad at focusing on one topic at a time, so your talks can go on for hours, which she loves very much.

Your diagnosis is just a part of you that she very much loves, even when it gets difficult at times. She never wants you to feel left out or liked less because of it and does her best to never let you think that.

[amwrites-xoxo]

“Let me take care of you”

SFW

Synopsis: You get hit with a curse that makes you sick, and the jjk guys find you not feeling well

GN!reader x Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Choso kamo, ryoumen sukuna, ino takuma

Warnings Gojo: mentions of throwing up Nanami: none Choso: brief throwing up Sukuna: force feeding Ino: mention of drowning

Satoru gojo You heard the door open from your spot on the couch. You were on the couch laying down, put an ice pack resting on your head.

After your mission today, you felt like you were going to drop dead. Your throat was scratchy, and speaking was beyond you right now

You felt like your body was on fire, hence your sprawled out position on the couch. You pretended you were asleep when you heard footsteps come into the room, tapping on the floor. Gojo walked in, his six eyes already telling him that something was wrong when he saw your eyes closed and your skin flushed 

“Baby?” He questioned, his voice soft as snow

You slowly open your eyes and looked up at him. Your eyes were droopy and your face feeling raw. He pressed his hand to your cheek, and you leaned into his cold hand. You let out a harsh cough, feeling it tear at the back of your throat. 

“Easy, what happened? You were fine when you left for your mission this morning..” his lips formed into a pout as he thought about what could have happened. “A curse?” He questioned. You just nodded sickly. He hummed and watched you for a moment. “

“Have you eaten? Been drinking water?” Your silence spoke many words. 

He went to the kitchen and got you a cup of cold water, handing it to you with a small smile. “Drink this.” You shook your head “Why?” You looked at him. he stared back at you. He threw you over his shoulder carelessly, and you gaged in your mouth at the sudden movement. He quickly froze and held you tight

“Ha-ha… whoops…. Please don’t throw up on me……..” he mumbled. You sent him a glare and sighed roughly.

“I know, I know, I got you. You wanna take a bath or just lay down?” He looked at you, rubbing your back. 

You manage to whisper out a small “lay down”. He carried you to your shared room and put tissues by the bed. He set you down very gently- or he tried. You appreciated the gesture nonetheless, you supposed.

He put one of his sweatshirts over your head “I’m… gonna Get… you sick if I wear..” he quickly quieted you, telling you it’s fine and to relax. 

He cuddled you until you feel asleep after that, waiting for you to close your eyes.

Kento Nanami

He walked through the door, hanging up his coat and putting aside his knife. He ran a hand through his hair as he smelled food in the aid. He  was wondering why you were cooking, since he thought you were at a mission and would be until late.

He walked into the kitchen “My love?” He said into the kitchens direction. You looked up and smiled softly, tiredly. He scanned your figure out he walked through the doorway. “Are you alright? Why aren’t you at your mission?”

You looked back at the food “I-um-“ your voice cracked, you cringed “I wasn’t feeling well.. so Yaga sent me home” Yoh said quietly, as to not aggravate your throat. He furrowed his eyebrows at you “You’re sick, why are you cooking?” He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pulled you away

You coughed “I wanted to make dinner for you..” You mumbled into his shoulder, your body feeling weak in his arms. He knew you always tended to overwork yourself, trying to do anything to earn praise for him. He looked at your face and kissed your forehead.

 “How are you feeling, beautiful? nauseous? Hot? Cold?” He asked. You mumbled something about feeling weak before you collapsed in his arms. He turned the stove off and took your temperature. He cursed under his breath when he saw your fever. 

He picked you up bridal carry and put you in your room, getting a bucket and putting it by the bed

He ran his hands through your hair and put an ice pack on your head, he flipped through a book with his other hand. 

<>

You woke up, and let out a pained groan

“Just relax, I’ve got you Y/n-baby” he said it comfortingly, but all you felt was needy and hot and overwhelmed. 

He looked at you and put down his book, wiping your face with a chilled cloth. “how’s that feel?” He asked “better…” you said. He had called Yaga and asked what happened, and got all the details. He pressed his cold hands to your cheeks, you looked up to see him with pieces of blonde hair framing his face

You pick up your book and sit there for awhile, squinting at the pages but your head getting dizzy ever time you try to read. You put it down, a bit frustrated.

Nanami picked it back up, opened to the page you were on before starting to read to you, whispering in your ear. You looked up at him with hearts in your eyes. He chuckled at your look

He called in sick the next day of work, just to pamper you all day, make you soup, and cater to your every need

Choso Kamo

Choso came back from training with Yuji, running inside to greet you. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you asleep in a chair at the kitchen counter. He gasped and went to you, shaking you as if making sure you were alive

You gasped awake, letting out a cough. You looked up at saw Chosos puppy-like expression. “A-are you okay?” He says, examining your face

You sighed “I’m alright”

He pouted as he watched you. He sat there for awhile, just watching you scroll on your phone before he spoke up

“Why do you look dead?” You looked at him and blinked “not in a mean way! You.. look…. Um…” “sick?” You said. He nodded. “Cause I am, Cho” he looked at you and his eyes widened “are you okay!? Do you need to go to the doctor!? I- I can!-“ “no, it’s okay baby” you cut him off

He went back to looking at you like a sad puppy, before you ubruptly got up and went to the bathroom, throwing up in the trash. He quickly grabbed your hair messily and held it “I-is this normal!? Is— are you meant to- is that— are you okay!? Your hot and- and” you smiled softly sad his worriedness, before gagging. He looked at you scared

“Immm… I’m okay.” You said, he quickly went on to ask questions and questions before you cut him off “it’s normal, I got hit by a curse baby… I’m okay” you said as you looked up at him. He went quick and punched your cheeks, making your head to look at your features. 

“I only have a slight fever, I took medication” you murmured. He picked you up “Well then.. I’ll take care of you! So you can feel better, yes?” He exclaimed, as if he had the best idea ever. You smiled and nodded, he picked you up and brought you to bed, tucked into his chest.

“Your skin feels so hot…” he mumbled, his hand resting on your forehead. You chuckled and smiled up at him, weakly albeit. That didn’t make his heart feel any better

“Can I make you food?” He said. You sighed “you can barely turn the stove on, Cho” he gave you a pouty expression, but he gave up immedietly when he heard you cough and decided to take you outside to get you some fresh air instead

“Choooo… I don’t wanna get up” you mumbled. So in turn, he picked you up and brought you out. You rolled your eyes as you laid in the grass. He looked happy atleast, but you could see the concern behind his eyes.

He rubbed your back, his mind racing with endless what-ifs, but the feeling of you in his arms eased him just a bit as he unable the fresh air

Ryoumen Sukuna

He sensed something off. He felt it, a sort of weariness.

Of course he snooped around, when he heard a coughing from the bedroom down the hall. He walked down, his arms crossing as he kicked the door open to reveal you: his favorite concubine, hunched over in bed. He cleared his throat for your attention

“My- my lord?” You stuttered out. He heard the rasp in your voice, and it was weaker than normal. He raised an eyebrow. “What is wrong.” You shook your head

“Tell me.” He demanded. “It’s.. I’m sick. I’m okay.” You said. He stared you down for a little while

“What are you, weak? Pathetic.” You huffed, and coughed, putting a hand to your chest. He walked closer to you and put his large hand on your cheek, turning your head “You are warm. You are stronger than this, this is not some normal human illness” you shook your head.

“Curse” you mumbled. “A curse? I shall kill it.” You rolled your eyes but shrugged. He left promptly

<>

Uruame walked into your quarantine-like room and set down soup and medicine by your bedside, you thanked them but was suprised they knew you were sick.

“Lord Sukuna notified me of your illness” they said. You nodded “oh… alright.” You said, picking at the food and taking the medicine.

Uruame left with their tray, they always wondered why Sukuna seemed.. gravitated towards you. They suspected that you were good in bed, and he could appreciate that. But they sensed it was more.

You yourself never really knew, but that didn’t matter much now. He barged into your room. “I see Uruame brought what I requested” he said. Walking in. “Where were you?” “Killing said curse.” You went silent

You did not realize he actually was going to kill the curse

“Thank you…?” You said, he huffed. “Eat.” “I’m not feeling very peckish” “I don’t care” “..I’m-“ he cut you off by shoving a spoon of hot soup in your mouth. You swallowed and looked at him, “hey-“ you said before your face was shoved with another spoonful. You just gave up and let him feed you, at that point

“Stupid mortal, getting sick when you can’t even defend yourself. Pathetic, puny, wretched, idiot.” He said “okay..okay..” you murmured “don’t sass me.” “Yes sir…” 

He watched you lay down and he turned your light off “Sleep. You need it.” You gave him puppy dog eyes to lay with you. He eventually gave in and laid in your bed, grabbing you close by the nape of your neck like a cat

You fell asleep to the gentle thrum of his heartbeat, he pulse beating against your cheek

Ino Takuma

Ino walked through the door on the phone with somebody, he was excited as he explained to Nanami everything that happened today.

He walked by the bathroom and his heart dropped, his phone falling out of his hand when he saw your limp body. He yelled “Y/n!” And rushed to the bath, where you startled awake “what? Huh?” You mumbled, your voice still sore from the sickness you’ve had ever since the morning.

“I thought you were drowned or something I don’t know, holy crap..” his heart slowed down as he realized you’re okay. He picked up his phone “Sorry Nanamin, yes, they’re okay. Fell asleep in the bathtub. Yes, okay bye!!” He said and put down his phone. 

“Long day?” He said, fetching you a towel and looking away while you got out.

“Mmmm-hmmm” you responded, wrapping it around your body. He noticed how nasally you sounded “sick?” “Curse” “oh..” he said. He peaked and turned around when he saw you decent. “Want me to make some food? You look like you haven’t eaten in a bit” “that’d be nice.. thanks” you mumbled

<>

After he got your food, he went to you and asked about what happened. So as you sipped your tea, you explained how you had fallen asleep in the bathtub because the warm water was soothing, and you were just tired. You didn’t notice his hand getting closer before he was scratching your back

It soon turned into a massage as you relaxed and he took care of you, making a few jokes to lighten you up. “Why don’t we watch a movie, yeah?” He suggested. You smiled and nodded. He put in a movie and held you, watching it from behind you. He ended up playing with your hair, and you nearly fell asleep again . He snickered and kissed your forehead and face all over. You laughed “babe! I’m sick” he kissed your lips and you started having a coughing fit, he pulled away and looked worried.

You both shared a laugh at the convenience, you ruffling his hair and taking his beanie off, wrapping it around your head. He kissed your forehead again and put your head in his lap while you guys watched the movie. You laughed but clutched your throat, he switched to massaging your throat and focusing bc his attention solely on you.

You always felt loved when you were with him, he always made your heart melt with care

He stuck his tongue out when he noticed you staring, of course

[castiwls]

my number one .ᐟ

Paring; art x reader

Synopsis; You'd always been your own worst enemy. Your anxiety liked to jump out at the worst times yet your ever-doting boyfriend was determined to be there every. single. time.

Even if that meant missing his match.

Requested; anon

Notes; tysm for the request <3 i kinda based this on my own anxiety and the methods I've been taught over the years

Masterlist

“I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“You're not being annoying.”

No matter how many times he says it, you never believe it. How could you not be annoying, especially when you’ve woken him up at 3 a.m. for what must be the third time this week?

Art sighed, pulling you closer to his chest. His hands rubbed over your back in soothing circles as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just follow my breathing, okay?” It was a saying so common that it seemed to fall from his lips without a thought. It was almost like a lifeline of sorts knowing that no matter what you’d always have the steady beat of his heart only a phone call away whenever your own decided to forget how to beat on time and needed reminding.

It was equally a blessing and a curse. A blessing to have someone like Art who would drop everything to come at your beacon call but a curse that you needed him in that way. 

Even now when he should be preparing for another tournament - against which school you can’t remember but then again your only thought right now is being able to focus enough to breathe - he’s here with you tucked around a corner from your class as you try to calm your breathing.

The moment he’d gotten your text.

Please come

Need you

He’d left the court without a second thought and made it to the building in record time. “You’re okay.” He soothed running a thumb over your cheek as he held your gaze. “You’re okay just breathe. In and out.” 

He hated seeing you like this. No matter how many times it happened he’d never shake that feeling of nausea that would swim in his stomach whenever your breath seemed to catch and your eyes grew distant. It made him want to just wrap you in his arms and protect you from anything and everything that left you feeling even slightly anxious.

You were his entire world and it hurt him to know you were your own worst enemy. 

“C’mon.” His hand intertwined with yours as he grabbed your bag. You both walked quietly back to his dorm your heart rate slowly going back to normal as you both walked. 

“Don’t you have practice?” You frowned as he placed your bag on his bed turning to watch as you shut the door. “It’s fine.” He smiled trying to reassure you as he opened his arms. “I can practice later you’re more important right now okay.” He sighed pulling you against his chest.

The practice could wait right now all he cared about was you. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

Not now, please god not now.

Art had already been so busy the last few days that you’d purposefully tried to leave him alone. He needed to train and you didn’t want to get in the way and worry him more then he already was. 

He’d only left his dorm an hour ago to get ready for the match and you’d been fine. Better then fine actually you’d had a great morning and for a moment you’d thought that maybe you’d go three full days without your anxiety rearing its ugly head.

And then it proved you wrong.

“Art I’m fine.” You could hear his concern down the phone as you sat on his bed, mentally counting your breaths to try and keep some semblance of calm. “You sure? I can come back for a-”

“No. No stay there and just relax okay? I’ll come find you before it starts.” You could almost picture the concern in his eyes as he sighed before relenting. If you said you were fine you were fine, pushing you would only make it worse.

“Okay but call me if you need okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled slightly tracing shapes over his covers as you ended the call. The room was starting to feel too small as you sat, the air almost stuffy. Nothing had even happened and yet you could already feel the anxiety building.

The pit in your stomach swirled as your hands grew clammy no matter how many times you wiped them on your jeans.

You were fine.

You had to be fine. 

Taking a breath you stood pacing the small space as you tried to halt the attack. Breathe in for 10 out for 10.

In for 10 out for 10.

“Fuck.” Your voice shook slightly as tears began to prick at your eyes, your chest heaving as you tried to pull in a breath that wasn’t there. 

Your eyes darted around the room as you looked for anything to help but came up empty. You couldn’t call him. You knew the minute you did he’d drop everything and you didn’t want that.

No matter how bad this was - and it was bad by your standards - his match was more important.

Wiping the tears you sat back down closing your eyes as you tried to talk yourself through it.

You were fine.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

The breath he’d been holding since you’d spoken on the phone a few hours ago seemed to finally release as he spotted you in the crowd. His eyes lit up and a bright smile pulled at his lips as he made his way through the crowd towards where you stood, your own eyes lighting up when you noticed him.

“Hey.” He grinned pulling you in for a chaste kiss. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” You laughed but it was strained. Your smile slightly too tight as you fixed the cap over his curls. “You ready?” You asked pulling back ever so slightly. 

“You're shaking.” 

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are I can see your hands.” Art sighed his smile pulling into a frown as he took your hand in his. “Your freezing as well.” 

Your face was still pulled into a tight smile but he saw right through it. The slight draw in your brow and the redness around your eyes gave you away almost immediately. Before you could say anything else he was pulling you through the crowd and behind the bleachers.

You swallowed back the tears which burned at your eyes. It had taken the whole two hours since the phone call for you to calm down even an inch and even now you still felt sluggish in your own body. 

“Art m’fine.” Your voice shook as you closed your eyes. 

“No your not.” He shook his head pushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why didn’t you call me?” You always called! It was bad enough knowing you’d walked from the dorms to the court like this but knowing you’d very possibly been like this since he’d last called you?

His own heart was racing at the thought.

“I didn’t wanna distract you.” His hand was now rubbing over your shoulder as you wiped at your eyes. “I know how much this means to you-”

“The match doesn’t matter.” He shook his head gently, tilting your chin up. Part of you already felt better just being near him, his presence a comfort in itself.

“Nothing matters more than you.” He smiled his eyes filled with warmth as his thumb flicked away a tear. “I’m not playing until I know you're okay. I can’t play knowing you're feeling like this.”

He pulled you closer rubbing a hand over your back. The match would never be more important than you - hell tennis would always come second to you. The fact the thought even crossed your mind was enough to have him debating putting the racket down and pulling you back to his dorm.

“Promise me you're still gonna play.” You whispered tucking your face into the crook of his neck as you breathed in the gentle scent of his aftershave for a moment. Your lungs seemed to work again as you pressed closer, sinking into his body.

“We’re not talking about tennis.” He murmured balancing his chin on your head. “You're all that matters.”

He meant his words, every single one of them. Sure he would play in the tournament but only once he knew you were okay, until then it was the last thing on his mind.

Tennis could never hold a torch to his love for you.