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yintous · 1 month ago

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party 4 u

❪ masterlist ❫ · out of character (or not) things the batboys did while being head over heels for you ⸝⸝⸝ crackfic ノ situationship hcs

🗒️ not proofread, more content under the cut ; VERY SATIRE. inspired by my sweeter than honey work and stupid things i did for my ex-situationship

DICK GRAYSON

wholeheartedly cussed out a barista inside his head when he saw them subtly flirting with you at the cashier

when his jealousy is mild he’s like “oh my god. i hope they slip on a drink and ruin that stupidly clean apron.” or “i can make a better latte! (name) just hasn’t seen it yet 🙄”

and he actually did learn how to make a better latte—that resulted in you visiting his apartment for morning coffee (when you went home he turned to the sky and absorbed the sunlight. eyes closed and everything out of pure gratitude)

started journaling whenever he got impulsively jealous and frustrated over the unlabeled relationship and somehow it always ends up being a love letter to you???

when he senses your presence, he gives himself five seconds to fix his hair and practice a charming smile before facing you 😭😭😭 atp it’s a habit he can never get rid of

you once saw him smiling weirdly at a mirror when he thought you weren’t looking (he was trying to see what the best smile was…..literally scrolled abt the types of smiles people have before it all) and you had to resist the urge to outright giggle

JASON TODD

listened to radiohead’s whole discography when he first got jealous while glaring at his ceiling, arms crossed and everything

his brooding got ruined when his earphones started glitching and he had to hold one of them at a specific angle so both of them would have audio

brushes his bangs back whenever he sighs at the thought of you (you literally cannot leave his brain). he brushed his hair back so often you thought he suddenly started liking slickbacks

scrolled through a comment section full of people that were ranting abt the annoying stuff their partners do and made a vow to himself to never do the things mentioned to you

goons CANNOT get away from him when he’s having a day wherein he got jealous over someone else flirting with you 😭 and after allat beating up and shooting the said goons, he acts like nothing happened

as in he literally texts you a “good evening” text and asked if you were free for dinner (it was two am)

TIM DRAKE

he felt like he was in a bad romcom. desperate times call for desperate measures i fear 💔 tried to analyze your body language to somehow read your mind/feelings toward him (he got 0 sleep that day)

wasn’t a believer in astrology but proceeded to analyze his and your birth chart to see if you guys would fit (he somehow found your documents)

tried the “triangle method” on you where he looks to your left eye, then your right, then to your lips—and was genuinely confused when YOU looked confused

you overheard him ranting to himself about your situationship. he was putting a lot of emotion into it

(sometimes he literally mumbles in ANGER abt it when he sleeps)

tried to deepen his voice around you (esp during the times where you two banter) but it did nothing but make the mood awkward (grew the habit of sending vms instead of text messages while deepening his voice bc he thought it’ll make you like him more)

DUKE THOMAS

bit a little too hard on your bottom lip while kissing you

he could’ve sworn he saw the grim reaper because of how embarrassed he was when he heard your noise of pain LIKE 💔💔 every time he closes his eyes, he sees it happening again

like jason, his charger instead of his earphones broke while texting you so he had to angle his phone a certain way while trying to keep up a convo with you

to make it even worse, it was overheating and all too 🥀🥀🥀 in the back of his mind he could already see the image of his phone exploding right in front of him but he still didn’t gaf and continued texting you

was lowkey obsessed with your perfume and hated the push-and-pull situationship thing so when you were away from him, he went on a whole perfume hunt

and the salespeople who assisted him were so?? confused?? because of how specific his description was??? and the description felt targeted to a certain someone instead of it being about an actual perfume??

DAMIAN WAYNE

dedicates every art he’s consumed to you OR gets inspired by said art to create something similar to the media that was presented to him

once wrote a romeo and juliet piece but it was yours and his version of it with no death or wtv (he made one of the lines from the story his wallpaper)

made a 100 excuses about needing to learn body anatomy so you’d get the hint and FINALLY let him use your appearance to study anatomy (he needed an excuse to look at you more without getting teased)

overheard that you liked ear piercings on guys so he pierced himself while half asleep in his bathroom

he would’ve regretted it if he didn’t catch your eyes wandering to the new piercing the morning after

impulsively carved your name on his sword and he is NOT hearing the end of it from his family at all

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dakusan · 1 month ago

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F I R S T B I T E

Vampire!Bang Chan x Reader | blood ritual, silk sheets, first time he finally takes you

🔞synopsis: You weren’t looking for luxury. You were looking for survival. But then he chose you—Bang Chan. Now you sleep in silk, eat like royalty, and bleed for him on schedule. He’s fed from you before. Gentle. Controlled. Ritualistic. But he’s never fucked you. Not once. Tonight, that changes. Because his hunger is showing. His eyes are black. And you’re in that dress he bought you. And when he finally takes his bite—he doesn’t stop there.

💌a/n: OK SO LISTEN 🩸 Yes. I know I answered an ask ages ago about how Chan is so rich. but for this series? i said fuck it. switched it up. because he deserves it. you deserve it. silk sheets and bite marks forever. also no, i’m not making profiles for every member. that’s boring and I’m busy making them FEED AND FUCK INSTEAD 😌 priorities. if you’re not bleeding and shaking by the end, did you even read it? 🔪💋✨ p.s. reblog if it ruined you. reblog if you whimpered. reblog if you said “oh.” out loud. p.p.s. more members coming next Wreck Me Wednesday! p.p.p.s. blood tastes better when it’s yours. ok bye 🖤

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Bleed pretty. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Criminal — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:31 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The idea of becoming a Blood Doll didn’t start as a fantasy. It started as a last resort.

You weren’t desperate. Just… cornered. By bills. By bruises you didn’t ask for. By nights too long and mornings that arrived with nothing but guilt and cold toast. Seoul was a city of glass towers and low shadows. You had lived in both.

You weren’t supposed to know about the Veil. About vampires. About what they offered behind silk-curtained doors. But you did. One overheard conversation in a blood clinic waiting room was all it took. A name passed like a secret. A dare:

“LUXE Health. If you’re lucky, someone will choose you.”

So you cleaned yourself up. Not for them. For you. You memorized their rules. Got the bloodwork done. Sold everything else. And when you finally arrived—dressed in borrowed black with lips bitten pink—you didn’t flinch.

Because somewhere beneath the hunger and the silence, you had a single thought: “If I’m going to belong to someone… make it him.”

You saw him before he saw you. Or maybe that’s just what you tell yourself now.

Bang Christopher Chan. The vampire who owns medicine. The one whose name is spoken in hushed reverence at trauma wards and whispered in moans between silk sheets.

Abnormal. Born, not turned. The kind of vampire the Veil fears because they cannot predict him.

He didn’t need to feed from you that night. He didn’t even touch you. Just read your file, looked into your eyes, and said—

“You’ll do.”

Not cruel. Not kind. Just… certain. And that certainty rewired you.

That was three months ago.

Now, you live on the top floor of a private Luxe facility in Gangnam. You don’t work. You don’t pay. You just exist—dripping in silk, gliding past glass, touched only by magic and occasionally by him.

You eat better than royalty. Your scent is monitored for health. Your sheets are laundered daily in blood-neutral detergent. Every book you ever mentioned liking? It's in your room. Your bath oils are imported. Your wardrobe is measured by hand.

But he hasn’t fucked you. Not once. Not yet. He’s fed. God, has he fed.

The first time, you thought you’d die from how soft he made it. The second time, you wanted him to bite deeper. The third time? You whimpered his name. He smiled, lips wet, but didn’t take you. Not then.

And yet—he gives.

A diamond choker with a spell-lock that hums when you're near danger. A dress you only wore once, now preserved in a glass case because he liked how you looked in it. Shoes hand-delivered from a Paris atelier, dyed to match the undertone of your skin. Perfumes keyed to his scent.

He gives like a man who has everything—except you.

Tonight, you had been his date. A Veil-chartered event in an underground gallery beneath Itaewon. Not that you paid much mind, except the fact that you stood by him looking all pretty, dressed by him.

And now? Now you’re back in the penthouse.

Your heels click across imported stone. You’ve just slipped off your earrings when you feel it—the hum in the walls. The signal. Feeding hour.

He’s never missed one.

You turn, heart already pounding.

He’s in the doorway. Loosened collar. No tie. Silver watch still on his wrist. And his eyes…

Black.

“Sit,” he says, voice silk-dark.

And you do, because God, you always obey.

He crosses the room like a secret unfolding—measured, lethal, beautiful. His gaze never leaves yours. Not even as he loosens the first button of his shirt. Not even as he sheds his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. The air shifts around him—cooler, heavier. The scent of cedar and clove curled in hunger.

You sit where he wants you. On the edge of the fainting couch, legs pressed together beneath silk that still smells like his cologne. Your lipstick is still intact. Your throat bare. The pulse at your neck, traitorous.

He kneels in front of you.

Not like a man worshipping. Like a vampire calculating.

His fingers brush your ankle, sliding upward in a touch so light it’s almost imagined—up the line of your shin, over your knee, until he’s nudging the hem of your gown higher, just enough to settle between your legs, kneeling. Commanding.

He doesn't speak right away. Just watches you.

Eventually, he reaches for your wrist. Not to feed.

Just to hold. “You're warm.”

You nod, breath shallow. "I always am. After we go out."

Something flickers across his face. Amusement? Possession?

He leans forward. Mouth hovering over your neck. Not touching. Just breathing. "Do you want the bite here?"

"Yes."

He doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t ask again. He bites.

You gasp. His fangs are surgical. Smooth. Deep. You feel it in your blood, in your thighs, in the way your dress shifts against your hips as your whole body arches toward him.

It’s not pain. It’s pressure.

One of his hands at your waist, the other on your thigh, grounding you as he drinks your sweet blood in slow. His tongue flicks once. Just once. Over the wound.

And that’s what makes you whimper.

His groan is almost inaudible. Almost. He drinks a little deeper.

You clutch the shoulder of his shirt and try to stay still—but you can’t. You shift. You rub your knees together. You tilt your head further back like it’ll coax more of him out, like it’ll make him—

He stops. Pulls back. Blood on his lips. Collarbone flushed. Hands tighter now.

You’re panting.

"You should rest."

But he doesn’t mean it. Because his eyes are still black. And his cock is hard under his trousers. And you’re still in that dress he picked—silk, slit high, neckline low enough for his teeth to dip beneath.

“You’re still hungry,” you whisper.

He says nothing. But his hand slides higher up your thigh. Just barely. Just enough.

“Feed again,” you murmur.

He exhales. Shaky. Like he’s fighting something ancient. “If I feed again,” he says, voice wrecked, “I won’t stop.”

Your reply is immediate. “I don't want you to stop.”

His hand grips your thigh harder.

A beat. Two. And then—he snaps. His mouth crashes to yours like it’s the only law he’s ever obeyed.

Hot. Wet. Starving.

There’s no finesse. No restraint. Just tongue and breath and blood—your blood—smearing between your lips as he kisses you like he’s waited centuries. You taste iron and cedar and the slick salt of him groaning into your mouth.

His palm slides up your spine, yanks you forward. You gasp. He swallows it. You moan. He deepens it. Your fingers claw at his shirt, dragging it open, buttons scattering somewhere onto the marble.

“Chan—”

“Shut up,” he growls, biting your bottom lip, licking where it splits. “I told you. I won’t stop now.”

You don’t want him to.

Because you can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t survive if he doesn’t keep kissing you like that—like he’s drowning in you and wants to take you under with him.

He stands, dragging you up with him, your body flush to his. His hands on your ass, gripping through silk. You feel him—hard and heavy—pressed against your stomach. You grind against him. Shameless. He groans into your mouth like you just handed him your soul.

“On the bed,” he rasps, voice ruined.

You don’t walk. You stumble. He follows, eyes black, jaw clenched, pupils blown so wide you swear they swallow the moonlight.

Three steps from the bed, you spin and grab him by the open collar of his shirt—what’s left of it—and pull.

Hard.

He stumbles with you, low grunt in his throat, and you fall back onto the sheets like gravity’s been waiting for this moment.

Silk against your spine. Chan above you, braced on trembling arms. His shirt ripped wide open from your fingers, chest heaving. Eyes on your lips before leaning in again. Lips on your own. Tongue hot and deep, one hand gripping your jaw like he wants to brand his name there.

His knee shoves between your thighs and you start grinding against it. Moan into his mouth like a sinner under oath.

Your dress slips off one shoulder and of course he notices and his mouth leaves yours—trailing fire down your throat, tongue flicking the half-healed bite on your neck. You arch like a live wire. He sucks. You cry out. And then he speaks against your skin.

“You don’t understand what you’ve just done,” he rasps, voice shaking. “Letting me kiss you. Letting me taste it from your lips…”

He presses his forehead to your collarbone. His breath shudders. So does your body. “I’ve waited,” he says. “I’ve waited—every night. Let you heal. Let you rest. I was good.”

He lifts his head. Stares down at you. “But now you’ve ruined that.”

His hand slides under the slit of your dress. Fingers ghost over your inner thigh. He groans. "Fuck, you're so wet baby."

You whimper.

He leans down again, nose brushing your jaw, lips grazing your ear—

“One more bite,” he whispers. “Then I fuck you. And I don’t stop until your blood knows who it belongs to.”

"Please." You say. Desperate for it.

Chan's lips press against your shoulder, just below the dip of silk where your dress has fallen. He's slow, gentle, taking his time. Before finally, he bites and you gasp, sharp and wrecked.

His fangs in slowly this time. Not like earlier. No urgency. This bite is...savouring.

You clutch the sheets, back arching as he feeds again—mouth latched to your skin, tongue lapping slowly between pulses. Every draw pulls heat to your core. Every sound he makes against your skin echoes between your thighs.

And then you finally feel his hand parting your legs more, fingers brushing over your already soaked panties. You twitch and he groans into the wound.

"Dropping," he murmurs, mouth still on your flesh. "From being bit."

His fingers slip beneath the fabric. Contact. He traces the seam of your folds with two fingers before running them up again, pressing into your just enough to make your hips holt.

You moan out. That moan ripped straight from the center of you.

He chuckles darkly. Fangs still buried. Your blood on his tongue. Your cunt in his palm.

"So sweet," he growls. "Every part of you."

His thumb starts to circle that bundle of nerves. Not fast. Not hard. Just deep, tight pressure—rhythmic, possessive, hypnotic.

You’re panting now. Writhing. Your blood still feeding him as he works you from below.

His free hand grabs your thigh, pinning it open. “This pussy’s been waiting for me,” he hisses, licking over the bite again. “Wet and so so perfect for me.”

Two fingers thrust inside and your head snaps back. A choke moan spills out. You feel everything.

“Say it,” he demands, pulling back from your shoulder, licking the wound clean. “Say who owns you.”

“Y-You—fuck—Chan, it’s you—”

“Say it properly.”

His fingers curl just right.

“You own me,” you cry. “You own all of me—*fuck—*please don’t stop—”

“I told you,” he pants, mouth against your lips again, hand fucking you slow and deep, “I’m not stopping tonight.”

Chan finally pulled back, slowly. Fangs retracting from your skin. Mouth now painted with your blood again. He looks wrecked. Hair falling into his eyes. Chest rising like a storm's behind it. But his fingers? They've started fucking into you, a slow pace.

He sits back on his heels between your thighs, one hand fucking deep, slow, curling into that spot that makes your breath catch and your thighs twitch. The other hand trails up your waist until it cups your breast through the fabric. His thumb brushes over your nipple.

“Aw, look at you,” he coos, voice soaked in dark heat. “Dripping for me. Can feel it, baby girl.” His fingers move faster now—tight little thrusts that make your cunt clench, soak, squeal.

“You gonna cum?”

“Yes—yes, I—”

“I can feel it,” he growls. “All that sweetness pulling around my fingers. Fuck—so tight. So fucking good for me.”

He leans over, tongue lapping at the blood smeared down your clavicle while he finger fucks you harder. “That’s it. Let go. Be good. Cum on my hand.”

You cry out—knees jerking, hands clawing at the sheets, your entire body arching as heat snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you. But Chan doesn’t stop. Not until you’re trembling under him, cunt pulsing around his fingers, thighs soaked and twitching.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “You give so fucking much. You always do.”

He pulls his fingers out slow, watching the mess string between you.

Then—finally—his hands go to your dress. He peels it off of you, revealing every inch of your body to his hungry eyes. "Now," he murmurs, eyes dark again. "Now I take what's mine."

You barely catch your breath before you hear it—

The sound of his belt unbuckling.

Fast. Sharp. Desperate. He’s done waiting. His slacks fall in seconds. Boxers shoved low. His cock now in full view. Heavy, thick, veins pulsing. He is already flushed, the tip angry red and dripping.

Your mouth parts in awe. Your cunt clenches in instinct. “Look at you,” he breathes, crawling back over you, cock resting hot against your thigh. “Already shaking… and I haven’t even put it in yet.”

He grabs himself—gives one slow stroke, tip dragging along your folds as he lines up. You feel the heat of it.

“You want it?” he rasps.

“Yes. Please—”

“Then take it.”

And he pushes in. Slowly, gently, wanting to savour the feeling of your walls around his cock. You arch with a cry—eyes wide, fingers scrambling to hold onto something. But it’s no use. You’re being split. He’s so thick, and the stretch is perfect—too perfect. Your pussy tightens around him like velvet glove, and he groans low, forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck, baby girl—so fucking tight—so good for me—”

He bottoms out.

One perfect grind of his hips. You feel everything. But he doesn't move yet, his hips flushed with yours.

"You take me so well," he whispers. "This pussy was made for me. You were made for me."

You whimper, breathless.

"Please—move—”

"I can. Remind me, who do you belong to baby?"

"You—you, Chan—fuck, I’m yours—”

"Good girl." he whispers. Pulling back and then slamming back in. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His thrusts picking up pace. Harder into you. Your body jerks up over the bed. He grabs your waist, pulls you back onto him.

Over and over.

The sound is obscene—skin on skin, soaked and slick. Your name is gone. All that exists is his name—Chan, Chan, Chan—echoing from your mouth, screamed into sheets, licked from your lips by the man breaking you open.

“You feel that?” he grits, fucking you deep, jaw clenched. “That’s mine. This body. This blood. This fucking cunt—”

He slaps your thigh. You moan.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours—yours, yours, yours—”

He groans—fucks you harder. At least for a few more thrusts until he moves again. Shifts. Flips you over. Fast. Rough. Hands firm under your hips. One sharp drag and your body turns beneath him—your chest to the sheets, ass up, knees wide on instinct.

You gasp, caught off guard by the dominance of it. And he just laughs—low, filthy, feral.

“That’s better,” he growls behind you. “Now I can really fucking feel you.”

His hand spanks your ass and you jolt.

Chan drags his cock through your slick folds again. Lining himself up. "Stay still," he commands. "Take it.£

And he thrusts back in. Hard. Deep. Full.

You scream. Into the pillow.

He fills you so completely from this angle, cock hitting new spots you didn’t know existed. And when he grinds in deep—stays there—you feel your whole body shudder.

Chan's hand moves into your hair. Fisting it and yanking your head back just enough that you arch for him. And the other hand? It wraps around your throat.

"You look so pretty like this," he hisses into your ear. "Open. Dripping. Mine."

He starts moving again—fucking you slow and rough, every stroke long and deep and perfectly angled. You’re choking on moans now—your own breath caught in your throat where his hand rests, light but threatening. Possessive.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants, hips slamming into you. “Gonna soak me like a good little blood doll?”

You nod—whimper—beg.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I—I’m gonna cum—fuck, Chan, please—”

“That’s right,” he snarls. “Do it. Let go.”

He pulls your hair harder. His cock slams deeper. And you shatter. Second orgasm—harder than the first—slams through you like lightning. Your whole body convulses, cunt pulsing around him so tight he groans, slams in deeper, loses rhythm—

“Fuck.”

He lets go of your throat. Pushes you flat to the bed, still buried inside you.

And then? He pulls out—panting, ruined—and flips you again.

“We’re not done,” he breathes. “Not until I fill you.”

You’re breathless. Sprawled on the sheets on your back again after being flipped. Skin flushed, throat kissed red, thighs sticky and trembling.

But he’s not done.

Chan climbs over you again—eyes black, cock still hard, soaked with your slick and heat and ownership. He grabs your legs, lifts them, pushes them up high over his shoulders.

You whimper. He growls.

“One more,” he rasps. “You’re gonna take one more.”

And then he thrusts back in. His thrusts never easing up, except this time instead of being fast, they're harder, deeper. Hitting deep inside your pretty dripping cunt.

Your legs tremble where they rest on his shoulders, your hips arching up instinctively to meet his every thrust. He’s so deep now—your cunt swallowing every inch, fluttering around him like it already misses him when he pulls back.

“So tight,” he pants, sweat dripping from his jaw as he fucks into you. “So full. You feel that?”

He leans down—body folding over yours, pressing you into the bed. You gasp at the intensity—your knees practically touching your ears, your body caged beneath him. And before you know it, his mouth finds your throat again. Not the old bite. No.

This time it's lower. Right over your pulse. A new mark. A new claim.

He sinks his fangs in—again. But this time? He cums. At the same fucking moment.

You feel it—his cock twitching deep inside you, spilling into you with a primal, guttural growl against your skin. His hips still grind as he pumps you full, fucking it deeper, deeper, until your stomach coils from the pressure and the heat and the ache.

“That’s it,” he pants against your skin. “Take it. All of it. I’m gonna fill you—mark you—fuck it so deep into you it'll leak all night.”

He’s still feeding, slow now—tongue lapping, lips suckling, like your blood is the final part of the ritual.

And you? You’re crying his name.

“Chan—Chan—fuck—yes—yours—”

He lifts his head, face painted with blood and victory and crashes his lips onto yours.

Wet. Possessive. Full of cum and blood and everything he is.

“Good girl,” he whispers, against your swollen lips. “My good little blood doll.”

He pulls out—slow. Your thighs twitch. His cum leaks from between them. He watches it, chest heaving, and smirks before his eyes move on to you. Eyes no longer black, but softer now, sparklier. You’re wrecked beneath him, trembling and flushed, marked in blood and sweat and cum.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, fingers ghosting up your thigh. “You took me so well.”

You try to speak. Can’t. All you can do is breathe—shaky, grateful, undone. He leans down. Presses one kiss to your cheek. Another to your temple. Then the curve of your throat where your blood still lingers.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, so gentle it nearly makes you cry. “You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

He moves with eerie speed after that, but never rushes you. One moment he’s gone, and the next—he’s back.

A warm cloth in his hand. Something for your bite marks. A glass of cold water. A square of dark chocolate—your favourite.

“Small sugars after feeding,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Prevents dizziness. Helps the body remember pleasure.”

You nibble it, fingers weak. He watches every movement like it’s precious.

Then he scoops you into his arms. You’re already drifting—high on oxytocin, on safety, on the way he smells like expensive oud and dark cherry blood.

“Where are we going…?” you murmur.

“Bath,” he says, already striding down the marble hallway. “You’re not sleeping with my cum leaking down your thighs onto silk sheets."

You huff a laugh into his chest. "Didn't you say you wanted me to leak all night?"

"I don't remember that. I never said that." But Chan is smiling, dimple smile and his ears are red.

In the bathroom, he takes the time to set you down on the edge of the tub gently while he takes care of filling it up with warm water, adding in jasmine oils. Whilst the tub fills up, Chan steps back to undress fully now, taking off that ripped shirt off.

By the time the tub is filled up, Chan makes sure to ease you in the tub, hands firm yet gentle before sliding in behind you and pulling your back to his chest, arms wrapping around your waist.

"You did so well tonight," he says softly, mouth brushing your shoulder. "I told you id' take care of you."

You nod. Too relaxed to speak.

His fingers draw idle shapes over your stomach, over the curve of your breast, over the softest parts of you that no one else touches.

“Sleep here, if you want,” he whispers. “Stay here. Forever.”

You simply relax, your head against his shoulder, eyes fluttered closed, breathing steady. "Mmm...forever." you murmur.

And Chan leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Forever,” he echoes. “Mine.”

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #bang chan #방찬 #bang chan x reader #vampire!bang chan #bang chan smut #wreck me wednesday #vampire!skz series #vampire!skz x reader #skz smut #skz x reader

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plethorawrites · 8 months ago

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How many kids do they want? How many do they actually end up with?

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Dick: Wants 3, ends up with 5. This man wants kids. Maybe not a houseful of them, but that's only because he wants to be able to devote himself entirely to all three and you while still being able to be Nightwing. When the first baby arrives, he's overjoyed, and the second and third, his excitement grows until his heart feels so full he doesn't comprehend how it's possible. Then you get pregnant a fourth time. By accident, of course. You had stopped trying at that point, both content with three. But Dick wasn't upset even for a second when you told him. Shocked? Yes. Disappointed? Never. Then, along came number five, and he knew you absolutely had to buy a bigger house. Which he was fine with. Coming home each day to the sound of laughter and getting to see five mini versions of you and him running around made him happier than he thought possible. Better than his dreams. He still made an appointment to make sure number six never happened. For your sake. Because as much as he loves you and knows you love kids, there was no way he was putting your body through another pregnancy.

---

Jason: Wants 0, ends up with 4. He's absolutely against it. He likes kids, as long as they're not his. There's too much darkness in this world, too many threats. Hell, too many people. Then he met you and he started doing things he swore he'd never do, like move in with you, propose to you, marry you. You knew his stance on kids and you agreed. But mistakes happen. When you told him you were pregnant, you'd assumed you would make an appointment for termination and he'd hold your hand for it. (Women's rights to choose!!!) Instead, he just sat there, his mind racing as images of you holding his baby came to his head. You two spent the entire night discussing it before realizing that maybe one would be okay. He was in a better mental place and crime would always happen. He'd keep you and the baby safe. He doesn't expect it, how much he loves the baby, how much he enjoys being a dad. When the child utters that first word, calling him 'adda' then trying again and getting it right, he feels his heart clench in so much joy he thinks it could kill him. And that's how he ended up mumbling to you one night, after putting the baby to sleep, that he wanted another. You agreed. And suddenly you both had a house full. Not as many as Dick, of course...he always had to one up everyone. But enough. He loved getting home early to put them to bed, reading his favorite books to them and explaining what supercilious and ubiquitous mean, watching their noses wrinkle just like yours did whenever they didn't recognize a big word. It was safe to say their rooms were filled with books, the kids ones they read—which were still advanced for their ages— and the classics he'd tell every night before crawling into bed with you, his heart full and his head clear. There was no lingering emptiness or pain or guilt anymore. He knew where he was and it was right where he wanted to be.

---

(Aged up) Damian: Wants 1, ends up with 2. Of course he wants a kid. One. Singular. He needs an heir and bloodline is important. He's not like his father, just accepting the idea of someone lacking his DNA carrying his surname. So, when you have a baby, he's content. Proud of you, a little hesitant because he has no idea how to be a parent so he tries to hand the baby off to a nanny. That works for a while, until he insists no one is taking good enough care of the child and he has to do it himself. You didn't go through a painful labor just to have the child be intellectually stunted. And after a while he learns that it can be okay...maybe even enjoyable to hear a kid calling to him, and watching those little bright green eyes blink slowly while falling asleep in a massive bed filled with every stuffed animal the child asked for and then some. When you tell him you're expecting another baby, he's caught off guard, unsure if he really even knows how to parent the first one. But deep down, he feels warmer when you tell him. He hopes this one looks more like you.

#jason todd #richard grayson #damian wayne al ghul #batboys #headcanon #x reader #imagine #dick grayson imagine #jason todd imagine #damian wayne imagine #plethorawrites

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assiraphales · 3 months ago

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so the usa is in a constitutional crisis rn— the Supreme Court has ordered the trump administration 9-0 to bring kilmar abrego garcia (an innocent and legal man kidnapped and wrongfully deported to CECOT in el salvador) and the trump administration is refusing. instead, trump asked the president of el salv to build more facilities bc maybe “homegrown” = american born criminals will be next. CECOT does NOT let prisoners out. they sleep on metal beds with no padding. their heads are shaved. they are beaten. on google satellite people uncovered a massive red looking puddle outside one of the buildings and the location has since been blurred / made unavailable. they either don’t want to bring kilmar abrego garcia back bc of what he will share from the experience…. or they can’t.

and remember — the SUPREME COURT has ordered at vote of NINE to zero for trump to bring him back and he is refusing.

#kilmar abrego garcia #us politics

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devotedsweetheart · 4 months ago

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・❥ IT'S JUST A DREAM...

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: caleb comes back from a mission while reader is sleeping. unable to control himself, he decides he doesnt want to wait until you're awake.

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+, porn with no plot, somnophilia, softdom!caleb, sub!reader

a/n :: bit of a gross fic i've concocted but hey, we don't kink shame around here!!

he shouldnt be doing this.

god, he really shouldnt be doing this.

he cant help it. the way you looked so cute and vulnerable laying sound asleep, basically inviting him in with the position you were in. laying on your back, arms placed on your stomach, one leg straight out and the other bent in; giving perfect access to your core.

caleb stands still; too scared by his thoughts to do so little as move. maybe if i just touch her once, it'll be like i wasnt even there... she won't notice.. fuck- he's convinced himself that he's perverted, that he's sick in the head. and perhaps he is, perhaps he's just like the twisted creeps on the internet, but that doesn't stop him. he's been away from the warm embrace of your cunt for way too long, his self control is too slim to worry about if you're conscious or not.

dropping his bags right where he was, he marches over toward you with great quietness. he stops right before he touches the bed, looking over you like a predator to his prey, imaging what exactly he wants to do to you thats so subtle that you wont wake up to it. after a moment of thinking, he decides he'll only take your panties off to jerk off to, then he'll go to bed with you. and thats exactly what he does.

with gentle yet shaky hands, he bends down and proceeds to attempt to rip your underwear off without really touching you, occasionally having to adjust the growing buldge in his pants. he manages to tear them halfway before he feels you move, beginning to change your sleep position to one that is on your back. he freezes completely and immediately removes his hand from your body, immobile with fear.

all he can do is stare at your ass while you're turned over. he physically cannot wait any longer as he brings an arm down to the bed to lift himself up, face directly on your butt. he's moving on autopilot at this point, unbuttoning his jeans with haste precision while inhaling your sweet scent; every exhale comes a moan as quiet as he can make it.

once his cock is finally out of his trousers, it's already twitching against the bed. caleb has no shame anymore; grinding his hips on your sheets and taking in your backsides aroma while whimpering into you. he has zero power over what he does, all he can do is think with his dick, mumbling small "ohfuckohfuck"s into your undies, bringing himself closer and closer to the edge. he's truly just a mess with his out-of-place hair and rolled back eyes, all for you.

everything was going swell until you slowly began to regain consciousness, somewhere in between awake and asleep. "c-caleb?" you whispered into the night, feeling for his hair. "caleb is that you? what're you.."

but instead of stopping his movements, he only speeds them up, egged on by the sound of your voice. "shhhshshh baby.. it's just a dream.. go back to sleep for me..." he mumbles back to you, grabbing your arm and using his other hand to grope at your asscheek. you let out a soft moan thats really only a sigh, and thats what sends him over the edge.

white hot spurts of cum cover your blanket and bedsheets as he snuggles his head closer into you in an attempt to quiet himself. "o-..ohmy fuck pips i-.." he murmurs, eyes remaining shut while his grip on you tightens.

after he's done working himself. he leans back to look at the mess he's made. drool strings from your panties to his lips, orgasm bright prominent on the covers, red marks on your wrist, underwear halfway ripped. he couldn't be more perverse.. truly.

only for you, though. ;)

#caleb lads smut #lads caleb x reader #lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads boys #lads smut #lads x reader #lads #love and deepspace

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smolgaedragon · 5 days ago

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Switcheroo (DP X DC)

Danny was definitely not expecting Damian to ask what he thought about pulling a prank on their birth father. The Waynes had apparently never been told about Damian's twin that had been sent far away from any and all Leage businesses from the moment be took a breath.

Dami had defended himself by saying stuff about how the fact that father had had another child whom he's never met just never came up. They seemed to shy away from talking about where Damian had grown up, which included him secretly keeping in contact with his twin.

After Damian had been taken in by their father, he began to text with Danny far more often as he never had to worry about getting caught and Danny getting killed anymore, which was pretty nice.

When Danny died Damian was the first to get the full story about everything, followed by Sam and Tucker. Damian and Danny knew everything about each other, even though they lived in completely different worlds. Danny knew everything about the Bat's, including how emotionally repressed all of them are.

So, when Damian wanted to go on a road trip, he asked Danny to take his place in the manor for the 2 weeks he was supposed to be gone. He didn't want any of his brothers to stalk him while he was away. Danny had gleefully accepted. Under the condition that for every blatant lie he got everyone to fully believe Damian had to spend a day with him and the Fenton's. Jazz was upset that she'd never met Danny's twin. His parents, and more importantly Jazz, were all for this, even if it meant sending Danny away for almost a month.

He made sure to spend a week in the manor while invisible to get a better sense of how people interacted with each other, especially how Dami talked to his brothers and their father. If Danny didn't mimic his twin brother perfectly then their whole plan was over before it started.

Danny already knew that this would be a challenge because of how different his and Damian's personalities are, despite being identical. Luckily because of being Phantom he didn't have to worry about struggling with the physical aspects of being Robin, or the lack of sleep it caused.

This was going to be a fun 2 weeks. Danny just had to start thinking up some sort of lies to get Dami's family to believe. Which will be easier than he thought as Dami to have absolutely 0 social skills and doesn't see the point in lying. Sure, he knew that growing up somewhere like the league made Dami as emotionally stunted as their birth father, but with how he acted when he was calling or texting with Danny, he would have thought that the social incompetence had lessoned, at least a little. But nope. He's the epidemy of awkwardness.

During day 1 Danny focused on simply not being detected by anyone. Which went really well. For a group of great detectives and vigilantes Danny was a little surprised to find them not batting an eye at him. He waited until day 3 to see about adding in a lie, he started out really simple to test the family.

"Alfred's cooking in a lot better than Ra's cooking" he said during dinner, it was only Bruce and Tim at the table with him, as everyone else had one thing or another to do instead of eating dinner as a family. Bruce seemed to just accept this bit of new information and kept eating after a slight pause. Tim however looked a little shocked, "Ra's never cooked though?" Danny faked a very confused face, "Yes he did Timothy, you were never allowed in the kitchen so you may have not noticed it as he didn't cook very often. He was horrible at it" It took a few minutes before Tim seemed to come to terms with his new reality and continue to eat his dinner.

He waited 2 days before deciding to say something again. His comment about Ra's cooking hadn't been brought up by either Bruce or Tim. This time he was with Jason. The hardest part of this was to have to deny himself the pleasure of straight up asking if Jason would break into Arkam with him to kill the Joker, as Dami abided by Bruce's to killing rules. Danny, however had no such wish to abide by that specific rule, there are some people who truly do need to be killed to ensure that they don't cause more pain.

"Dam flying rats" Jason mumbled as a heard of pigeons took off right above them as they turned a corner towards the Bat Burger, which was now in sight. Danny had to hide his excitement about not having to fight his food before getting to enjoy it. "Mother used to take care of a room of pigeons in order for Ra's to be able to send messages to those who thought cell phones made you turn green and go insane."

Jason, to his credit, didn't stop walking or change his pace, but he did turn his head to stare at who he thought was his brother who just randomly said something completely insane. He processed what he thought was a truth that came from his brother who wouldn't bother telling a lie. "Theres's people who think cell phones drive you insane and turn you green?" is what he asked once he could speak again. Danny had great control over his face, but it was still a challenge to not burst out laughing there and then. "Of course there are" Danny wondered if Damian would count this as 2 lies or just 1.

Danny got a delicious burger and fries; Jason got an unholy amount of chicken nuggets that he somehow managed to eat all of them within an hour. Day 4 was the only day Danny spent alone with Jason, which Danny thought was pretty sad and had hope that after it was revealed that he wasn't his twin he and Jason could kill some people together as the only 2 who seemed to not bat an eye at braking dear Brucie's rules. It would also be nice to actually be able to float again instead of having to walk. Danny did miss being able to play video games while floating upside down.

Days 5, 6, and 7 were bland and honestly, Danny was running out of ideas that could maybe be believed and wouldn't be something that they knew was false. It was on day 8 out of his 14 days long stay in the manor that he was alone with Barbara in the bat cave.

"So," she said after blatantly ignoring Tim on coms making a very bad pun. "What do you think Damian wanted to do so badly to finally ask you to come here, and who's idea was it for you two to switch places?" Danny burst out laughing.

"Finally!" He yelled, "It's like none of them are aware of their surroundings at all!" Barbara was also laughing when Danny shifted into his ghost form and floated up a little before answering her questions, "Oh, it feels so nice to be in the air again" he took her lack of surprise as a sign that she knew absolutely everything about him already. "Dami wanted to go on a road trip without getting stalked the entire way, which makes so much more sense after spending a week with you guys"

Barbara smirked, "I know exactly where he is right now, like I'd let someone show up pretending to be him and not go looking" "It was also his idea," Danny was upside down now, "We're gonna tell them when he gets back and shame them all" "As you should, I'm also going to shame them, just because you two look alike you're not the same person" "So I also am guessing that you know about our bet?" When she nodded back at him, he continued, "I'm so out of ideas for them! You have any ideas?"

"What if you tell them that Bruce listens to K-pop in his free time? I'll back you up on it too" Danny grinned at her, "That's amazing, and if you back it up, they'll totally believe it no questions asked. You and my sister would be like, best friends. She is also 100% stalking where I am right now, but that's mostly because she doesn't trust the GIW to stay out of Gotham since I've come here"

Barbara sighed, "That horrible branch of the government has been a personal project of mine to try to dismantle from the inside and not start an interdenominational war, but after finding out who the feared Ghost King is I could probably move a whole lot faster"

"Yay! I'm so sick of those guys following me around constantly" Danny was back on the ground now, "It felt so nice to be weightless again, it's so relaxing" Barbara smiled at him.

It was the next day when Jason, Tim, Barbara, and Danny were in the kitchen getting a quick lunch when the topic of music had been brought up by Tim, who was trying to guess what kind of music Jason listened to. He'd guessed a bunch of genres that honestly did seem to fit with what Danny knew of Jason. "Perhaps Korean pop, like father"

"Theres no way Bruce listens to K-pop, right?" He turned towards Barbara, who was eating her sandwich, seeming to ignore the conversation, Danny knew she was trying not to laugh though, "Of course he does Tim, there were even a few articles about it a while ago when it was mentioned at a gala" The two boys seemed only a little stunned at this point.

With Barbara's help Danny was able to get the Wayne family to believe a grand total of 9 lies over the 2 weeks Damian was gone without being found out by anyone other than her.

When Damian walked into the game room where Danny was playing Mario Cart against Tim, everyone turned to stare at him and Danny. "How many did they believe?" Damian asked Danny. "9" Danny said, letting himself burst into a giant grin, Barbara mimicked that grin.

That did seem to let everyone know that who they had thought was Damian playing video games with Tim was actually someone else and none of them had known. "How could you believe such blatant lies that could have been easily fact checked" Damian asked his family as Danny was having a laughing fit on the floor.

"I for one, am disappointed in all of you guys" Barbara spoke up, "Over the last 2 weeks Damian hasn't been in Gotham at all, and Danny has been in his place and also trying to see how many blatant lies he could get you to believe" Bruce hadn't said a word, his eyes going between Damian and Danny.

"Wait, who are you?" Jason pointed at Danny, who had recovered from his burst of laughter. "I'm Danny, Damian's twin" Danny took so much pleasure in everyone's shocked faces, "Where have you been living?" Bruce asked, clearly mentally preparing to adopt him then and there. "Oh, cool your adoption craving dear Brucie" Danny once again made Bruce blue screen, especially since he was here that in the same voice that he heard from his youngest who was always the most formal no matter the setting.

"I have a great loving family that I was adopted by before I even knew who our grandfather was. The whole reason I made up so much stuff while I was here was because Dami promised me and my sister Jazz that for each thing you all believed he'd spend a day with us in Amity Park"

Bruce seemed a little sad at this information, "Danyal also assured me that he would stay here for the next week to actually form a bond with our father while not impersonating me"

Danny and Damian had planned for Danny to start to slowly freak everyone else out with his ghost abilities. But that first night Tim brought up the topic of how Danny was able to be Robin so easily as he hadn't grown up with the Legue nor went through Bruce's crazy training, "Oh, I became a superhero before he did so I have a leg up on him"

"Who are you? I don't know anything about Amity Park enough to guess your 'hero' name" Time said, "Oh I'm Phantom," he said, letting his eyes glow a bright unnatural green that made Tim jump back away from him as he had only that kind of green with the Lazarus pits. "And don't worry, next to no one in this realm knows about me"

Phantom didn't join the bats for their night out for that week, mostly out of fear that it would draw the GIW to Gotham and he really didn't want to do that. So, he grew closer to Barbara and helped give ideas on ways that they could take the GIW down now that she knew that she could have the help of a ghost or 2 doing some stuff in Amity Park if it was needed.

There was a night where Danny heard Jason in the kitchen at a ridiculous time in the morning and decided to scare him by walking into the kitchen on the ceiling with his eyes glowing as brightly as he could make them while in his ghost form, and saying something in ghost speak, which meant that Jason was properly freaked out when he rubbed his eyes and the next second Danny was standing in the doorway looking normal giving Jason a confused look "I said, what are you doing eating cereal at 2 in the morning?"

When it was eventually time for Danny to head home again, he turned into his ghost form, and made a portal right into his room, "Dami, you better follow through on coming here for a week at some point, and I'll definitely visit again, maybe once the GIW aren't trying to tear me apart atom by atom and the law stating I'm not sentient is reversed" and with that Danny vanished into the portal.

The last thing he heard from his brother's family was "Excuse me, what the actual fuck?" From a bewildered Tim and a "Danny being here was certainly an experience" Barbara patted Tim on the back, before he was back in his room realizing that he had to fight his food during dinner tonight.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny and damian are brothers #danny and damian are twins #Danny is Danyal #damian wayne #bruce wayne #danny is a little shit #Danny's a good actor

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boowritess · 11 months ago

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notsobaddasssoldier!reader who is kinda a cunt

reader who just doesn't give a shit about the 141 rank or title.

"you think just cause your captain of some lil task force i'm gonna bend over backwards for you? be serious."

"cool you're lieutenant...and.... anything else interesting? like how you think halloween is 24/7, or...?"

"oh so it's a big accomplishment you're sergeant at your big age? tell someone who cares."

you're just so... eh about their ranks. but they get some power trip when you call them said rank. makes them feel some sort of way that depsite your snark, you still call them by rank. showing the clear difference of inferiority and superiority between you and them.

till you notice and shut that shet down.

"your so fucking stupid. it's like if i met The Pope. I'm gonna call him Pope because he's The Pope. I still don't give a shit though."

"or like meeting a Doctor and calling them Doctor. I don't give a fuck that the persons a Doctor. I'll still call em it."

"better yet. hate the king. hate the queen. but i still call them the queen and king. because their dumbassary is just linked to their 'ranks'. if you keep annoying me the same is gonna go for you."

you have so much sass and snark that it becomes a truly humbling experience. and it's like - damn. they could put you over their knee and really put you in your place but reader takes things from 0-100 real fucking quick.

"you wanna what you fucking freak?"

"excuse me-?"

"you're so fucking dumb. get a braincell dumb bitch. do it and fucking find out what happens."

"shot me in the head and watch my corpse not give a fuck because I don't."

and when the guys get a lil too fucking serious about putting reader in their place. reader suddenly has a gun pointed at their face. you see what I mean by taking things to 0-100 real quick?

"dummy. really tryna fuck with me when we're surrounded by guns? fuck outta here with that bullshit."

"matter fact I'd just kill myself-"

"NO!" *141*

it's obvious you may be young and perhaps a little too mouthy for your own good but it's clear you're not going to be pushed around.

but it's obvious you ain't here for the 'greater good' and just doing the work to get the paycheck. while the guys find your snark to be really fucking annoying.

it turns out that you definitely have some perks.

you may not be able to hold yourself very long in battle, just a very basic solider with basic skill sets- your mouth and attitude can really work wonders on people.

in particular, the egotistical rookie who things they're all that. taking their sweet time with basic tasks, belittling other recruits who can do the bare minimum. just in general, an asshole. that's when you step in.

"you ain't shit bitch cause at the end of the fucking day turdface, you ain't bullet proof. i can shoot you right now, and all your running and yapping will cease to exist. your corspe will rot. people will stop knowing you as the loudmouth rookie, and you will just become nothing. infact. you are nothing."

*the recruit opens their mouth. you interrupt.*

"Nothing."

*recruit tries again.*

"Nothing."

it's an endless cycle that ceases when your hardened glare doesn't stop and you pick up a rock intending to throw it at the recruit. the blank, dead, serious look in your eyes showing you are more than fucking serious.

what really works wonders though, is they way you aren't worried about putting a superior in their place. the other 141 have basically been beaten in and to not question anything. they have been made to believe they are weapons more than human.

that gets shut down real quick.

you all have just come back from mission, that was grueling. a couple of you were injured. everyone looked worse for wear. dirts, scratches, blood. someone no longer had their vest. a few lost weapons. barely had any inventory. needing food, sleep, and then a long shower shower.

but instead waiting for the task force, was a superior officer, holding the next mission file. a mission they were supposed to be getting ready for and practically leave as soon as they got back.

before price could grab for it, you intercept. grabbing the mission file and throwing it at the superior officers face.

"you giant fucking anal peice of dried solid dog shit. we're not fucking doing that. we just got back from hiding in a fucking forest for three weeks with enemy surrounding us to get intel from a camp- THAT WASN'T FUCKING THERE. so you better turn and take those pretty polished shoes to another task force."

"what is your name, soldier?" *superior officer growls.*

"Dolly Parton. Now Dolly has just worked longer than a nine to five and Dolly ain't got the patience for dealing with a man like you. i got two bullets left. one for you and one for me. and if you think i won't do it- well we can put it to the test now-"

perhaps it was the utter dead look in your eyes, or the gentle yet seething venom in your tone. the superior officer simply growls and turns on their feet, leaving the task force.

it's funny cause you do get the respect, you are barely a good soldier but dang you can get shit done when need be. so price doesn't transfer you. he still keeps you close.

ghost is the one who loves the feral little shit you are. gaz and you talk mad shit about everyone on base. soap just absolutely adores you, you're the little sibling he's always wanted.

a/n: inspired by the feral nature of gen z.

#boowrites #notsobaddasssoldier!reader #notsobaddass!reader x ghost #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #john price #johnny soap mactavish #notsobaddass!reader x 141 #notsobaddass!reader #notsobaddasssoldier!reader x 141 #captian price #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mctavish x reader

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thylacines-toybox · 4 months ago

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Rating various small thylacines on how well they fit as a joey in Artemisia's pouch

If you have recently acquired a Charlie Bears Pathfinder yourself, you'll have noticed their fairly spacious pouch! Wondering if there are any littler thylacines out there that are a good fit? Wonder no more!

(Although uh, good luck finding some of them for sale...)

First: yes, the pouch opens at the back and it looks a bit funny! That's an accurate thylacine pouch! It's actually a fairly normal way round for a marsupial pouch to be, when it's not on a bipedal kangaroo.

That said... there are a lot of photos of a plush thylacine's rear end in here. You may 'teehee' a little bit, but be decent!

Joeys will be placed in the pouch head first when possible, with their backs down and their feet up, as they are usually depicted riding in there.

Chicory (Bocchetta mini): 7/10

A decent size! A bit of a squash to get them in there, their hips are a bit wide especially, but once they're in their tail sticks out pretty cutely. Maybe with a little stuffing removed this would be even better!

Also, of all the thylacines on this list, this one is the easiest to obtain for sure.

Celery (a different Bocchetta mini, either an older style or the keyring version without the keyring...): 9/10

Squishier, thinner and more flexible than Chicory, so fits in really well! A very good joey!

Though... One thing with the Bocchettas is that their muzzles are so stubby, and they look quite out of place next to Artemisia's snooty snoot...

Dill (Paradise Ark mini): 6/10

Not too bad, but his legs are kinda tall and sturdy and it's a bit hard to get the back ones in. It's like he's kicking poor Artem in the stomach.

Wooden thylacine (NOM Handcrafted): 1/10

Technically fits in fine but uh... Ouch???

Purslane (it's a coin purse... by Tasile): 4/10

Pretty easy to fit in there at least since it's mostly unstuffed aside from the head, but too silly to be a joey... It has straps on the back, that's not very joeylike. Doesn't even have a tail to poke out cutely!

(Also I have literally never seen another of these before, so not very accessible...)

Felted finger puppet from EverestPetsSupply on Etsy: 5/10

Also a bit too silly although it fits well. Gains an extra point for the lack of straps and for the funny little pawsies looking extra cute there, but still no tail!

... Since it's got the finger puppet hole, does that technically count as a pouch too?? If only I had a micro thylacine to fit in there lol. Nested thylas.

Now for some I made myself...

Saffron (old tiny version of the ones I sell): 5/10

Though small, he was actually a bit tricky to fit in there because he's pretty solidly stuffed with beans... Not very squishy. Alright once he's in place though.

Also, the bright colours do not match Artem's realism at all. Not related, you can't fool me.

Nettle (modded bashful Jellycat): 1/10

Wh... no! Don't be silly! That's clearly not going to work! Sleeping bag???

You look like you need a pillow.

There we go. Now get outta there...

Nutmeg and Paprika: 5/10 or 9/10

They can be twins! Thylacines were actually meant to have more than one joey at a time, so that's cool! However, fitting more than one in at a time is definitely a struggle... Might be time to start leaving these ones in the den, Artem...

One at a time they fit very well! Much squishier than Saffron was.

Clove (Cinnamon's joey): 0/10

Hey! That's someone else's baby, put that back! Far too small, completely the wrong scale. Fits great in Cinnamon's pouch instead where she belongs.

Artem's actual joey who isn't named yet: 10000/10

Perfect joey, fits in there easily but doesn't fall out, is exactly where they should be!! Not actually visible from the outside when in place because they're not old enough and just soooo snug in there.

Ok actually -1 point because sometimes the little magnetic dummy falls off in there lol. Otherwise perfect babby.

#thylacine #Charlie Bears #plushie #toys #playing with toys #toy with accessories #this is very silly #Artemisia the thylacine #thylacine joey

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munchhmm · 30 days ago

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Split Ends

cutecute ugh this made me wanna cut my own hair tbh ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ hope you enjoy ✧

Pairings: Luffy, Zoro, Shanks, and Smoker x F!reader

Warnings: Slight cursing >؂•̀

Credit to @cafekitsune for dividers! first pic is mine

Word count: About 3.4k

Luffy •̀ᴗ-

Thinks you did it on purpose.

Realizes it happened in a fight and is deeply touched.

Unbothered, to him you’re still super cool.

Admires the sacrifice and doesn’t look into the physical change much.

Ruffles through it like he’s playing with a child’s toy.

Makes a comment about not having hair bows everywhere now.

Small gusts of wind sweep the cobblestone pathway as you make the long, agonizing walk back to a nice, warm bed. The stars and moon were covered by clouds tonight—just your luck.

First, a seagull steals food directly out of your hand during the walk further into the island, followed by a million bug bites. Then comes the new unintentional fashion statement.

While attempting to block a skilled enemy, your back to the wall, trapped, he takes the advantage and slices your mid-back length hair to where it was now no longer than your jaw.

On the walk, there were a few stores with glass windows and muddy puddles from previous rainstorms. The glances you caught in these reflections were conflicting. A quick dig in your bag showed no hope of avoiding the million questions the crew would ask—hell, you would’ve worn a bonnet at this point. If, for whatever reason, you had one?? :0

Small wrong-but-corrected turns quickly became “Oh shit, where am I?” real quick. Thinking maybe a late-night local would help, you start looking around a street that had been familiar from earlier today. The search is short; an older man stands at the front of a flower cart, slightly bent over from age as he swept the stone flooring around his stall. Islands like this one had some skeptics—it was the only way to survive sometimes. You never blamed them, but still, it was important to be on guard yourself.

A small smile spreads across your face as the old man looks over. He tilts his head and quickly puts his broom up, attempting to walk away with the unsold stock for the day.

“Hey, it’s me from earlier! Y/n! I promised to buy some of your flowers next time I visit, remember?”

The words came out a bit louder than expected, causing the man to walk a bit faster in the opposite direction.

“Liar! You look nothing like that girl I met today!” he says without even turning his head to look your way.

Even though he didn’t mean anything by the comment, it still hurt. Am I unrecognizable or something? It’s really not that big of a difference.

Clearly, asking for the compassion of others got nowhere, but after a bit more searching, you finally found the inn everyone was staying in for the night. All you wanted to do was come in unnoticed and sleep until the crew forgot what you looked like altogether.

“Excuse me, ma’am, we have to check all room cards before going up the stairs.”

This confused you—no one had mentioned anything about checking cards after every time you leave the inn. Still, you comply and hand over your card.

The worker takes the card into a back room for a few minutes. You immediately knew something was up. Before you could lean over the counter to ask what was going on, Luffy comes down the stairs into the lobby.

“Hey, Y/n! Woah, wait—is that you?! What happened to your hair?!”

His words echo loudly around the wooden walls, his signature smile brightening the room.

“Long story. Let’s just say I need to train more instead of staying up late eating food with you.”

A sigh follows your words as you continue to wonder about where that lady went to.

“Anyway, I need to get my room key back so I can go to bed. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

Luffy rings the bell sitting on the counter a million times to get the worker’s attention. Finally, she pops around the corner, phone and keycard in hand.

“Is she with you? I don’t remember her checking in with your friends earlier.”

The woman is looking only at Luffy, ignoring your presence altogether by this point.

“Yeah, of course she’s with us! Just give her the thingy back so we can go!”

You try to calm Luffy down by putting your hand over his, gently pulling him up the stairs with you after the worker gives the card back over.

The inn was small, taking no time to get around the corner to your room, two doors down from Luffy’s. He stops you before the key in your lock turns all the way, a soft look on his face.

“You look really good! I’m sorry someone got close enough to do that though. I’ll give you my hair if you want!”

A small laugh falls from your lips, hugging Luffy with a huge grin.

“Thank you, kinda needed that. I feel like maybe it doesn’t suit me.”

You feel a hand cup the back of your head and ruffle the newly chopped locks, his own laugh being felt through the whole of his chest.

“Anything suits you—even if you had a mohawk! Oh my god, wait—get a mohawk!”

Sleep suddenly didn’t feel as important. If anyone said something mean about the new look, you know now that Luffy would take care of it.

The rest of the night you sit on his bed and share stories of imaginary hair monsters and whose would be the strongest.

“Mine would be because he can stretch!”

“Luffy, you can’t make them all be just like you. That’s not fair!”

“Fine, but then yours are always gonna win—that’s not fair!”

He may not be the best with words, but Luffy’s always there to make you laugh and feel protected.

Plus, he bought you a mini straw hat for your “mini hair,” making you wear it all the time—so you had no choice but to accept it, but now a little less begrudgingly thanks to him.

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Zoro ˃⤙˂

Notices right away but doesn’t comment at first.

Understands the sacrifice.

Finally says something when no one’s around.

Smirks when he finds you fixing it slightly in the mirror later.

Pokes fun at you just like he always has.

Comforting a bit stiffly, if you don’t like the change.

“Holy shit, where did he go this time?!” You huff the words quickly, stomping up and down the tree line, looking for any sign of Zoro from the side. Nami knew he was going to get lost; she knew you were going to yell at him for being annoying. Guess she didn’t want to deal with him either.

The mission was simple: find the lookout for the enemy and report back to the ship. But it was also the most frustrating task to ever be given with someone who can’t follow the most basic of directions.

“I should put a leash on that guy—bet he’d just get tangled up in it like a puppy…” you grumble to yourself as your pace slows, tired from walking back and forth for well over twenty minutes now.

Snap!

A branch breaking, barely audible. “Surely that must be Zoro, right?” you thought, stepping cautiously closer to the sound. Before you can react, the enemy lunges toward you with a loud chuckle, causing leaves on the shrubs surrounding him to rustle violently.

Stumbling backwards but still alert, you bring your blade in front of you, preparing to face the unknown man.

“This was the point of finding his lookout… I know nothing about this guy’s fighting style,” you thought while gripping the handle of the blade tighter, shaking slightly.

The fight proved to be a challenge, running a bit into the wooded area just to catch small breaths between constant clashes. He was quick—too quick—teasing by cutting small bits of your hair as you run further into the trees.

By this point, Zoro had found pieces of said hair scattered across the grassy floor. At first, he was confused, then slightly concerned.

“Is she cutting her hair as a trail to lead me to her?” he thinks while quickly following the chopped locks into another area. Surprisingly, Zoro actually found you. Though the tracks were short, it was impressive he even managed to recognize it was your hair.

He works quick, helping you defeat the guy with little effort. After the enemy falls to the ground with a loud thud, tired, you lean against a tree to finally feel the air in your lungs, looking at Zoro while huffing quietly.

“So what was that about?” he asks plainly, like he doesn’t have the ability to put two and two together. You point to the man on the ground with your sword, still out of breath and barely able to talk.

“He followed me, cutting my shirt and hair just to see how fast I’d run.” The words come out strained and hoarse as you slide your back down the tree, taking a sitting position next to your weapon.

“Well, it’s good he did, I guess—otherwise I wouldn’t have found you.”

He sits next to you while holding a piece of your hair in his hands, running fingers around the now jagged ends.

“It’s not good! My hair is up to my shoulders!” you say, still struggling slightly.

Zoro doesn’t look at you. Instead, he places the bits of hair from his hands into yours.

“It was a needed sacrifice. Doesn’t look bad either.”

A small blush dusts your face. Zoro didn’t say much, but he never had to—the understanding and feelings were there. You lay your head on his shoulder. He stiffens at first—he always does, aw—but doesn’t move, letting you get comfortable as he closes his eyes.

“Thank you, mosshead,” you say with a smile, forgetting for a bit that both of you were on a mission.

The moment lasted for a bit, Zoro falling asleep under the weight of your head on his shoulder. You stand, collecting personal items from the enemy to bring back to the ship. Hopefully, it’ll give some intel.

He feels you move, opening his eye and watching. Realizing he’s woken up, you turn around and tilt your head at him.

“What is it?” you ask, slightly confused.

Zoro stands himself, grabbing supplies and slinging bags over his shoulders.

“Just thinking about how the hair kinda suits you.” He says the words like they’re no big deal, but the red tint on the tips of his ears tells a different story.

You look away before slowly turning back to him, not knowing what to say at first.

“Hush, you’re just saying that.” Joking seemed to be the easiest way to avoid the awkward air, and Zoro caught on.

“Yeah, you’re right—it’s actually kinda weird.”

He can feel you playfully rolling your eyes as you walk ahead, then turning to walk alongside him.

“Can’t have you getting lost again now, can I?” you poke his arm while he sighs and smirks.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, bowl cut.”

The rest of the walk back to the ship was mostly quiet except for a few teasing comments—all of them innocent. And when the crew crowds you after getting home?

Zoro sits off to the side, smirking, knowing he was the one who got to be there for the salon trip.

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Shanks ◜ᴗ◝

Literally the biggest smirk ever.

Starts buying little clips to keep the flyaway hairs off of your face.

Treats the new cut like a rebirth, drinks for everyone.

“I lost an arm, you lost some hair. Can we call it even, sweetheart?”

Marks it in his calendar and plans to celebrate the date every year.

Makes sure it’s known the stars shine only for you.

It had been two days since the big fight on the previous island. The crew had mostly calmed down by this point, going back to their normal routines and tasks.

Shanks, on the other hand, has not.

His new obsession was your now mid-neck-length hair that was bestowed on you during the mission. For days now Shanks has done nothing but make flirty comments and fluff your hair with his fingers as you walk by. Not that you minded his attention—you loved it, actually—but this change in appearance had shaken you a bit; sitting in the mirror for hours the first night back just staring at yourself. Shanks noticed; he always did when you didn’t act like normal. This gave him an ache in his chest, seeing you doubt yourself when he never has or will.

The plan for a party is always set in motion after a mission, so it came as no surprise that you saw multiple crates of supplies scattered around the deck instead of being inventoried. What you didn’t know was that this celebration was going to be different. It was for you.

Later that night the mumbling and secret glances finally get brought to your attention; you wonder around the ship, asking why everyone is looking at you funny—no true answers ever came.

Finally, you find Shanks, swilling a drink as he leans against the railing. The air was cool but comfortable, blowing his jacket slightly in the wind. He looks at you and flashes a sly grin.

“So you finally made it to your party, huh?” You stop in your tracks, face draining of color.

“Did he just say… mine?” you thought over and over again in the span of seconds, mind racing with anxiety.

The red-haired man steps closer, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look into his eyes. “A new chapter deserves a fun time, no?” The words drip off his tongue like he’s panting, color coming back to your face in the form of a blush.

A few crew members are watching from the side, either acting casual or full-on spy mode. Shanks notices but says nothing; if anything, he wanted everyone to see how flustered he could make you feel.

The night was amazing—good food, plenty of drinks, laughing and old stories. The people were buzzing with energy, not a problem in sight.

Well, except for you.

Thankful was an understatement; you were grateful beyond words, but was it really this big of a deal? The money and energy spent to set this up in your honor? At some point you slip away politely, saying you need to use the restroom. Instead, the walk led you to the upper deck—quiet and peaceful, only the sound of gentle waves and creaking wood.

He finds you there, knowing at some point the social atmosphere would overwhelm you. At first he doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you with his drink in hand. You glance at him with a smile, trying to seem in a better mood than you actually were.

“Not what you expected? We can have a better one next time; maybe even hire some entertainment?~” A small laugh escapes your mouth, falling onto the surface of the water like a boulder.

“It’s wonderful, thank you. I just feel silly for making a fuss over a bad haircut.” You lean your head onto your hand as your elbow rests on the railing, looking over the empty horizon like it was a movie. Shanks stands while placing his drink on the floor, rubbing your shoulder silently as he sets his head on top of yours. “It’s beautiful. Hair is important and symbolic; you deserve to let the world know your sacrifice.”

His words finally get through, realizing this whole time the change was what really scared you. His touch is comforting, everything about him makes your heart skip. You turn around, pressing the side of your face to his chest.

“Let’s go back, I wanna drink all your liquor~” Shanks chuckles softly, taking your hand and leading you down to the lower deck with the rest of the party. “I’d gladly let that happen, you’ve earned it.”

After a night of sweet conversations and way too much alcohol, you finally come to terms with this new chapter—especially with the way Shanks looks at you so lovingly while you fix your hair the next morning, styling it how he recommended.

“You look adorable, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well… Maybe it was for you.”

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Smoker •᷄ᴗ•́

Tries to lecture you but also comfort you(?) at the same time. **he’s so weird**

His cigar burns without a puff while he looks at you.

Furious at the person who did it, but to you he’s strangely soft.

Silently offers to bring you to a salon at the next island, then hopes you don’t take it the wrong way.

Sighs when you pout but gives you a warm, understanding smile.

May not show it, but deeply thinks you’re one of the strongest he knows.

Calm waters flow against hardened steal metal of the marine ship, a natural white noise everyone was used to. Calm, relaxing, no threat in sight. Just the stretch of endless opportunities scattering the sea and sky.

None of this concerned you though, starting at the reflection for longer than you had anticipated, the thoughts poured in.

“Why this? Couldn’t it have been my arm or something instead?”

Connecting beauty to certain things even if it was wrong or stereotypical made your heart clench in a way only extreme guilt can give. It’s not like you thought these things of others, but that didn’t stop them from thinking those things of you.

The whole ship was warm, very warm, you kept the door open to let in what little gusts of wind willing to come your way inside, sulking in the comfort of your small dorm.

Smoker walks by, keeping a firm eye on every crew member, making sure no one was injured or missing **in the worse case scenario**.

Finally he comes by your room, door mostly open but still pulled closed enough to give the “I need privacy” vibe. You had shut yourself off for a few days now, hating the battle against a bunch of smug pirates who dared touch you, even more so they took something away, they cut your innocence like it was a stick of tawed butter. No emotion, unless they got the sick kick out of the interaction.

Smoker noticed, he watched silently, keeping distance, clenching his jaw at the sight of your discormfort. This was the best time to confront you, no one around to give looks or unwanted comments.

Slowly, he knocks on your half opened door, hearing the stifled whimpers coming from inside. it broke him, never willing to show it unless you asked.

When you answer, hair cut to a sharp angle, eyes puffy from small tears escaping on their own, he softens immediately, putting out his cigar and politely pushing his way through the doorframe.

“Why is this bothering you so bad? Nothing’s different,” His voice is stern but understanding, shifting his weight so his body is leaning against the closest wall in your quarters. “I just… Yeah the change is weird, but look…” The hesitation in your voice is apparent, turning to a mirror and showing Smoker the uneven slice made on the strands hanging off your head.

“It’ll be weeks before we port again, i feel ugly… it’s lopsided and weird.” The words come out choked and shaky, like the whole ocean is in your throat begging to come out.

“Well, why don’t we fix it?” He rubs the back of his head, flustered in the most mature way possible, heartbroken at the sight of you upset like this. Smoker may be tough but his shell breaks around you, even if it’s a bit scary.

Before you know it, the vice-admiral is behind you, standing in the bathroom with a pair of scissors and the most annoyed but loving look on his face. Sheer precision and focus, glancing every now and then at your reflection, looking for an uncomfortable reaction in case he needs to stop.

No talking, just the sounds of snips and dusting of shavings fill the room as you watch his face in silence, heart melting at the fact this man is willing to at least try and make you feel better.

The finished product isn’t perfect, but it’s so much better than before. besides, he did it for you right? The gruff man holds your face, surprisingly soft for someone of his stature, tilting your head to inspect his work thoroughly.

“Tch, not my best work but it’ll do till we get to the next island right?” He’s gentle but naturally stern, your heart skips again, causing a blush to make its appearance. Looking in the mirror, Smoker did better than expected. As he said it wasn’t perfect, a few strands stay untouched in fear of making a mistake, honestly the best thinking.

You smile while a tear drips down your cheek, overwhelmed by the act of kindness. “You’re the sweetest, I love it!” Two warm arms wrap around him, sweet and fragile compared to him. His stiff exposure melts a bit without realizing, wrapping his own pair of arms around you, smelling your hair with a smile. “Good, now cheer up and set the others in line like you used to.”

The air was thick, almost like a bubble surrounding both of them. You give a playful laugh and admire the trim one more time before heading for the door. “As you wish, Vice-Admiral.”

He knows you follow orders for the sake of the job, but he also knows you do it for him. That will never change as long as he can help it.

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smirkyblueberrywhale · 1 month ago

Note

Riding Nagumo on his sleep 👀

OOHH YES PLEASEE!!

serving some sleeping nagumo !

WARNINGS : Somnophilia ( sleep sex kink ), rough sex, payback, teasing, and more ! :0

A/N : wishing i made this a bittt longer:((

You and Nagumo had a restless day. He had killed atleast 3 people for his mission in the Order. It was a BIT stressful of a mission to do, and they were all ganging up on him! one grabbing his guns and knives so he can’t fight back, one leading him to dangerous traps, and the other one he was fighting. He couldn’t tell you that it was a really tiring mission, getting hanged ( not on the neck LMAO ), falling, and no sorts of weapons unless his hands! it led him to multiple bruises and bumps, when he went home, he was greeted by a gasp coming from your lips, and you quickly grabbed some medicine and such.

You washed his body as he ranted out everything ( well, he didn’t tell you the part where he did fall for ONE trap.. ). Nagumo didn’t want to go and change, so he instantly went to bed, and slept straight away.

You went to bed aswell, hugging him, kissing his cheek and tracing his tattoos. wait.. he mentioned getting a tattoo near his cock.. you tried checking it out but saw a hard cock instead. poor guy was so busy he didn’t have time to fuck you! You got an idea, maybe to ride him.? Nagumo won’t mind, would he? you quickly removed your bottoms, and rode him. he let out a quiet moan as you moved, and you bobbed your hips up and down. Your hands found their way to both sides of his head, gripping the sheets tightly as you tried to go faster.

It’s been awhile since you’ve done this with him, and you’re basically shaking just by the feel of his dick going inside and out of your warm insides. Seeing his sleeping face was so hot, grinding into his dick, watching his genuine expressions, and even the sounds were enough to make you cum! You suddenly stopped when you felt a pair of warm hands wrap around your ass, you looked at Nagumo’s face once more, and he looked back at you !!

“ you’re eager, aren’t you? “ He smirked tiredly, “ i didn’t know you were so— aah..! “, he moaned as you went by to riding him, his grip on your ass only getting tighter. Nagumo was completely at your mercy, body numb. “ let me continue my sentences.. you teasee.. “ He would be lying if he said that it didn’t feel good after all the crazy shits he fought.. You’ve had him all up in your finger, moaning like a bottom. it’s very silly, really.

Your legs started becoming a bit tired, and you chased your release. He lifted his hips up and groaned loudly, he was already gonna cum. some time, with all the crazy slaps of skin to skin, you finally came, nagumo following aswell and loads of cum spurting into your velvet walls, painting them alll white. it’s a cute sight, seeing him shuddering and whining, a cute mess, your cute mess.

You cleaned up, and when you came back, he was already plopped into the soft cushions, and snoring like a bear. You laughed to yourself, only a bit hard of a mission? must’ve been a lie. You softly kissed his forehead and slept with him, hugging his limp body.

The next day, you woke up to.. Nagumo slamming his cock into you repeatedly.! you tried to stop him but was interrupted by a harsh slap on the ass. “ did you really think i was gonna let you treat me like that? i was tired, you know.. “ he leaned into your ear, his lips right behind it as he spreaded your legs even more to thrust even deeper. “ you can’t do that to me.. i’m vulnerable when asleep, i was working for you. for us. but you just tired me eeeveenn moree.. “ he let out a deep chuckle and grabbed your boobs, rutting into you like he was trying to shape your guts to his dick. You gripped tightly on the sheets, threw your head back, eyes rolled back, and let a choked moan out, breath uneven.. all you could think about was his dick, rutting and ruining your parts. before you got the chance to think, you squirted all over him. He came the same time as you did, shooting his cum deep inside you.

“ don’t play with me, darling. you know i’ll always find a way to be top. “ he messed your hair up and kissed you. Now you were the bottom.. and it’s all because of that tattooed dick.

author : @smirkyblueberrywhale , please do not copy, use to train ai, or take my png’s !

#nagumo yoichi #nagumo x reader #sakamoto days nagumo #yoichi nagumo #sakadays smut #sakamoto days #smut #azure the whale #azure writes #japan #x reader

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azzibuckets · 4 months ago

Text

All Fell Down ~Part 6~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

afd masterlist w/ @imaginespazzi

3 Weeks Ago

Nassau, Bahamas

Paige is a little burnt from spending all day in the sun. They’d gone 3-0 in the Battle 4 Atlantis tournament before an unfortunate but expected loss to South Carolina. As soon as they’d returned to their hotel, she’d changed into her bikini and headed for the beach, eager for the opportunity to finally enjoy the warm Carribean weather instead of being cooped up in the gym.

To say the past few weeks had been stressful was an understatement. Even though it was her sophomore year, she was still adjusting to college ball—both the expectations of UConn legacy and the aggressiveness and consistency expected from her at such a high field of play. It certainly didn’t help that her best friend, who’d been a steady but long distance presence in her life for the past several years, was now constantly around her. It had almost been a comfort when Azzi was hours away, a little secret she could go to when the rest of the world was becoming too much. Even through phone calls, Azzi’s voice always calmed her mind, giving her something to look forward to after a long day. And Paige was by all means generous, but the one thing she hated to share was Azzi - Azzi’s attention, Azzi’s affection, everything she wanted only for herself.

Still, Paige had taken to the habit of knocking on her door at random hours throughout the day under the guise of showing her around her favorite spots in Storrs (not very many, considering it’s Storrs). Paige was even content with just sitting in Azzi’s bed, watching basketball on her iPad as the younger girl studied at her desk. Just being in Azzi’s presence was enough. And Paige had always known her relationship with Azzi was a little special, but this continual close proximity was starting to grow the weird, complicated mess in her heart into something unavoidable that occupied her every waking thought (and even her unawake thoughts — Paige couldn’t tell you how many times she’d woken up in the middle of the night, heart racing and body tensing, to images of Azzi’s pink lips and dark eyes and smooth skin).

Recently they’d taken to just sleeping over in each other’s beds, because somehow they always found themselves talking for hours, and by the time their voices got sleepy and conversation dwindled at 3 AM, Paige refused to let Azzi walk back to her dorm so late at night. The only option was clear. But falling asleep with her best friend and waking up with hands tangled, legs intertwined, sleepy doe eyes blinking at her and mussed curls falling over her pillows, made Paige’s heart throb just a little bit faster and ache a little bit harder.

As if she can read her thoughts, of Azzi Azzi Azzi running perpetually in her brain, the girl in question lifts up her sunglasses from her forehead and squints at Paige for half a second, a small smile tugging imperceptibly at the corner of her mouth.

Paige closes the book she’d been using to shield her eyes and raises an eyebrow at the younger girl, mouth getting dry as it always does whenever Azzi’s attention is fully on her. “What?”

“Nothing.” Azzi pauses for a little bit, a full grin overtaking her face now. “You know books are more than just sun visors?”

Paige throws the paperback at Azzi, who ducks and laughs. Not that Azzi is wrong; the blonde hadn’t even made it through the synopsis on the back before giving up. “It’s getting really hot out here.” Paige brushes sand off her thighs. “Wanna grab a drink?”

“You’re paying.” Azzi scrambles up and lends Paige a hand. When they touch, it almost feels electric—and even though it’s 90 degrees out, Paige shivers at the feel of Azzi’s hand on her wrist, the gentle slide of her fingertips lingering across her palm.

At the bar, Paige watches as Azzi leans across the counter. She’s wearing a green bikini, the neon of the nylon a beautiful contrast to the tan chocolate of her skin. Her small white shorts are tight on her butt, and Paige almost collapses on the spot when Azzi leans further and they start to ride up her thighs.

“This is my friend Paige.” Paige jolts out of her thoughts when Azzi grabs her elbow and motions to the bartender, a pretty ginger with freckles splashed across her cheeks. There’s something in the air, a sort of shimmering tension, and Paige realizes suddenly as Azzi’s cheeks color a light pink that she’s into the girl.

And the girl is into Azzi too.

“Hey.” The ginger nods coolly to Paige without really sparing her a second glance, and Paige is affronted. She wouldn’t call herself cocky, no, but the star basketball player isn’t exactly used to people treating her like she’s not worth their attention. And from someone who’s making Azzi blush and laugh? A familiar ache starts forming in her temples.

“Hey,” Paige repeats back, tone short. “Can I have a Shirley Temple please?”

“Do you have an ID?”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Virgin.”

The ginger sighs irritatedly, giving Azzi one last lingering glance before turning around to prepare her drink. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Paige jostles Azzi’s shoulder a little harder than necessary. “You’re so into her.”

“What?” Azzi blushes even harder, and Paige’s stomach sinks. “No, I’m not.”

“Stop lying.” The blonde rests her elbows on the counter, eyes trailing over the ginger, wondering what this girl has that she doesn’t. “You think she’s cute?” She’s tense as she waits for her best friend’s answer. Paige has never been sure about the younger girl’s sexuality—sure, the two of them have made out a few times, as normal best friends do when they’re drunk or high or lonely or when one of them is deeply and hopelessly in love with the other. But Azzi has never really brought it up after, avoiding the topic whenever Paige has tried to mention it. She’s not one to talk about her crushes either, at least with Paige, and Paige has stopped trying to push it. But now, as Azzi is staring at this ginger with something sparkling in her eyes, Paige feels the question that’s been tumbling through her mind for the past few years slowly start to creep up.

Azzi takes one of the several shots she’d ordered earlier and wipes her mouth, grimacing. Paige has a suspicion that she wasn’t asked for her ID. “She’s okay.”

“It’s okay to admit that you’re attracted to someone,” Paige teases, doing her best to to keep her tone light, casual. After all, that’s all they’ve defined their relationship as - casual, no strings attached, no hard feelings. Or more generally, no feelings at all - period.

“She’s not really my type,” Azzi mutters.

“So..what is your type?” Paige stares intently at the younger girl, but a glass is set down hard between the two of them before Azzi has the chance to respond.

“What’re you interrogating me for?” Azzi shifts uncomfortably.

“I think it’s pretty normal for someone to want to know about her best friend’s romantic life.”

Azzi takes another shot. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about it with you, okay?”

At this point, Paige is getting kinda annoyed. “What’s your problem?” She swirls the straw inside of her Shirley Temple. Some of the Sprite splashes out, which she ignores as the fucking bartender’s problem. “I hear you yapping to Caroline and Amari about all this shit. Is it me you don’t trust?”

“It’s just weird talking to you about it.” And it shouldn’t hurt, the way Azzi emphasizes the word “you”, but Paige is starting to feel like she’s been reading the signals wrong.

“I always tell you about my dating life,” Paige argues.

“Dating life? Your hookups could hardly be called a dating life,” Azzi scoffs off-handedly as she reaches for her third shot.

Paige pretends like the jab doesn’t hurt as she grabs the shot cup before her best friend can. “Bro, how many have you had?”

“Only a few,” Azzi says, her eyes dark and distant. “Give it back!”

“I’m not paying for you to get wasted on a Thursday afternoon.”

“Paige, give it back.”

“Answer my question first.”

“Paige!”

“Azzi!”

“Look, I don’t give a single flying fuck about your romantic life, okay? I don’t care about the girls in your bed or the girls you take on dates or whatever. I. Don’t. Care.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Oh my god, you’re insufferable.” Azzi rubs her temples. “Don’t you think it’s weird to discuss who you’re into with your friend with benefits?”

Suddenly it makes sense.

“We’re not just friends who fuck,” Paige says irritatedly. “We’re best friends.”

“Yeah. Best friends who fuck,” Azzi emphasizes.

Paige takes in the dark haired girl. The pout of her full lips, the sharp curve of her cheekbones, the faint outline of her dimple that suddenly turns all of her thoughts to mush. She swallows. “We don’t have to discuss anything.”

Azzi seems to notice the shift in her mood, the slow perusal of Paige’s eyes across her body. She smirks, shifting closer to the blonde, fingertips grazing her elbow ever so lightly. “Yeah?”

Paige nods. And when Azzi bats her lashes and smiles that sweet fucking smile, she knows she’s done for. “Yeah.”

Of course, Paige knows she’s falling into the cycle again, the forever of fighting and fucking and forgetting. But when Azzi steps closer to her, places both hands on her chest and pushes her back a little against the counter, and kisses the tip of her nose, then the corner of her mouth, then the slope of her jawline, Paige really can’t find it in herself to care.

When she wakes up the next morning, Azzi is still asleep, burrowed into soft white sheets, her hand slung loosely around Paige’s waist. The older girl carefully separates their limbs and sits up, watching the younger girl’s chest rise and fall. She traces Azzi’s cheek with the pad of her thumb. The younger girl is always pretty, but in the mornings, when she’s soft and sleepy and warm? Paige swears that it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

But Paige knows she has to end this before it ruins them - before it ruins her. She’d thought that Azzi might feel the same, that the way she’d whispered her name all those the nights, the way she’d rubbed her back to help her fall asleep, the way she’d squeezed her fingers whenever they walked past each other, had meant something. But Paige is very logical, and the logic of last night’s situation seems pretty straightforward. Azzi had flirted with another girl. Azzi had enjoyed it. Azzi didn’t want to tell Paige about all her secret lovers, because Azzi didn’t think it was Paige’s business; Azzi didn’t associate romance with Paige. Azzi likes having sex with Paige. But Azzi doesn’t like Paige. Not in the way that Paige wants her to. Because that’s all they are - friends, sorry, best friends, who fuck.

There’s been very few times Paige has left Azzi to wake up alone. If she’s had to, she’d always left a note, or a text. Today, Paige does none of these things. She grabs her phone, and then her clothes, hurriedly slipping on her sweater without bothering to put on a bra or shirt, frantic in her actions.

Paige is halfway out the door when she hears the rustling of sheets. She swears to herself that she doesn’t hear Azzi call her name. She shuts the door, slipping her phone into her pocket after finalizing her text and pressing send.

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: Hey sorry to cancel so late but I’m not coming home with yall for break after this

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: Think im gonna head to Montana and spend time with family

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: Just venmoed you the cost of the plane ticket

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: can u let Az know?

Present Day

Paige has always considered herself to be strong.

She’d been strong when she’d injured her foot in high school from overuse, having to miss state playoffs in order to recover.

She’s been strong when her grandma had died, and she’d held her little brother while he sobbed for hours.

And she’d been a little too strong in her resolve to ignore Azzi for the past few weeks, until her feelings would hopefully be strangled and smashed and shot to the ground which they haven’t.

But when she’d fallen on the ground, the worry about what exactly her injury was almost as bad as the pain, she’d looked around dazed at the faces around her, and she’d felt so weak. And despite her teammates patting her and offering hands on the court, then piling in after the game to check up on her, she’d felt so fucking alone. As Paige laid in the chair, she’d thought about the vast numbers of players that got injured every game, with something probably even worse than this, and guilt invaded her mind. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself.

Until a mess of curly hair and soft brown eyes had appeared, warm hands hugging her, and reminded her that it was okay to not always feel so strong.

“What’d they say?” Azzi’s voice is gentle.

Paige avoids her best friend’s eyes, knowing it won’t take much for her to start crying again. “They say it’s too early to tell yet. I gotta go in tomorrow for an x-ray.”

At that moment, Evina pops her head back into the room from the hallway, where the entire team had been lingering to give the two of them space. “It’s getting pretty late, P. Wanna go home?”

“I can take her home,” Azzi interrupts quickly, glancing between the two of them. “If—if that’s okay with you?”

Paige nods, and Azzi’s shoulders visibly relax. “I’ll pull the car around,” she decides, promptly leaving the room.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Evina whispers to Paige as soon as the door closes behind Azzi.

“I don’t care,” Paige says simply, wiping at her cheeks. “I need her.” The confession is heavy, but it feels good to admit that to herself for the first time in weeks.

Evina rubs her shoulder sympathetically. “Alright. Don’t do anything stupid, P.”

“I already injured my knee,” Paige laughs humorlessly. “I think I’ve been stupid enough for the day.”

Evina nods, giving her one last comforting hug before ordering the rest of the team to go on home too. Azzi’s back as soon as they leave, breathing heavily as if she’d ran the entire way from the parking lot. “You ready?”

Paige lifts herself off the chair and winces. “Yeah.” immediately, Azzi is by her side, guiding her hips, her touch blazing hot, and Paige closes her eyes.

It’s gonna be one long fucking night.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconnwbb #pazzi #uconn wbb #wcbb #paige x azzi #angst #fluff #fic #paige bueckers x azzi fudd

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