#the answer is more obvious than you think :)

[bi-writes]

What do we think about price x young!Wife reader who is kept away from the team (for obvious reasons) and when she is on base to bring some important files to his office, world collide

I think it would be really cute if she gets mistaken for a recruit

he's not moving fast enough for you.

you roll your window down even more, sticking your head out, and you slide your sunglasses down your nose so you can meet eyes with the muppet standing guard at the gates.

"repeat that for me?"

"you're not on the list," the man repeats. he narrows his eyes at you. "all guest personnel must be approved before they enter. i don't make the rules, but i do enforce them."

you raise a brow. your manicured finger slides down the steering wheel, tracing the leather of it, and you let out a deep breath before laughing humorlessly.

"okay. i need you to get on your stupid radio and get captain john price on there. then, you're going to tell him who exactly is waiting here, and then after he informs you that you will let me through, i'm going to make sure you spend the next two weeks scrubbing fucking toilets." you sit back in your seat. you don't mean to be rude or mean, you're usually very kind and very considerate, but you are about to blow the roof off of your patience after the day you've had, and you just want to drop john's things off and go.

the guard scoffs, picking up his radio. he rolls his eyes at you before he goes back into his little office. after a few minutes, he comes back out. his eyes are on the floor, and he comes up to your window and gives you back your id. you toss it into your purse, and he clears his throat nervously.

"i-i'm so...i-i'm so sorry, mrs. price, i--"

"save it."

you put your car in drive and step on it. the purr of your pretty german car leaves the guard in the dust, and you park haphazard, taking up two spots, but you just grab your purse and john's papers and turn the car off anyways.

you're mrs. john fucking price. you'll park how you please, and they can get over it.

you're dressed more casually. you're wearing dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and one of john's army-green jackets. when you see yourself in the reflection of a window, you realize you kind of dressed appropriately for the setting, without even meaning to.

you open the door to the building john texted you about, and you walk in with your sunglasses still on. there's a lot of desks around, offices, an ugly mess of couches around a tv that a bunch of recruits are playing team fortress 2 at. they're whooping and yelling, but you pay them no mind as you follow a sign towards the office number john gave you.

you bump right into a big chest. you stumble backwards, scoffing, and you pull your sunglasses off as you tip your head back and glare up. there's some big, giant bear-man standing in your way, and he isn't moving.

"excuse me," you say firmly. "do we have a problem?"

the big dude tilts his head to the side, like he's sizing you up (which is stupid, since he's probably bigger than anyone). he's wearing a DIY skull mask, something messily sewed and painted with thick fingers, and you really want this halloween-enthusiast to get the fuck out of your way so you can leave as soon as possible.

"we? i don't got a problem."

his voice is deep. all gravel, very low, and his tone is very condescending. you may be smaller than him, but your teeth are sharper.

you're sure of that.

"but you've got one," he continues, narrowing his eyes. "those nails aren't regulation."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me."

"i did, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think i answer to you."

"listen 'ere," the man spits. "i'm a fuckin' lieutenant, and y'r gonna talk t'me like i'm one before i have y'r arse--"

"get out of my way!" you snap at him. "as far as i'm concerned, i outrank every single idiot in this entire fucking building. i don't care if you're a sergeant, a lieutenant, i don't care if you're fucking royalty! move, or i'll make you, so help me god."

"simon."

at the sound, the bear turns around, stepping aside. when peek around his arm, you see your husband, arms crossed over his chest casually as he leans against the wall. he's got a relaxed smile on his face, boonie hat tipped back a little.

"well, this isn't how i wanted you two to meet," john chuckles.

"what, you know this meathead?" you scoff, and the lieutenant, simon, snarls like a dog at your response.

"simon, this is my wife."

simon steps back from you as if you'll sting him. he swallows, his face relaxing under the mask, and you glare at him. you don't expect an apology from someone like him, but you guess the way he reverts his eyes from you is the equivalent of it. you don't think a man like him ever feels out of place or threatened.

"love, this is my lieutenant."

"the lieutenant."

"quite right."

you let out a harsh breath through your nose. you don't say anything more to simon, just give him your back as you walk past him towards your husband. you don't say anything more to simon; he's saved your husband's life before, so he can be let off easy.

this time at least.

when you lift your hand to give john some papers, simon zeroes in on the giant rock on your left hand, the several carat diamond that sits there.

fuck.

"next time you need something from home, i'm gonna need the red carpet rolled out for me, understand me, john?" you tell him. john smiles, crow's feet deepening, and you narrow your eyes. "say you understand me, john."

"mhm. i understand."

"i don't mean just making sure my name is on some list, i mean an escort and a voss water. in the glass bottle."

"of course, sweetheart."

he bends to kiss you, and you let him. you put a hand under his jaw, thumbing at his beard, and the hat covers the way he lets his tongue slip out and into your mouth. if you didn't have an audience, the taste of tobacco on his tongue would be enough for you to kneel and suck his cock, but he's busy, and you have a hair appointment to get to.

you pull away slowly, touching his bottom lip.

"you better be home in time for dinner," you say. "seven. don't be late."

"won't be late."

his baby blues are so bright, even in the awful fluorescent light. you kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck, and when you pull away, you put your mouth to his ear.

"your office? got ten minutes?"

"no, sweetheart," he murmurs. "don't have it."

"john..." you grip the sides of his tact vest, pouting. "please? please?"

john sighs, shaking his head. he kisses your forehead before nodding behind you, to his lieutenant that still won't leave.

"walk her out, simon. make sure she leaves alright."

"olright."

simon opens your car door for you, and when you get in, you shove your seatbelt into place, angrily starting the car up again. you're having a bad day, and you're horny now.

"goodbye, lieutenant," you say smartly. "by the way, there's some smartass at the front that i told would have to scrub toilets. i trust that you can carry that out for me."

"'ow long?"

"told him two weeks, but i think a day will do just fine."

"'n why's tha'?"

"well, i'm not mad at him anymore, but i'm still a price. and price's follow through on their threats, lieutenant."

you put your sunglasses on, and the window goes back up. simon watches with rapt attention as you pull out with a rev of the engine, and when he glares at you, you smile, raising your hand to flip him off.

the big diamond on your hand blinds him as you drive off.

[prlssprfctn]

Jason Todd, who tries to do his Red Hood reveal in front of the whole family, all at once, but they are so sleep-deprived that instead of accepting an obvious answer, they come up with the most insane theories.

Jason, spreading his arms wide: The answer is already here, and you know it. Come on, the world's great detective — look at me, and tell, why would the random criminal lord avenge for your son? Hm?

Dick, snapping his fingers: You are his childhood friend! Right?!

Jason: What—

Dick: You knew everything about us. You knew Jason better than we did. It is obvious. You are a kid that he must befriended during his days on the streets. You are avenging for him because we failed him!

Tim, shaking his head: Dick, come on—

Jason: Yeah, exactly, just—

Tim, with the insane glint in his eyes: They were clearly lovers, not friends.

Jason: ...What.

Tim: It is obvious. Just look at him at his desperation. That's more than friendship.

Jason: Come on, Bruce, you can't possibly allow them to be this stupid.

Bruce, sipping on his coffee: No, I won't.

Bruce, turning to Dick and Tim: It is Willis Todd.

Dick, Tim, and Jason in the unison: What—

(Hours later, Jason's safe house)

Jason: ...And then he goes! (clears up his throat to imitate Bruce's voice) "Willis Todd's grave was always empty, but I hadn't paid attention to this fact!" What an insane thing to fucking admit, by the way!

Talia, on the Facetime, doing her nails: Perhaps it is a family trait - to leave the coffins empty... Anyway, what happened after?

Jason: They come up with another theory. Now, they think that Red Hood is "Jason's" reincarnation. Souls switched and stuff. Dunno. They planned to call Constantine, but I left.

Talia: I feel like a nap would resolve this issue.

Jason: Yeah, definitely. But that's not my problem.

Talia: Naturally. But you look happy.

Jason, smirking: I got to annoy the hell of this family without even getting revealed and dealing with the aftermath. Of course, I am happy. Also, Alfred clocked me, but just packed me a lemon pie and invited for a tea ceremony later this week.

[flwrstqr]

✶ : NONSENSE ❪ 日语 ❫ DOE-EYEING ENHYPEN 備考────𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇' 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇' 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾

⠀❛ 𝖠𝖫𝖳 ㅤ when you give them pretty doe eyes

𝖣𝓲𝖠𝖱𝖨����𝖲 ⦂ enhypen x fem ! r 1OOOwc. ˊᯅˋ fluff head canon && skinship petnames kissing established relationship . . CLiCK

다니 : it took me a while to find a good layout TT but i finally did so guess who's happy now hehe

LEE HEESEUNG

"what?" heeseung drawls, lips curling as he leans in, gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up."why are you looking at me like that?" his voice dips, teasing, but there's something in the way he tilts his head, slow, lazy, like he already knows the answer. you don't say anything, just blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "you're so obvious," he murmurs, thumb grazing over your cheek, "you think i don't know what you're doing? giving me those doe eyes like you want something." he pauses, studying you, and then he smirks. "if you want a kiss, just say it, baby. you know i’d give you anything."

PARK JAY

"you’re not slick, you know that?" jay chuckles, the corner of his lips quirking up as he watches you from across the store, arms crossed over his chest. he steps closer, eyes softening as they meet yours. "saw you staring at that dress," he teases, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering against your skin. "and now you’re looking at me with those big, innocent eyes like you didn’t just silently beg me to buy it for you." his thumb grazes your cheek."you’re lucky you’re cute," he murmurs, voice warm with affection as he glances back at the dress. "go try it on, princess. it’s yours." there’s a smug tilt to his grin as he nudges you forward, his gaze never leaving you, already imagining how beautiful you’ll look in it.

SIM JAKE

"no, no, no—wait, that’s cheating," jake says, eyes flickering between the screen and you, his hands gripping the controller like his life depends on it. he's this close to winning, completely focused, but then you turn to him, all wide, glistening eyes and a tiny pout, and his brain short-circuits. "oh, come on, that’s not fair," he groans, voice laced with disbelief, but you see the way his grip loosens, the way his character suddenly stops moving. "you—" he exhales a laugh, already knowing he lost, because you know exactly what you’re doing. "you’re evil." he barely gets the words out before he drops the controller, turning to you instead, cupping your jaw as he leans in, kissing you, like you just won something way more important than the game. "there," he mutters against your lips, breathless. "happy now?"

PARK SUNGHOON

"—and then he just randomly paid for my coffee today? like i didn't even ask, he just did it, which was kinda sweet—" "no." you blink, looking up at sunghoon, confused. "huh?" "i said no. don’t like him. don’t like this story. don’t like that he paid for your coffee." you pause, staring at him before your eyes go wide, lips parting slightly as you tilt your head. doe eyes. you didn't even do it on purpose, but the second you do, he curses under his breath as he looks away. "you’re so unfair," he mutters, ears turning red, and you grin, leaning closer. "hoonie, you jealous?" "not jealous," he mumbles against your shoulder. "just don't like other guys thinking they have a chance with my girl."

KIM SUNOO

"come on, just let me do it once," sunoo whines, practically bouncing on his knees in front of you, hands already reaching for the brush. "i’ve watched you do it a million times. i got this." you sigh, handing over your makeup bag, watching as he fumbles with the foundation before applying it surprisingly well—though he squints in concentration. the eyeliner is a little wobbly, and the blush? generously applied. but when he gets to the lipstick, he gently tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "okay, now just—" but you blink up at him, wide, innocent doe eyes locking onto his, and his brain promptly malfunctions. the lipstick smears past the corner of your mouth. "oh my god," he glares, "you did that on purpose."

YANG JUNGWON

"and then, right when i thought i was finally done, they dumped even more work on me," jungwon huffs, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed as he talks about his day. his brows are furrowed, lips pursed in frustration, but you just sit there, quietly listening, eyes locked onto him. big, wide, soft. he doesn’t even notice at first, too caught up in his rant, but then his words start to slow, his voice faltering as he finally looks at you. "stop looking at me like that," he mutters, shifting under your gaze. you blink, tilting your head slightly. "like what?" you ask, all innocence, even though you know exactly what you're doing. jungwon groans, throwing his head back. he peeks at you from the corner of his eye, lips twitching like he's trying not to smile. "like that,"

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki grins, mischief dancing in his eyes as he dangles your phone just out of reach, swaying it between his fingers like a prize. “come on, work for it,” he teases, laughing when you huff in frustration. you step closer, tilting your head, lashes fluttering as you look up at him with the softest, most innocent gaze you can muster. wide, pleading eyes, lips slightly parted, pure desperation. his smirk falters. his fingers twitch. “oh, hell no,” he mutters, already crumbling. you blink once—slow, deliberate. riki groans, dramatically clutching his chest before shoving your phone back into your hands. you giggle, triumphant. he narrows his eyes. “don’t think i won’t steal your stuff again.” but you both know he’s lost this round.

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 1

paige x azzi

word count: 4.7k

A/N: This is me attempting to continue a story that someone else started so there’s a little bit of 1st person at the beginning. The two of them don’t know each other in this universe 🫣 Let me know what you think and leave live reacts and comments if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

1st Person POV - Tuesday

The morning light filtered through the windows of Ronald Reagan National Airport, casting a golden hue over the terminal. I walked with an easy confidence toward my gate, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air from the small kiosk in the corner.

My Delta flight to Hartford, Connecticut, was set to depart soon, and while most travelers shuffled impatiently in their boarding groups, I moved at my own pace, having the quiet privilege of a first-class ticket.

I wasn’t nervous for the trip to Harford. I never got nervous.

Traveling was second nature to me, and today was no exception. Adjusting the strap of my carry-on, I took a quick glance at my phone. Still good. The game wasn’t until Thursday, which meant I had more than enough time to settle in–explore Storrs a little before tip-off.

“Flight 2136 to Storrs, now boarding.”

As the flight crew called for first-class boarding, I stepped forward, handed over my ticket, and was waved through without a second glance. Within seconds, I was making my way down the jet bridge, the cool air-conditioning of the plane a nice contrast to the warmth of the terminal.

Seat 2A. Window. Perfect

I slid into the seat, stretching out with an appreciation for the extra space. The quiet hum of boarding announcements and the occasional shuffle of bags filled the cabin, but I was content. This was going to be a good trip. I’m making the right decision.

A movement beside me caught my attention. Someone slipped into the seat next to mine with an easy kind of grace. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but when she settled in, a sense of familiarity stirred in my chest, so I glanced over slightly.

Azzi Fudd. That’s ironic.

UConn’s star shooter. One of the most talented shooting guards in the country.

For a brief second, I considered saying nothing–letting her exist in peace for the duration of the flight. But then, why would I? Hesitation had never been my thing.

I turned toward her, offering a small but confident smile. “Good morning.”

She glanced over, her expressions polite but neutral, clearly used to traveling alone. “Good morning.”

Leaning back, I let my posture speak for itself–relaxed and effortless. “What’s got you flying to Connecticut on this random Tuesday?”

She let out a soft chuckle, as if the answer should have been obvious. ��I go to school there. Was visiting family for a few days.”

I nodded, letting the moment stretch just enough to spark curiosity before adding, “I’m flying in for the game on Thursday.”

This caught her attention. Her head tilted slightly, and she gave me a curious look.

I let the silence linger, enjoying the moment before saying. “I hope you have a great game, Azzi Fudd.”

A small, almost shy smile crossed her lips, her guard lowering just a fraction. “You know who I am?”

I held her gaze. “Yeah, I know who you are.” Then I smiled softly.

She studied me for a second longer, as if trying to piece something together, before letting out a quiet chuckle and turning her attention forward.

Still, I could tell she was thinking about our exchange. I’d seen that look a few times before–the subtle mix of curiosity and amusement. The kind that said, Who is this person?

Which is nice. Something about her not recognizing me made me smile internally. Made a lot of questions fly through my head.

The flight attendants moved through first class, offering pre-departure drinks. I opted for water and Azzi did the same. The cabin was filling up quickly, the sounds of rolling luggage, hushed conversations, and the occasional overhead bin slamming shut blending into the usual pre-flight chaos.

As the final passengers trickled in, I glanced at her again. She was settled comfortably, dressed in a UConn hoodie and joggers, her hair pulled back. Even here, in an airport, getting ready to go 30,000 feet in the air, she carried herself like a top athlete–poised, confident, focused.

Eventually the engine rumbled to life as we pushed back from the gate. I kept my gaze ahead, but I could feel her sneaking quick glances in my direction, still trying to figure me out.

Finally, she spoke.

“So, are you a UConn fan, or…?”

I smirked, turning toward her just slightly. “I just respect greatness.”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “That’s not really an answer.”

“Sure it is.” I leaned back in my seat. “I appreciate good basketball. UConn typically plays good basketball.”

She considered my words, then nodded, satisfied with my response–for now.

“You from Connecticut?” she asked, shifting slightly to face me better.

“Nope.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re flying in just for the game?”

I nodded. “Yeah something like that.”

“Must be a big game for you to make the trip.”

I shrugged. “It’s basketball and it’s UConn. It should be a good game. Why shouldn’t I?”

She smiled again, this time more openly. “I like that answer.”

I smiled softly, letting my gaze linger for a moment longer before looking away.

The plane started its ascent, leveling off the ground. So I pulled out my phone, flipping through my playlist, but I could feel her still looking at me, still wondering.

I let the silence stretch a little longer before glancing at her. "You always sit next to people who know exactly who you are, or am I just lucky?"

Azzi laughed at that, shaking her head. "This is definitely a first."

"Glad I could make your morning interesting."

She tilted her head slightly, as if she was debating something, then asked, "So what's your story? You a journalist? A scout? Former player?"

I chuckled. "You tell me. What do I look like?"

She squinted, pretending to analyze me. "Hmm... not a journalist. You don't have that nosy energy and you aren’t leading the conversation much."

I smirked. "Good start."

"Not a scout either. You're too relaxed."

"Keep going."

She tapped her fingers on the armrest. "Former player?"

I gave a small shrug. "Something like that."

Azzi gives me a curious look so I simply add, “Tore my ACL.”

Azzi nods at this, a few thoughts flickering across her face, before she decides to be satisfied with the answer, even though I hadn't really given her a complete one.

For a while, we just sat there, the quiet hum of the plane filling the space between us. It wasn't an awkward silence-it was comfortable, like two people who had met at just the right time, in just the right way.

Eventually, she glanced over again. "Since you know who I am, do I get to know who you are?”

I turned toward her, meeting her gaze with a confident ease. "You'll figure it out."

She let out a breath of laughter, shaking her head. "Mysterious huh."

I grinned. "I try."

She didn't press further, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, arms crossed loosely, a thoughtful look on her face. The rest of the flight stretched ahead of us, and something told me this conversation was far from over.

The flight had settled into a steady hum, the initial rush of takeoff giving way to a quiet cruise above the clouds. I let my head rest lightly against the seat, simply watching the muted sunlight filter through the window as I got lost in my thoughts.

After a while, I reached into my bag and pulled out a book, flipping it open to where I’d left off. The familiar weight in my hands was comforting, and I easily lost myself in the rhythm of the words.

A few minutes passed before I felt it–that subtle sensation of being watched. I didn’t reach right away, just kept reading, letting the moment stretch. But sure enough, when I shifted slightly, I caught Azzi glancing at the pages from the corner of my eye.

I turned another page, pretending not to notice, until she finally spoke.

“Not many people our age read these days.”

A small smirk tugged at my lips as I glanced up, amusement flickering in my eyes. “Our age?”

Azzi shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. You carry yourself a certain way. Too confident to be young, but definitely not old.”

I chuckled at that, licking my slightly dry lips before I titled my head. “Twenty-two.”

Azzi nodded, like she had just proven a point. “Exactly.”

Something about the way she said it–so certain, so sure–made me grin. I let the moment linger for a beat before turning back to my book, the words on the page suddenly a little less interesting than the person sitting next to me.

Azzi had gone quiet again, but I could tell her mind was still turning.

She was debating something, mulling it over like a question she couldn’t shake. I went back to my book, letting the silence settle, but it didn’t last long.

“Okay, I’m sorry—I can’t help it,” she finally said, exhaling a quiet laugh. “I need some more answers from you.”

I arched a brow, slightly amused at her behavior, before slipping my bookmark into place and setting the book down on my lap. Adjusting slightly, I leaned against the window, fully turning my attention to her now.

Azzi met my gaze for a brief moment, her brown eyes flickering with something unreadable when they met my blue ones before she blinked away breaking the eye contact as she shifted just enough to regain composure.

“I’m usually not much of a talker,” she admitted.

I tilted my head slightly, a small smile playing at my lips. “But?”

Azzi exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe herself right now. “But you know who I am, and you’re flying in for the game on Thursday. That seems like the universe trying to tell me something. Like I should talk to you more.”

I laughed at that. “God works in mysterious ways.”

That made her smile. “So you’re religious?”

“I am.”

Azzi nodded, taking that in, before grinning. “You’re a woman of few words.”

I chuckled. “I’m not much of a talker these days.”

Azzi picked up on that instantly. “These days?”

Her curiosity was sharp, intentional. She seemed to pick up on little things that most people didn’t. I met her gaze again, letting the words settle between us before answering.

“Things kinda just happen in life that change how you used to be,” I said simply, my voice carrying something quieter. Then, with a small, almost nostalgic smile, I added, “I used to be a chatterbox.”

Azzi studied me for a moment, then exhaled a soft chuckle. “I see you’ve opted for more of the mysterious route these days.”

I smirked. “Something like that.”

She hummed, shifting slightly in her seat. “How much do you know about me, exactly?”

That question made me grin. I could tell she was fishing, trying to gauge just how much of her life I’d kept tabs on if any.

“I just follow basketball,” I said smoothly, tilting my head slightly. “I don’t know much about you specifically… if that makes you feel better.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, a smile tugging at her lips. “I never said I felt bad about it.”

That made me squint slightly, studying her. There was something playful in the way she said it, like she was testing the waters, waiting to see how I’d respond.

After a beat, I nodded. “Fair.”

Azzi held my gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she finally looked away, exhaling softly. She drummed her fingers against the armrest, like she was debating whether to keep pressing or let it go.

I figured she would drop it, but then she glanced back at me. “So, if you just follow basketball, that means you’re a fan of the game itself—not necessarily the players?”

I smirked slightly. “That’s what I said.”

Azzi hummed, shifting in her seat so she was angled toward me again. “Alright then. Who’s your favorite team?”

I chuckled at that. “You want the real answer or the diplomatic one?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, so there’s a wrong answer?”

“More like one that might bruise your ego a little.”

Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Now I have to know.”

I leaned back, letting the suspense build for a second before finally answering, “I’ve always been a South Carolina fan.”

Azzi made a face at this answer. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

I laughed. “I warned you.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You had me thinking the universe was setting something up here, and then you hit me with that.”

I smirked. “Didn’t realize this was a dealbreaker.”

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to think. “I guess I’ll allow it.

I let out a soft laugh, nodding. “That’s generous of you.”

She grinned but didn’t say anything for a moment, just studying me again, like she was still trying to piece something together. Then, finally, she asked, “So… do you still play?”

I ran my fingers along the edge of my book, considering my response. “Yeah. Just not this season.”

Her eyes flickered with recognition. “Because of the ACL?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

She exhaled softly, like she understood exactly what that felt like. “That sucks.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying me again. “What position?”

“Point guard.”

She grinned slightly. “Figures.”

I raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi smirked. “You carry yourself like one.”

I chuckled, shaking my head a little. “And how exactly does a point guard carry themselves?”

She shrugged. “Like they’re always in control. Always seeing two steps ahead of everyone else.”

I hummed, amused. “Insightful.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, a knowing look in her eyes. “I have my moments.”

I let the moment stretch between us, then smirked. “You’re not wrong, though.”

She smiled, like she already knew that. “Figured.”

After this Azzi kept the conversation going, steering it effortlessly. She asked about my recovery, how long I’d been in D.C., and what I thought of UConn’s season so far. I answered when necessary, but mostly, I let her take the lead, watching how she engaged—curious, thoughtful, but never overbearing. It was easy, the kind of conversation that didn’t require effort.

At some point, the captain’s voice crackled through the speakers, announcing our descent into Hartford. The mood between us shifted—not awkward, just quieter, like we both knew whatever this was, this easy back-and-forth, would soon come to an end.

The plane touched down smoothly, and after taxiing for a few minutes, the seatbelt sign flicked off. Azzi and I stood almost at the same time, and for the first time, she actually noticed my height.

Her gaze flickered upward, just slightly. Not by much—maybe an inch and a half, two at most—but enough for her to register it. I saw the way she took in the difference, her eyes narrowing just a little before she smirked to herself.

I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead, and just as I was about to step aside, an older woman across the aisle struggled to pull down her own bag. Before I could think twice, I reached up, easily grabbing it for her and setting it down with a polite smile.

Azzi was already in front of me, but I caught the way she paused, how her eyes flicked toward my arm. It wasn’t much, but I knew what she saw—how the muscles, usually understated, tensed for just a second, giving away what I was in fact an athlete.

She didn’t say anything, but there was something in the way she blinked, like she was filing that detail away.

I smirked slightly. “See something interesting?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “Just confirming my suspicions.”

I let out a quiet chuckle, grabbing my bag as we started moving down the aisle. “And what suspicions are those?”

She looked forward again, shaking her head like she wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction of an answer. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I huffed a small laugh, following her off the plane. “You have no idea.”

As we filtered out into the terminal, the steady hum of airport chatter surrounded us. The moment was nearing its natural end, both of us instinctively moving in different directions. I adjusted my bag, glancing ahead when Azzi suddenly slowed, turning back toward me.

“Alright,” she said, her voice light but pointed. “Can I finally get your name?”

I exhaled through my nose, pretending to consider it for a moment before cracking a small smile. “Paige.”

Azzi repeated it softly, like she was testing how it sounded. Then, her smile grew. “Paige.”

I nodded.

Her eyes flickered with something—curiosity, maybe. “Where are you sitting Thursday, Paige?”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting my weight slightly. “You’ll see me, don’t worry.”

Azzi let out a laugh of her own, shaking her head. “Mysterious until the end, huh?”

I smirked.

She took a small step back, still holding my gaze. “Alright then. I hope I see you Thursday, Paige.”

“See you Thursday, Azzi.”

I turned first, heading toward baggage claim, but I could still feel her eyes on me for just a second longer before she finally walked away.

3rd Person POV - Wednesday

The low hum of conversation filled the diner, a cozy spot just off campus. The kind of place where students and locals alike came for a quick, unpretentious meal. Azzi sat alone in a corner booth, her food pushed slightly to the side as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone between bites of her sandwich. She had just finished practice, still dressed in a UConn hoodie and sweats, her legs stretched comfortably under the table as she enjoyed the serenity of being alone after a long day.

The bell above the door jingled as another customer walked in. Azzi didn’t look up at first, too focused on her own space, but a shift in the atmosphere made her glance toward the entrance.

Paige.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard for a second. Paige moved through the diner with the same confidence she had on the plane–unhurried, assured, like she was exactly where she was meant to be. When their eyes met, a small smirk tugged at Paige’s lips as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and changed direction, walking toward Azzi’s booth without hesitation.

Azzi leaned back slightly, watching as Paige came to a stop at the edge of the table.

“Didn’t take you for a diner person,” Paige said, tilting her head as she glanced down at Azzi.

Azzi quirked a brow. “And what exactly did you take me for then?”

Paige exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Not sure yet.”

Azzi let out a small laugh at that, shaking her head. She gestured toward the other side of the booth. “Since you seem curious, you might as well sit.”

Paige didn’t hesitate to take the invitation, sliding into the seat across from her. The air between them felt the same as it had on the plane—slightly charged, neither of them in a rush to give too much away.

For a moment, Azzi just observed her. The dim lighting of the diner softened Paige’s sharp features, but there was still something unreadable about her, a layer just beneath the surface that Azzi wanted to press into.

“So,” Azzi started, fingers tapping lightly against her cup, “what brings you here?”

Paige leaned back, resting an arm on the top of the booth. “Needed some food and this was near my hotel. Didn’t expect to run into you if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Didn’t expect, or you don’t mind?”

Paige smirked slightly, neither confirming nor denying. Instead, she nodded toward Azzi’s half-eaten sandwich. “That any good?”

Azzi shrugged. “It’s a sandwich.”

“Helpful.” Paige snorted, glancing toward the menu.

Azzi studied her for a second before speaking again. “So, you gonna tell me where you’re sitting tomorrow, or are you still trying to be mysterious?”

Paige grinned. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I told you.”

Azzi shook her head, amused. “You really don’t give anything away, do you?”

Paige’s smile softened, but there was something thoughtful in her expression. “Not much to give these days.”

Azzi caught that phrasing again—these days. She let it settle between them for a moment before leaning forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table.

“You’re interesting, you know that?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile. “That a compliment?”

Azzi mirrored her expression. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “You haven’t decided if you’re complimenting me?”

Azzi opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the server appeared at the table setting a water down. The girl gave Paige a once-over, her gaze lingering a lot longer than necessary. It wasn’t subtle, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Paige blinked, raising an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

The waiter, undeterred, flashed a grin and asked flirtatiously, “What can I get for you?”

Paige tilted her head slightly. “I’ll just have what she has.”

The waiter jotted it down, her eyes flicking back to Paige, clearly intrigued. “I’ve never seen you around here before,” she said, voice tinged with interest. “I would’ve remembered a face like that.”

Paige gave a tight, polite smile. “I’m not from here. Just visiting.”

The server hummed thoughtfully, clearly trying to piece something together, before she walked off with a final lingering glance.

Azzi watched the whole interaction with mild amusement, eyes flicking to Paige’s expression. Once the server was out of earshot, Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You certainly have a way of leaving an impression.”

Paige shrugged, leaning back in her seat again, her lips curling up into a faint smile. “Guess it’s a talent.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at that. “A talent, huh? I’m starting to see why you don’t need to talk much... you let people do it for you.”

Paige’s smile softened slightly as she shifted in her seat, taking a moment before responding. “It’s easier that way. Sometimes.”

Azzi leaned back, propping her chin up in one hand. “And what makes it easier?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to Azzi, as if weighing whether or not to answer. There was something about her, something quiet but intense that made Azzi lean in just a little closer, her curiosity growing.

Finally, Paige shrugged slightly. “Not everyone needs to know everything.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that your way of saying I won’t get the whole story?”

Paige chuckled softly, meeting her gaze. “I didn’t say that. May it’s just not the right time yet.”

Azzi didn’t push. Instead, she just smiled, amused by the game they were starting to play.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Azzi said, leaning back as she crossed her arms with a grin. “Maybe I'll try to get you to talk tomorrow.”

Paige shot her a look, her lips curling into something a little more playful. “Yeah maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Azzi let the words hang between them for a moment, her grin deepening. “I think I like my odds.”

Paige only hummed, picking up her water and taking a sip. “Do you?”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You don’t seem like the type to say things you don’t mean.”

Paige set her cup down, her expression unreadable. “And what type do I seem like?”

Azzi’s gaze flickered over her, deliberate but not too obvious. “Still figuring that out.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “That why you keep asking so many questions?”

Azzi smirked. “Something like that.”

Paige tapped her fingers against the table. “And here I thought you were just being friendly.”

Azzi leaned forward slightly, her voice light. “Maybe I am Paige.”

Paige arched a brow, but before she could respond, the waiter appeared, setting down her plate.

“Here you go,” the waiter said, her tone lingering as she looked at Paige with clear interest. “Can I get you anything else gorgeous?”

Paige offered a polite but tight smile. “No, thank you.”

The waiter hesitated just a second too long before finally nodding and stepping away.

Azzi, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, took a slow sip of her drink. “You make friends fast.”

Paige picked up her sandwich, glancing at Azzi with a smirk. “You jealous?”

Azzi exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “Not even a little.”

Paige chuckled, digging into her food. “Good. I’d hate for that to be another thing you had to figure out.”

Azzi’s gaze lingers on Paige for a moment before she speaks again, her tone smooth but laced with something playful. “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

Paige picks up her fork, raising an eyebrow. “A chance for what exactly?”

Azzi shrugs, pretending to be casual. “For me to get some answers out of you tomorrow.”

Paige pauses briefly, just enough for the words to settle, before taking a bite of her food. “Didn’t say that.”

Azzi watches her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “But you didn’t say there wasn’t.”

Paige smirks slightly but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a direct answer. Instead, she gestures toward Azzi’s plate. “You done with that?”

Azzi leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Trying to change the subject?”

Paige shrugs, blue eyes glinting a little. “Just figured you might be too busy trying to figure me out to actually eat.”

Azzi lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I can multitask.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, as if assessing her. “Good to know.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, a quiet challenge passing between them, before Paige finally breaks eye contact to take another bite. Azzi smirks to herself, leaning back against the booth.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Paige with something unreadable behind them. “You’re really hard to get a read on.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, tearing off a small piece of her sandwich. “That’s funny. You seem to be doing just fine.”

Azzi smirked. “Am I?”

Paige shrugged, popping the bite into her mouth. “You tell me.”

Azzi watched her for a moment before shaking her head with an amused smile. “You like making people work for it, don’t you?”

Paige leaned back slightly. “Depends on the person.”

Azzi hummed at that, tapping her fingers against the table. “And what about me?”

Paige didn’t answer right away, just let the moment hang between them before finally saying, “Guess you’ll have to figure that out Azzi.”

Azzi exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t make anything easy, do you?”

Paige smirked. “Where’s the fun in easy?”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but then her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then let out a small sigh. “Alright, I gotta get going.”

That’s when she reached for her wallet, and Paige immediately waved her off. "I got it. Don’t worry about it."

“I can't let you do that."

Paige met her gaze, smirking. "Azzi, it’s a sandwich. Ten dollars won’t kill me."

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Fine, but I’m getting it next time."

Paige arched a brow. "Next time?"

Azzi pushed up from the booth, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Yeah, next time." She adjusted her jacket before glancing at Paige one last time. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Paige."

Paige watched her for a second before nodding. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Azzi."

Just as Azzi turned to leave, Paige called out, "Hey, Azzi."

Azzi stopped, looking back with a curious expression. "Hm?"

Paige hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words before saying, "I need you to be open-minded tomorrow, okay?"

Azzi’s brows furrowed slightly, intrigue flickering across her face. She studied Paige for a beat, noticing the subtle seriousness in her expression, then nodded slowly. "Okay."

A small smile crossed Paige’s lips. "Thanks."

Azzi returned the smile before stepping back. "Bye, Paige."

Paige watched her leave, tapping her fingers lightly against the table, a thoughtful look settling in her eyes before she went back to eating her sandwich.

[syluszayne]

I have a different reading for Zayne and the prompt below:

Zayne would probably answer the neckless he liked more, and you would be wondering if he didn't love you anymore or some bs like that. But the fact he hid until he got home was: He got a gorgeous boner under his pants in the middle of work time.

And when he got home... Oh when he did. You were laying on the bed, trying to get a more creative way of messing with him—maybe you were too subtle, maybe he didn't realize your boobs right in front of his face because you were less obvious than you intended.

The first thing he said when he got home was: "I know what you tried to do." Rolling up his sleeves and his glasses down, with that calm and eloquent voice of his. "At first, I thought you genuinely didn't know what you were doing, but then it came to realization that I in fact know you," as he spoke his steps towards you got heavy. "And now you're going help me calm what you agitated," the emphasis on the word 'you' was intended to make you shudder, but still in that cool tone but piercing eyes.

So, no, i don't think Zayne would tell his feelings right away, but you'd pay once he got home.

[decayed-cartilage]

do you currently take requests? i absolutely ADORE the way you write hannibal and may be a little (aka very) obsessed with the current intern series.. if you do requests could i request dark/yandere hannibal general headcanons :33 could be nsfw or sfw im fine with literally anything you write 🥲

A/n: thank you for suggesting 😊 I really hope I do this justice... Ive never like done this format and I think I wrote a lil too much 😮‍💨 but please let me know how you feel!! 💕 Big kisses

WARNINGS: stalking! Smut! Fingering! Taking advantage! Mentions of death! Allusion to cannibalism!

Yandere! Hannibal headcannons + mini fic(s)

Masterlist

Yandere! Hannibal who deliberately took up new hobbies—ones he knew you loved—just to have an excuse to spend more time with you.

Y/N lit up the moment she stepped into the studio, her eyes wide with happiness. It was an expression I had come to enjoy—genuine, seeing me among the rest of the potters.

"Doctor Lecter! I had no idea you enjoyed pottery as well!" she said, her voice warm, even a giggle slipping out.

I smiled, hands still dusted with clay. It was true that I had no particular passion for pottery, but I had learned. For her. And now, standing before me, she believed this was a passion of mine.

"Of course, Miss L/n," I replied easily, meeting her gaze. "I'm sure we've spoken of it before."

She hesitated, just for a second. Had we? The question flickered behind her eyes, but she dismissed it just as quickly. If I said it was so, then surely it must be.

She launched into conversation without another thought, her words flowing freely—soft, lively, unguarded. I nodded at all the right moments, smiling when she laughed, watching the way her enthusiasm bubbled over. It was an effortless thing, listening to her.

But my attention wasn’t truly on her.

It was on him.

Her boyfriend stood just behind her, arms crossed, gaze flicking disinterestedly over the room. He had no appreciation for the art, not even for the things that brought her joy. He was here out of obligation, not care. And yet, he stood at her side, playing the role he assumed was expected of him.

I watched him, my gaze steady. Unwavering. Not a glare, not an obvious threat—but something quieter. A measured, deliberate look that spoke more than words ever could.

He felt it. I could see it in the way his posture tightened, in the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He wouldn’t meet my eyes for long.

Good.

She didn’t notice. She was still talking, still laughing, blissfully unaware of the moment unfolding between us. But I held my gaze a beat longer, just to be sure the message was understood.

Just to be sure he knew he didn’t belong.

Yandere! Hannibal, who carefully manipulated doubt into your mind, never overtly suggesting you leave your boyfriend—but making you see the cracks you’d once ignored.

Hannibal watched you unravel in real-time, your delicate fingers fidgeting with the loose thread on your sleeve, your voice quiet, hesitant. You were always hesitant when it came to him. That fool. That boy who didn’t understand what he had—what he was so carelessly throwing away.

"He left me in the middle of the store… and I was so scared," you murmured, like you were embarrassed by the admission, like it wasn’t something that should infuriate you.

But you weren’t angry. No, you were simply hurt. Still trying to justify his actions, trying to shrink your feelings into something more tolerable, something that wouldn’t make you seem like a burden.

Hannibal exhaled slowly, though the tension coiled within him like a serpent.

"He knows about your anxiety, doesn’t he?"

The way your breath hitched—so subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t watching for it—told him the answer before you even nodded.

Of course he knew. And yet he still did it.

How reckless. How unworthy.

Hannibal’s fingers curled slightly against the arm of his chair as he studied you, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you question it, just long enough for the thought to begin forming in your own mind before he spoke again.

"Then he knew what he was doing."

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. One that you needed to hear. One that you needed to accept.

You frowned slightly, your gaze lowering as if you were trying to find some hidden excuse for him among the lines in your palm.

Hannibal leaned forward just slightly, lowering his voice, making it intimate. “And when you found him… what did he say?”

You swallowed. That small, nervous movement of your throat. He wanted to reach out, to smooth his thumb over the tension there. Instead, he waited.

"He just laughed. Said I was overreacting."

Overreacting.

Hannibal nearly smiled. Not out of amusement, but out of sheer disbelief at the audacity of such a dismissive remark.

“I see,” he murmured, but there was nothing soft about it. “Tell me… if it were the other way around, if you had left him there, knowing his fears, knowing how much distress it would cause him, would you have simply laughed?”

Your reaction was immediate—head shaking, eyes widening, an instinctual no.

Of course not. Because you were kind. You were thoughtful. You cared too much, even for those who didn’t deserve it.

He tilted his head, studying you, letting you sit with the realization. “Then why does he deserve that kind of grace?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Nothing to say. No excuse to offer.

Good.

Hannibal relaxed back into his chair, watching you intently, watching the weight of his words settle into you. He didn’t need to say anything else. The idea was already there, curling around your thoughts, winding itself into your heart.

All he had to do now was wait.

Yandere! Hannibal, who held you as you cried over your breakup, but secretly was getting off on it.

She collapsed into me the moment she stepped inside, her fragile frame trembling as if the weight of her sorrow had finally become too much to bear. I caught her effortlessly, as if I had always been meant to, my arms wrapping around her without hesitation. She was so small like this, so breakable, and yet, she clung to me as though I were the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely.

I settled her in my lap, letting her bury her face against my chest, her quiet sobs muffled against my suit. My fingers threaded through her hair, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she melted into my touch. She fit so perfectly here, as though she had always belonged in my arms.

"There, there," I murmured, my voice a soft lull, soothing, patient. "You’re safe now."

She shuddered at the word, pressing closer, gripping my jacket like a lifeline. Such a delicate thing, so desperate for comfort, for security. And she had come to me for it. Just as I knew she would.

I had warned her. Had spent countless hours listening to her, guiding her, gently nudging her toward the truth. That man had never deserved her. He had only ever caused her pain. And now, here she was, weeping in my arms, proving me right.

I tightened my hold on her, tilting my head down so my lips were close to her ear. "I told you, my dear," I whispered, my voice a quiet promise, a claim. "I would never abandon you like he did."

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t question it. She simply let herself sink deeper into me, into my warmth, into everything I had been so patiently offering her.

And God, if that wasn’t the most intoxicating thing of all. The way she nestled into me, completely unaware, her soft, warm body pressing so perfectly against mine. Every shudder, every shift, only made me grow harder—her delicate frame settling right over my bulge. She didn’t notice, too lost in her grief, too trusting, too utterly mine.

Yandere! Hannibal, who killed your ex and invited you into his home as if he did nothing.

She arrived at my door without memory of the decision to come, her body guiding her on instinct. I saw it in the way her frame sagged, the way her breath hitched unevenly, her red-rimmed eyes barely able to lift to meet mine. The moment I opened the door, her lips parted, voice ruined.

“Hannibal.”

The sight of her in distress, so utterly lost, sent a quiet thrill through me. But I said nothing at first. I merely stepped aside, allowing her entrance. She obeyed, stepping into the warmth of my home, though she looked as if she hardly felt it.

Her arms wrapped around herself as she stood just past the doorway, fragile, crumbling. "He's dead," she whispered. "They found him—my boyfriend. His head was on a fence. Just… stuck there. In the middle of nowhere."

I shut the door with a soft click, carefully hiding the satisfaction that curled in my chest.

"That's terrible," I said, smoothing my voice into something gentle, something she needed.

She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Terrible." Her fingers brushed at her swollen eyes, sniffling. "I just… I don’t get it. Who does that?"

I took a slow step closer, allowing my presence to steady her. “Cruelty is often senseless,” I murmured. “But you shouldn’t let this consume you.”

She shook her head, lips pressing together, fighting another wave of emotion. "How am I supposed to just… move on from this?"

"You don't have to figure that out tonight." I reached for her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, watching as she exhaled, accepting the comfort, needing it. "You need to eat. Come, sit with me for dinner."

She hesitated. Her stomach twisted—grief stealing her appetite, no doubt. But she was exhausted, vulnerable. She needed something to ground her, and so she followed.

The meal I had prepared sat warm and inviting before us, though she barely touched it. Her fork scraped against the plate, each bite an effort. Her body was weary, her hands shaking as she set the utensil down. Her lip trembled as she pressed her fingers into her lap, trying to control her breathing, trying not to break.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I—I can't stop crying. I feel so stupid. I don’t even know why I came here." A weak, bitter laugh left her. "I just… I didn't know where else to go."

How beautifully tragic. How utterly mine.

I took my time, dabbing at the corner of my mouth before setting my napkin aside. "There is no need to apologize," I said, calm, unwavering. "Grief isn't something to push down. You are allowed to feel this, especially here. You are safe with me."

Her pretty lips trembled further, her lashes wet with fresh tears. They spilled over before she could stop them, a choked laugh escaping her as she shook her head.

“God,” she sniffled, grabbing her napkin and dabbing at her face. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

I tilted my head, gaze steady. “Not at all,” I murmured.

A fragile smile attempted to grace her lips, though it barely held. She played with the fabric of her sleeve, her fingers delicate, uncertain. Slowly, she picked up her fork again, forcing herself to eat. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I leaned forward slightly, watching her closely.

“You don’t have to find out.”

The words wove themselves into the air between us, binding her tighter to me. If she weren’t so drained, so consumed by grief, perhaps she would have questioned them. Perhaps she would have felt the weight of my claim.

But instead, she only nodded, clinging to me as her anchor, unaware that I had already secured her in place.

Yandere! Hannibal who fucked any thought you had of your ex out of your head.

Her sobs were beautiful. Each one made her smaller in my arms, pressing closer, seeking comfort, seeking me. I held her as if she were fragile, my touch gentle, patient—calculated. She was unraveling, and I had known she would.

I had known she would come to me.

And now, here she was, breaking apart, utterly lost. My sweet girl. My perfect little dove. She lifted her head, glassy, swollen eyes searching for something, anything, that might make the pain lessen. I could see the moment it happened—the way her gaze faltered on my lips, how the realization hit her.

Yes, my dear. That’s it.

I had been guiding her to this, shaping her thoughts, her fears, her dependencies. Him—that waste of a man—was gone, and she was here, right where she belonged.

When she leaned in, uncertain but desperate, I met her halfway. My lips captured hers, firm and knowing, a promise sealed in the heat between us. She gasped into my mouth, and I swallowed the sound greedily, my fingers threading through her hair to keep her there.

She thought this was a mistake. A reckless, grief-fueled lapse in judgment.

She was wrong.

As our kiss deepened, it quickly unraveled into something messier, more desperate-a frantic clash of lips and breath as she melted into me.

"So good for me, angel," I murmured against her mouth, my voice dripping with approval. My hands found her hips, firm and possessive, guiding her as I pulled her into my lap. A satisfied hum rumbled in my chest as I pressed her down against me, ensuring she felt just how much I wanted her.

As our kiss deepened, it quickly unraveled into something messier, more desperate-a frantic clash of lips and breath as she melted into me.

"So good for me, angel," I murmured against her mouth, my voice dripping with approval. My hands found her hips, firm and possessive, guiding her as I pulled her into my lap. A satisfied hum rumbled in my chest as I pressed her down against me, ensuring she felt just how much I wanted her.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as she rocked against me. A soft whimper escaped her lips, swallowed by our kiss. I could feel her trembling, begging for me.

Breaking away, I trailed heated kisses along her jaw, down her neck. Her pulse beating wildly beneath my lips. I nipped at the sensitive skin, drawing a gasp from her.

"Please," her voice barely above a whisper as Her nails scraped lightly down my back,

I growled low in my throat, my control slipping, Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as she gazed up at me.

"Tell me what you want, angel," I commanded, my voice rough with need.

"Touch m-me," she pleaded breathlessly. " hurts s’bad." She slurred through whiney hiccups

I smirked, trailing my fingers teasingly along her sides. "Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Show me."

She whimpered, arching into my touch. Her hand grasped mine, guiding it lower, over the swell of her breast and down her stomach. My breath caught as she pressed my palm between her thighs, where I could feel the heat radiating through her clothes.

"Here," she whispered, her cheeks flushed. "Please-"

My hands slipped under her skirt, gently caressing her silky thighs. She shivered beneath my touch, her legs parting instinctively. I traced lazy circles on her inner thighs, inching higher with each pass.

"Is this what you need, angel?" I murmured, nipping at her earlobe.

She nodded frantically, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking more contact. "Yes, yes! please- don't stop."

I chuckled darkly, my fingers finally brushing against the damp lace of her panties. She gasped, her back arching beautifully.

"So wet for me already," I purred, applying the slightest pressure. Her hips bucked, chasing the friction. "Such a needy little girl."

I captured her lips in a searing kiss as I pushed her panties aside

My fingers found her slick folds, toying with her sensitive nub. She moaned into my mouth, her hips rocking desperately against my hand.

"Please," she whimpered between kisses. "I need more. Please, please..."

I circled her clit slowly, building the tension. Her nails dug into my shoulders as she writhed in my lap.

"What do you need, angel? Tell me," I commanded softly.

"Your fingers... inside... please," she panted, her eyes glazed with lust.

I smirked, enjoying her desperation. Slowly, torturously, I slipped one finger inside her tight heat. She cried out, her inner walls clenching around me.

All I could do was admire her beauty—the way her glassy eyes pleaded with me in silence as she clung to me, desperate and fragile in my arms.

"More," she begged shamelessly. "Please, I need more."

I added a second finger, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through her. My thumb circled her clit as I pumped my fingers in and out, building a steady rhythm.

"That's it, good- good girl," I murmured, watching her face contort in ecstasy. "Let go for me. Show me how good it feels."

Her hips rocked frantically against my hand, chasing her release. I could feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering around my fingers.

"I'm- I'm so close," she gasped, her nails raking down my back.

I leaned down, capturing a nipple between my lips through the thin fabric of her shirt. The dual sensation pushed her over the edge. She came with a cry, her body tensing and shuddering

She panted softly as she came down from her high, her wide, doe-like eyes gazing up at me with a mix of gratitude and adoration

She was now totally under my control

[shuenkio]

𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾? | 성훈 -⁠ᄒ⁠ᴥ⁠ᄒ⁠-

Paring: Sunghoon X M!reader

Synopsis: A friend benefits but you have the audacity to ask him to be your boyfriend again when he thought he's already yours?

Genre: Fluff. Cw: a bit freaking at last.

Non proof read. English is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

You have always been a hater of friends with benefits for your whole life but it seems like when it was Sunghoon, he was your exception. Why not though when the Park Sunghoon guy is the most hottest and gorgeous man you've ever seen in this whole campus. Ofc you did accept his deal without even thinking.

On the other hand, Talking about how Sunghoon got his nose on you, it was like lightning struck love, the first sight he saw in you he must get you around his fingers, instantly, the thought to own you was so powerful but not until he realizes if he ask you to be his, just by the first appearance of you, would probably be so weird to even sound so that's why he come up with a deal instead. "Friend with benefits." They both fucked, make out, kissed, hang out like a real damn couple and that's not enough to make you feel the spark, to know is was all Sunghoon silly intentions, oblivious even when the taller is completely obvious but not until—

It's been a long time, days turn into week, week turn into months for 12 times. It was a cold evening when Sunghoon asked you out as usual for a date. Excited about consuming you, once the clock strikes 7, you're all good to go, all fit and clean. As if he's your soon-to-be boyfriend.

"aren't you giddy than usual? Take the wrong medicine again!?" Stare down at your sight, scanning with his brows tied together, either he was suspicious or he was weird out by your sudden side. Shrug your small shoulder, you adjust your top while palm close together, smiling at him like an awkward puppy. Sunghoon jotted his lip unsure before driving them both to the destination.

The dinner went off smoothly, the atmosphere was your favorite. A warm glow from candles and fairy lights bathes the cozy dining table. A linen-covered table holds elegant plates, steaming dishes, and crystal glasses. Soft music hums in the background, blending with quiet laughter and the clink of silverware. Plush chairs invite lingering, as wine pours smoothly and the evening unfolds in gentle warmth. you finished your dinner before Sunghoon does, to gather your heart and encourage to ask him something you've always wanted to. It's like he was a quiz you were the student, both nervous and excited, can't explain how much your cheeks hurt from the thought of him, would accept you even if there's a low chance you think he'd rejected you, but give it a shot right? At least worth a try.

Your peculiar behavior is odd enough to make him dizzy, to ask what's exactly what's wrong with you for real.

"okay m/n tell me what's going on with you? You need more money? Robux? Or what? You weird tf out of me" Sunghoon claim, swirling his glass of wine as he gulped down into his throat, clicked his tongues off of the strong tastes.

"you won't be mad if I have to let my thoughts out?" Your jaw tense up, feeling anxious that you could bite off your finger nails. The answer is only to burn Sunghoon's curiosity more. He finally let out a deep stressing sigh, composing himself to what will come toward him with your sweet mouth.

"I think I like you... Boyfriend?" face burning, quickly hides behind your hands, fingers barely able to contain your own nervous tremble. Your heart races—too fast, too loud—as the weight of this confession lingers between them. Sunghoon roots in his seat, with an easy posture, raises an eyebrow and glances at you with a half-smile, as if the situation is no big deal.

"Wait," Sunghoon says nonchalantly,

"I thought we already were dating?am I dumb or you are" He shrugged casually, as if the confession wasn’t anything new, Sunghoon tone light and carefree. He messaged his temple, so stunned with this encounter.

"I mean... You think we are? I— that's good" face turning crimson, scratches the back of your head awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Your gaze flickers everywhere but at him, unable to hide the nervousness building up inside. You just nod slowly, unsure if he'd just made things more complicated or clearer.

"you're still not sure, maybe I should fuck until my dick leaking nonstop of you instead to know if we dating or not— aigoo"

Funtalk: I might do my experience this week 😝 guess who in skz? Well idk too—

[suzukiblu]

hi, question for you, have you ever experienced prolonged writer’s block before? do you happen to have any advice for getting a writing flow going again, that you’d be willing to share?

bc i don’t want to get too heavy in your asks, but between chronic illness/fatigue and longterm autistic burnout i haven’t been able to write a single word in several years now, and GOD am i tired of it. it’s like all the stories and words are stuck inside me and i can see it all in my head but the faucet is jammed and i just can’t get it OUT! i have been slowly feeling like the creative embers are maybe starting to spark again but it’s so hard not to get impatient with myself because it never seems to actually transfer to paper (or word document or notes app). any ideas or tips?

no pressure to answer this if you don’t want to of course, regardless i really enjoy your writing and i’m so glad that i can at least engage with fandom through other authors even when i can’t write my own stories! 💛

Oh god, yeah, I DEFINITELY have experienced that, hahasob. I have gone through at LEAST a year or two without, like, putting down a single word or even drawing anything, just total creative block/not there-ness. Like I feel u on that one, bud.

Good news: now if I write less than 2k in a day I think "oh that's kinda low, huh", so like . . . definitely "didn't write jack shit for [ INSERT TIME PERIOD HERE ]" has yet to sink me, and therefore fuck if it's gonna sink ANY of us. We persevere!!

So like, in my experience actually helpful writing advice is just SO wildly "you just gotta try shit 'til something works"-based that I'mma just give you a list made up of a bunch of, like, assorted tips and tricks that I use on myself to make my brain put words down when it's being stubborn about it, though different ones work at different times and obvi YMMV here anyway because for obvious reasons these are all approaches that I have tailored to my own needs, hah, and some of them are a bit facetious and some are also a bit heavy, but absolutely and unironically I reguarly use them all and they have all repeatedly worked for me.

Also, they're all gonna be goin' behind a cut because WOW there's actually a lot more of them than I realized I had, hahaha. The psychiatrist who recently used me as a case study told me I was very self-aware, so take from that what you will, friend.

Get up and do a chore/take a shower/eat a snack/literally just walk through a friggin' doorway, more often than not it'll at least make your brain reorient enough for you to realize you were just beating your head against a wall and need to do [ INSERT DAMAGE CONTROL/HARM REDUCTION BEHAVIOR HERE ].

Track your progress. Write to-do lists and cross shit off 'em. Keep track of your word count when you write; put it in a spreadsheet or a notebook or on a graph on your bulletin board.

Get a NEW way to track your progress. I currently use, like, three different "to-do list" apps to varying degrees in varying ways, not counting just my basic calendar app ( for the record: Finch, Structured, and just a generic notes app, but mostly Finch and Structured and seriously I CANNOT recommend Finch enough, go get yourself a bird buddy immediately. do you want a friend code, I will GIVE you a friend code, I think it gives you a bonus mini-pet or something if you use it. ), and also set myself MANY a phone alarm to remind myself of things that I need to do in case I space out or get distracted by somebody/something/the specific phase of the moon.

Did you take your meds? Take your fucking MEDS, self, good LORD.

Leave the house even if for literally, like, thirty seconds to just stand in some actual natural light. Or leave the house to go eat at a cafe or library or fast food place and just put yourself in a new environment for literally any length of time whatsoever.

Switch pens. Switch notebooks. Get a NEW notebook. Use your laptop instead. Use your PHONE instead. Get a nicer notebook. Get a shittier notebook. Use the scratch paper at work. Use the Procreate app on your friggin' iPad if you gotta, whatever, you do what you want!!

Don't write!!

Seriously just don't, go watch an actual scripted TV show or movie or read a book or a comic or some fic. Feed your brain something you didn't have to make up yourself.

Come up with a convoluted way to trick yourself into being accountable to someone else. Join a writing group. Make a Tumblr post about how you're gonna go write now. Ask Tumblr for their opinion on what you should write now. Ask Tumblr to spin this random wheel spinner game you generated and tell you what answer they got, and then write THAT.

HAVE you had a snack? Did you eat breakfast? Did you eat lunch? Did you remember to move around the house at any point whatsoever during the day? Maybe like, do that. Like, at least the snack part. Maybe a stretch or something wouldn't hurt either though.

Meal prep is so fucking useful and saves you SO much annoying time and also, like, makes you eat actual veggies and fruit and shit, genuinely actually works, the gym bros were not wrong, go figure. Also then you don't have to think about what you're gonna eat all the time and then cook it and then clean up and then--yeah anyway meal prep, god bless it. Once a week I make a batch of pasta salad and roast a pan of good-when-roasted veggies with like, garlic and salt and pepper and some olive oil and add bacon after, and then I portion it all into tupperware and in the morning I add spinach or crack an egg into that day's share of veggies for breakfast and maybe make some toast, and just grab one of the pasta salads whenever I want something lunch-like. It saves SO much time and distraction when you are hurting for free time/focus. So, SO much.

Unfortunately the gym bros were also correct about exercise, if that's doable for you. Exercise does in fact make you feel better and more energized and less depressed, fuck those guys for being right about that shit. Assuming you have enough iron in your blood to actually, like, do it, which admittedly I frequently do not, but the point stands.

Dude why are you even trying to write, you're so tired, go to bed and get up early, you write SO much better in the mornings anyway.

Hey, I know that's how you USED to write, but like, is that actually how you write right now? Is that actually even what works for you anymore? Actually maybe outlines COULD be helpful or maybe you don't need all those worldbuilding notes all at once; maybe your inner architect needs to let the building decay and go back to nature or maybe your inner gardener has developed a taste for trellises, metaphorically speaking and all.

Please eat something. Also please DRINK something. Like ideally water but we'll go for anything that involves a liquid, seriously.

Hey did you know actually if you ONLY eat instant ramen and microwave pizza you'll probably get scurvy and die instead of, like, writing your magnum opus? Like probably?? Put a fucking egg in that ramen, man! Slice up a scallion in that bitch!! EAT AN ACTUAL WHOLE FRUIT or at least, like, buy a smoothie with actual fruit involved somewhere in it on occasional. The whole fruit, unfortunately, is better. I like apples. Apples take a REAL long time to rot if I forget they exist for a couple weeks or whatever. But like, mango smoothies are also the shit, can't turn down a mango smoothie or a good strawberry-banana. Hey did you know the grocery store just, like, will let you just buy one single apple and they don't give a fuck? You're free! The cashier won't remember you in five minutes!! Buy your one single apple and work your way up to maybe two apples next time!! Also now I want an apple!!!!

Don't write. Don't write THAT. Write the other thing. No, the OTHER other thing. No, not THAT other other thing.

The rules are made up and the points don't matter.

Fuck it, we ball.

[ INSERT FULL-THROTTLE STIMMING BEHAVIOR HERE ]

Only God can judge me and I'm still technically agnostic.

God, that's the weirdest fucking idea you've ever had, literally NO ONE but you would read it. So you should write 180k of it and also make it even weirder and yes it will absolutely be the one fic that just about everyone in MCU fandom who knows you exist knows you for, don't even worry about it, this isn't based on a true story at all.

Actually you could probably storyboard this scene to figure out wtf is happening here. Or like just draw literally anything related to this story, a bit of that might work some kinks out of the whole process.

Did you get that snack yet?

Hey go pet your dog, she's very soft and wants attention and also her OWN snack. Pet your dog and eat an apple and idk watch some anime or a weird niche documentary or an even more niche reality show, have you seen Deep-Fried Dynasty yet, it's on Hulu and was surprisingly engrossing.

Why are you even following the rules, we've been over this, they are made up and the points do NOT matter, and also you're not even getting graded for this anyway.

Yeah okay that thing you wrote sucked, but it turns out that Dean Koontz somehow has a writing career and also Twilight happened to all of us, so actually even the suckiest thing you ever write is gonna be better than the perfect ideal of the scene in your head, because the suckiest thing you ever write is something OTHER people can READ. And again: Dean Koontz has a career. Colleen HOOVER has a career. And fucking good for them, they're killing it, they are fucking WRITING!! Who gives a damn anyway, fix it in editing if you're that worried about it, they call it a rough draft for a reason.

Hey if that thing doesn't work you can just, like, delete it. Or rewrite it. Or stick it in your back pocket and do something else for a while. The sunk-cost fallacy is bullshit and you don't have to listen to it.

Maybe drink some more caffeine, that'll calm you down. [ DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE OF ADVICE TAILORED TO A PERSON WITH MORE ADHD THAN LITERALLY NINETY-FIVE PERCENT OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD; THAT PERCENTAGE IS ON THE ACTUAL LEGITIMATE DIAGNOSTIC PAPERWORK ]

Seriously you can just write anything you want, nobody can stop you. Only God can judge me and I'm still technically agnostic enough that that's like, thirty-seventy odds at BEST.

God that idea is so niche and weird and niche, better tone it the fuck down to--oh wait no mass appeal means you're writing popcorn and literally no one will remember it in five minutes anyway, stop reflexively censoring yourself for some imaginary audience that will just chew straight through your one-size-fits-all story for The Content(tm) and then immediately move onto the next one without even bothering to hit "kudos" or remember anything about it later. I have written shit so weird that people still remember how weird I was TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER, man, and that is why literally anyone will EVER remember that you exist or wanna read your stuff or follow you to a new fandom where they don't even know the source material, fuck it, they'll wiki some shit. And also who cares anyway, it's YOUR stuff and YOU wanna read it. Your agnostically-possible god did not make you this weird and niche for no reason, don't pussy out now!!

Actually you can just write in the bath/on the bus/while waiting for your roommate to finish up with the guy running this estate sale. You've got your phone, right? Fuck it, pack a notebook. Pack an extra notebook. Pack a smaller notebook. Pack a BIGGER notebook.

It's not stupid if it works. You don't have to do what literally ANYONE else is doing, you just have to do what works.

You can literally just skip to the good part and write that, actually. Nobody's gonna throw you in writer-jail. What are we, cops?? Actually do you even need this lead-up here or do you just need to write this one specific blorbo gettin' laid REAL enthusiastically kinkily and/or maybe having a nervous breakdown sobfest over their perception of their personal self-worth and everything else is kinda just window dressing??

I mentioned the snack thing, right? Also sugar rushes are fake but sugar CRASHES are real so maybe be a little careful on that one, maybe buy some trail mix/jerky/smoked salmon, smoked salmon is SO good, smoked salmon is just objectively delicious.

Go talk somebody's ear off about what you're trying to write about. Bonus points if you can find somebody who matches your freak enough that you write, uhhhhh /checks smudged writing on wrist/ a 60k Overwatch fic in two weeks and also like 280k of Witcher fic in less than a year specifically because they're just a real good cheerleader. Wow. Wow that was a lot more Witcher fic than I was aware I had written. THE POINT IS LOOK FOR A WRITING BUDDY, WRITING BUDDIES ARE THE SHIT.

If the writing buddy doesn't work out though the first time I won NaNoWriMo I did it directly out of spite because someone said they didn't think I actually would. So like, spite is always an option, you can always keep that one on tap if you gotta.

Stephen King did not write "On Writing" because he didn't want you to write. Francesca Lia Block did not introduce you to the weirdest and gayest shit teenage!you had ever read so you'd grow up and be a fucking NORMIE about this shit. SIR TERRY PRATCHETT DID NOT WRITE LIKE SIXTEEN OF YOUR FAVORITE BOOKS OF ALL TIME BECAUSE HE DID NOT WANT YOU TO WRITE WHAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY FRICKIN' INTO.

Clean your room. No, better than that. Okay fuck it just set a ten-minute timer and do what you can in that time, we work with the spoons we've got.

Random number generator. Random color generator. Random "hey followers here's a very oblique poll, don't even worry about what it's about, just click a button please and thank you".

Did you know the internet will just GIVE you free graphs/trackers/bullet journal page designs and you can just print 'em out and do whatever the heck you want with 'em?? Yes my new little "color in the squares every day you do the thing" tracker IS just six daily writing tasks and two daily "just go pick some stuff up in this specific room" tasks and that is MY BUSINESS, MS. SIR AND MR. MADAM AND MX. [ INSERT BUZZER SOUND ]. And also, like, has done much better at getting me to do chores than anything else has in a minute, go fig.

You can actually just do whatever you want forever.

Literally, like just forever.

Fuck, how many times HAVE you done this? You'll never get better for good, it'll always go bad again, you'll always get sick again, you'll always get SAD again, you'll always fucking forget how to even DO this again and have to start all over.

Well yes, obviously, because you'll always have done it again. So do it again. One more time.

( seriously though did you take your meds-- )

[chocourse]

locked.

➶ leon scott kennedy x gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ “I'm just saying, if you shut my mouth again, I'll bite you.”

If you have to hide in a closet from the Artist with your worst enemy, well... it raises a lot of problems. And the unresolved tension.

➴ genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one locker, in the dead by daylight universe

: ̗̀➛ warnings: mature content, a lot of cursing, some heavy kissing & lingering sexual tension, also david is bleeding

⌨ :: 3.4K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ @honeytwo was the one who checked the translation. thank you very much, xoxo! <3

⁀➷ a/n: i uploaded this oneshot to ao3 around halloween. i wanted to upload it here right away, but i didn't feel like editing the "cover" and creating a new masterlist. but now i did!

by the way, the fic itself is made around 2021, in my great leon and dbd brainrot. very nostalgic.

➳ mlist

"What's up? With you and Leon?"

Feng's question makes you raise your head. It's not just the subject that piques your interest, but the way her question comes in the form of a worried, tired sigh. She's usually this exhausted when the current killer has been chasing her for at least a minute and a half.

It surprises you so much that you almost let go of the generator’s wires, and that would be a fatal blunder. Instead, you grip them tighter so she can work undisturbed.

That question makes no sense. You think the answer is obvious. You and Leon Scott Kennedy, the cop who knows more than anyone, hate each other. He makes you impossibly annoyed when he gives you orders, commands and gets on your nerves.

“I'd rather see him on the hook than around me," you say, summing up your feelings about the man.

“Interesting…” 

You don't like her tone, so instead of concentrating to keep the wire from slipping out of your sweaty palm, you glare at Feng.

“What do you mean?" your voice is perhaps a little irritated, trembling slightly with focused tension.

“That's not what I saw. I mean, sometimes it does feel like you're at each other's throats, but other times it's the opposite.” 

You don't know what she's talking about when she says the other times are opposite. Yesterday, you refused to go to a generator with Leon when he took it too personally, and from two hundred yards away you shouted about each other's uselessness, unnecessary and totally unprofessional behavior. Of course, the murderer is not deaf, he took the opportunity to hang someone, so Leon got you both into trouble with his displeasure.

Before he did, he asked you whether you wanted him to let you off the hook or continue with his 15% generator. He even expected you to thank him afterwards.

But that's just the way he is. He can't see past his ego. So you turn to him with contempt in every situation and you don't understand what Feng is talking about. You find her weird waffling somewhat offensive.

“I, for one, want to jump at his throat as soon as I see him. Maybe I could do a better job than the killer.”

Feng shakes her head. You're watching out of the corner of your eye because you need to focus on the job. You can't mess up this generator now, chitchat or no chitchat.

“Okay. Tell me what you're getting at," you say impatiently.

"I don't think you hate each other one hundred percent," she tells you. "Mutually," she adds meaningfully, and you're so freaked out by this that not only do your words fail you, but you even wave your hand defensively, idiotically, as if you could dismiss this sinister, completely false idea.

In other words, you let go of the wire, the generator sparks the key and fires up loudly. You mishandled it, and in doing so, you let the killer have you gave away your location. Feng does not address you, nor does she turn towards you, simply, following emergency protocol, crouches in the grass and sneaks away from the scene until she is certain that the killer - whose identity is currently unknown - will not come here, or if they do, will leave. Shamefully, you follow. You hide behind a log and watch the scene from there.

Someone is coming, not from the front, but from the grass. It's David. He's wounded, clutching his side, which is bleeding quite badly. You try to pry off his fingers to see how bad the cut is, and he screams in despair, pulls away.

“We've got the Artist, and she didn't spare me,” he reports in great pain.

“Get me a bandage!” Feng gives the task to you, then takes David's arm supportively. “David, we'll get a safe distance from the generator. You have a tetanus shot, right?”

Feng is in charge, but listening to her isn't hard at all. You understand what she's doing, and you know she has the collective interest at heart. And she's logical. Unlike Leon's orders, which are given out of thin air to protect only one man: himself. That selfish bastard.

These are the thoughts you fire yourself up with to stop shaking with fear by the time you get to the hut. In their cellars, there is always a box to help survivors. It's not too far away, but you approach it stealthily just in case, listening for any noises. As you start down the creaking stairs, you worry for David and yourself: someone is already opening the box. You hear the squeak of the lock, and there can only be one of the four of you downstairs. You feel sick in the stomach with anticipation of the inevitable encounter.

You take the final steps. Two lockers are in front of you, and to your left is the room, four hooks bounded by a wooden wall, the perfect sacrificial site. From here it's harder to rescue the one who's been hooked, this room is riskier and more isolated than all the others. Beyond the hooks are a few more lockers, and in the corner is the box. 

And as you'd expect, Leon kneels in front of it. He's so busy, he doesn't even know you're here. If you were a killer, you could easily pick him up and have him fiddle around, the hooks are just a few steps away. Yeah, this careless jerk thinks he's in charge.

“Now I understand why we're so fucked with the generators.” You cross your arms, sizing him up. His hands are bandaged, his face is dirty, and he's never wearing something more practical than his police uniform. So pompous.

“If you're so worried, you could make one. Maybe it’d calm you down.” He looks up, frowns. He doesn't understand what you're doing here. It's really none of his business.

“The only thing that would calm me down was if you got your ass up and contributed to the unit. If there were four of us, we'd be done a lot sooner with less risk.”

“I get that you've got hero syndrome, but I don't need saving. I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that. At everyone's cost.”

It's like there's pain in his eyes, but you can't analyze it. Grimacing as he returns to his task, he hits the lock so hard it breaks. The understatement of opening the top is more like slamming it against the wall. You've either angered him or offended him, or both. He's a drama queen who doesn't take defeat well. You glance over his shoulder at the exposed bracket and sigh in relief. In the trunk are clothes, a flashlight, and, thankfully, a first aid kit.

The tension is suffocating, the silence could be cut. You have to speak.

“David's hurt. I'll take the med kit.” You're trying to sound less hostile, more objective. He might not give it to you because you've stabbed him in the soul. You would expect that from him. He nods unconvincingly, so you reach for the box's ear in a hurry before he changes his mind. He's picking out the flashlight.

You barely grip the med kit, crows flutter above, the sound of running filters down. Leon was too loud. There's no time to think of escape, no time to make plans. The man jumps up, pulls you into the nearest closet. In his fury, he is fortunately careful not to slam the door, but to close it gently. You let the box down beside you.

And you languish in the cramped space in the dark, with danger lurking. You don't feel like kicking him or arguing or mouthing off. You're scared. You hate the hooks down below. You've been down them once or twice. You don't like it, you don't want to go back. 

A shaky, deep groaning whimper rises up from inside you. Leon puts his palm over your mouth. You press yourself against the wall, trying to relax, to slow your breathing.

The Artist arrives. She walks around the room, squawking. 

You close your eyes. You imagine you're somewhere else. 

A door slams creakily open. You tense up, Leon's thighs tighten. You feel him take your hand, his fingers close around yours. He's shaking, but he's holding on better than you are. You don't pull your hand away, you let him hold it.

The killer walks a little more. Then she pauses, ponders her next move, and finally leaves.

The sound of your breathing will be the only source of sound besides the creaking of the hut. Leon takes his palm away from your face, deliberately, as if he's not sure it's time. You sigh, throwing your head against the side of the closet.

“I'm still of the opinion that we'd be better off if you helped with the generators.”

“You're making things bigger.” His words are stiff and reserved. There's no trace of the intimate hand holding you just had. If you had any tenderness towards him, he's lost it, as well as his sweaty hands.

“Isn't it big enough that we almost died because of your carelessness?”

“And you ignore your own mistakes.” You can't see his eyes, but yours are aflame. You don't understand this guy. You've got more important things to do than to let him piss you off. “I saved your life.”

“You were the one who put me in danger, asshole.” That would be your last word, you'd end the duel of stifled whispers, leave your hiding place, but Leon pushes your shoulders against the wall, his legs pressed against yours, hips clashing. Only now do you realize how close you really are, how little closet space there is. The atmosphere is still thick, yet somehow this is different. He's not finished, and your stomach clenches at the unpleasant ideas of what else he's going to throw at you.

“I need great fucking restraint and patience when I'm with you. But it's no use. You are incapable of cooperating with me,” he mumbles.

“Your enormous patience is like an ant's dick. I say two words to you and you're ready to attack.”

“Just like you,” he sighs. Clearly, he's had enough of you. The feeling is mutual, so you don't understand at all why he hasn't let you go yet. By the time he says what he wants, David is bleeding to death.

“I never claimed to have patience with you.”

“Will you please shut up and listen to me for once?" he growls belligerently, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I’m not your subordinate. I’m under no obligation to listen to you,” you mutter, and you have no thought of showing any less resistance in his direction. You wouldn’t be you if you listened to him.

“How can someone be this annoying?”

“Here, you don't even have to ask.” You shrug, but you can feel how much he's squeezing. “On the other hand, you could really get off of me. I'm busy. Maybe another time I'll tell you about the world of non-egocentric, non-narcissistic people, so you at least get the theory," you sputter with derision, your heart about to plunge into your esophagus and choke you.

“What can I do to shut you up?” He thinks out loud. 

“I'm just saying, if you shut my mouth again, I'll bite you.”

“Fuck.” Leon groans deeply, disgruntled, worried and angry. His palm hits the space next to your head, his lips crashing against yours.

Willingly and wearily he kisses you, really wanting you to be quiet. You moan in surprise at how well he kisses you, instead of punching him in the face.

Your mind is still churning out pithy retorts, but your body is acting as if it has been ready for this. You grab the back of the man's head, holding him close. You press your legs to his hips, your soles against the bottom of the other wall. Maybe you'll manage to pry the closet open the way this make-out session does your lungs.

You grip his hair, trying to push him away a little to catch your breath, to think clearly, but Leon sweetly whimpers and kisses you more passionately. You melt into his arm, his pleasant earthy scent mingling with sweat. You no longer want to think clearly. 

His tongue dances around yours, caressing you, and you enjoy it more than when he uses it to mess with you. You press so hard against each other that you know why his pants are so relentlessly tight. He bites your bottom lip gently, making you go limp. And you promised that if he shut your mouth, you'd bite him, not the other way around.

Your lust-fuelled, angry and excruciatingly sensual games end when you accidentally kick the first aid box. You cringe, the moment is gone, and you have no idea what happened. You stare ahead languidly, your lips tingling, feeling a bit dizzy.

Leon strokes your cheek. The rough material of the gauze bandage sneaks over your skin. He presses your forehead together, panting softly.

“Listen to me, please," he whispers, hopeful and soft. 

He speaks to you so softly that every part of you feels hot again. You nod, because after all this you need an explanation to go on with your life from the point you fell into this closet with the man. It's a stupid idea, but you trust that he has a reason for your reaction. For example, he wears a perfume so seductive that even the people who dislike him the most can't resist kissing him.

“I experienced hell a few months ago,” he starts.

“Did you meet me?”

“Hush.” He puts his finger on your lips, and it's so intimate you don't feel like biting. You want to lick it instead. You have no idea what's going on with you. It's Leon, and you hate him. You hate him. “Killers are smart. I have a great friend, Jill. Nemesis built his plan on our friendship. We almost got caught because we were both protecting each other at all costs. When I met the rest of the survivors, I couldn't let you get in trouble. I pushed you away right at the beginning, just in case something happened.”

You remember the first moments. Actually, you started to hate Leon because he had a cocky, arrogant and uncaring attitude towards everyone you cared about. You never thought that was a strategy, not the ultimate in rudeness.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

Your question makes what just happened very real. Because he did kiss you and you enjoyed it.

“Because I couldn't take it anymore. You know, it's hard to insult you when all I can think about is wanting to kiss you.”

Now you understand what Feng was talking about. Leon's longing gaze must have told her a lot about his true intentions. You're not sure about the mutuality, though. You've never said anything about Leon other than you hate him... But if you think about it, your body language may have conveyed something suspicious that you didn't realize. After all, you just threw yourself at him the first chance you got when his lips touched yours... How long have you had this desire lurking inside you if it's been triggered like this?

You don’t answer. You're confused, and while he caresses your cheek so tenderly, you're unable to say anything, or even just to open your mouth.

“I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable,” he apologizes, and fails to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I think it's much easier to hate you than to love you," you sigh, throwing your head against the locker. That's all you can suddenly say.

“Is it also better?”

“Excuse me, but you hate me in my defense.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

"I have no idea," you shrug. “I've never tried to love you. I haven't dared.”

“And would you try?" These are hopefully light words, almost falling out of the man's mouth. 

“When we’re alone like this? Keeping it a secret from everyone? Maybe.”

Okay, it's not maybe, but you need to be firm and reserved a little longer. He needs to believe that a mind-blowing kiss and a heartwarming confession like that didn't sweep you off your feet. After all, half an hour ago you were wishing for his hanging.

He's smiling. That's for sure. You're glad you can't see it, so he won't notice your face is red. At most, he can feel it. This time his mouth is roaming your face instead of his finger. You shudder when he touches your cheekbone because the love in his movements is sincere and caring. If only he had treated you like this from the beginning! He would have spared you some very high blood pressure numbers.

“We can't do that here…”

“No one can see us here. And I have to prove to you that it’s worth being with me.” He's mumbling onto the skin of your throat. You moan, when he kisses your neck eagerly. He grabs your hips. You pull him tightly to you by the small of his back, so eager to let him prove the truth of his words with lots and lots of kisses and touches.

But then you remember David’s wound, the box, Feng. You're on a mission now, and you can't be seduced, you can't collapse into Leon's muscular arms to be undressed and ignited into true love in this closet. You'd gladly give yourself to him, but not now, when your friends are counting on you. Plus, there's a killer on the loose.

“David” your gasp makes the name sound a little longing, so Leon stiffens, trails off slightly. You rest your palm on his chest, feel how it rises, how it sinks. “Bleeding. Med kit.” You try to let him know in small words that you're not fantasizing about another guy when he's kissing you with his soul, ready to give you all he has. You're trying to clear your head, because it's foggy and stunned. No one has ever fallen like that for you in a closet.

To be clear, once Hillbilly dragged you out, but he's not known to be a kisser.

“Okay," Leon nods, presses a final kiss to your lips, then pauses, his hand hesitantly on the doorknob, "but what about us?”

“I’ll think about it. "Your answer is fifty percent, but the cheerful kiss you quickly plant on his lips increases his chances by twenty percent.

He opens the door. There’s no proper lighting, just a few candles, but that also disturbs your eyes after the total darkness. You grab the first aid, and squint as you stumble out of the closet that’s guarding the memory of your kiss.

You dodge the hooks, climb the creaking stairs, and a set bird trap awaits you. If you step inside, the crows will attack, and are so loud that the Artist will find you immediately. You pass it cautiously.

You are soon back. Feng and David are almost where you left them, continuing the generator, only David is holding his side. It is a desperate action to repair the generator, it has to be done at all costs.

Your moves are not too blunt, Feng snaps her head up. They both look towards you, and suddenly you can't think of anything forceful to say to Leon, or grumble about his presence. Instead, you close your eyes, kneel beside them and open the box.

Feng and you work quietly to tend to David's wound.

You want to be remorseful, shameful, do everything you can to help him, but it's hard to concentrate on that when Leon is lurking not far away, and you're still spinning about how he kissed you. which you loved, and you were really selfish.

“I'm off to another generator," he announces, as if reading your jumbled thoughts.

“No need to announce it. No one here needs your company,” you throw the judgment at him mockingly.

Feng's eyebrows furrow, she snaps at you in a whisper. She didn't expect you to go at Leon again. Well, sorry, now you have to, just to keep up the pretense.

"I just want to clear the record," you shrug.

You lock eyes with Leon. A mischievous glance flickers in both of your eyes, because this is far from what it used to be. They don't know, but you do. It's exciting and new, but you can't wait to be alone with him again, locked in your honest feelings.

Your notes, comments and Leon thoughts are warmly welcomed! 💓

[shyamanuensis]

Break Ups - boyfriend!series

It’s a week before Valentine’s Day and you’ve decided to pull the pin on your relationship. This is how your now ex would handle it…

𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔥 -

♥︎ “Who?” It’s the way he answers whenever someone asks him where you are or what’s happened between the two of you. Does he want to talk about it? No. Will he ever? Absolutely not. It’s fairly obvious the two of you ended not on great terms - for the last week he’s gone out of his way to avoid you as if you’re carrying a medieval plague and rolls his eyes whenever your name is mentioned. Mature - real mature.

♥︎ Although he acts as if the breakup hasn’t affected him, once it actually sinks in (this takes a week or so), he can’t help but cry himself to sleep. Leander thought it would be a one-off thing, but no - he’s caught Garreth for 4 nights in a row now with teary eyes half asleep clutching at his pillow for temporary comfort and warmth.

♥︎ Party animal? Sort of. In the last week, he’s turned up to classes with hangovers the size of Hogsmeade and managed to sling back more shots than the entire of Gryffindor house combined. Does it make him feel better? Hell no - but at least now he’s not crying himself to sleep at night.

♥︎ That ball happening at the end of the month? The one you were meant to be going to together as a Hogwarts power couple - yeah he’s already asked another girl to take your place as his date. He couldn’t bring himself to actually see it through though so on the night, he ditches her and tries one last attempt at getting you to slip into that figure-hugging dress he spent hours upon hours having to hear you rave and ponder over walking between the 19 different stores you were determined to try everything on in.

♥︎ Could you return to being just friends? Perhaps. It takes a while. There’s a level of trust and understanding you both need to work through, but his greatest challenge when the two of you start talking again is remembering the fact he can’t just take hold of your hand whenever he wants to.

𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔰 -

♥︎ Aloof. Apathetic. Absentminded. Yeah that boys not on another planet but in another universe altogether. It makes it easier though - well as least that’s what he’s told his friends. The less opportunity he has to think about or run into you, the quicker he’ll mend.

♥︎ Irrespective of his attempt at forgetting you; he’s also tried to ask for forgiveness. Was he the reason the two of you ended things? Who really knows, but he’s got the moral mindset instilled within him that a true gentleman apologizes so he does the only way he knows how to. Flowers. Which would be sweet, but he’s enchanted them to not leave you alone until you finally accept their presence and place them in a vase of water.

♥︎ That gift he’d brought you for your birthday in a few months time? You still get it. Returning it would be a hassle and he’s convinced that it would be a waste for something so carefully curated and selected to go to anyone else.

♥︎ Does he date again? No. At least not for a while. Well until after graduation. Is he fine with you dating? Of course. He’s only ever wanted to see you happy; but can he bring himself to go through a potential heartbreak all over again for the sake of romantic and intimate company - no. Not while your lack of presence still haunts him.

♥︎ Out of habit; he’ll still pull your chair out for you to take a seat or open a door so that you can walk right through without having to lift a finger. He’s the perfect trope of a gentleman through and through and won’t let this roadblock in the friendship the two of you had before dating ruin his behaviour towards you.

𝔰𝔢𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔫 -

♥︎ How is his life going? If you ask him absolutely amazing. He’s free, he’s single, he’s ready to mingle. Has he taken that photo of you out of his wallet yet? No. That’s not going anywhere.

♥︎ Speaking of being single, he’s managed to make out with a dozen other women in the last 7 days by using nothing other than his pure charm to win them over but has he slept with any of them? Eh - no. He secretly likes the fact that his bedsheets still smell like you.

♥︎ Dueling has become a bit of a problem. He’s what others are calling volatile and aggressive. Lucan and Hecat have both spoken to him about toning it down but the words have gone in one ear and out the other. That last confringo he cast sent 2 students to the infirmary and almost burnt down the clocktower.

♥︎ The reason those other boys who have approached you once have never spoken to you again? Yeah that reason is Sebastian. He’s managed to threaten all but one into staying away from you. The one he didn’t threaten merely needed a dirty look shot his way.

♥︎ How long does the grieving process last for a Sallow some may ask? Oh it’s never longer than 14 days. Why? Because by this stage you’ve both come back to your senses and have realised that you’re like oxygen to fire and that the mutual level of unhinged passion which burns between you both is the reason you’re back beneath him in bed; craving the way his hands, lips, and tongue feel against your body. Fuck - fuck - fuck.

ps: thanks to @slytherinlives for the chat regarding this and @eva-fitzgerald for putting up with my brainstorming.

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART SEVENTEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: sae-byeok has been ignoring you for a couple of days and you have to find a way to confront her.

wc. 3.6k

warnings: none

(nowhere girl masterlist)

During those two weeks you didn’t face, Sae-byeok had a lot of time to—think. Properly think. Not just about the outside worries of the world like her all consuming debts, but about who she is. At first, she used to immediately kill the idea of exploring her sexuality. She didn’t have time for such things, it’s not of her. But ever since you abruptly barged your way into her life, she keeps getting pulled back down to face this idea.

Sae-byeok didn’t care about love either. She was content being by herself and the idea of having to bear another person’s responsibilities is too much. But with you it was so easy. Too easy. She has seamlessly embraced you so many times now and has held your hand—all like it was a natural instinct.

She’s getting new feelings and emotions she can’t pinpoint nor has a clue how to act upon them.

Sae-byeok bites the inside of her cheek. She’s looking at you now after days of trying not to, and the answer became clearer.

She thinks you’re a wonderful person. The brightest thing in her shitty life. She likes how much more kinder and wiser you are than her about life, yet still have a form of resilience even if you act upon them recklessly. The fact that you chose to leave your comfortable world behind to find more meaning in yourself in a country that’s against you—it inspired her to think about herself in that aspect. The world was also against her, but she didn’t willingly leave everything she loved behind like you did. However, you both did it for the freedom. But you aren’t naive for leaving—you are an optimist…meanwhile she’s on the other end of that coin. A pessimist.

Today you both came back to the apartment around the same time, you were ar work at the gallery whilst she pickpocketed. Because Sae-byeok lost her most stable job ever and she isn’t sure what will happen once you leave for the summer—she’s tirelessly going from city to city almost everyday trying to collect as much as she can from people’s pocket. Life is becoming uncertain again. It’s scarier now that she has Cheol to take care of. She’s terrified the closer the date of your departure creeps up.

But what scares her the most is what will happen when you come back. You could potentially meet new, more interesting and stable people meaning you’ll forget all about her. Sae-byeok turns bitter just thinking about it.

That’s why she refuses to speak to you. Because realistically, you won’t come back knocking on the apartment door and you’ll just be a lingering ghost trapped in her mind forever. A faint memory.

It was hard at first, avoiding you. Especially since you come to her so bright and full of optimism. She learned to just reply to you with a head shake and walk away. It pained her at first, seeing the obvious hurt in your eyes and your lower lip twitch but one day you’ll thank her. And she will come out of this without a broken heart.

In the kitchen, Sae-byeok is waiting for the water on the pot to boil for her instant ramen. Her phones currently in her room charging—the only form of entertainment she has is watching you.

You, of course, were sitting on the couch with your legs in a crisscross position while you jot down things in your tiny notebook. She was curious to know what possibly you could be writing down. Maybe you were writing a list of items you need for your Italy trip—or spilling your feelings like a journal. Either way, you are deeply concentrated on writing something down. It must be important.

But after a while, your neck and wrist need a break. So, you stretch your limbs and in the process of that your head tilts to where Sae-byeok is standing looking at you. Your face lit up when you caught her because it’s been days since you two made eye contact.

However, her expression hardens and she swiftly spins back around to check up on the boiling water. She concentrates on the feeling she gets in her chest—the rapid thump of her heart. That was something new. And it only took you to look at her for her heart to react this way.

She mentally curses at herself when she hears you shuffling. You had to be making your way to the kitchen. It was hard to avoid you when you keep trying your best to approach her.

“Hey,” she hears that soft voice creeping behind her. Sae-byeok stiffens when you stand next to her. “I was thinking what if I bring back pastries back from Italy. Seeing as you worked at a bakery I think it would be nice to get you sweets. Do you know any Italian sweets?”

Sae-byeok nods no and silently pours the boiling water into the ramen cup.

“Okay, well see if you can find something that peaks your interest. I’m making a list and I want you fill at least half of it.”

There you go again—being the wonderful selfless person, she thinks.

Sae-byeok knows she doesn’t deserve even a quarter of your kindness. You can do so much better than this, she’s sure of it. She’s just waiting for the day you realize that your life could be so much more fulfilling if she wasn’t in the picture.

Sae-byeok just darts to her room with the ramen cup in hand. Dealing with the guilt of giving you the cold shoulder was hard, but she knows she’ll have a harder time dealing with the grief of you forgetting about her.

It’ll be better this way. You both will come out less hurt in the end.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

The thrift shop felt like it was part of a ghost town. Only you, Ji-yeong, and a singular visible employee are situated within these four walls currently. Although most of the clothing and shoe racks were filled to the brim, you could only afford to come for the one thing you need. A suitcase. And Ji-yeong swore by this place.

“Ah, well this isn’t much. Not like last time.” Ji-yeong pouts, crossing her arms and looks disappointed at the fact that there’s only three suitcases in the entire shop. “But that’s what we get for shopping last minute right before June.”

You reach over to inspect each of the suitcases. However, most have huge stains on the inner lining and one doesn’t even have a zipper attached.

“I guess these are the ones people didn’t want.” you sigh and roll them back to their previous spot in the corner of the shop. “I probably have to break the bank a little and buy one in a market.”

She scoffs. “Nonsense. Let’s come on a Monday morning that’s the day they get the best stock out.”

“Where are you going?”

“Shopping obviously.” she chips and scrolls through the endless rack of women’s tops. You send her a look. “What? I need new clothes for the warmer weather and it seems like you do too.”

“I can’t.” you say. It’s true—although it wasn’t the original plan at first. If you didn’t insist on paying Sae-byeok’s rent this month you would’ve been able to get new clothes for your trip. But you’re not going to cry over it.

Sae-byeok. Even just thinking about her makes your chest pang. You couldn’t deny the crush you have on her anymore—not after she confessed something so personal to you.

Now, you think about what more she could be hiding from the world. Her smile. You wish to see her smile sincerely and not in the sly manner like she usually does. A genuine one. It would be nice if you could be the one to make Kang Sae-byeok crack a smile. But that won’t happen in a while because she has been avoiding you for the past week or so.

It’s eating you alive not knowing the reason as to why that is. Or could you possibly just be paranoid? You think you might’ve scared her in some way shape or form. But one can only assume so much before losing your mind. And you know you’re starting to turn crazy.

Sae-byeok has always been a wildcard. A candle in the wind especially when it comes to being vulnerable. And she’s been so vulnerable with you in the past but flipped the switch after her confession. It’s all so confusing.

You didn’t notice you were spacing out until Ji-yeong shoves a shirt in your face. You blink back to reality.

“What do you think?” she asks you. “It’s a basic plain shirt but I think the color is nice. And it’s only two bucks—score!”

“Yeah. Pink looks nice on you.” you hum. Ji-yeong grins and tosses the shirt over her shoulders to keep on searching. “Hey, Ji-yeong.” you say after more thinking.

“Hm?”

“I think, Sae-byeok is avoiding me.”

She pauses shuffling through the racks and turns to look at you with a hardened expression.

“What makes you say that?”

“When was the last time you saw her speak to me this week?”

She winces. “Shit. When you put it like that—it definitely seems like she is. Do you know if you’ve done anything to upset her? I know that’s a hard question to answer since she pretty much gets upset about many things.”

You press your lips into a thin line and think back to Sae-byeok’s confession. “No. Everything’s been normal.” you somewhat lie.

“The only way to find out is to directly ask her.” Ji-yeong advises. “She’s so stubborn I’m certain that she will hold a grudge against someone to the grave. But if you just cut the bullshit and ask her—boom! There’s a ninety percent chance she will tell you—not in the nicest way of course.”

Confrontation. You’re very familiar with it but it’ll be hard for you to confront Sae-byeok amidst the revelation of your feelings for her. You could choke up or even worse accidentally stare straight at her plump lips. It’s already happened once or twice it’s a shocker she hasn’t caught you in the act.

“This top just screams Italy.” she gasps, pulling out a white eyelet tank and measuring it on your upper body.

“I told you I can’t spend money.” you frown. It was hard for you to decline such a pretty item of clothing though.

Ji-yeong wriggles her eyebrows. “I’ll buy it for you, silly. You gave me this beautiful necklace—this will be my gift to you.” she pulls the necklace out from her shirt.

“Thanks.” you mutter with a shy smile. “I’m glad you’re actually wearing it.”

“I’m not one to wear jewelry but I like that this one isn’t heavy. I don’t even feel it most of the time.”

Ji-yeong spends another hour or so browsing through the thrift shop. You just trail behind her to be her judge but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the stone faced girl. If her best friend agrees with you, then she’s certainly avoiding you. And you will do something about it.

The sun was threatening to fall into the depths of the night by the time you and Ji-yeong make it back to the apartment. The days were getting hotter now that summer was approaching, you could barely walk without feeling heat exhaustion. It might just be you though because Ji-yeong merrily enters the apartment with a new bag of clothes.

Her outburst broke Sae-byeok’s trance from the phone call she was in. She was currently sitting on the couch, posture slumped and currently eyeing her roommate while avoiding eyeing you. She blinks back to stare at the floor and waits for the person on the other end of the call to speak. Your jaw clenches slightly—it was so obvious now.

“Oh, here before I forget—or before I purposefully keep it for myself.” she snorts and tosses you the white tank from her bag. She leans to reach the shell of your ear. “Good luck and remember—confrontation.” she whispers and whisks away to her room.

You stand there, staggered and with a shirt on hand. The hardest part might actually be walking over to the couch rather than the talking. Her presence seems more intense than usual—like any tiny thing someone does or says will receive a major outburst from her.

But if Ji-yeong is right, she will tell you the truth. So, you suck it up and plop down on the couch leaving a great amount of room in between you and Sae-byeok.

She’s still looks unfazed by you and doesn’t shift her eyes anywhere other than the ground. It might be nothing but it still makes your chest tighten. What made you feel more hurt was the fact that you don’t know what you’ve done to get the silent treatment from her.

“If you haven’t found her why bother call me? You’re wasting my minutes.” Sae-byeok retorts on the phone. Her voice was loud and demanding, it made your muscles tense. “I know it’s—I’m getting there…Just call me when you get actual information next time. Fucker.” she mutters the last part after hanging the call.

“Is everything alright?” you ask right after.

Sae-byeok went poker face on you the second you spoke. But you caught the way she faintly bit the corner of her bottom lip. She perhaps was contemplating something before she stood up from the couch. This is the part where you know too well—where she runs and hides.

You get off the couch as well and walk around her tall stature to prevent her from secluding in her room. Her eyes went round for a brief second, like she wasn’t expecting you to stop her.

“You’re avoiding me. Why?” you say, demand in your tone.

Sae-byeok’s dilated eyes turn malevolent and she straightens her shoulders. When she finally looks at you that’s when her expression turns even colder. “What are you talking about?” she scoffs.

She bumps past your shoulders to her room. It left you so bewildered—her sudden change. Your jaw went slack.

Then she reappears back from her room with her coat that she aggressively throws on, her way to the entrance door. It leaves you appalled.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” she responds coolly.

“Out? Just like that?” you ask and she slams the door behind her as a response.

You were the ten percent.

“Did you guys fight?” Cheol’s voice appears briefly after you stood there to process what just happened.

Your nostrils flare up but you try to remain calm in front of Cheol who slips out of the room timidly.

“She looks mad…and she always leaves the house when she’s mad.” he murmurs before yawning.

“No, we didn’t fight…But I’ll go talk to her.” you state. It was hard not to choke up and you aren’t sure if Cheol is buying your lie with the odd look he is giving you.

“Okay...” he says, unsurely.

“Don’t worry we’ll be back soon, okay?”

When Cheol reluctantly goes back into his rooms the tears you held back were start to brim your eyes. You didn’t want to talk to her anymore in fear of ending up more hurt. However, you still rummage through your basket of clothes to find your light weight jacket. A small part of you has hope and that might just be enough to confront her.

So, you run after her. When you step outside the complex, you could barely make out Sae-byeok’s stature in the shadows of the young night. She is already two blocks ahead and is about to make a corner turn. You did a lot of running this year, but you never expect to run after this girl.

You feel an immense adrenaline rush when you finally see her after running like your life depended on it. However, she kept up her fast pace.

“S…Sae-byeok!” you are barely to say across the other end of the block.

After hearing your faint cry she stops dead in her tracks but doesn’t make a move to turn around to look at you. Your adrenaline sparks even higher when you sprint closer to her.

Now that she was at arms reach, you yank her by her arm.

“What the fuck!” she hisses when you pull her to the direction of a alleyway corner. However, she doesn’t fight back.

You pin her to the back to the alleyway and take a couple steps backwards to properly catch your breath.

“What is wrong with you?” she snarls, her voice is shaking. It could be mistaken for anger but there was a hint of concern that seeps through her aggressive tone.

When you finally blink your eyes open, you straighten yourself up to face her fully. The alleyway was dark. The shadows cover Sae-byeok’s freckles and you could barely see her sharp eyes and grimacing lips.

All the anger, hurt, and sadness you were feeling whisks away. Now, you were full of determination because she has no choice but to face you. You don’t feel your body movements, however your mind is blurry with thoughts of her.

You grab her by her collar pull her closer to clumsily crash her lips into yours. It was a quick impulsive kiss that ended as soon as it started. You know Sae-byeok isn’t a person who trusts someone by their words, she needs to see their actions. Even if it jeopardizes everything, it was the only way you were able to express it to her.

Her glistening eyes search yours the moment you pull away. You couldn’t possibly tell what she was feeling, but your actions must’ve flustered her by the flush that crept her face.

“I’m sorry.” you breathe, releasing your grip from her. The pull you had on her jacket exposed the lengthy scar on her neck she quickly tries masking with her hair. “But you won’t even listen to me I didn’t know what else to do to make you…”

Sae-byeok remains speechless by your earnest action. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish above water trying to search for the words needed to be spoken but ultimately flounders. To you, it was a sign to bury away your feelings deeply.

“Are you going to say anything?” you ask, your voice oozing with desperation. But she keeps on being quiet. “Fine, if—if you don’t feel the same way I’ll get over it…But if I knew you’d act weird like this then I promise you I would’ve never done what I just did!”

Sae-byeok was never a woman of words. You know that.

She doesn’t say anything at all when she reaches to cup the sides of your face to kiss you again. Now that you both know this affection is mutual, the second time is more gentle and lasting. This new sensation of intimacy was still so new to both of you, so you gave each other time to savor and test out this long felt kiss through feathery movements of each other’s lips and hesitant touches.

By the time you both pull away, both your arms are all over each others. Her hands gripping your waist, while yours were entangled in her short raven hair. Your faces were still inches away from each others as you both catch your breaths. Goosebumps trail Sae-byeok’s arms when your fingers absentmindedly traces the scar on her neck.

“Why were you avoiding me?” you ask, your eyes sparkly with tears.

“I’m…” is all she was able to say.

You push her away, causing her back to get pushed against the wall once more, and you wipe your tears. What was worse was the fact that you could still feel the ghost of her lips on yours.

“Wh—What did I do…?” you press further, still aggressively wiping off crystals of tears. When all the teardrops were gone you look into her guilty eyes. “Tell me, Sae-byeok!”

Her lower lip trembles and she faces down to her shoes. It was faint but you could hear her muffle to hold back sobs.

You reach to tuck the strands of hair on the sides of her face and gently make her face you. Her red eyes make your heart clench. “This isn’t just about me is it?” you whisper to her. “Tell me what’s wrong? Please.”

“I’m sorry.” she croaks. She tries to regain her composure by straightening herself up but you could still hear her sniffling. “I’m…just scared.”

You sigh and lean back against the wall beside her. It might be easier for her to talk if you weren’t directly looking at her.

“Scared of what?”

“You leaving.” she replies. You gulp. “Because you can. And you don’t have to burden yourself with me or my shitty life again because you have the opportunity to—to do great things in life. I don’t.”

“And you thought avoiding me would…hurt less.” you finish.

She barely just nods. And you just wonder how many more people in her life have left her in the past for her to want to cope this way.

“That won’t ever happen—“

“How do you know?” she cuts off, trembling. “People change.”

You go to take her hand and wait for her to look at you. “I know because what I feel for you won’t change after one stupid trip.” you say and watch the way her bites her bottom lip. “Sae-byeok, you’re so brave—and just…the love you have for Cheol and your mom it’s so beautiful. I get why you put on a hard front but I know you deeply care for your people. I see it everyday. Every sacrifice you’ve made was for love. And tomorrow, you will wake up at five in the morning like you always do because of love. Not many people in this world can do that, but you do. That’s why I really—truly like you…”

Sae-byeok immediately goes to wrap her arms around you. Her breathing relaxes through your touch.

“I really like you too.” she mutters shyly. “And I’m sorry again for avoiding you.”

“I forgive you. But please never do this again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I solemnly promise.”

When the hug is mutually broken, the intense and high emotions is long subdued. Leaving you two to awkwardly stand there and reflect on this moment. When you and Sae-byeok make eye contact after this awkward pause, neither of you glance away. Instead, you share a small moment of laughter—also sharing blush cheeks and racing hearts.

“So…” you mumble.

“So…” she repeats, continuing to smile bashfully at you.

“Does this mean you are also a lesbian?”

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts @wlvlurvsfimmia

[quintessenceofdust88]

Fuck it Friday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard, @agentpeggycartering, @laundryandtaxesworld and @fairytalegonewronga03 (thank you so much lovelies!! ♥) Here's a snippet of chapter 5 of Tsunami Fic!

It’s been three days since the tsunami, and Tommy is finally ready to let Vivie out of his sight for more than ten minutes; they’ve spent pretty much all of their time at home as both her and Sal recover from it all, physically and emotionally. Sal’s been staying with them, and Tommy’s insisting he stays until his medical leave is over in a week.  

But now Tommy needs to go for his first shift since everything happened, and he’s pretty sure Sal is having a harder time with it than Vivie. While his daughter is happily lying on the floor, her socked feet swinging in the air as she colors a piece of paper, his best friend is eyeing Tommy warily from where he’s sitting on the couch, as he ties his shoes. 

“Tommy”, he mutters. “Are you sure you want to do this? You… I won’t be offended if you get a babysitter or take her to someone else, you know? I… I’d understand after…”

Tommy sighs; he’s tried to blow off every single apology Sal sent his way ever since the tsunami. They’re safe, and Vivie is completely fine, and Tommy doesn’t blame Sal for any of it. But that doesn’t mean Sal is convinced, and Tommy’s starting to think he’ll need an extra hand. 

“Vivie?” He calls. 

“Yeah?” She answers, still focused on her drawing. 

“Do you want Daddy to call someone else to take care of you while I work?” Tommy asks, and that makes her raise her head in alarm. 

“Why?! Is Uncle Sal not okay?! Are you feeling bad, uncle Sal?” She rushes to them, throwing herself in Sal’s lap. He wraps his arms around her, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I’m feeling fine, darlin’, don’t you worry about me.” He tells her, ruffling her hair, and she sighs in relief. “Do… you want me to take care of you?” Sal asks, sounding impossibly insecure, and Vivie glares at him in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of Tommy’s own bitchy expression. 

“Duh, uncle Sal, you’re my favorite uncle. You play the best games and you sing Barbie songs with me!” She tells him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Tommy, in his defense, does his best not to look smug, but he doesn’t think he actually succeeds. As he finishes tying his shoes, he gets up, raising an eyebrow at Sal, who’s glaring at him.

“Well”, Tommy quips, grabbing his car keys. “I guess that settles the matter, doesn’t it? You guys have fun signing Barbie tunes as I go to work. You behave for your uncle, pixie, okay?”

He presses a kiss to Vivie’s forehead, half expecting her to say goodbye to him and cuddle up against Sal. What she does instead is gasp and scramble out of her uncle’s lap, rushing back to her paper. As she grabs it, a healthy amount of glitter falls on the floor, and Tommy doesn’t even want to think about the clean-up. He guesses he could ask Sal to take care of it, but it doesn't seem like a fair thing to the concussed guy. 

“Wait, Daddy!” She says, and then she shoves the card into his hand. “You have to take this!”

Tommy frowns, and looks down at the card. His cheeks instantly blush when he sees the wobbly ‘To: Mr. Evan’ that’s written on the top corner, along with a much neater ‘From: Genevieve’ on the bottom (she’s only five, but she’s already a master at writing her own name, Tommy is proud to say). There’s a very glittery blue heart in the middle, and when Tommy opens the card to take a peak, he sees two sticky figures: Genevieve, holding Marsh, and a bigger one that can only be Evan, based on the blue eyes and the small pink birthmark drawn above one of them.

---

Np (real np cause it's barely Friday for me, and I think it's not Friday anymore for a lot of people hehe) tagging @unhingedangstaddict @littlepaws9 @typicalopposite and whoever else would like to join!! ♥

[fanficcrow]

Drunk Dials and Mistletoe

a/n: This is based of a wolverine chatbot by @/woiverine on c.ai, however it’s so far removed from the origional chat that it hardly counts.

Warnings: none

— ☆ —

The cold night air hit as Logan left the bar, cutting through his thoughts. A surge of longing pushed him toward the rusty pay phone.

He took a deep breath and dialed the number engraved in his memory like initials on a tree all those years ago, the anticipation building with each ring. As the connection clicked, memories of you, his ex, flooded back. Hesitating only slightly, Logan finally spoke, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of vulnerability, "It's Logan. I know it's late, bub, but I needed to hear your voice."

— ☆ —

The ringing of the phone on your bedside table startles you awake. You look at the faintly glowing screen ready to absolutely chew out whoever dared to call you this fucking early, only to find an unknown number scrolling across the top of your phone. A brief thought pops into your mind. What if it’s…… No. He couldn’t have found you, why would he even bother. You hesitantly pick up the receiver and answer the call just before the last ring.

“Hello?” You say lowly.

“Hey sweetheart, sorry fer callin’ so late.” Logan near whispers. Honestly, just the fact that you even picked up the call caught him off guard, he’s more shocked that you didn’t hang up as soon as you heard his voice.

A jolt of alertness goes through you at the unexpected voice……. Logan’s voice, on the other end of the line.

A long sigh floats through the phone, reminding you that you haven’t responded.

“Logan? Why….. why on earth are you calling me? Do you know what time it is??”

His words slur faintly. Damn, he must’ve been drinking hard if he hadn’t already metabolized the alcohol. As if to answer your question, loud glass clinking can be heard over the phone.

“Yeah Doll, I know. Just…… just needed to hear yer voice.” He says lowly, vulnerability staining the edges of his low voice.

The pet name coming from him sends an ache through my heart…. how long has it been since he called me that? After everything that happened…. why do you still want to hear him say your name?

“Ah, well…… you’ve heard it now.” You wince at the crack in your voice. As you think over what to say next, your tongue flicks out to wet your dry lips.

“Uh, where are you? I didn’t recognize the number you’re calling from.”

Logan leaned against the cold plastic wall of the pay phone, the cold surface grounding him. Hearing the nervous tremble in your voice, he silently cursed himself.

"Somewhere in the city..," he mutters, omitting his current location, as well as how close it is to….. well, you.. He knew you'd worry if he told you he was at a bar, drowning his thoughts in alcohol.

His thumb traced the scars on his knuckles as he spoke, a habit whenever he was nervous. "Just…. a park or somethin’ Doll, don’t worry about it..." The words stick in his throat. How can he tell you to not worry when that’s all he knows how to do? Filthy hypocrite.

I let loose a small, tired laugh, before cursing myself. I shouldn’t even be talking to him right now, let alone laughing at his obvious lie.

“Bullshit Lo, you’re at a bar aren’t you.” I suck in a deep breath. “For real, where are you, do you need me to come get you or something?” I say, letting a hint of kindness creep into my voice.

He hated how vulnerable he felt, how desperately he wanted you by his side. He couldn't let you see him like this, whiskey-soaked and wallowing in self pity. He'd rather be alone than ruin the image you had of him*. "Nah, I'm okay, doll. Just..." he paused again, his voice trailing off.

I suppress a yawn and speak again. “Just?…..” Just what? He always did have a bad habit of not saying what he needed, if you wanted him to talk to you, you always had to pry until he gave in. The fact that he’s calling so vulnerably right now? That is what worries you.

“What do you need Lo?” You say gently.

What did he need? Fuck, he just needed you, but how could he say that.

After a couple beats of silence you sigh. “Will you at least let me know where you really are? Otherwise I’m going to keep myself up all night worrying.”

How could he handle seeing you again after so long? Logan let out a resigned curse and gritted out an answer. "Bar down by the river. You know the one. But you really don’t need to come, I just…" He trails off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

You sigh into the receiver. “It’s alright, we don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.” You look again at the clock, realizing the time. “Shit it really is late.”

Logan scoffs, “You’re telling’ me.” he cups his hands by his mouth, blowing into the to try and warm up and he chuckles.

Your mind races. The Thirsty Dragon is going to close soon, and Logan isn’t going to ask for help. The only way you can think of to stop Logan from driving drunk is to go there, but he’d probably try and stop you if you told him you were coming.

“Hey Logan? i have to go, i’m really sorry.” You say, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pull on a jacket to help fight the chill night air. “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

He murmurs his assent and you hang up the phone, heading out the door and starting down the couple of blocks to The Thirsty Dragon….. and Logan.

— ☆ —

If you enjoyed this fic please take a moment to rb and comment! also not betaed, it’s 12:30 am and i’m not worried about it ;p

taglist: @1234cutecute @angelic-sturniolos111 @slushycoookie

[jsooly]

idk why but i feel like reader was SO happy when tuk was born simply because someone was shorter than her

get my girl on stilts

ur so right anon 🙂‍↕️ this is so silly LMAO wait—

human!reader x sibling!sullys

the seven years before tuk came along, you swore you developed chronic neck pain from looking up at everyone all the time. jake was two inches shy of 9ft, neytiri following close behind, and even lo'ak, the youngest, was comfortably over 7ft.

it got to a point where you just didn't bother to look them in the eye anymore. not when they stood, anyway. sometime along the line, the kids started to crouch when they were around you. it started subtly. bending at the waist to match your eight. and you didn't think anything when they squatted around you—they did that all the time.

it was their rapid growth stage. they shot up from below you to being just over you, and suddenly they were acting as if they were as gigantic as your parents.

it clicked in your brain when you were out and about, taking a stroll through the forest and supervising your troublesome brothers and sister. you paused, propping your foot atop a rock to adjust the wraps around your feet.

they circled around you, bending at the knees in a squat while chatting among themselves. you paused, giving them suspicious looks before you began walking once more.

you stopped near a tree, shielding your eyes from the sun to get a better view of the foliage above. you remembered that you were low on fruits back home and—

you turned when you felt breathing over your shoulder. lo'ak was right behind you, neteyam and kiri just behind. they were low to the ground, a pattern you were just becoming aware of.

"...what are you doing." you said flatly.

"do you need a lift?" lo'ak offered his arms, nodding up to the tree as if it were a perfectly reasonable offer.

you scrunched your face, offense souring your expression like a lemon. "you're kidding me."

"i mean, it's a pretty tall tree." he mumbled, shrugging unconvincingly.

you let out a slow breath, flicking your gaze past him to neteyam and kiri. "and what about you?"

"we're standing here with you?" neteyam answered with a quizzical tone, thinking the answer was obvious.

"you're not standing. you duck down every time i stop walking. this better not be a prank."

"how else will you hear what we say from way up here?" lo'ak retorted, rising to his full height again.

you gave him an incredulous look, taking a pause in the conversation that set off danger bells in your siblings' heads.

"...because you have so much height on me." you said sarcastically.

the intent of your words flew over lo'aks head, missing the sarcasm completely. he smiled proudly, puffing out his chest. "yeah. yeah, i do."

"lo'ak, you're barely a foot taller than i am. i fear you are the last person that should be talking."

his ears shot up at the jab, pointing an accusatory finger in your face. "hey! i grew over the summer—"

"wanna go shoulder to shoulder?" you shot back.

his mouth hung open, his brain processing his response. he pulled back his finger. "no." he said slowly.

"don't stoop anymore," you instructed the obvious to them. when they all squatted around you, they looked like kids cornering a pet. "my ears work just fine." you glared at lo'ak.

"good, cuz that was getting tiring." kiri sighed when she finally pushed herself upright, her legs burning from the unintentional workout. neteyam stood up as well, stretching his arms over his head.

"unbelievable." you grumbled, rolling your eyes as you continued your trek through the forest.

—

all of this to say that you were really happy when tuk was born. she had at least a decade before she surpassed you and you intended to treasure every second of it.

you were more than happy to rub it in the other kids' faces when they suddenly complained that you spent an increasing amount of time with the newest addition to the family.

"it's not gonna last long." lo'ak grumbled beside you. you pushed him away playfully. wait until he finds out about the stilts humans regularly use.

[pearlsdefenseattorny]

There's no "calling out" in analysis imho- people just interpret things different and implying some kind of morality is involved (that some interpretations = moral, okay, while others aren't) always feel a little pushy and chronically online to me. However I understand the point being made here and here's my take...

The reason no one is applying the same logic to Rupphire is probably multifaceted and I'm not the end all be all, but the reason *I* don't is because not only is the power imbalance just... somewhat less of a thing according to worldbuilding, it's less emphasized narratively. rubies are apparently made for the gems they protect becuz of how ruby reacts to seeing sapphire ("as my sole duty and purpose, i will protect you with my life!") in the movie, but they are not objectified the way a pearl is and if you havent seen the movie its even less obvious. pearls have default settings and can be customized... they are at the veeeryy bottom of the hierachy and diamonds at the veeeeryy top, making rose and pearls difference in power a little more obvious and intense than ruby and sapphires.

significantly less time is spent on ruby's feelings of inadequacy even though it's briefly examined- we get one or two scenes, im thinking specifically "the answer" and "gem heist," and in both of these examples sapphire is SHOWN onscreen to immediately communicate disapproval and assure ruby she's equal. in someone entirely new:

"well what about you?"

"what about me?"

"well *you're* here too.. we're here, together."

and she places her hand on ruby's. in "gem heist" ruby stammers that shes disposable and sapphire's like "what!?" and in jail break, when ruby says "who cares?" sapphire retorts "i do!". there's more on screen evidence here sapphire and ruby feel equal and sapphire actively solicits belonging, equality, etc. from ruby. sapphire obviously onscreen kinda often tbh communicates love, adoration, respect for ruby etc, just think of their wedding ep! we dont see that from pearlrose. im not saying that it wasnt there but the audience isnt shown it.

we get a LOT of scenes and lyrics about pearl's objectification by homeworld and her feelings of inferiority.

"Everything I ever did, I did for her. Now she's gone, but I'm still here." - pearl

"Because pearls aren't for this! They're for standing around, and looking nice, and holding your stuff for you."- peridot

"But it's true! No matter how hard I try to be strong like you... I'm just a Pearl. I'm useless on my own. I need someone to tell me what to do." - pearl

"Who am I now in this world without her? Petty and dull with the nerve to doubt her." - pearl

"Well, you know Rose.... She always did what she wanted" - pearl

these lines are incomparible to many of ruby's lines and rose isnt there onscreen to dispute her claims of inferiority/helplessness like sapphire is there to dispute ruby. whether she even would or not is probably intentionally left to interpretation, serving to obfuscate rose's supposed good character.

also: sapphire never utilizes her position of power over ruby to force ruby into silence about one of the most traumatizing events of her life. not saying this is smth she even could do, but either way she doesnt do it.

anyway this is why i think the conversation is different. their relationships are presented differently becuz well.. the two relationships *are* different.

You know if people talked about Ruby and Sapphire’s relationship the way they talked about Rose and Pearl’s I’d imagine for at least some it’d highlight how infantilizing it is towards Pearl and how it demonizes Rose for basically no reason.

Like, nobody in the SU fandom would ever think “Ruby only loved Sapphire because she was programmed to be loyal to her.”

If anyone said that they’d be called out and rightfully so. But that’s like a common talking point for a lot of the people who try to undermine Rose and Pearl’s relationship.

Why is ok to say this about them?

[gingerteafairy]

𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫

The result of summoning a spirit without knowing it can be impressive —or highly delicious.

tags n warnings: austin sommers x reader, vampirism, witchcraft, language, dry humping, love bites. word count: 2.4k masterlist

As someone completely inexperienced and, to be honest, a little odd, you had no idea how you ended up in this situation. Alone, sitting on the floor, a single candle flickering beside you, and a man—magnificent, almost ethereal—materializing right before your eyes after you recited some silly spell you found on the internet as a joke.

"How to Summon a Vampire. 100% Foolproof Tutorial."

I mean, there was no way this could be real. It was literally from a blog written fifteen years ago, with terrible formatting and a design that looked like it had crawled straight out of the early days of the internet. And yet… there he was. Standing in your room, looking utterly unimpressed at having been disturbed.

"What, girl? Are you just gonna sit there staring at me?" he grumbled, crossing his arms impatiently. The motion caused his half-unbuttoned shirt to slip open a little more, revealing a toned chest where silver necklaces rested against his pale skin. "God, are you mute, or just stupid?"

"S-Sorry, it’s just… I didn’t think this would actually work," you stammered, blinking rapidly as if trying to force reality to make sense. You had literally summoned a vampire into your bedroom. "I was just… bored."

"Yeah, well, idle hands are the devil’s playground, huh? Your mother never taught you that?" He mocked, stretching his arms above his head like a lazy, well-fed cat. His movements were casual, yet dripping with a confidence so effortless it was almost taunting. "You should really get a better hobby than playing around with witchcraft."

"Witchcraft? But… aren’t you a vampire?" you asked, finally pushing yourself up to stand. The height difference between you became glaringly obvious—he towered over you effortlessly, his presence somehow even more imposing up close.

"Uh, duh. Look at me," he scoffed, making a dramatic gesture toward himself. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh before tugging back his upper lip with his index finger. No sharp fangs like in the movies. But still… there was something about him, something undeniably not human.

"Shit…" you whispered, leaning in slightly for a closer look. Your hand lifted instinctively, but you caught yourself halfway and quickly pulled it back.

"So? Why the hell did you summon me?" he snapped, cutting through your awe as he shoved a hand into his coat pocket. He pulled out a black pill and a small metal flask, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig. His face twisted in mild disgust—alcohol, you guessed.

You exhaled deeply. Now wasn’t the time to second-guess yourself—there was a real vampire standing in front of you.

"I want to become one," you admitted, straightening your posture in an attempt to look braver than you felt. Or at least, something close to it. “A vampire.”

He raised an eyebrow, scanning you from head to toe as if he were dissecting every detail, every cell of your body. Then, he let out a low, drawn-out chuckle. "And why do you want that?"

You hesitated. Your reason was stupid, obvious, frivolous. But something in his eyes told you he’d know if you lied. So, you decided to tell the truth.

"I'm bored."

He tilted his head slightly, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You’re kind of weird."

"Is that a bad thing?" you asked, frowning.

"Nah," he chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "Actually, I like it. At least it’s original."

"So… will you turn me?" you asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

He let out a dramatic sigh, throwing his head back before looking at you again. "I don’t know… Are you willing to pay the price?"

"Yes," you answered without hesitation. You had come this far—whatever came next was just a bonus.

"Alright then," he shrugged, loosening his arms and stepping toward you. Slowly. Deliberately.

He stopped so close you could feel his breath—a cold whisper against your skin. "You’re kinda cute," he murmured, his gaze trailing over you again. "It’d be a shame to ruin that…"

"Uh… thanks?" you replied, unsure whether it was a compliment or if he was genuinely surprised you weren’t some kind of freak.

His smile widened, amused. "Oh, this is going to be fun…"

He touched your face with his fingertips, cold skin contrasting with the heat of your body. With a subtle movement, he tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck. His gaze became intense, fixed on the spot where your pulse hammered beneath the thin skin. You felt your heart race and, instinctively, you closed your eyes—perhaps in a futile attempt to not feel so vulnerable under his predatory gaze.

“By the way, I’m Austin Sommers,” he introduced himself, his casual tone contrasting with the way he pressed his index finger against your artery, feeling each rapid beat. “You’ll need to know when you need to moan my name.”

“What? Ouch!” You let out a surprised cry when you felt something sharp tear your skin—a quick, precise cut. Before you could react, Austin had already tilted his head and pressed his mouth against the wound, his warm lips sealing themselves around your skin.

The initial shock was replaced by an alarming sensation—pleasurable, intense. His tongue slid across the cut, cleaning away the remaining blood, and a shiver ran down your spine. Your body reacted before your mind could process what was happening; your hand shot to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you tried to anchor yourself to something.

And God… it felt good. So damn good.

Austin pulled away slowly, his eyes half-lidded as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, collecting any lingering traces of blood. A playful smile curved his mouth as he wiped a bit of the crimson liquid from the corner with his finger—then brought it to his lips, sucking on it leisurely.

"Your blood is sweet," he mused, still savoring the taste. His gaze flickered over your face before dropping back to your neck. He lifted a hand, running a finger along your skin to gather another drop, which he lazily licked away. "Like, really sweet. Almost pure sugar."

"Is that… a good thing?" you asked awkwardly, bringing a hand to your neck. When you glanced at your palm, you noticed a thin streak of blood still trailing down your skin.

"Eh, depends," he shrugged, then gestured toward your hand. "Hey, don’t waste that."

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and dragged his tongue slowly across your palm, lapping up the blood with a satisfied expression.

"Actually, it’s great for me," he explained, releasing your hand with a click of his tongue. "Terrible for you though. Tell me—have you been stuffing yourself with sweets for the past three months?"

"What? That’s… weirdly specific," you frowned, thrown off by the seemingly random question.

Austin rolled his eyes, letting out a low chuckle, clearly amused by your cluelessness.

"Oh, you airhead," he taunted, crossing his arms with a smug tilt of his head. "Red blood cells take three months to regenerate. You can’t cheat the tests."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to connect the dots. But when you just stared at him blankly, he let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Whatever, you weren’t required to know that," he said with a lazy smirk. Then, he stepped closer, his gaze darkening with something that sent a ripple of anticipation through your stomach.

"Either way… we need to move on to the second part of the ritual."

“Would that be… dying?” you asked, tilting your head to the side opposite where Austin had bitten you. Your voice came out lower than you intended, almost shaky, but not exactly from fear.

He let out a low, melodious laugh, filled with something indecipherable. “Wow, I love morbid witches,” you teased, a charming smile forming on his lips. “They’re the sexiest.”

Unhurriedly, he lifted his hand and touched your neck, his icy fingers gliding over the living skin. He didn’t press, just let his palm rest there, as if he were enjoying the sensation of your life pulsing beneath his touch. His fingers traced the fresh scar with a slow, almost reverent caress.

"You liked that, didn’t you?"

You held your breath, biting your lip as a shiver ran down your spine. You wanted to deny it, but the lie would have been so obvious it wasn’t even worth the effort. Nodding subtly, you finally admitted, "Yes… Strangely, it felt really good."

Gathering the courage to meet his gaze, you found those pitch-black eyes—deep as the void of night—watching you with something that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"You want more?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement, yet something in the way he asked made the offer all the more tempting.

His fingers ghosted along the back of your neck, curling into your hair and giving a gentle, yet unyielding tug, tilting your head back just enough to leave you vulnerable.

A quiet whimper slipped from your throat, your lips parting as you hesitated to put into words what was already written all over your face. Your gaze lowered, silently pleading. It was forbidden. Morbid. Seductive. Just like Austin Sommers himself.

"There is definitely something wrong with you," he chuckled softly, the vibration of his voice reverberating against your skin before he leaned in closer.

His head dipped toward your neck again, lips hovering over the warmth of your pulse. The other hand traveled slowly up the curve of your spine, gliding to your waist before pulling you flush against him.

Your heart pounded. Everything about this was wrong—too strange, too intoxicating. His touch, his hypnotic voice, the way each word seemed to slip past your defenses effortlessly. You didn’t know if it was something supernatural or simply something chemical—something inside you that had always been there, waiting to be awakened.

But for the first time, you felt completely alive. Your fingers tangled into the soft strands at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer until your lips were barely brushing against his.

"I want more," you whispered.

His eyes widened briefly, caught off guard, but the surprise melted away as quickly as it came, replaced by that same knowing smile that was already becoming familiar.

"With pleasure," he murmured, his cool breath mixing with the heat of your lips.

He closed his eyes, and you did the same. The moment was too intense to experience with your eyes open.

Austin’s breath was tantalizing, ghosting over your mouth as if he were savoring every molecule of your being before even touching you. His hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place—keeping you captive under his control as he absorbed everything.

Your scent. Your warmth. Your racing pulse. Blood. Soap. Perfume. Sweat. When his lips finally met yours, it was like drinking from the forbidden fruit. Warm. Slow. Poetic. There was something in him that fed on this. A hunger that stirred the darkness, that made you feel like a feast laid out before him and Austin Sommers loved to indulge.

The only difference that separated you from him was the thirst for blood and you were about to change that, biting his lip, the soft skin untouched by time between your teeth, sinking them in. A trickle of blood coming out, the metallic taste on your taste buds. This was a feral and delicious fetish.

Austin growled into your mouth, the touch becoming more possessive, hands on each other's faces, like a battle of lascivious dominance. He returned the force, pulling your hair back, grabbing your lower lip harder. You moaned so beautifully there that Austin felt it was artistic, almost unreal, daring to repeat the feat, loving every second of your delight.

“Fuck— you're so...delicious,” he murmured when you separated, your mouths were swollen, red with blood flowing to the region and scarlet staining your teeth. “I wouldn't mind giving you love bites for eternity.”

“Do this to me,” you murmured, licking the corner of Austin’s mouth that still contained traces of your fluid. “Forever.”

He pulled your hair again, interrupting your lustful declaration, it was like having you on a leash, but you had the collar. Pulling on his collar, you stopped the aggressive tug, making him disarm himself for the first time. “Now,” you commanded, sealing your lips again, satisfying your new addiction, not letting anything escape.

“Drink me,” Austin invited. He was lost, succumbing to the need to surrender too. With strong steps, he laid you down on the bed in your room, pulling on your necklace. What to do but comply with the request?

Your body was hot, sinfully hot. Wet was a weak word for what was happening between your legs, at this point, you could feel every red blood cell running through your blood vessels, as well as every cell of Austin that woke up on top of you. Your mouth went to Austin’s neck, sucking and biting, licking, the taste of his addictive skin. Austin gasped, pushing his hips forward. As you abused his neck, you felt the need to scratch it, running your nails over the pressure point.

“Fuck,” he grunted, grabbing your wrist. You felt the cut, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, as it was numbed by Austin’s tongue and his hips thrusting back and forth against your sex.

“Shit, shit—" you moaned, spreading your legs wider, seeking Austin’s face for another kiss, feeling your own blood mix with his tongue. Your body was out of control beneath him and soon, you came undone there. The prophecy fulfilled, moaning until the last shock waves. “Austin!”

“Shit,” he gasped, his fingers digging into your waist, the sound being muffled by your mouth.

The only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing, your heart beating. Your eyes met, Austin smiled, burying his face in the hollow of your neck for one last bite before turning to you.

“So, did I finish the ritual?” You questioned with a ragged breath, a wide smile splitting your face.

“It never even started,” he laughed, going to your ear to bite the lobe and return to your eyes. “I’m not a vampire, I’m just a big blood-addicted son of a bitch.”

“And how did I summon you?” You asked, trying to get up, but were soon stopped by Austin’s hands on your wrists, pinning you to the bed, while he adjusted himself on top of you to also pin your legs.

“You had the bad luck to summon a succubus,” he hummed, your whole body was on fire at the time, making sense of the whole devilish aura around Austin. “Now you’re my favorite toy. Enjoy the party and grab my collar. I'm your one and only freak monster.”