#the fic is angsty but a lot softer than that

[goldfades]

oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home; and at your best, you were magic, we were sold; so don't tell them what you told me; don't even tell them that you know me; i would rather burn forever, but you should know that i died slow, running through the halls of your haunted home; merry christmas, please don't call; merry christmas, i'm not yours at all ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.9k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and paige had been the kind of love story everyone admired from afar: picture-perfect in the daylight, chaotic behind closed doors. it wasn't her fault, not entirely. paige had her own ghosts, shadows you couldn’t chase away. but this Christmas, as the snow falls in connecticut and the ache of her absence presses like a bruise against your ribs, you realize you can't keep bleeding for someone who won’t stop breaking.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SOULCRUSHING ANGST W/ NO HAPPY ENDING!! pazzi mention, paige being a PLAYER and descriptions of anger (directed at reader), manipulation (?), just overall angsty

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | i've been listening to merry christmas, please don't call so i just HAD to make an angsty paige fic, i hope yall enjoy! (im so sorry for this fic)

There’s something profoundly cruel about December. The way it wraps the world in glitter and glassy snow, fooling you into believing anything could be beautiful if you squint hard enough. The kind of month where people hold hands and drink too-sweet cocoa, and you’re left standing under a streetlamp that flickers like a pulse—waiting for a call you know better than to answer.

You tuck your hands into your coat, biting back the cold. Connecticut is quieter than you remember, or maybe it’s just your corner of the city. Paige isn’t here to fill the space with that too-bright laughter that used to feel like sunshine and now feels like static in your chest.

The coffee shop across the street is closing for the night. You watch the barista flip the sign, your reflection ghosted in the fogged window. It looks like someone else—someone better, someone softer, someone who could’ve saved her.

But you couldn’t save Paige. Not from herself. Not from the carousel of pressure and pain that spins faster than either of you can jump off.

The two of you had been magnetic once. You couldn’t say it was perfect—it never was—but there had been a time when Paige made the air around her shimmer like heat on asphalt. Everyone wanted to be near her, but you were the one she chose. At least, that’s how it felt in the beginning.

The story of you and Paige wasn’t simple. It couldn’t be, not with how bright her world burned, how impossible it was to separate the good from the bad, the joy from the heartbreak. It all started with her charm—effortless and magnetic, the kind that made you believe she could do anything.

You met during her sophomore year at UConn, the same year her name became synonymous with excellence. She’d smile at you during study sessions, her sneakers squeaking against the gym floor as she absentmindedly dribbled a basketball while you worked on assignments. Her laugh was a sound you could pick out of a crowd, bright and airy, like it didn’t belong in a world this heavy.

The early days were golden. Paige had this way of making you feel like the only person in the room, her attention sharp and unwavering. She'd surprise you with late-night drives to nowhere, the car filled with the smell of takeout and the sound of her carefully curated playlists. She'd drape her hoodie over your shoulders when the Connecticut winters bit too hard, her hands brushing yours in a way that sent sparks down your spine.

She wasn’t just a basketball prodigy to you; she was Paige, the girl who could quote Parks and Recreation word for word, who cried during Marley & Me, who kissed you for the first time under a canopy of stars in a parking lot after a particularly grueling practice.

You learned quickly that loving Paige meant loving her ambition, her relentless drive. But it also meant loving her through her shadows—the doubt that crept in after a bad game, the pressure that clung to her like a second skin. At first, you thought you could handle it. You thought your steady presence could be her anchor.

But Paige’s world was intense, overwhelming, and sometimes suffocating. There were moments when she’d retreat into herself, shutting you out completely. Nights when she’d sit in silence for hours, staring at the wall, her thoughts a storm she refused to share.

“I’m fine,” she’d say, her voice clipped, whenever you tried to reach her. “It’s just basketball. It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and you knew it. It was the weight of the world on her shoulders, the unspoken expectation to be perfect, to never falter. And sometimes, that weight turned her into someone you didn’t recognize—distant, sharp-edged, unreachable.

There were good days, though. The kind of days that made you believe you could weather anything together. The way she’d look at you like you hung the moon after a big win, her joy infectious and radiant. The soft kisses she’d press to your forehead when she thought you were asleep, the whispered promises that everything would be okay.

But the cracks in the foundation grew wider as time went on. Paige didn’t know how to lean on you—didn’t know how to share the parts of herself that weren’t shiny and triumphant. And you, in turn, didn’t know how to break through the walls she built so carefully around her heart.

The arguments started small: missed dates, unanswered texts, her constant insistence that she “needed space.” But they grew sharper, uglier, as the stress of her career bled into every corner of her life. You tried to be patient, to understand that her world was chaotic in ways yours wasn’t.

“I’m trying,” you told her one night, your voice breaking after yet another fight about her shutting you out. “But I can’t keep doing this if you won’t let me in.”

Her response was cold, distant: “Maybe I don’t need you to fix everything for me.”

It was the beginning of the end.

The good moments became fewer, swallowed whole by the tension that never seemed to fade. Paige became harder to reach, her laughter rarer, her smiles strained. She’d come home late, exhausted and short-tempered, and you’d sit across from her at the kitchen table, wondering when you stopped feeling like her partner and started feeling like a stranger.

And love, real love, isn’t just about the good moments.

The cracks began to show in small ways. The way she’d go silent when you asked how she was really feeling after a rough game. The forced smile she’d wear in public, only to collapse into your arms behind closed doors, her exhaustion radiating off her in waves. Paige didn’t talk about the pressure—not really. She’d shrug it off with a joke or brush it aside with a kiss, but you could feel it in the way she clenched her fists when she thought no one was looking.

And then there was the anger.

It didn’t show up at first, not in ways you could name. Paige was too composed, too practiced at keeping herself in check, her emotions folded neatly into the corners of her well-rehearsed smile. But over time, the cracks in her composure grew sharper, splintering into moments she couldn’t quite hide.

You remember the first time it caught you off guard. It was late November, and the two of you were walking back to her apartment after a grueling game. Paige had played well—at least, that’s what everyone kept telling her. She’d drained three-pointers with a precision that seemed almost effortless, threading passes that left defenders spinning. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough for Paige.

“I should’ve done more,” she muttered, her voice low but heavy with frustration. You glanced at her, confused.

“Paige, you scored 26 points,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think that qualifies as doing more.”

She stopped walking, her breath fogging in the cold air. Her jaw clenched.

“You don’t get it,” she snapped, and the sharpness in her voice cut through you like a knife.

You blinked, taken aback. “Then help me get it,” you said carefully, stepping closer. But she only shook her head, her hands buried deep in her pockets.

“Forget it,” she muttered, and the conversation ended there.

But the tension lingered.

It wasn’t always so direct. Sometimes it was the way she’d sigh too loudly when you asked her a simple question, or the way she’d press her fingers to her temples when you suggested she take a break. Other times, it was silence—the kind that stretched too long and settled too heavy between you, a chasm you didn’t know how to cross.

And yet, there were still moments of sweetness. Paige was never just one thing. She’d show up at your door with takeout after you’d had a rough day, or pull you onto the couch, wrapping you in her arms as though she could shield you from everything. She’d kiss the top of your head and whisper things like, “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” and for a while, you believed her.

But the anger didn’t go away. It grew, festering in the quiet corners of your relationship until it felt like a third presence in the room. It wasn’t directed at you—not always—but it seeped into everything.

You’d watch her pace the living room after a game, her movements restless and sharp, her hands running through her hair. She’d mutter under her breath about missed shots, bad calls, and how the team deserved better. You tried to comfort her, to remind her that she was enough, but your words never seemed to stick.

“Stop,” she’d say, cutting you off mid-sentence. “You don’t have to fix this. Just… let me be.”

You told yourself it wasn’t personal. That she wasn’t mad at you, but at the weight she carried, the expectations that pressed down on her until she couldn’t breathe. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming collateral damage.

The fights started small—little disagreements over nothing. Where to eat, what movie to watch, whether she could manage to take one damn day off. But they escalated quickly, her voice rising in frustration, yours trying to keep up.

“I’m trying to help you,” you said one night, your voice cracking under the strain.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she shot back, her eyes blazing. “You think you can just fix everything? Newsflash: you can’t.”

Her words hit you harder than they should have. Maybe because deep down, you’d started to believe she was right.

The nights after those fights were the hardest. You’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence between you louder than any argument. Paige would sit on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, the weight of her regret pressing her down. She never apologized—not with words, anyway. Her apologies came in the form of a soft kiss on your shoulder, a whispered “goodnight” that barely reached your ears.

But you started to wonder if love was supposed to feel this heavy.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love her. God, you loved her. Even when she was angry, even when she pushed you away, even when the weight of her world started to crush you, too. But love wasn’t enough to keep you from drowning.

The night it all came crashing down, the snowstorm outside was unforgiving, a whiteout swallowing the world whole. You stood in Paige’s apartment, the dim light of her living room casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. The heater rattled and hissed, struggling to keep the space warm, but it couldn’t touch the frost between you.

Paige sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands gripping her hair so tightly you thought she might pull it out. Her breathing was uneven, each inhale sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said finally, her voice cracking on the last word.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of her statement hitting you square in the chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something like that, but tonight it felt different. Final.

“What does that mean?” you asked, your own voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it.

She looked up at you then, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, her face a mask of exhaustion. “It means I’m tired,” she said. “Of… of everything. Of trying to be everything for everyone and failing every single time.”

“Paige,” you began, stepping closer, but she held up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” she said sharply, and the venom in her voice made you stop in your tracks.

“I’m not one of them,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, Paige. I’ve never asked that of you.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound so hollow it made your stomach churn. “But you expect me to be okay,” she said, her words like knives. “You expect me to keep it together, to let you in, to… to lean on you like that’s supposed to fix anything.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “To want you to let me help? To not have to feel like I’m walking on eggshells every second I’m around you?”

Paige stood abruptly, her sudden movement startling you. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ll never get it. You don’t know what it’s like to have the whole damn world waiting for you to screw up. To know that no matter what you do, it’s never gonna be enough.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to respond.

“You’re right,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t get it. I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I do know what it’s like to love you, and to feel like I’m not enough for you.”

Paige’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked at you like she wanted to say something. But then her expression hardened, her walls slamming back into place.

“Maybe you’re not,” she said, the words so quiet they almost didn’t register. Almost.

You froze, your heart dropping into your stomach. “What?”

Her eyes were cold now, her shoulders tense. “Maybe you’re not enough,” she repeated, louder this time. “Because if you were, I wouldn’t feel like this all the time. I wouldn’t—” She stopped herself, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. “Forget it.”

“No,” you said, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say something like that and then just walk away.”

Paige turned away from you, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t mean it,” she muttered, but the damage was already done.

“Yes, you did,” you said, and the finality in your tone made her turn back to face you. “You meant it, Paige. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not enough for you. But I’ve been trying. I’ve been here, through everything, while you’ve been pushing me away and blaming me for things I can’t control.”

She didn’t respond, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in her neck.

“You want to be alone so badly?” you said, your voice breaking. “Fine. Be alone. I’m done trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Paige didn’t move, didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you. And that silence said more than words ever could.

You grabbed your coat, your movements mechanical as you headed for the door. Your fingers fumbled with the handle, but before you stepped out into the freezing night, you turned back one last time.

“I loved you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I hope you know that.”

And then you left.

The cold hit you like a slap in the face, but it didn’t compare to the hollow ache in your chest. You walked away from her building, your breaths coming out in shaky puffs of air, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

But as you disappeared into the snowstorm, you couldn’t shake the image of Paige standing in that living room, alone with her anger and the ghosts she refused to let go of.

It was summer in Connecticut, the kind of evening where the world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a twilight haze. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, casting a warm, nostalgic glow over the small lake where Paige had driven you after practice. She had her hand on the back of your neck, her thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin as you leaned against her car, watching the water ripple in the breeze.

“This is the spot,” she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent.

“The spot for what?” you asked, turning to face her.

“For when it gets too heavy.”

Paige rarely talked about the weight she carried—her expectations, her relentless drive to be more, to be better. But you could feel it in her sometimes, the way she’d go quiet after games or the way her smile would falter when she thought no one was looking.

You followed her gaze out over the lake. It was still, reflecting the sky like a mirror, and for a moment, the world felt smaller, safer. Paige tilted her head back against the car, her eyes closing as she took a deep breath.

“You ever feel like you’re just… spinning?” she asked softly.

“Like everything’s moving too fast, and you can’t get off?”

She opened one eye, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, like that.”

You laughed, the sound breaking through the stillness like the first notes of a song. “All the time.”

Paige turned to you then, really turned, her gaze heavy and intense in that way that always made your heart stutter. She reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Her hand lingered, her fingertips brushing against your cheek.

“You make it stop,” she said, so quietly you almost missed it.

“Make what stop?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely, her other hand cutting through the air like she was trying to grab hold of something intangible. “The spinning. The noise.”

Her eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, you felt the full weight of her, the vulnerability she rarely let anyone see. Paige Bueckers—the golden girl, the superstar—looked at you like you were the only thing holding her together.

And maybe you were.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours. “Sometimes I feel like I’m on this carousel, you know? Like I can’t get off, even when I want to. But when I’m with you…”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “When you’re with me, what?”

“I forget about it,” she said, her voice cracking just a little. “I forget about everything else.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever, the two of you wrapped in a quiet moment that felt too fragile to last. Paige’s hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the soft rise and fall of your breaths.

“Promise me something,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple.

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave. No matter how bad it gets, don’t leave.”

You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your heart breaking at the vulnerability etched across her face. “I won’t,” you said, the words heavy with meaning.

Paige kissed you then, slow and deep, her hands framing your face like you were something sacred. And for a moment, the world did stop spinning.

Later, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and the stars began to flicker into view, you lay on the hood of her car, her arm wrapped tightly around you. She traced constellations in the sky with her finger, whispering their names like secrets only you were meant to hear.

It was moments like this that made leaving unthinkable. Paige could be selfish, distant, and infuriating, but she was also this—the girl who made you feel like the center of her universe, if only for a little while.

And that’s why, even now, with the carousel spinning faster than ever, you knew that if she called, you’d pick up. You’d step back into the whirlwind, the heavy gaze, the endless cycle.

Because Paige had a way of making you believe in the calm between storms, in the stillness of a summer night by a lake that felt like it belonged only to you.

Paige had this way about her—a pull that felt almost gravitational. It wasn’t just her talent, though that was undeniable. It wasn’t even her looks, though you’d be lying if you said her golden hair and sharp blue eyes didn’t make your stomach flip every time she turned that full-force charm your way. It was something deeper, something intangible. Paige made you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be. Especially when you didn’t want to be.

She’d waltz into a room like she owned it, every movement effortless, every smile calculated but somehow still genuine. Paige Bueckers had the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance, but with you, it softened. She let you see behind the curtain—the cracks in her armor, the moments when the golden girl wasn’t so golden.

And God, those moments were everything.

You remember one night in particular, when the weight of everything had been too much for her. The team had just lost a game they were expected to win, and Paige had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire bus ride back. You’d waited until everyone else had cleared out of the locker room before approaching her, unsure if she even wanted you there.

But the second she saw you, something in her crumbled.

“I can’t,” she’d whispered, her voice shaking as she sank onto the bench. “I can’t keep doing this.”

You didn’t say anything, just sat down beside her and pulled her into your arms. She clung to you like a lifeline, her tears soaking into your shirt as you ran your fingers through her hair, whispering soft reassurances.

It was moments like that when you realized just how deeply Paige had wormed her way into your heart. She wasn’t just the superstar everyone else saw; she was vulnerable, complicated, and so achingly human. And she trusted you with that side of her—a side no one else got to see.

But it wasn’t just the heavy moments that kept you tied to her. It was the good ones, too—the nights she’d show up at your door unannounced with takeout and a goofy grin, insisting that you needed a break from studying. The way she’d drag you to the park at midnight just to lay on the grass and stargaze, her hand intertwined with yours as she pointed out constellations you’d never heard of.

It was the way she looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

Paige had a way of making every moment feel electric. When she kissed you, it wasn’t just a kiss—it was an event. Her hands would cradle your face like you were made of glass, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. And when she smiled at you afterward, that lazy, lopsided grin that was so uniquely hers, it felt like the world had been set right again.

You knew it wasn’t healthy. Paige could be selfish, possessive even. She wanted you on her terms, when it was convenient for her, when she needed someone to hold her up. And you let her, because when Paige loved you—even if it was only halfway—it felt like the sun had risen just for you.

You told yourself that you were the one who truly knew her, the one who saw the real Paige beneath the accolades and the golden glow. And maybe that was true. But knowing her didn’t make it hurt any less when she started to pull away.

Because Paige Bueckers had a chokehold on you, and no matter how much you wanted to let go, you knew you never really could. Even now, with everything that had happened, all it would take was one call, one look, and you’d be hers again, no questions asked.

That was the thing about Paige—she was a storm, unpredictable and destructive, but you couldn’t help but stand in the rain, hoping for just a little more sunlight.

The air was thick with warmth and laughter, the kind of joy that buzzed around a room full of people who felt like family. Paige had insisted you come to the team hangout, her eyes softening in that way that always made it impossible to say no.

"It'll be fun," she had promised, lacing her fingers through yours. "And Azzi will be there, so you won't feel out of place."

You swallowed back the irony now, standing on the fringes of the crowded living room as Paige and Azzi shared a quiet laugh across the room. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen them together, their bond growing closer in ways that should’ve been comforting. It should have made you feel secure—Paige having someone who understood her world, who could shoulder the weight of the same pressures.

But it didn’t.

It hurt.

Azzi’s laugh was the same pitch as Paige’s, soft and genuine. The way Paige leaned in when she spoke, her eyes crinkling at the corners, was painfully familiar. You’d seen that look a thousand times before—directed at you. Once.

You stayed pressed against the wall, your drink warming in your hand as you watched them. It wasn’t just the way they talked, like no one else was in the room, or the casual touch of Paige’s hand against Azzi’s arm. It was the comfort, the ease. The way Paige smiled at her, unguarded and free.

You’d been here before. In the passenger seat of her car during late-night drives. On her couch, curled up with her hoodie draped around your shoulders. Sharing secrets that felt too heavy to speak aloud. It was supposed to be your safe space—yours and Paige’s.

Now, watching her light up for someone else, you couldn’t help but feel like a ghost. A witness to something that wasn’t meant for you anymore.

Azzi said something that made Paige throw her head back in laughter, her hand brushing Azzi’s knee as she doubled over. The sound echoed in your chest like a bullet ricocheting off hollow walls.

And you died slow.

The walls of this house weren’t hers, but they may as well have been. Paige had a way of haunting every space she occupied, leaving pieces of herself in every laugh, every look, every touch. But tonight, it felt like you weren’t welcome in the hallways of her haunted home. You were an intruder in a space you used to know intimately.

The toughest part wasn’t the way she drifted to Azzi like a planet pulled into a stronger orbit. It was the fact that you both knew exactly why it was happening. Paige wasn’t trying to hurt you, not intentionally. She was finding something she needed—something you couldn’t give her anymore.

And it crushed you, knowing she wasn’t the person everyone else thought she was. She wasn’t just the golden girl with the easy smile and the killer jump shot. You knew the sharp edges, the flaws she tried to bury under layers of charm. The way she’d lash out when she was scared, the selfishness that reared its head when she felt cornered.

You knew her. Really knew her. And you still stayed.

Stayed when she’d shut you out after a bad game, refusing to talk for days. Stayed when her ambition left no room for you, when she forgot birthdays and date nights and promises. Stayed because Paige wasn’t just the bad parts.

She was also the Paige who kissed your knuckles when you cried, who brought you flowers "just because." The Paige who whispered “I love you” like it was a secret meant only for you.

But now, watching her laugh with Azzi, you wondered if you’d stayed too long. If you’d held onto someone who wasn’t yours anymore.

Paige glanced over, catching your eye for a brief moment. She smiled—polite, distant. And then she turned back to Azzi, her attention snapping back like a rubber band.

It hit you then, the final blow.

Paige’s world had shifted, and you weren’t the center of it anymore. You were the afterthought. A memory of a time when she was still figuring out how to carry the weight of her life.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder if maybe Paige wasn’t yours at all. Maybe she never really had been.

There’s a cruel intimacy to grief. The way it finds you in the smallest moments, in the cracks of your routine, in the way the wind moves through the trees or how a song starts playing in a grocery store. Paige is everywhere in Connecticut. Or maybe she’s everywhere in you.

You tried to move on. God, you really did.

At first, it was sheer force of will. You buried yourself in work, in plans with friends who didn’t know Paige beyond the headlines. You deleted her photos off your phone, shoved her sweatshirt to the back of your closet where the scent of her—a mix of fresh linen and something indefinable—couldn’t haunt you.

But grief has a way of sneaking back in. It wasn’t the big things that unraveled you; it was the little ones. The way every basketball game you flipped past felt like her shadow. The sound of laughter at a bar that hit the same pitch as hers, making your chest tighten with phantom warmth.

And God help you, it was the moments when you wanted to hate her but couldn’t. Not when you’d catch yourself remembering how she used to light up at the simplest things—pancakes on a lazy morning, a dumb joke that wasn’t funny but made her laugh so hard she’d double over.

Then there were the rumors. Whispers and Instagram stories. Paige and Azzi—courtside banter turned into something more. The first time you saw it, you scoffed, dismissing it as gossip. Paige always had a way of pulling people into her orbit, Azzi included.

But then came the photos. Nothing overt, nothing scandalous. Just Paige leaning too close during post-game interviews. Azzi’s hand on her shoulder, casual but deliberate. They weren’t trying to hide it, but they weren’t broadcasting it either.

The night you saw it, you stared at your phone for too long, trying to decipher the ache in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. You hadn’t expected Paige to wait for you, not when she had the kind of life that moved at the speed of light. But it was the simplicity of it that hurt the most. The way Paige could give Azzi the pieces of herself you’d fought so hard to hold onto.

You spent the rest of that night curled up on your bed, scrolling through her photos until the light from your phone burned your eyes. By the time you fell asleep, the only thing you felt was exhaustion—the kind that settled in your bones and didn’t leave.

And now, it’s Christmas Eve.

You’re back in Connecticut, surrounded by family and the kind of warmth that’s supposed to feel comforting. But it doesn’t. Not entirely. The house is decked out in garlands and twinkling lights, your mom’s favorite holiday playlist drifting faintly from the kitchen. Your siblings are laughing over some board game you’ve never liked, and you’re standing by the window, watching the snow fall.

It’s quiet in your corner of the house. Too quiet.

The phone in your pocket buzzes. Once. Then again.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Paige’s number is burned into your memory, as familiar as your own name. Your chest tightens as you pull the phone out, the screen glowing with her name. It’s been a year since you last spoke. A year of awkward smiles at mutual friends’ events and polite nods when your paths crossed. A year of trying to forget the sound of her voice, the way she’d say your name like it was something precious.

You should answer. Or maybe you shouldn’t.

The buzzing stops, and you think it’s over. But then it starts again, more insistent this time. She doesn’t leave voicemails anymore. Just lets the silence hang in the air between calls.

Your hand hovers over the screen, your breath hitching as the familiar ache rises in your chest. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the cold seeping through the windowpane, on the distant sound of your family laughing.

When the buzzing stops again, you shove the phone back into your pocket.

Merry Christmas, Paige. But I can’t do this. Not tonight.

You turn away from the window, your heart heavy with the weight of all the things you’ll never say. The snow keeps falling, covering the world in glitter and glassy silence. Paige is still everywhere, even when she isn’t. And you?

You’re still trying to move on. Still waiting for the day when the sound of her name doesn’t feel like a knife twisting in your chest.

The night stretches on, slow and agonizing, the kind of quiet that sinks into your skin and keeps you awake for all the wrong reasons. You sit by the fireplace long after your family has gone to bed, the flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. Your phone sits heavy on the armrest, as if its weight could pull you under.

You wonder what she wanted to say.

Paige wasn’t one for grand gestures, not outside the court. She wasn’t the type to pour her heart out over the phone, but you knew her well enough to read between the lines, to decipher the emotions she couldn’t put into words. And that was the worst part—knowing that whatever it was she wanted to say, it would hurt.

She’d moved on. You were sure of it. Azzi filled the space you used to occupy, and that should’ve been enough to keep Paige away. But here she was, her name lighting up your phone like some ghost that refused to rest.

You couldn’t stop yourself from picturing her—where she was, what she looked like tonight. Was she staring out her own window, watching the snow fall, her lips pressed into that familiar line of determination? Or was she somewhere loud and bright, surrounded by the buzz of life, calling you from the edges of a party she didn’t really want to be at?

The questions gnawed at you, each one another layer of hurt you couldn’t shake.

You thought about the last Christmas you’d spent together, curled up on the couch in her apartment, the world outside forgotten for a few stolen hours. Paige had draped an arm over your shoulders, her face buried in your neck as she mumbled something about how she wished every day could feel like that—quiet, safe, yours.

But nothing stayed quiet with Paige. She lived in a whirlwind, and you’d gotten caught in the eye of the storm. You let her pull you under because you thought, for a moment, that you could save her.

Instead, she left you drowning.

The fire crackles, breaking the silence, and you blink back the tears threatening to spill.

You reach for your phone, your thumb hovering over her name. It would be so easy to call her back, to let her voice fill the space between you. She’d say something half-apologetic, half-charming, and you’d forgive her like you always did, because how could you not?

But you don’t.

Instead, you turn the phone off and set it face-down on the table. The room feels emptier without its glow, but you welcome the darkness.

There’s something profoundly cruel about December. The way it promises joy wrapped in ribbons and snowflakes but leaves you colder than before. It’s a month of ghosts, of memories that slip through your fingers like frost.

And Paige? She’s the cruellest ghost of all.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[kiwriteswords]

hi! i love your hotch x shy!reader fics! and i was wondering if you could make an angsty fic about the reader n hotch like shy! reader made a mistake during a case and hotch is very protective over her? (like they get into an argument) and please a happy ending! thank you!

Hi!! Thank you!!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I hope this was what you were looking for!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 800

Rating: Everyone

TW: Canon-typical themes

The Weight of Mistakes

The air in the conference room felt stifling as the BAU team gathered around the table. They were mid-case, and things were tense, to say the least. The unsub was proving difficult to track, and time was slipping away. You had made a critical mistake — one that had cost the team precious hours. It had been a small oversight, but in a case like this, small mistakes were magnified tenfold.

You kept your eyes on the file in front of you, heart pounding, barely able to focus as Hotch gave his final instructions before sending the team out again. Your nerves were frayed, and you could feel the weight of his disappointment looming over you. Hotch was protective, fiercely so, but he was also firm when it came to the job.

As the meeting ended, you hurried out, hoping to avoid any confrontation. But you barely made it to the hallway before you heard his voice.

"Y/N, my office. Now."

You swallowed hard, nodding and following him. The walk to his office felt like an eternity, your stomach churning with anxiety. Once inside, Hotch closed the door softly, which somehow made it worse.

He stood by his desk, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "What happened today?"

Your voice was small, barely a whisper. "I—I didn't double-check the data, and I misread the location."

"That mistake nearly cost us a witness," Hotch said, his voice tight. "You know how important it is to be thorough."

The weight of his words felt like a punch to the gut. You nodded, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. You hated how small and insignificant you felt in moments like this. "I'm sorry," you murmured, barely able to meet his gaze. "I—I didn't mean to—"

"Y/N," Hotch interrupted, his tone softer now, but still firm. "You can't be this careless. Not in the field, not when lives are at stake."

You flinched, his words cutting deeper than you’d expected. You knew he was right, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Your insecurities swelled, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

"I’m sorry I’m not like the rest of you," you said, voice trembling. "I’m not as confident, or experienced, or… or perfect."

Hotch’s eyes softened, and he took a step toward you, his voice low. "Nobody's asking you to be perfect."

"But I keep messing up," you said, finally meeting his gaze. "And you... you’re always watching me, waiting for me to fail, and I hate it."

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, there was only silence between you. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer, closing the distance. "I’m not waiting for you to fail. I’m watching because I care. Because I know how much you push yourself."

You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re harder on yourself than anyone else could ever be. And I see that. But today… today scared me. You could have been hurt."

It clicked then. The protectiveness in his tone, the frustration, the way he hovered when you were in the field — it wasn’t about your abilities. It was about him caring. A lot.

Your breath hitched. "I—I just don’t want to disappoint you."

Hotch's expression softened even more as he reached out, gently cupping your chin, lifting your gaze to his. "Y/N, you don’t disappoint me. Not ever. But you have to trust yourself. You’re part of this team for a reason."

You felt the tears welling up again, but this time, they weren’t from shame or guilt. They were from relief, from the overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as inadequate as you thought.

Hotch’s thumb brushed your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender. "You made a mistake. We all do. But it’s how you move forward that matters."

You nodded, the tension slowly unraveling from your chest. "I’ll do better," you whispered.

"I know you will," he said, his voice low, almost soothing. Then, after a beat, he added, "But I’m still going to watch over you. I can’t help it."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that day, you felt lighter. "I think I can live with that."

Hotch’s lips quirked up in a rare smile of his own, and before you knew it, he pulled you into a hug. It was brief but comforting, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you pulled away, he looked down at you, his expression soft but serious. "Just… don’t ever think you have to be perfect. You’re enough, Y/N. Always have been."

Your heart swelled at his words, and for the first time in a long while, you believed them. With Hotch at your side, you knew you’d be okay — mistakes and all.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

hey love

I didn’t exactly know if ur requests are open, so if not then please just ignore this <33

I need comfort so bad, but I already read so much fics and find find new ones lmao.and don’t let me start with ur writing, everything u write especially angst is so good🥹❤️

so I have a requesttt:

Fem reader x Minho

where she has had depression before, but a he seemed to be getting better, like she talked more again, she ate better, she just seemed happier. But then all of a sudden it gets worse. Ofc min notices, but when he’s around she always tries to act happy and stuff. But one day he gets home sooner than expected and finds her sobbing and breaking down in the bathroom (lmao pls if ur confused, for some reason I always cry in the bathroom lol) and yea, I’m letting u decide how it goes then.

make it really angsty but with loooots of comfort too.

don’t stress with writing it, and if you don’t want to write it that’s totally okay❤️

take care of yourself, and have a great day/night. <3333

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Minho was meticulous. He noticed the tiniest details, the way your favorite mug shifted slightly to the back of the cabinet when you weren't feeling like tea, or how your laughter sounded softer, like it took more effort to push past your lips. And lately, he’d been noticing things he didn’t want to see- the way you seemed to retreat into yourself, the shadows under your eyes that your concealer couldn’t quite hide, the way your smiles didn’t quite reach those same eyes anymore.

But you always brushed him off whenever he asked.

“I’m fine, Min,” you’d say, your voice bright but fragile. “Just tired. Work’s been a lot.” And you’d give him that reassuring grin, the one you’d perfected, the one you thought could fool him.

He’d let it go, though he hated himself for it, because he didn’t want to push you too hard.

Although he feels that maybe he should have pushed you harder to seek help, before it got worse.

Today was supposed to be no different. Minho had a packed schedule with rehearsals and meetings, so you were confident you’d have the day to yourself. Alone, you didn’t have to wear the mask. Alone, you could let the weight crush you, let the tears flow freely.

It had been a long time since you felt weightless. Not the weightlessness that people romanticized, no. They simplest type of weightlessness. Like you could draw in a breath without fear of suffocation. Like you could close your eyes with the excitement of opening them the next day. The type of weightlessness where you could simply live.

It started small: an ache in your chest that grew and grew until it felt like a gaping hole. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a burden you must be with your depression; how your progress had crumbled, leaving you worse off than before. The spiral was quick and suffocating. Before you knew it, you were sitting on the bathroom floor, knees drawn to your chest, sobbing into your hands. The cold tile pressed against your legs, grounding you slightly, but not enough to stop the flood of thoughts.

You didn’t hear the door unlock. You didn’t hear Minho’s footsteps. The first thing you registered was his voice, soft and hesitant.

“Y/N-ah?”

You froze. Panic set in as you frantically wiped at your face, trying to compose yourself.

“Ah. Minho? What are you doing home so early?” you called out, voice strained. You continued to wipe your eyes, hoping that you could buy yourself enough time to look presentable. "Sorry I'm in the middle of-"

He didn’t wait to hear your response. Instead, the bathroom door creaked open. His expression when he saw you broke something inside of you.

His sharp eyes, usually filled with teasing or affection, were wide with worry. He crouched down in front of you without a word, his hands hovering near yours as if asking permission to touch you.

“Jagiya,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?”

Your chest tightened, and fresh tears welled in your eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you whispered. “You’re so busy, and I didn’t want to-”

“Stop,” he cut you off gently but firmly. He reached out, his hands cradling your tear-streaked face. “Stop thinking like that. You could never be a burden to me. Do you hear me? Never.”

The tenderness in his voice unraveled you completely. You broke down again, and this time, Minho was there to catch you. He pulled you into his arms, his grip steady and unwavering. You found yourself curling into his lap as he leaned against the toilet.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m here. You can cry.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, your sobs muffled against his shoulder. He rocked you gently, humming a soft tune, his hands stroking your back in soothing patterns. He didn’t rush you, didn’t tell you to calm down. He just let you feel.

When your cries finally subsided, leaving you exhausted and shaky, Minho pulled back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushed away the lingering tears on your cheeks.

“I thought I was getting better,” you confessed in a broken whisper. “I thought I was okay, but now it’s worse, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Minho’s gaze softened, and he cupped your face again. “It’s not about fixing it,” he said. “It’s about taking it one day at a time. Some days will be harder than others, but you don’t have to face them alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Because you're not broken Y/N. You just need a little guidance. Thats all.”

You nodded, though doubt still lingered in the corners of your mind. “But what if I-”

“No,” he interrupted. “No ‘what ifs.’ We’ll deal with whatever comes, together. Promise me you’ll let me in next time. I need you to let me help you.” He blinked at you, his mouth in a straight line. "Okay? Because I love you."

The sincerity in his voice broke through the wall you’d built around yourself. You nodded again, this time with a small spark of hope.

“I promise,” you whispered.

Minho smiled, a rare, soft smile that was just for you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. 

“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s get you out of here, okay? The bathroom floor isn’t exactly the coziest spot.”

You let out a watery laugh, and he helped you to your feet, keeping an arm around you for support. He guided you to the couch, where he wrapped you in a blanket and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup of tea and some of your favorite snacks.

“Eat,” he said, sitting beside you and pulling you close, to where you two were almost molded together. “And then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

For the first time in days, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter, even if it was just temporary. With Minho by your side, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could get through this.

As the night went on, Minho stayed close. He didn’t just hover; he engaged you, talking about anything and everything- his latest dance routines, funny stories from practice, even the drama among the cats at home. The warmth in his presence was infectious, and you found yourself smiling more than you expected.

When it was time for bed, Minho tucked you in and slid in beside you. He didn’t say much, just held you close, his arms protective and comforting as he cradled you from behind. Before sleep claimed you, he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. No matter how hard it gets, I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt safe. Truly safe. And as you drifted off, wrapped in his embrace, you dared to believe that things could get better.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

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@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

[mochinomnoms]

*slides in* PTM!Silver you say? Please elaborate! I love Silver. He's so handsome! And his arms! The sprites don't do him justice, and i will forever be bitter about it. And they way his face can go from j gentle smile to his intense angry face. I feel like his mind would be mostly sweet daydreams. Hanging out in the woods with his head in your lap. Maybe even dancing in the forest surrounded by his animal friend (like in sleeping beauty when Aurora met Prince Philip) Or! Since he mentions that the Prefect might have some talent with swords. He daydreams about showing them the basics. Hands lingering on theirs while they grip their sword. helping them correct their form as an excuse to hold them close! He has such a serious face. But he fantasized cute little outings.

Any lewed thoughts, I think, would be more like wet(day) dreams. Maybe you were taking a nap with him, and He's was just dozing off thinking how pretty you were. How nice your voice sounds. It's soothing to him. And the way you just sighed and stretched. Now, his mind is else where.

He thinks how beautiful you'd be while he gently rocks into you. Would you stroke his hair like when he naps on your lap? Would you sigh and groan like when you woke up from a nap together? Would you kiss him when youre close to your release and tighten your legs around his waist when he cums in you- he snaps awake. He shouldn't be having such thoughts to his Lord's friend. To His friend. That would be disrespectful. While he was in turmoil beside you, you are desperately trying to face away from him and hope he doesn't see your flustered face. I'm sorry I forgot how obsessed i am with Silver >~<

Refering to this post

I didn't have too much interest in Silver when I started writing PTM, so while he was one of the last options for the fic (mostly because he fit the personality of the manga lead I took inspiration from) I kinda tossed him out right away cause Jade was more appealing and funnier.

I think if I had written it with Silver, your thoughts here would probably match up! He is a lot softer to me so i would imagine his thoughts would be soft when about you as well. I think the drama/conflict in this would be very different though! In Jade's case, it's such a remarkable difference between his personality and thoughts that it sends you into a loop! It's embarrassing (and flattering, though you won't admit it)! So you don't want to address that, and deny it, which only makes Jade want to chase you more!

In Silver's case, since PTM would be the next school year, the conflict comes from Silver not wanting to confess to his Lord's friend, someone the prince holds near and dear. What if he confesses and you reject him and distance yourself from him, will you distance yourself from the others as well, from Malleus? It's a bit irrational, he has to admit, but you are a kind and silly human who won the affections of the Briar Prince, and he is just a knight. What if Malleus were to invite you to his court? If you were to become a noble or diplomate or something similar for Malleus, you couldn't possibly be seen with some knight, can you?

Overall, I think Silver's version of PTM would've been a lot more angsty than Jade's, which does have it's own appeal!

[221bshrlocked]

Keep Your Religion

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 7630

Warnings: 18+ only. Starts off angsty then gets to the smut. Softer than usual Wolffe because that man would be madly in love when he finds his special someone. Lots of Kissing. Possessive Behavior/Words. Dirty/Sweet Talk..but mostly Sweet. Exhibitionism Kink if you like squint! Oral Sex (female receiving). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Slight Breeding Kink. Wolffe is insatiable yall!

Summary: You try to end things with Wolffe because you fear your relationship will end badly due to the rules set in place for the Jedi and the Clones. Wolffe convinces you otherwise.

A/N: Can you believe I finished another fic? Neither can I. It was about time for another Wolffe fic so here you go my lovely humans. I hope you enjoy. Comments are always always always appreciated so let me know how I'm doing please and thank you. I do apologize that I'm not tagging, it hasn't been working for some reason since post editor changed permanently to this new looking editor. I'll try to figure it out I swear! P.S. this is the second of hopefully many more submissions for @clonexreaderbingo

Something about seeing him so relaxed and loose tugged at the strings of your heart. It was a rare sight, one you thought he would only grace you with when the two of you are alone together. But here he was, throwing back whatever shit drink the bar offered him and his brothers, all the while smiling at Cody’s remark about the new shinies embarrassing themselves in front of Anakin and Obi-Wan. You’re nursing your own drink in the corner, trying to find the best possible way to approach the booth without making a scene. He’d told you before that almost everyone close to him knew of your relationship, but you felt weird about dropping the pretenses. You were his boss, after all. Well, not completely his boss, but a commanding officer regardless. If you started acting extra friendly, you’re not sure how the rest of the Wolfpack would take it. 

As you swirl the spotchka around, you suddenly feel like someone is watching you, hunting you even. There’s only one man who’s ever made you feel so heated and just as you look up from the glass in your hand towards the group of Clones you were previously studying, you notice Wolffe staring you down, the slightest hint of a smirk flashing at you in an attempt to get you to react to his attention. 

Normally, you’d enjoy the subtle flirtatious expressions, even tease him a little to get a rise out of him before escaping to the nearest room to lure him for a private moment. Or, as private a moment as 79’s can offer a Jedi Master and a Commander of the Grand Republic Army. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you came out to the Clone bar to decide the best way to end things with Wolffe. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you didn’t want to push your luck any further. Things were getting worse by the hour, and you couldn’t afford losing Wolffe all because some assholes in the Senate didn’t think he deserved to love or to be loved by someone. Then there was the matter of the Jedi Council, and how strict they were becoming. It was already frowned upon before the war, and it only took a few months into this galactic conflict for them to push their ideologies even harder on everyone at the Temple. 

You would never forgive yourself if they punished him simply because you couldn’t stand being far away from him any longer. You narrow your eyes at Wolffe and down the rest of your drink, disappointed in yourself for not having the guts to tell him earlier. 

And for knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to do it tonight. 

The smile on his face drops instantly when he notices you avoiding his gaze, and you curse yourself for ruining his night. It was going so well, and one look at you made the worry return to his mind again. 

Clutching your robes tightly, you pay the bartender quickly before excusing yourself and heading towards the bathrooms in the back. You could feel the tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the last thing you wished for is for someone to see you and make a huge fuss about it. As you push through the crowd, you feel those same pair of eyes hold you down harshly, as if they were refusing you permission to leave without confronting them. 

Quickly wiping your eyes, you push open the doors and turn around to lock them behind you, only to nearly bump into the chest of the man you were hoping to avoid tonight. You gulp nervously, and before you can say anything, Wolffe tilts his head to the side and studies you closely, his eyes roaming down your body to see if anything needs his immediate attention. 

When he finds nothing out of the ordinary, he takes a step closer to you and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it as he continues to back you up until you hit the wall. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to avoid me.” His gaze is direct, unfaltering in the haze of lust he was sending you under. You furrow your eyebrows and try to look anywhere else but him, but as always, he doesn’t give you the easy way out. Grabbing the bottom of your chin, he turns you until you have no choice but to look straight into his eyes and respond. 

“What if I was?” You’re not sure what pushes you to say something so defensive, but the chuckle it gets out of him makes you realize you had already lost whatever game he was playing with you. 

“I’d say you should have gone to another bar.” He’s right. You know this, and he definitely knows this too. The ease with which he continues to have an effect on you would normally be welcomed, but you’re pissed at him. Pissed for being so weak for him. For not bothering to put up a fight. 

“But here you are…at the one place you knew I was coming to tonight.” Wolffe leans down and nudges your temple with his nose, breathing in the scent of your sweat and perfume, and forcing you to reach for him so you don’t topple over from the sheer amount of control he has on you. 

“So tell me mesh’la, what have I done to deserve the cold shoulder?” He whispers the question in your ear, slowly sliding his hands down your body until they reach your waist. You’re having a difficult time breathing, and you moan his name as you throw your head back when he squeezes your hips and pushes his chest impossibly closer into your own. 

“I- you didn’t…it,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, let alone a sensical thought, when you’re so overwhelmed by his presence alone. You thought he would laugh at you, but when his breathing becomes nearly as erratic as your own, you understand that he was genuinely trying to figure out if he’s done something wrong. His methods seldom changed, and you weren’t surprised that he was trying to get you to talk by touching you as intimately as possible without tearing your clothes off. 

“Don’t tell me I did nothing wrong…sir. Something must have happened, or else you would be begging me to have my way with you right now. So what is it? What have I done?” Wolffe repeats again, making you feel guilty for your behavior and for what you’ve been thinking of doing since the last time you were together. You remind yourself that he deserves someone better, someone who wouldn’t compromise his position in the GAR all because of their messed-up religion. He deserved so much more than you. 

And the mere mention of your rank made it worse.

“W-Wolffe, I umm, I can’t do this anymore.” You know this was the last thing he expected you to say because in the blink of an eye, he’s removing himself from you completely and putting space between your shaking body and his own wound up chest. When you muster up the courage to look into his eyes, a shiver courses down your spine. 

It has been so long since he’s given you such a look, one that was filled with nothing but suspicion and guardedness. He’s quiet for longer than you like, and when you reach for him in an attempt to console him, his frown deepens and he twitches away from you. You hadn’t expected such a reaction to hurt this much, but it does, and like before, you have no control over the stream of tears rolling down your chin. Again, it’s not what he expects to witness from you, certainly not after what you just declared to him, and when you sniffle to get yourself under control, he closes the space between you more aggressively than before, slamming his hands on both sides of your face and clenching his jaws tightly when he sees you pouting at him. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done, I don’t. But I’m sorry regardless. I am so very sorry. Whatever it is, we can talk it out. It’s not worth throwing away all that we have. Please. Just- krifff…tell me what it is I have done, and I will get down on my knees right now and beg for your forgiveness. But don’t do this, don’t give up on us.” In all your time knowing Wolffe, you’ve never once heard him speak with such a tone. He was always assertive, confident and unwavering in his commanding presence. 

But the only thing you could feel now is his fear. 

“You did nothing wrong, it’s me…it’s all me Wolffe.” You know this won’t be enough for him, but you try to convince him regardless. Then he drops his head against your shoulder and you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday sweetheart. If you’ve ever held an ounce of respect for me, you’ll tell me what I did wrong. You owe me that much. I- I deserve to know.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was close to breaking down as well. 

“I do Wolffe, I respect you…more than anyone. You have to know that.” You hope he doesn’t turn away when you reach for him again, and as you cup his cheeks in the palms of your hands to raise his attention to you, you’re met with an expression you never thought you’d see on his features. 

“You haven’t done anything baby, it’s me. It’s…all me.” If you were a better person, you would have been consistent in your tone with him, but seeing him so torn down broke you, and you couldn’t not soothe him the way you always did whenever he comes back from a particularly difficult mission. 

“You deserve someone better Wolffe, someone who would never compromise your safety. Being with me is- it’s getting dangerous. The Council is becoming more strict…the Senate even worse. If they court martial you because you’re with me, I- I don’t know what I would do.” There’s something so gut-wrenching about the way he refuses to look away from your moving lips, and when you stop talking, he doesn’t blink once, his cybernetic eye focusing in and out before slowly blinking along with the other.

“Someone better?” It’s clear that he’s still hurt by the word vomit you threw at him, but whereas his voice showed it earlier, the shakiness and reluctance is gone now, replaced with a menacing, almost angry tone that you were too familiar with, one that you’ve witnessed during battle when his orders weren’t obeyed immediately. 

“I can’t give you what you want Wolffe, not without hurting you eventually…unintentionally. My- my religion, it’s becoming a threat to your well-being. It’s not worth the hassle. I am not worth the hassle. You could do so much better than-” Whatever you’re about to say gets lost in the damp air of the room as soon as Wolffe decides he’s heard enough of what was on your mind. He grips your neck tightly, winding his other arm around your back and violently pulling you into his embrace as he swallows your surprised shrieks. Your frown deepens for another moment before you surrender yourself to the possessive kiss, and Wolffe must feel you melting into his arms because he growls against your lips and claims your tongue without remorse. 

His hold on you only grows stronger when he feels your arms move to wrap around his neck, and when he’s sure you’re trying to get closer to him and not push him away, he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss, not caring for how messy or aggressive he’s being with you as he shoves his tongue past your lips and reminds you of what you could be missing if you got what you wanted and left him. 

As the need for air becomes difficult to ignore, Wolffe breaks the kiss and gives the two of you a moment of respite. When he opens his eyes and finds your orbs glistening with unshed tears, he swears beneath his breath and lunges for you again, the hand around your throat loosening for a fraction of a second before tightening around your jugular and forcing you to accept his rejection of your wishes. You moan into the kiss, allowing him to take whatever he wants from you, knowing that he wasn’t going to allow you to go through with whatever it is you thought you could get away with tonight. When he’s content with the reactions of your mind and body to his touch, 

“You nearly broke my heart, ner runi. Don’t ever say that to me again!” Wolffe refuses to let go of you, afraid you’d leave the room thinking that he agreed to the sentiment you dropped on him a second ago. When you say nothing in return, he shakes his head and crushes you into his arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in to attempt and calm his nerves. He prays that you give him some form of an answer that confirms your understanding of what he just said, but when you don’t, Wolffe sighs heavily and pulls back enough to take a better look at you. 

“Wolffe, we need to talk ab-” Again, he doesn’t care for what you have to say and cuts you off, letting you know that this was definitely the end of the conversation. 

“No, we’re done talking. You can keep your religion sweetheart, I couldn’t care less for its consequences…but don’t you fucking dare and ask me to abandon mine.” His voice is firm, the familiar unyielding articulation confirming to you that he’s already made up his mind on the matter. There would be no more on the matter. 

As much as you hate to admit it, it feels like a bantha has lifted one of its feet off your chest. You look into his eyes and find them filled with a more familiar emotion, one that kept you going ever since you confessed your feelings to him. You thought it would be difficult to get him to accept your proposition, but you realize then and there that it was definitely harder for you to come to terms with your initial thoughts. 

You slowly smile at him, and it must be what Wolffe needs to hear to forget the last few minutes because his touches become less crazed and more soothing, a level of intimacy you’re always yearning for when the two of you are away from each other for too long. 

“And what...what is your religion?” You barely find the attention span to ask, the familiarity of his touch and his voice sending you down a spiral of lust-filled thoughts that only increased the longer Wolffe remained in your presence. 

“Your body is my religion cyar’ika, and I’m not planning on losing my faith any time soon.” The confession is lewd, mostly because he’s using your weakness to drive the message home. But as dirty as the admission sounded on his lips, you couldn’t help but sink into his embrace, wanting to hear more of him so you could forget about why you were here in the first place. 

“Is that s-so?” You’re practically shaking in his arms, and Wolffe uses your momentary distraction to tug your robes apart and leave a trail of kisses down your neck to where he wanted to bite you most. 

“Yeah,” he licks at your skin, wishing with all his heart he could have you right then and there. It’s not as if the two of you haven’t fucked at 79’s before. He just knew that you both needed something more, something that he can only accomplish in the privacy of his rooms. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to excuse myself for the night, tell the boys I have to finish reports for the General.” He slips a hand underneath the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your waist until you slowly begin to roll your hips into him. 

“Ahuh,” you’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, your body already frozen with anticipation now that it felt his hands and his tongue leaving marks across it again. 

“Focus,” he squeezes your ass, shaking it twice to get you to open your eyes and look past the haze to obey his next commands. 

“Yes sir.” You bite into your lip and giggle when he narrows his eyes at you and mumbles something about punishing you for being a tease. 

“You’re going to leave shortly after, something about being needed back at the Temple.” Your stomach twists in knots when you realize he’s using his ‘Commander’ voice on you, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and mold your lips with his own when you remember the last time he used that same tone on you. 

What a night it was. 

“And where w-will I actually be going?” You ask as soon as Wolffe pulls you away and breaks the kiss. 

“My room baby, where you’ll stay for the rest of the night.” He says matter of factly, as if you shouldn’t even be asking his such a question. 

“Pray tell, Commander. What will we be doing that- oh kriff, that will require me to spend the night in your quarters?” You throw your head back when his hand slithers up your body and cups your breast through your Jedi robes. You can almost feel the heat radiating off the palm of his hand, and the harder he gropes you through your clothes, the more you wish he would just push you down on all fours and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Well, I don’t know about you sweetheart, but I’ll be practicing my faith...and worshiping every inch of your body until the only thing you can feel is me.” The smirk on his face would be menacing if you weren’t so used to it by now, and you gasp lightly when he leans down and bites the skin of your shoulder peeking from beneath your cloak. 

“Oh gods-”

“That’s it, moan for me cyar’ika. I want the whole fucking bar to know who makes you feel good.” Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and pushes his leg in between, slowly moving you back and forth on him to give you a preview of what’s to come tonight. 

“Wolffe, please. I need you.” You fall forward against his chest, whining for him as he continues to move you across his thigh and dares you to come from such a simple touch. 

“Oh, now you need me?” You know he’s joking without looking at him, but the question throws you off guard and you snap your gaze up to see if he was hurt by what you said previously. 

“I- I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“None of that.” Wolffe shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment by something so trivial. He slows down his touches but keeps you moving on him, hoping to distract you long enough to make this night a little better for the both of you. 

“Wolffe,” you call for him again, not in warning but in desperation, hoping that he can see how sorry you are for ever doubting what the two of you had. 

“That was cruel of me, forgive me sweetheart.” His voice is soft, so much sweeter than before, and you’re reminded by how quickly his mood changes whenever he senses you’re upset or angry. 

“How could you ask that when I am the one who hurt you?” You should drop it, everything that he’s done is proof that you should let this go and get back to more important matters, but you can’t stop yourself from asking him, wanting to know why he’s always so patient and caring with you when he was the one who deserved better. 

“You didn’t hurt me, cyare.”

“I did, I- I almost…”

“You could never hurt me, little one. Never.” Like before, he doesn’t care for whatever you have to say, not because he doesn’t value your words, but because he knows how difficult your relationship with him probably weighs on your mind. 

Even from the beginning. 

You study him for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. And you wonder how anyone could ever think him cruel and rude when he was so loving and unbelievably long-suffering. Without warning, you throw yourself at him, mirroring his actions from before and shoving your mouth against his own to feel grounded. He doesn’t waste a second, pushing you harder against the wall and sucking on your tongue until you were a moaning mess in his embrace. 

“F-fuck, if you keep that up, I won’t- kriff, I won’t hold back.” Wolffe rests his forehead against yours, trying to keep himself in check so he doesn’t end up embarrassing the two of you by what his body is willing to do. 

“Then don’t!”

“You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone can walk in and see you getting filled with my cock?” He shouldn’t be surprised by how wanton you are, and although he knows he should step away and put some space between you and him, he can’t help but retort with his own teasing comment. 

“Please Commander.” You lean up and kiss his jugular, nipping at the skin just above his armor and soothing it with another kiss before laying your head back and meeting his intense gaze. 

“Always playing dirty. Just for that, you’ll have to wait.” Wolffe clears his throat and eyes you up and down before taking a few steps back. He barely manages to hold back from laughing when you stumble forward and nearly lose your footing. You’re about to complain when he raises a hand and silences you, furrowing his eyebrows at you in an attempt to look intimidating. 

“Another word, and I won’t give you my cock tonight.” He warns calmly, smirking immediately when you shake your head and tell him you’ll be good.

“No please, I’ll stop. I’ll behave, I swear.” 

“You’ll behave-?” The question trails until the room is silent again and you know instantly what you said wrong. 

“Commander.” You whisper to him as you try to fix your clothes and hair so you don’t look like you were fucked against a wall by the Commander of the 104th Battalion. You don’t dare smile at him, afraid he’d misunderstand the gesture for another one of your teasing expressions and completely throw the night away. 

“Good girl, now do as you’re told and I promise to reward you.” He watches you saunter past him and before you unlock the door, he smacks your ass quite harshly, watching you closely to see if you were going to behave or retort like you usually do. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t dare give into his tricks, hoping to get through the next hour or so without getting distracted, or worse…caught. 

“Off you go.” He gestures for you to leave before him, and when you’re no longer in sight, he shuts his eyes and sighs in relief. Wolffe is not sure how the two of you got to where you are now, but considering the fact that he expected something like this to happen since you got together, he’s relieved that it was for reasons different from what his mind conjured up all those nights he spent alone in his bed. 

You walk out and move towards the bar again, your eyes roaming across the busy bar and waiting until Wolffe walks out before you make sure that no one noticed the two of you together. He follows you soon after, finding you almost instantly and winking at you before he heads towards his men. You watch as he tells Sinker to give him his helmet, and you assume they all roll their eyes not a second later because he told them he needed to get some paperwork done. 

But as soon as Cody looks at you, he knows what Wolffe is planning on doing, and before you can turn away from him, he raises his glass and smiles at you before downing the rest of his drink. You should be embarrassed at being seen, but something about the way the Commander gestures at you makes you smile, as if he was telling you that he hoped the two of you are okay. You shake your head at him and throw your hood up, walking to the Commander of the 21st Nova Corps to let him know you’ll be leaving earlier tonight. 

“Ah General, I was wondering when you’ll be joining us.” You smile at Commander Bacara and the boys, giving them a few credits to let them know the next two rounds were on you. 

“Sorry Bacara, I’m calling it early tonight. Needed back at the Temple!” You feel bad for lying to him, but as always, he doesn’t ask for an elaboration, telling you that he hopes you don’t have to do too much paperwork while you’re still on break. 

“See you later,” you nod at him and the others when they salute you, and just as you walk out of the bar, you vaguely hear them yell for the droid making its rounds to get them a round of quanya. 

“Hmm, didn’t peg them for the type.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the chilly Coruscant air, looking around to see if Wolffe was anywhere to be seen or if he has already left. When you don’t sense his Force signature nearby, you make your way towards the speeder bike Anakin lent you and bring it to life, trying your best to contain yourself so you wouldn’t be caught by another Jedi nearby. 

You make your way through the streets as quickly as possible, and when you make it to the Temple, you park the bike nearby and think of the best way to make it through the barracks without being seen by any of the Masters…or Commanders. 

It’s not the first time you entered the barracks, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange to see a Jedi making their way through the hallways. But it was nearly midnight, and you weren’t sure you could lie your way through a question if you were caught before you made it to Wolffe’s quarters. You’re about to reach out to the Force to see if anyone is awake when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. The familiarity of its warmness sets your mind at ease, and you take a deep breath before you turn to face him. 

“Commander.”

“General, is there something I can help you with?” He’s putting on a show for the surveillance cameras, and you clear your throat before you tell him something about wanting to review the plans for the next mission. 

“Very well,” he’s curt in his response, and you get the sense that he may be avoidant because he has about as much control around you as you do whenever you so much as hear the mention of his name. 

“Thank you, Commander Wolffe.” He nearly falters in his steps at hearing you call his name, and he swears beneath his breath as a way of warning. You nearly smile at his reaction, but you remember how closely the guards watch the cameras and you choose to switch your attention to the ground. Not another word passes between the two of you, and as you reach his room, you feel your heart threaten to leap out of your chest at the prospect of finally spending a night with him. 

Up until now, the two of you had to make do with stolen moments and short breaks, whether on missions or back here. Neither of you have ever spent the night alone, and you find it fitting that tonight would be it. It’s comforting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and as soon as you step into his quarters, you allow yourself to take in the calm before the storm. 

Before the door slides completely shut, Wolffe is on you like a moth to a flame, nearly ripping your clothes off of your body as he pushes you down onto his bed. 

“W-Wolffe, I-” You try to ask him why he’s so frantic and crazed all of a sudden but he lets go of you and stands to his height, making quick work of his armor in record time all the while keeping you still with the mere look in his eyes. 

“I can’t do slow tonight, can’t wait another fucking second without having you.” You always admired how much care he puts into his armor whenever he’s taking it off or putting it back on, so seeing him drop each pass to the ground sends a zap of lightning down your spine. 

You mirror his actions without another word, throwing your boots and socks away before struggling to take your pants off. Moments later, you feel the bed dip once Wolffe crawls towards you, his muscles flexing in such a menacing way that makes you fall back into the sheets and wait for him to tell you what to do next. 

But then he says nothing, and you’re torn between asking him what he needs from you and letting you do whatever the fuck he wants. He reaches for the edge of your pants and tugs them right down your legs, not once blinking as he violently takes your sweater off and throws it somewhere behind him. You’re left in nothing but your undergarments, and as you twist your arms to take your bra off, Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and makes space for himself in between. 

“I need you, now.” His voice should terrify you, it should be enough of a warning for what he has in store for you. But you find it exhilarating, knowing that only you could get him to lose this much control. You try to reach for him, wanting to feel his skin beneath the tips of your fingers, but Wolffe shakes his head and grabs both of your wrists in one hand, slamming them above your head and tightening the hold he has on them while he slithers his other hand down your nude body. 

“If it were up to me mesh’la, I’d tie you to this fucking bed and have my way with you whenever I want. I’d- kriff, I’d fill you with my cum every minute of every fucking day…so everyone would know you’re mine…so they know that I’m yours.” He teases you through your panties, rubbing lazy circles across the damp spot quickly becoming larger. 

“Wolffe, please…take me.” You whine his name in desperation, hoping he’d finally give you his cock and end your misery. 

“I swear to the maker sweet girl, I’m going to fuck you all night long…kiss every inch of you, mark you with my teeth and hands until you’re my very own altar. I’m going to worship you baby, but only if you promise me one thing.” Wolffe slips his fingers beneath the flimsy material of your panties, rubbing at your clit furiously to get you to focus on him and him only. 

“A-anything…anything Commander.” You turn to the side and kiss his forearm, hoping he’d see how willing you are to do whatever he asks of you. 

“Pray for me.” As you look bite into his skin, Wolffe pushes his hard dick into your cunt, not bothering to give you a moment to get used to being so full before he starts fucking into you with sharp thrusts. You’re screaming his name instantly, arching your back from the sheer amount of pain and pleasure he was bringing upon you so quickly. 

“FUck, there we go…such a good fucking girl for me, screaming my name so sweetly. Go on ner Jetii’ika, tell everyone who fucks you like the perfect cockdumb whore you are.” He leans down and bites the top of your breasts, letting go of your wrists for a brief second so he can rip the last bit of clothing shielding you from his hungry eyes. 

“Wolffe…f-ffuck, oh gods…Wolffe!” You twist your fingers into his bed sheets, crossing your legs behind his back and whining for him when he descends down on you and sucks on your nipple. His hand seeks out your own, and when he intertwines his fingers with yours, he grunts and growls against your skin, reaching for the other breast and groping you harshly until the only thing you can feel is his tongue, and his hands, and his cock wreaking havoc on you. 

Wolffe knows he should slow down, perhaps be a little less demanding with you. But something about seeing you in his bed when everyone else is asleep makes him more possessive, more needy with your body. And it didn’t help how you were reacting to his advances, how completely you surrendered your body to him without so much as a question. He opens his eyes and roams them over your already bruising skin, and when he finds you wanting for more, he increases his pace and fucks you until you couldn’t even breathe out his name. 

You sense his gaze on you, and as you look through heavy-lidded eyes, you find him completely focused on your dazed expression. 

“Wolffe, I- I love you.” You’re not sure what makes you say those words now, but a voice in your heart told you this was the right moment. You’ve spoken before about what this thing between the two of you was, and you knew, as well as he, that this would be it. There would be no one else, not for him, and definitely not for you. 

But you’ve never actually said those words out loud. You’ve said it in the way you kissed him, in the way you gave yourself to him…and Wolffe had pretty much conveyed them to you with every stolen glance and every quick touch he managed to sneak when the two of you passed each other on the General’s ship. 

Like before, Wolffe hasn’t expected to hear you part with such a confession, now of all times. He falters in his pace for a brief moment before he sinks his cock into you and stills completely, wanting to be as close and connected with you as possible when he finally said what he’s felt for you since you introduced yourself to him. 

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum…cyare.” You let out a quiet sob at the intimacy of the moment, and Wolffe wraps his arms around your neck and your waist to feel you against every bit of his skin. His thrusts are shallow, barely leaving you empty out of fear of losing this moment. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him flush against you, crying for him one last time as he seals your lips with his own and sinks into your wet cunt. 

The world comes to a halt around you, and all you can feel is Wolffe’s lips claiming your mouth just as he fills you with his seed. You come with him, shaking softly in his arms as his hot cum shoots into you and coats your walls with proof of his need to mark every fucking inch of you. It’s too much and not enough, and you push your heels into his ass in an attempt to bring him even closer to you. It’s not possible, you know that, but you want nothing more than to have him sink into your body until you weren’t sure where he ended and you began. 

Wolffe is fighting for his life, torn between giving you a second to breathe and quite literally stealing your breath to fill his lungs with your essence. He parts for a brief moment and looks at you, kissing your eyes softly before shoving his lips against yours again. You don’t dare ask him to give you a moment of respite, mostly because you’re sure you would miss him if he were to put space between your skin and his lips. 

Suddenly, the world turns around and you break the kiss unintentionally, gasping in surprise when he turns the two of you around until he’s laying on his back and you on top of him. You smile against his jaw when you feel his hands slide down your back and grab at your ass. As he starts moving your hips back and forth, you nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his scent, licking and kissing his skin the more he fucks his cum deep into your cunt. 

“W-Wolffe…”

“I’m not done with you yet, ner kar’ta.” The promise is both teasing and terrifying, but you can’t find it in yourself to hesitate, not when he was promising you the stars all night long. 

And he does, he brings you the heavens until you can no longer breathe without tasting the cosmos on your tongue. With every touch of his fingers, you beg him for more…more of his sweet words, more of his sinful kisses, more of his needy cock.

He fucks you until you lose your voice, and when he’s sure he’s rung your body of every ounce of pleasure it can offer him, he fucks you some more, filling your pussy until you were nothing but a mess, a mixture of his seed and your juices.

And then he pushes you down and parts your thighs to pull you apart with his tongue, and you feel that familiar heat rise in your chest all over again. You tug on his hair, torn between urging him to make you cum again and pleading for him to stop because you could no longer stand the pleasure. You were so sensitive, and Wolffe knew very well how painful the ecstasy was becoming, but some twisted part of him wanted to mark your cunt with his teeth and tongue as well. He wanted to devour you, body and soul. Your release comes in the form of a silent cry, and Wolffe laps up your mixed cum until you can’t take it anymore, softly pushing his shoulders away so he can slow down.

There is a lazy smile on your features, one that deepens further when you see Wolffe crawling on top of you and leaving a trail of wet kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Satisfied?” He dares to ask, lightly pinching your nipples when you don’t respond right away. You giggle at the touch, pulling him closer to you so he can kiss you some more. He melts into your body, roaming his hands across the tired muscles until he has no choice but to fall beside you.

You hum in response, studying his relaxed expression and laying the softest of kisses on his forehead before pulling him into your neck. Neither of you say anything, and only when your breathing steadies does Wolffe pull away to make sure you’re comfortable and asleep.

He sits up on his elbows and takes in his handiwork, biting his lower lip when he sees the bruises already forming all over your body. The contentment falters for a split second, but his worries evaporate when you sleepily reach for him and bring him back into your arms. He mutters his love for you one last time before surrendering to the comfort of your embrace, falling into a deep sleep almost as soon as he rests his cheek on your shoulder. 

It’s hours later when you wake, and you groan tiredly when the sunbeams hit your eyes and make it difficult to escape them. You turn to the other side and peek through your lashes, only to find Wolffe already wide awake, softly touching the length of your arm with his lips and nose, as if he was tracing every little mark he left on your body from last night. He looks up when he notices your breaths coming in erratically, winking at you and smirking at the sudden spirit of shyness falling over your tired form. 

“I can taste the sunlight on your skin.” He moans against your clavicle, lightly nipping at the skin over the bone when you turn away from him and hide beneath the sheets. 

“Hmm…such a smooth talker.” You groan from underneath the shield you’ve created, giggling like a little girl when Wolffe tugs them away and attacks your face with playful nips and kisses. 

“Only for you cyar’ika.” He whispers into your ear before biting at the space just below it, his touches becoming less playful and more needy as he takes in the way your body is reacting to his advances. 

“Wolffe, your lips feel so good.” You throw your head back and sink your nails into the muscles on his back, gasping for air the longer Wolffe continues to mark you up. It’s almost as if he was looking for spots on your skin he hasn’t left his bite marks or fingerprints on. Not that you were complaining. 

“Just my lips, General?” You can hear the smile on his handsome face, and you nearly push back to edge him on, but you realize it would serve you better to give into him and tell him what he wants to hear. 

“N-no, it’s everything you do to me Wolffe. It’s in your touch…your- your voice…your cock.”

“My little Jedi can’t get enough of me.” He shifts you in his arms until you’re laying on your stomach, and when you try to look back to see what he has in mind, he combs his finger into your hair and pushes you into the pillows until he has access to your back. When he hears whine his name, he descends down on you like a crazed man, sinking his teeth into the skin he wasn’t able to reach last night while pulling on your hair to remind you who was in charge. 

“Oh gods…never, Wolffe. Never. I want you all the kriffing time, even now…I just want you to- to,” you forget what you want to say, the need to commit this moment to memory outweighing whatever information your mind wanted to part with. It must be the reaction Wolffe was wanting for because he chuckles against your heated skin and finishes your thought for you. 

“Claim you?”

“Please.” You try to push the sheets away from you so you can feel him against your back, and Wolffe lets go of you for a split second to let you do whatever you wish, returning flush against you once you’re completely nude to his eyes. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, teasing you with the head of his hard cock while keeping a firm hold on your hips so you don’t move against him.

“Can’t really do that now, can I mesh’la?” He struggles through his words, his hungry eyes picturing all the things he still wants to do to you as you lay there beneath him, willingly submitting your entire self to him without a second thought. 

“You’re already mine, little Jedi. You’re mine, have been since you came here all those months ago and told me you wanted me.” He massages your back with his calloused hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that he will never be close enough to you. He’ll never get tired of this. He’ll never not want to touch you with everything he’s got. 

“But since you plead so sweetly,” you moan into the sheets as you feel him part your thighs and slowly sink his cock into your swollen cunt, keeping you filled to the brim and refusing to move until you begged some more. 

“Wolffe...” You reach back and tug on his hair to bring him closer to you, the need to hear what you do to him igniting a flame in your chest, one that only he could put out by showing you how much he craves you. 

“F-ffuck, you’ve ruined the mornings for me cyare. Now I- I won’t stop thinking of your wet, tight pussy when I…kriff, when I wake up.” Wolffe bites into your shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, no longer able to control his desires from you. He wanted you to know the effect you have on him, the hold you had on his very soul ever since you walked onto his ship and offered your aid all those months ago. 

“I’m yours Commander, always. Y-you can have me whenever you want.” You sigh heavily when he growls against your skin and continues to fuck into you without caring for how rough he’s being. 

“E-even at sunrise, General?” Wolffe chuckles as soon as your cunt clenches tightly around him at the mention of the honorific, letting you know that he enjoys calling you by your rank as much as he does when you moan his. 

“Especially at sunrise-” You barely manage to breathe out, smiling through the assault he was bringing on your body as you surrender yourself completely to him.

“My little tracinya,” Wolffe nuzzles into the crook of your neck, content with the way you seem to melt the harder he fills you with his cock. A part of him knows he should maybe discuss the incident from last night, but he finds it difficult to pay any mind to your words when he already has you so willing and wanting beneath him. 

Later, he would consider the little issue of your religion later. 

But for now, he was adamant on showing you his own.

[nicksbestie]

I have an angsty (self-indulgent) req…

I struggle heavily with superstition and pattern-based compulsions, and I was curious if I could get a Jake or Johnnie fic where one of them sees the reader getting stuck in a harmful pattern (trying to match pain from scratches on both arms, knocking on their head for good luck, trying to avoid cracks/lines on the sidewalk, etc.)

-🫠

Summary : You struggle a lot with your compulsions and mental health, but your boyfriend is always there to make sure that you can relax.

Pairing : Jake Webber/Reader (romantic)

Warnings : Harmful pattern based actions, superstitious behaviors

Word Count : 718

A/N : i've never written anything like this req, so i really hope i did it justice! if i didn't please give me constructive criticism! my inbox and dms are open if you ever need to chat <3

Superstitious and compulsion based behaviors were a lot to deal with, and you knew that better than anyone in your personal life. You had struggled with them really badly for a long time, and it had damaged a lot of your life. You considered yourself very lucky sometimes, though, because you had a lot more support now than you did in the past, and the support system that you did have was absolutely amazing. You had two amazing best friends, one of whom was your boyfriend, and having dealt with struggles in his life, he was always so incredibly kind with you.

He was always patient, gentle, much softer than he was on camera, and you appreciated his tenderness so much. You couldn’t have imagined a better life partner than the man that you were with right now, and you truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. Having been with him for upwards of a year now, he was able to recognize when you were beginning to struggle, and always able to gently calm you down, keeping you comfortable and feeling safe. He was perfect, and was always there when you needed him, like today. 

Today you were having such a difficult day, many different things bothering you and being just uncomfortable enough to cause you to become frustrated. You managed to hold it together until the evening, when you were laying down with Jake, and you automatically felt a little bit better because of the fact that you were with your boyfriend, who was your safe space and comfort person, but you were still not quite calmed down. Jake was rubbing your arms with his, you wrapped up against him, and he had no idea that he was going to unintentionally cause a near breakdown within the next couple of minutes. 

It wasn’t for another few moments before one of his nails caught the perfect angle to end up scratching your arm, causing you to gasp in pain and surprise, and him to immediately panic and apologize. He kissed right over the spot that he had accidentally created, attempting to soothe it. However, with how worked up you had been from your long day, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Jake’s heart broke when he realized there were tears forming in your eyes. He immediately wiped them away, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, hoping on everything that you would be okay. 

He hugged you tighter, whispering soft comforts while his hand was gently running up and down your arm, trying to massage the feeling of pain away, but all he was doing was making you aware of how uneven your arms felt, and he had no idea that he was making it worse until you had teardrops rolling down your face, trying to resist the urge to scratch your other arm, making it match the same pain so you could relax again. He wiped those tears away immediately as well, pressing a kiss on nearly every spot on your face, hoping to get a smile to break onto your face. 

Unfortunately, after a couple more minutes of those, you couldn’t take it anymore, and ripped out of his grasp, using your own nails to run down your other arm, tears steadily flowing. He immediately grabbed your hands, pulling you close into his chest and firmly but not harshly keeping your hands away from your arm, holding you as you gave up in his hold, sobbing. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be okay. It’s okay, honey, it’s okay…” 

He knew you probably weren’t processing a lot of what he was saying, so he simply repeated the same words of comfort, keeping you close to him and making sure you were wrapped up tightly in his arms, pressing kisses to the top of your head. The pressure was helping you relax and was also keeping you from hurting yourself, and he stayed like that until you stopped crying, wiping your tears away with his thumbs, holding you until you eventually exhausted yourself. He was the boyfriend who could easily pick you up, helping you to bed, and holding you until you fell asleep in his arms. You knew you struggled, but you also knew that he would always be here for you.

~ taglist : @jake-and-johnnies-slut @gvf23 @maddytheweird @707xn @elliem505 @ilydeaky @maryx2xx @oobleoob @aemrsy @jasperthefriendlyghostt

~ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here!

~ my inbox is open, come chat!

[gingermintpepper]

🌧️☔️

Oh man okay, sure!

🌧 - "Something angsty from your wip"

Featuring a snippet from one of my very many "Hyacinth's awakening" attempts:

His name is Hyacinthus Amyclus of Amyclae and once, he was a prince. He had been an auspicious prince, chosen by the gods themselves. Man of the People, they’d called him, the Sun Shepherd. He remembers because the sister in his mind wears braided laurels on her arm. Women weren’t to wear laurels. Not like the ones he’d had. He remembers the him who’d laughed at such a declaration, the shock in the eyes of the man who’d dared to question the habits of his prince and princess. If it were against divine law for a woman to wear her brother’s laurels then let the lord of the laurel come down from the heavens and tear them from her himself.  Yes, he’d laughed then. Had stood his ground, had protected his sister’s limited freedoms.  Maybe that’s why he’s here now. Alone. In the dark. With nothing but fading memories for company. He’d tested the gods one too many times and now he was condemned to hell.  “It’s not like you to be so self-pitying, Hyacinthus.” The memory of warm hands cling to him. Bright fingers which cup the edge of his jaw, a softer smile than that of his brother, a closer touch than that of his sister’s. It slips from his jaw down to his neck. Pinches the side of his throat. Right, of course. How could he regret questioning the gods when they were so damn annoying? A laugh like honey seeps into his ear, the scent of laurel and reed. “That’s better.”  This too is punishment. For which crime, Hyacinth can’t quite remember, but he was certain this was divine providence. Maybe his pride, for daring to possess a god. Maybe his hubris for believing he would be an exception to the fates.  “Now, that’s not entirely fair, my dear.” And him, with his aureate hair like the rays of the sun and his darkly shining eyes as rich and gold as the honeycomb. He, who lingers above Hyacinthus’ prone body even now, picking at his corpse and leaving marks on his death-pale skin, he was the cruellest punishment of them all. A teasing laugh like wind over the rolling hills, cold kisses that do not fill the aching emptiness carved and bleeding in Hyacinthus’ chest. He is the only thing that is more ghost than memory. His madness given golden form and domain over him, the only man he had ever bared his throat to over and over and over again.  “Is this not an eternity as I promised? Here, with me?”  Hyacinthus feels his cold hands on his throat, mere whispers of the heat his body recalls in that foggy once-upon-a-time of his memories. Fine hairs flower petal soft spill onto his forehead, must be making a blood stain of gold on the ground around him. There is no air for him to breathe, no muscle for him to tense and yet he is flush with bitterness anew. “I do not know where I am. Or how much time has passed. Or when next I will see my family.”  The impression of his palm is smaller than the one in Hyacinthus’ memory. Maybe, like his sister, this phantom too will break down and fade away. Maybe that is why he can no longer feel the overwhelmingness of his heat. “Those things lay deep in the domain of the dead. I cannot grant them to you.”  How many times have they had this exchange? How many more times would they say these things to each other?  “Then let me die. Pay my fee and let me die.”  Over and over again.

And ☔ - "Talk about/give a synopsis for a fic you'll probably never write"

Admittedly, there are a lot of those just because I have so many brainworms all the time but one of the concepts I've recently accepted will just remain a warm memory to go back to when I'm feeling down is a 5+1 fic with Ares and Artemis discovering, raising and releasing the Stymphalian Birds! I'm really interested in Ares and Artemis' entanglements and the many things attributed to them both and the Stymphalian Birds have always been cool (to me) due to their nature + their habitat as swamp dwellers! The idea of Ares having found (or created!!) these little demon chickies and panicking because they ate something they weren't supposed to so he panics and brings them down to Artemis who looks at him and his jar of chirping baby birds then metaphorically slams the door in his face gives me immense joy. Ares, of course, bugs her until she agrees to help him keep them fed which leads to Artemis teaching how to hunt, Ares teaching her a thing or two about Olympian politics and a very big brood of birds between them both! Very cute, but it'll probably remain in the drafts.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

(Kinda Angsty) Angela Shepard Headcanons

**Some of these have been lifted directly from my Angela Shepard fics on ao3**

-Shares a room with Curly and can’t fall asleep until he does, because the steady rhythm of his breaths as he sleeps has always been the most constant thing in her life

-That said, Curly also talks in his sleep and its always the most random/concerning shit and she finds it hilarious

-Has had HORRENDOUS nightmares and night terrors since she was a baby

-She used to go to Tim whenever she had a nightmare but on nights when Tim wasn’t willing to deal with her, she’d wake up Curly and they’d stay up talking for the rest of the night

-Whenever Curly gets sent to the reformatory she makes bad decisions. She shacks up with the wrong guy, intentionally gets into fights with their mother or tries to aggravate Tim and Sylvia, because Curly is her other half and without him around she’s ANGRY and HURTING and the only way she knows how to deal with that is to get hurt herself, because physical pain has always been easier for her to deal with than emotional pain

-Angela’s actions when Curly is incarcerated are part of the reason why Tim tries to keep Curly out of the reformatory as much as possible, because when the twins are separated for any stretch of time they’re straight up DEMONIC until they’re reunited and Tim does not have the patience nor the capacity to deal with their shenanigans when they’re both at their worst- and if HE can’t handle them, the rest of Tulsa certainly can’t

-Whenever Curly gets back from the reformatory the first thing Angela says is usually an insult or some sort of gripe about having to share their room again, then she grabs him in a hug tight enough to bruise. (Its the only time they ever hug each other, but Curly doesn’t shove her off because he’s been just as mental without her around)

-Both her and Curly stay sane (as sane as Shepard’s can be at least) whenever Tim gets locked up, but they’re both a little more on edge because Tim’s the only person who ever looked after them, and even though they don’t NEED to be looked after anymore it’s uncomfortable knowing the one proper adult who cares about them isn’t around. Angela still deals better than Curly, because Curly’s abandonment issues were worsened when their dad left 

-Sylvia is Tim’s best friend and the toughest girl on the east side. She took Angela under her wing and taught her how to survive as a girl on the rough side of Tulsa and she’s a big reason why Angela is as street smart as she is

-Is very small for her age, and uses it to her advantage. She’s avoided getting in trouble and being arrested multiple times because with her tiny frame and big blue eyes she’s really good at feigning innocence. The sweet little girl act doesn’t work on ANYONE who has met her more than once or who knows anything about what the surname ‘Shepard’ means on the east side

-Has (allegedly) stabbed three different men for making unwanted passes at her

-Started smoking when she was nine

-She and Curly used to fry ants on the sidewalk using pieces of broken bottles because they didn’t have a magnifying glass but wanted to see if it would work (it did)

-Shoplifts gummy bears at least once a day. Her sweet tooth is insatiable

-Worries about Curly because he’s softer than her no matter how well he hides it, which means its easier for him to get hurt 

-Is really good at math and physics but has no patience for any class that involves a lot of writing

-Has physically fought a lot of girls who pissed her off and never lost once

-Hides when she’s sick as long as humanly possible which often leads to her fainting at the most inopportune times. Multiple times Curly has had to carry her home and Tim gets pissed off every time. Curly and Tim only ever seem to agree when it comes to keeping her in bed until her fever is less than 104 degrees Jesus CHRIST Angel

-Got pregnant when she was fourteen and went to Sylvia to help her get rid of it. She never told her brothers about it and no one ever found out, although Curly could tell she was really upset about something for a while

-Hates her mother totally and completely. Curly’s biggest issues lie with their father, and Tim stopped caring about either of their parents years ago, but Angela has always and will forever resent her mother for being absent even while living in the same house

[13eyond13]

hello — do you have any death note fic recs that occur in the canon universe? they don’t necessarily need to be canon compliant, and i’d specifically prefer gen or lawlight. thank you so much :) your blog’s really fun to scroll through whilst putting off doing assignments

Aw, thank you anon! I quite like scrolling through my own blog too lol

And you got it, pal. I'd say it's about time I dust off my rusty fic recommending skills (I haven't been reading fanfiction regularly since probably about 2018, so these recs are not going to be the newest of the new, jsyk)...

Also, I'm ASSUMING this is the same anon who asked recently for fics a bit similar to

(X) Nights - youremyqueen [E, 400k+ words] L imprisons Light and then Light imprisons L and then L imprisons Light again. Sometimes they have sex, too.

? If not please forgive me, because I also used that as a guide when picking out these recs.

Also most of these recs are explicit and many of them are dark, so please check the tags and content warnings on the fics before reading them, just in case there's anything listed there that might be a dealbreaker for you! Should go without saying, but it's entirely on YOU if you end up reading something you're not comfortable with linked here, dear reader(s)...

--

CANON UNIVERSE + LAWLIGHT FIC RECS

SOME YOTSUBA ARC PWP ONE-SHOTS:

(X) Slap Fight - Shipaholic [E, 2k words] L makes a request. It gets out of hand. -(the girls are fiiiiighting...) (X) Love is an Open Door in My Ass - Shipaholic [E, 4k words] Matsuda gets very excited about an email forward. The task force despairs. -(technically meant to be taking place in the dramaverse, but you can easily imagine it as the anime/manga characters too. Rough sex but done with a lighter/softer tone) (X) Losing - Twyd [E, 2k words] L knows what losing feels like. -(depression!L is having a bit of a bad time... this writer makes L so quiet and sad and cute, and even though that's not often my cup of tea I still love everything they write) (X) Tresemme - Twyd [M, 2k words] L x Light slash. Set when they are handcuffed. Light just wishes L would dry his hair properly. He takes matters into his own hands. -(understated bittersweet fluff-smut) (X) Brilliant Bodies Disintegrate - Tartpants [E, 5k words] "L gives Light flesh made fact. L is the wayward flock for him to tend -- he’s Lucifer, the dawn-bringer, delivering light back to Light. Put bluntly, L’s the one who keeps shit interesting." -(L keeps being a big ho and making Light jealous on purpose to goad him into some rough sex-having, basically? Good if you liked that aspect of Nights...) (X)Trash Note - Tartpants [E, 3k words] "The character whose name is written in this note shall obey the writer’s every trash whim, no matter how out-of-character, preposterous, unsavory, carnal, humiliating, or cracktastic." -(if you ever want some goofy handcuffs smut that isn't taking itself too seriously at some point...)

SOME LONGER CANON UNIVERSE + LAWLIGHT FICS:

(X) Coexistence is Boredom - Sakurazukamori6 [M, 232k words] A new deathnote. A new plan for world sanctity. And an entirely misled Catholic clergy. Raito and L take their respective places on the sides of their own justice. A final battle waged in the Garden of Eden. -(This was my very fave Lawlight fic back in the 2000s, and a lot of it still holds up for me now and has a very special place in my heart even though it never actually got finished. I just love how L and Light and all the other characters are written in it, and appreciate that it can be angsty and suspenseful while still being funny and kinda lighter in tone for a canon universe Lawlight fic - it frequently makes me lol when I'm reading it. From what I remember it was the first fic that convinced me they'd potentially make a good couple beyond just unresolved sexual tension, too) (X) The Lies of Light Yagami - Kildeer [E, 38k words] “You’re pretty good Light, but I don’t see how you could hurt someone more with love than with death.” It was Light’s turn to smile as he leaned back in his chair. “Well then Ryuk, prepare yourself for a good show.” -(a bunch of missing scenes from the canon storyline, mostly smut. Very angsty and well done) (X) A Tithe to Hell - Aja [E, 34k words] Light has thirteen days to find out how it will feel--not just to kill, but to destroy. -(considered a fandom classic. I remember finding it intense and well-written, and that it also has a few interesting twists and turns) (X) Between the Black and White - Serria [M, 103k words] When L captures Light, he finds himself unwilling to relinquish his kindred spirit to the police, and instead has other plans to make Kira atone for his crimes. But the saga of Shinigami, genius intellect and old memories - BB - has only just begun. -(I haven't read it since it was new, and I don't think it ever got finished, but I remember this one being my fave of Serria's fics back in the day when I was a very fussy reader and only wanted to read fics set in the canon universe. Serria wrote a lot of great early Lawlight fics, and was my first friend in the fandom back in 2008 as well!) (X) A Cure for Love - halfpromise [M, 230k words] Light and L fall in love during the Yotsuba arc and Light's master plan is derailed when an assassin steals the Death Note. The threat of Kira is dwarfed when Kira's powers seem to have fallen into the hands of a terrorist organization known as Astraea and Light and L are united to find the culprit, but for how long... -(you've heard of the legendary Hinterland Doctrine fic series, now get ready for what I believe is halfpromise's very first fic? I don't think I actually read this whole thing so I don't know if it's finished, but I remember finding it fun to read her take on the canon characters too, and that what I did read had a pretty interesting plot and at times was quite funny as well)

[autisticlancemcclain]

thank u @zenstrike for the tag <333333333 i see ur mic and i'm elated about it

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

185! but i haven't updated in like a week and a half so we're probably closer to 190

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

556,104. i am very excited to watch it jump up when i finally finish my longfic teehee

3. what fandoms do you write for?

literally just voltron lol. well not counting baby me's wattpad lol. i started writing almost two years ago and just went ham basically. i've been intentionally avoiding things that i know i will get hyperfixated on bc i don't want to stop my writing obsession lol

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

ooooou i'm excited to check. i know it's changed quite a bit over time. i usually sort them by hits!

i will grind you to sand (beneath my louboutin heels) [voltron, 2573 words]: bamf lance fic where i give him a revolver and let him go ham basically

mr. snuggles [voltron, 1656 words]: one of my very earliest fics! lance, lover of weirdo animals, finds a demonic cat-sized spider and adopts it despite his friend's freakouts

he might not look like he gets bitches (but honey that dick was eleven inches) [voltron, 1136 words]: this one is so dorky lol but it's just secret relationship klance coming to light in the most embarrassing possible way

does anyone know where the love of god goes (when the waves turn the minutes to hours) [voltron, 4283]: a canon divergence au where lance is a seer and convinces the skeptics on his team of his abilities by ending the war

this is the part of me that you're never gonna ever get away) [voltron, 3262 words]: a lance & shiro hurt/comfort with a small autistic lance character study! i'm very proud of this one

5. do you respond to comments?

i definitely do on tumblr! it's one of the first things i do when i wake up actually. on ao3, though...i'm pretty sure i have about eight hundred unanswered comments sitting in my inbox 💀 it's an ongoing issue

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i'm almost sure it's this post-game show lance leaving fic, because i got comments and asks for weeks begging me to write a happy ending lol. but this fic from the hana universe, from when keith is little and shiro is fighting for custody and they haven't figured things out yet. that one is sad. this dream pov adashi fic is also sad and has no happy ending bc, you know. shiro is in space and adam thinks he's dead and everything. my loneliest series is also still in progress and as such there is no happy ending. and this is my earliest angsty-ending fic with MCD

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh god pretty much everything i write has a happy ending?? if i’m being serious?? frankly i don’t do a lot of linear plot. i just write Scenes that are vaguely connected. BUT my h2o fic had a plot that ended happily, as did my cowboy fic, but truly i’m more of a slice of life kinda gal. all my active wips are plot-driven, though, and i plan for all of them to end happily.

8. do you get hate on fics?

oh god yeah. i get it on brown eyed lance, autistic lance, adhd keith, allura just in general (are you sensing a pattern), my refusal to use readmores, and lately just some demands for me to write differently/more?? most of it is just funny so i post it to goof on it lol, but some of it i just delete and pout about until i forget about it 💀

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

yes and it’s nasty and i will literally never ever post it. although i guess i’ve written some softer stuff that’s more allusion than anything, like in my loneliest series.

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not anymore, but i did when i was a kid?? i think i wrote a pjo/hoo/divergent/the mortal instruments/homestuck/a bunch of other shit fic when i was 13. i’ve successfully blocked that era out of my mind tho so i’m not sure. i do a lot of insane aus, tho. i wrote a fic based off a country song written in the sixties. so.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

i’ve had people write continuations of my wips?? which i didn’t rly like. i just ignored it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

someone has asked me about translating a fic before! haven’t heard anything since tho.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have tried. i’m not very good at it. i have very Specific ideas about things and can be very controlling, so it’s honestly better that i don’t lol.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

klance, easy. been in the trenches of this goddamn fandom since i was 13 years of age. it’s been a Journey.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

god, the butterfly effect. i get people asking me to update all the time and i genuinely feel bad, because i have absolutely no ideas or plans for it. i might try to come up with an ending of some kind?? but i wrote that like two years ago, so i have changed a LOT about my writing since then.

16. what are your writing strengths?

dialogue and humour, i think. and sometimes writing lack of emotional communication (if that makes sense — i like to try and write around an emotion).

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i over explain a lot. and i overuse dialog ur tags sometimes. i have a Very Specific scene playing out in my head and i want everyone else to see it like i’m seeing it, which is my downfall a lot. i’ve been trying to work on implicit stage directions.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i think sometimes it’s necessary? it can be a good tool for humour, like with cussing that can’t be achieved in english. but while i understand and read several languages i have always always struggled to speak or write in them. it’s very frustrating so i often avoid the subject entirely lol.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

i’ve been writing fanfic in my head since before i knew what it was, but i started typing things at around 11 when i used to homestuck roleplay with my friends lol. messy messy times.

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

oh i am my own target audience. i have several.

i need a man (who’s patient and kind): keith-centric post canon (divergence) fic where lance takes him to his family and keith is good with kids and just keith being loved is the whole point. always.

what if i lose it all: an alternate universe where lance, as a baby, loses both his parents, and then is raised by his oldest siblings. in luis’ pov.

when does a ripple become a tidal wave (when does the reason become the flame): brogane fight & angst canon divergence post season 6; covering shiro’s guilt complex and keith’s unwavering loyalty

he’s into superstitions (black cats and voodoo dolls): halloween verse with witch lance and vampire keith! i have barely spoken about this au on here but rest assured i’m thinking about it all the fucking time

the applebee’s universe: modern au with young keith and lance learning how to love each other

ceilings (plaster): non-linear dream-like fic that’s just so trippy and strange i’m obsessed with it

if the sky comes falling down (for you) there’s nothing in this world i wouldn’t do: a keith character study about how the biggest bleeding heart in the universe loves

the hana universe: brogane-centric universe as their family starts rocky and grows

thank u again for the tag zen <33 open offer for anyone else who would like to hop on!!

[amazingmsme]

I started writing the Ares and Athena fic, and it will be much longer than I anticipated! It will also start out a bit angsty (description of a panic attack), and in my personal au, the gods don't age as slowly as mortals, but they don't age to quickly either, so we got a teenage Ares because yes. I know he's supposed to be all big angry god of war but I'm making him a bit softer because I can. Also we get big sister Athena, because I love that dynamic. I've only started writing for a day and I already have even more respect for people who do this more often. This shit is hard!

- 🧁 anon

YEEEES I CAN’T WAIT TO READ IT!!! I honestly love a good dose of angst mixed in with my fluff lol, so it’s right up my alley! I agree that because they’re immortal, they age a lot differently than humans. Like they probably spend at least a few hundred years for each “stage” of life

I can’t wait to see grumpy teen Ares & supportive big sister Athena! Their dynamic is everything to meeee

[orange-peony]

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thanks for tagging me @wellbelesbian!

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

I'm actively working on "Home sweet home" and "Thorns", but I also have a few stories at planning stage with various titles.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Hallmark movie + snowbaz = a lovely mess

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

The drarry one has PTSD as a warning, the snowbaz one has Fiona's mad chihuahua and a very thirsty Simon + Baz. And Dev deserves a tag for himself, as per usual.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

I've got one with an interesting temporary title, but I don't know if I'm going to post it for an anon fest, so I can't share it.

Let's go for the snowbaz one "The veil opens again" (the title will most likely change - it's set 20 years in the future when the veil opens and married snowbaz with their kids visit Watford, so that Baz can see Natasha again, and then Lucy also appears).

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

I'm trying to work on alternate weeks on my drarry and snowbaz BB, also because one is kind of angsty and the other one pretty light, so it's easier for my mood. The snowbaz will post first because it's due sooner.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

They're organised by fandom, and the folders usually have the title of the fic, unless I haven't decided on a title yet. I have a "multiverse" one and a "soulmates" folder.

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

Drarry - “I forgot to mention that I’m an Unspeakable,” Draco says.

Snowbaz - “Well, I would kiss you.” I don’t know why I said that. Fuck.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

Some super angsty subplot that I decided to ditch because it made me want to cry. 😭

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I'd love to write a drarry multiverse, but I also have a couple of drarry fics that I've planned but haven't got the chance to start writing yet (one is a soulmate fic and the other one features professional scapegoat Draco). As for snowbaz, I'd love to write another AU.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

I'm actively working on 2 - my drarry and snowbaz BB fics.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

Draco is being a lot softer than he was meant to be, and Harry was supposed to be angrier, so I'm struggling a bit with a scene, but I'm getting there (I hope).

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

A shower of kudos to you all! 💙

Tagging (no pressure): @bubble-gumhead, @artsyunderstudy, @hushed-chorus, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @peachpety, @lumosatnight, @facewithoutheart, @martsonmars, @cutestkilla, @thewholelemon, @larkral, @fatalfangirl, @cassiaratheslytherpuff and anyone who wants to do it (just say that I've tagged you!)

[veliseraptor]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @anghraine - thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

under my main pseudonym that I actually use these days, 610. total, across pseuds, we're looking at 1,013.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

4,930,564, which is so close to 5 million!!! we'll see if I hit that threshold this year, I might if all goes well with big bang fic

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I thought I could do this from memory and I was so close, only missed two.

Life in Reverse (13,990)

With Absolute Splendor (10,436)

some good mistakes (6,551)

The Villain Wrangler (4,445)

half a league onward (4,437)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do not, because I don't know what to say, get overwhelmed, fall behind, get more overwhelmed, and ultimately end up with a backlog I don't feel capable of dealing with so I just don't. I feel bad about this periodically (often) but I don't do anything with that feeling. Just kinda feel bad.

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I've written a lot of fics with angsty endings but I might have to give this one to Mercy, because that was a very mean fic on the whole. arguably even meaner than my other murder/suicide fic.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I have a hard time with this question because I feel like most times my happy endings are at least touched with some kind of bitterness or loss or at least underlying open door that could be a problem down the line, or, like, lingering trauma.

but on the other hand I'm sure I have written generally happy endings in my backlog of fics, there's just a lot of fic in there so it's hard for me to pull them out, because they're probably also the ones that I find less memorable.

in some ways I think With Absolute Splendor might get this one, because it feels like it has ones of the strongest sense of earned catharsis, even if everything isn't all the way fixed. there's probably happier endings in terms of world state, but that's one where the ending feels happier because it doesn't start that way. but how this grace thing works is also one of the fics where I feel like it's on the whole softer/tenderer than my usual work.

7. Do you write crossovers?

not really! I wrote a few once upon a time, and a couple pastiches (one fandom in the style of another fandom), but those are years behind me and I'm not generally a crossover person as a rule.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

oh yes. most of it more entertaining than truly upsetting, but there are a few exceptions. my favorite remains the person who was really bothered by the fact that my Black Jewels Trilogy fic wasn't High School Musical fic. still no idea what was going on there.

9. Do you write smut?

sure do. I haven't been writing as much these days (but then, I haven't been writing as much these days, full stop) and I've never been all that much of a pwp writer but it's still very much a part of my writing.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

once, some time ago - I think it was Life in Reverse got posted on Wattpad. oh, though there was also another MCU fic that got reposted on AO3, but the person deleted it pretty quickly when I commented to inform them I didn't appreciate their doing so.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! into a few languages and it's always super cool and flattering to me.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have the one in progress but never anything I've finished/posted. I've done a lot of RP over the years but I always kept it pretty squarely separate from my fic writing.

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I've had a lot of all-time favorite ships, and there are plenty for fandoms I'm no longer really in that stick around in my head for longer than I'm really participating in the fandom (Celegorm/Aredhel is notable for this), but I think I will say that Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen occupies a very particular kind of sort of insane place in my brain that feels relatively unique. so I'll give this one to them.

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

oh lord, so many of them. mostly various MCU wips I'll probably never finish but where I'm like "this was a good idea and I like what I have of it so far, too bad the MCU killed my caring about the MCU." outside of those...I'm so loathe to accept that things will or might remain unfinished, so I'll go with one of those and say the "Hela is around when Thor and Loki are growing up" one, which would've been so good and I still sometimes toy with the idea of returning to, only, you know. aforementioned "caring about the original canon" issue making it hard to actually do the writing thing.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I've been slowly filling out this meme for a while and I left this question conspicuously blank almost to the last. I think my strongest area is probably dialogue, though I worry that I'm giving myself too much credit there. I think I'm pretty good at writing it, though. it certainly is one of the pieces of writing that comes most easily to me.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

description and action, for sure. I tend to skimp on description in a way that probably weakens much of my writing (I have so much respect for writers with good descriptive language), and I loathe writing action scenes the way that I loathe writing few things - it always feels like wrestling a bear. I usually know what I want to have happen as a result but getting there is just. very hard.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

something you gotta be very careful with. I was going to say I almost never do it, but the one exception to that is Lymond Chronicles where I do it a lot, but that's because it's a fairly important part of the style of canon and I'm just. following that lead. otherwise, I tend to shy away from it personally, partly because I write from pretty deep in a character's head and if they don't understand what's being said in another language then that's what I want to convey in the story, rather than giving the reader privileged access to what's being said that the character doesn't have.

does that sound really pretentious? probably.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

technically I wrote a cracky Harry Potter fic first, but I consider my first actual fandom to be Wheel of Time.

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

either bingjiu or beefleaf are two pairings that I love and have a lot of strong feelings about but haven't actually managed to write anything for, and both are on my list as like...just #waiting for the right idea.

also hua cheng/mu qing, which is a tiny pairing of my heart that Needs Me (or whatever) and I know the kind of fic I want to write for it but actually executing it is, as usual, proving harder.

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

it fluctuates wildly depending on mood, but I'll give this one for now to the backyard is full of bones - it was the first project I bound into a book, which I feel like says something for it.

tagging @gloriousmonsters, @curiosity-killed, @mikkeneko, @brawlite, and @feralkwe; not actually sure how many people I'm "supposed" to tag on this one so if you want to do it consider yourself tagged as well.

[royal-ruin]

f1 fanfic recs (part 2) pierre/charles

other f1 fic rec lists here f1 fic rec masterlist here personal favorites are starred, by the way. everything is complete unless stated otherwise.

I’m Never Gonna Waste My Love On Anyone Else by EspiTheWarlock (~1k) 3rd part of a series

[“Pierre, what the hell is this?”

“Are you saying no?”

“Am I saying…what the fuck…I’m not…you haven’t even asked me a question!”

“It doesn’t seem like I need to.”]

Destiny's Got Us So Intertwined by chilisainz55 (msrogersstark) (~2k)

[“It’s simple, really,” George says offhandedly to Pierre while they wait to do media after the race in Hungary. He always says things so matter of fact, like there’s no way that it can go wrong. Pierre doesn’t see it the same way. It can only go wrong.

“What is so simple about it?” Pierre rolls his eyes.

“You and I both want the same thing,” George explains, adjusting his Mercedes cap.

“And what’s that?”]

George and Pierre both want attention from other drivers... a plan is formed

jealousy shenanigans.

For Where the Four Winds Blow by flamingosarepink (~2k)

[It’s hard not to notice how much healthier he looks these days, with color back in his cheeks and clothes that actually fit in all the right places. He smiles, a lot more than he used to anyway, but something about his presence keeps Pierre guarded. Guarded, as if he can’t pretend there is some part of him that still needs defending. The silence that stands between them even as Pierre closes the door behind Charles seems to says it all.]

this was so angsty, i loved it

psychic lover (only for you) by strongestavenger (~2k)

Charles hears his soulmate's thoughts for the first time at age seven.

A year later, he meets Pierre.

baby just say yes by ohmygasly (singsweetmelodies) (~3k)

["There you are," Charles says as Pierre sits down, and it comes out softer than he intended. He's still holding Pierre's hand, and Pierre's new position on the back of the vintage car means that he looks down at Charles like - well, like a prince and his knight. 

It's a ridiculous image, of course, but it's also… fitting, in a strange way. Charles has always seen Pierre as special, and worthy, and brave, and beautiful - all the things a prince should be, even if Pierre doesn't see it himself. And, of course, Charles would do anything for Pierre's favour, like any good knight. ]

Pierre, Charles, and that moment from the Monza 2022 drivers' parade.

when the curtains close and all of the lights go down by ohmygasly (singsweetmelodies) (~3k)

[Charles wraps his arms around Pierre's waist and breathes him in, and for the first time it feels like he can truly let go of all the feelings he's been holding tightly bottled up inside himself ever since the rain and the tractor and everything that meant.

There hadn't been time for a hug directly after Suzuka. There had been so much to do with both of their teams, and Pierre had needed to go to the stewards too, for that bullshit penalty, and –

And Charles hadn't realised just how much he needed this hug. Not just any hug, from anyone, but exactly this with Pierre, where it feels like Pierre is wrapping up Charles' body and his soul and his heart alike.]

Suzuka in the rain is never easy, for any of them. But Pierre and Charles find each other, like they always do.

warning: deals with grief.

If I were proper, I’d have a chance; not with you, but somebody else by ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan) (~4k)

[I’m an omega now, what about propriety, Charles wants to ask, and also, what do I have to do to get you to touch me more, and he asks neither and simply presses his thigh a little closer.]

a/b/o with idiots who don't think they're dating already.

so good at pretending (i'm even fooling myself) by wunderlichkind (~4k)

[“You and…” Charles swallows. “You and Ilies?”

Pierre picks up on the question in it, but he doesn‘t… “What about me and Ilies?”

“You… are you guys. Together, then?“ Charles stutters it out, almost winces at whatever must be playing on Pierre‘s face after. He stumbles over his next words.]

all you never say is that you love me so by tiredtiredsharl  (~5k)

5 times Charles said something while he thought Pierre was asleep + 1 time Pierre said something while he knew Charles was awake.

i truly fell in love with this fic.

all of me (a wound to close) by chemtrailsky (~5k)

[There is a constant tremor in Pierre’s hands that won't leave these days.

It’s barely noticeable, he guesses. Neither Horner nor Marko have mentioned it yet, and they’ve never been known for their subtlety.]

Or: Pieces of Pierre’s life told through a day of meals.

warning: has to do with issues with food/eating.

*maybe i don't want heaven by duquesademiel, tiredtiredsharl (~6k)

Pierre kneels thrice: once in front of God and twice in front of Charles.

warning: blasphemy? i'm not sure what the correct word for it is. i'm not religious, so to me this was a masterpiece.

*Verlangen (longing) by Whippasnappa (~8k)

[“Perhaps we can make each other feel better.” he offers. 

Max stares at Pierre's hand on his thigh. He’s surprised. 

“You cannot be serious.” he says flatly. 

Pierre shrugs, but he also slides his hand further up. Oh, he is serious. Max’s eyes dart around the room, panicked, but no one is looking. Daniel is not here. Charles is not watching. Neither of them would care, anyway. 

“You can sit here all night and mope about it. Or,” he leans in closer to Max, drops his voice even further to a whisper. “We can go back to the hotel and I can fuck your brains out.” 

He pulls back, taking his hand off Max, leaning back in the booth. 

“Your choice.” he says evenly, like he doesn’t really care either way.]

pierre's an absolute menace here. max/daniel is also a ship in this fic. pierre/max have a temporary thing.

Where I Buried My Heart (& You) by Laeana (~8k)

It's 2030, Pierre has won 2 championships, 46 races, 25 pole positions and he's announcing his retirement at the end of the year. And Charles doesn't know how to cope with it, doesn't even understand it.

I was a firecracker, baby, with something to prove by tiredtiredsharl (~9k) part of a series

Pierre was from one of those families that people who rejected the idea of soulmates, held up as an example as to why the concept of soulmates was antiquated. Pierre was…Pierre knew that sometimes soulmate pairings failed. He knew that sometimes soulmate bonds were rejected. He knew that soulmates weren’t infallible and he knew that he had two parents who weren’t soulmates and were happier than some of the bonded pairs he knew. It’s not that he didn’t want a soulmate. He just knew that the fairytale of soulmate bonds was just that - a fairytale. Pierre wasn’t waiting around for a soulmate and maybe that meant he stayed 25 forever. And maybe that was okay with him.

Or: 5 times Pierre worked towards accepting Charles as his soulmate and the one time he knew he was.

Upside down, bouncing off the ceiling by emotionalsupportfastcars (~12k)

[AlphaTauriF1: not gonna lie, thinking a second can of Red Bull would help kickstart the day AlpineF1Team: Do it 😁 [intensifying intensifies] AlphaTauriF1: if there are typos in our tweets later, you’ll know why Inspired by real-life Alpha Tauri and Alpine tweets.

Pierre Gasly is AlphaTauri’s social media admin and Esteban Ocon is Alpine’s social media admin. Over the past few months, some Twitter conversations between AlphaTauri and Alpine have gone viral. Which means that both Pierre and Esteban are exceeding all their job targets.

There’s just one problem. Neither Pierre nor Esteban realise that the other social media admin is their former childhood friend.

One day, thanks to an unhinged media admin, Pierre drinks too much Red Bull and panics. As Charles, Pierre’s housemate, takes care of Pierre, he is forced to confront his growing crush on Pierre, all while wondering whether Pierre has a crush on Alpine’s social media admin.]

or: In which Pierre regains a childhood friend and somehow gets a boyfriend.

awww this one was adorable.

*Home Is Where the Heart Is... by welightitup (~15k) part one of a series "Who's that Guy?

[“George and Charles?!” Pierre exclaims, with no other context or explanation.

“What about them?” Yuki asks rather calmly, given the situation. But then again, it’s not like he’s affected by it in any way or form. That’s been reserved for just Alex and Pierre.

“They’re our George and Charles!” Alex adds to the conversation, and he can see the exact moment it all clicks in Yuki’s brain as his pinched features open right up into pure surprise.

“Nooo!” Yuki draws out, arms dropping in shock. “Really?”]

aka the New Girl AU where everyone is everyone's exes. Except for Yuki.

*... And My Heart Is With You by ohmygasly (singsweetmelodies) (~16k) part two of a series "Who's that Guy?

[The more time they all spend together, the more his roommates are slowly starting to drive him insane. It's not because Charles and George turned out to be assholes after the first few weeks. No, they're both still as nice as ever. They're just… pining, which is much worse, in Yuki's eyes.

What makes it even worse is that Charles and George aren't even pining for each other. Oh no. They are pining for Pierre and Alex, respectively – but Pierre and Alex don't seem to realise that. They just pine right back, because they for some reason believe that Charles and George are dating.

How they are missing the obvious longing looks, Yuki has no idea. All he knows is that something has got to change around here, or all four of his flatmates are in danger of being thrown head-first into the Seine.]

AKA: misunderstandings in the loft are at an all-time high. What will it take for it all to be sorted out?

ugh i love this series so much, pierre/charles are a ship, but so are george/alex.

moonlight making crosses on your body by quietrumblings (whisperedwords) (~23k) incomplete, has smut

(a collection of pierre/charles one-shots. subjects will vary. updates will be sporadic.)

featuring: 2. WAG!Pierre 7. jealous!charles 9. sickfic 11. blasphemy (affectionate)

i've forgotten which one's i've read, but i'm sure they are all amazing.

kiss me hard before you go by lewisshamilton (~24k) part of a series

The Royal Family of Monaco is a mess and Charles knows that. Of course he knows that, after all he’s the biggest mess of all of them - not that he’d care. He’s young, rich, charming, loved by his people - and he has absolutely no idea what he wants from life.

overtime by quietrumblings (whisperedwords) (~28k)

[Charles, for a beat, looks relieved. Then he takes a breath, rubs at one eye, and says it: “I want to do Le Mans.”

Pierre raises an eyebrow. “You have been retired for not even two years, Charlo. I don’t think they would say no to a multi-year world champion, but even still—”

“Pierre,” Charles interrupts, still looking serious. Pierre stops talking immediately. “I want us to do Le Mans. Together.”]

(or: in the 2030s, pierre and charles decide to actually race le mans the way they've always dreamed of. they figure some things out along the way.)

hahaha one of the tags is "Middle Aged Best Friends Discover It's Been Romantic This Whole Time!" and i think that is very hilarious and fitting.

*evocatio by vicsy (~35k)

Some still look at him and whisper, Il Predestinato comes forth, but Charles disregards the old legends. In another chapter of the story written by gods, he wants to be remembered as Charles Leclerc — a mortal, a race car driver, a winner.

In a life beyond the deafening rev of running engines and a tart taste of adrenaline, Charles wishes for the simplicity of being a brother, a friend, a lover.

But racing, undoubtedly, forever comes first.

au with gods/goddess still in racing verse tho. it makes sense when you read it. poor charles suffers so much. this was a work of art.

**phantoms and pencil marks by Cazio (~50k)

[Pierre woke to a boy sitting next to his bed.]

Amnesia!AU.

this fic is my roman empire. it's gonna break your heart and you are not gonna be able to move on i promise.

there's so many more in the want to read list, i'll get to them i promise.

[lokiinmediasideblog]

11, 15, 18! ^_^

how would you describe thor and loki’s dynamic to someone who has never seen the movies?

Narratively co-dependent sibling rivalry that makes Cain and Abel's rivalry pale in comparison. They also say "BROTHA" a lot.

Thor's basically Mufasa/He-Man/SkekUng, and Loki's basically Scar/Skeletor/SkekSil.

do you have a favorite loki fanfic? (if you’re a fic writer, you’re allowed to choose your own)

Always a difficult question (and I tend to try to avoid known squicks from whoever's asking). And lol, I went to see replies to comments on my inbox.

Let's see.

I think you'd enjoy this Loki and Hela team-up oneshot.

This one has a happy ending but it's quite angsty on Loki's part (and it doesn't get to bad points; but it could have).

There's this fic, though not my favorite, I found very enjoyable for xenobiology reasons and because the author made Loki act mean and bitchy as a patient, which is accurate. Rather than the little waif he's made out to be in other Loki recovery fics. The alien biology is very detailed and well thought of. If you like speculative xenobiology, you'll enjoy this.

I love Lise's fics. I'm that freak that loves vivisection stuff, so I especially enjoy "The Vivisection Tango." I love shit where one character wants to vivisect the other.

There's a VERY fucked up Doomki fic based on Latverian Prometheus that haunts me, but it is not for the faint of heart, so I'm not posting it xD I feel weird saying I think about it often.

On a softer Valki note, I enjoyed this fic:

what do you think loki’s biggest fear is? (if not *the* biggest, one of the biggest.)

Losing those he loves (e.g. Thor, Frigga) is a far greater fear for Loki than dying, being alone, or abandoned. He couldn't bear to lose Thor, and so handed the Tesseract to Thanos and likely attacked Thanos knowing he'd die (to keep it balanced). He was also willing to die just to avenge Frigga. Loki has a long history of dying for his loved ones to either avenge them or protect them. Loki would do ANYTHING to keep them from harm.

In respect to Frigga, I like thinking about how it's a reversal of the whole "mother willing to die/sacrifice for her children" when it's an adoptive child doing the sacrificing instead. IDK, it fucks me up to think about that. There's something there but I can't put words to it.

[tetzoro]

Did I always envision Zoro as having a soft side, of course. But THE END! THE END AIMS! The love and passion there but knowing he’s always a pirate first, Luffy’s pirate! 😭 I read it as hopeful rather than angsty but it got me a little angsty I’m not gonna lie!

Especially now that I’m reading after the timeskip and they’re looking for Jimbei, waiting all that time to see him again AND everything that’s going to happen to find Jimbei and resolve everything that starts when the crew gets to fish man island?! To have Zoro so close and still not be sure of how it’s going to work out!

I love it!

ARIEL ^_^ !!! mwehehe zoro definitely has a softer side and i think he feels a lot of these deeper emotions yet only ever rarely shows it but when he does, it’s only to certain people. i think when you first start exploring something romantic + deeper with zoro, he feels a lil conflicted at times because it’s an onslaught of new feelings + how does he balance this with his role in the crew and the drive he has towards his own dream? there’s time he gives into his wants and there’s times he knows he can’t. he’s such a disciplined character it’s interesting to see how he starts to open up & let you in.

tbh i didn’t mean to make it a lil angsty but it felt fitting to do so LOL you are very correct though, it is meant to be hopeful. it’ll just take time to find the flow!! there’s so much going on in canon that he can’t fully devote himself to you (just yet!!) hehe at least that’s how i see it (this fic was very self indulgent i will not lie)

i have a part two i’m working on that will explore all of this even more teehee so hopefully i can lock in and get it done soon !!!! 🤍🌟