#writing just hasn’t been the vibe lately

[pollenallergie]

sorry for exclusively shitposting lately, but in my defense- look! over there!! *points behind you and waits for you to turn around and look so i can make a break for it*

[classyrbf]

classmate!gojo part 2!

classmate!gojo who has been losing his mind trying to figure out who his mystery girl is. He’d assume it’s someone he knows, someone he hangs around, maybe one of the well known girls in his class. But looking at them, he didn’t really get that vibe. Sure they’d flirt with him, always hang around him, and that would be way too obvious. Despite being a part time investigator along with being a college student, that hasn’t stopped gojo from chatting with you. Still, everyday, you and him are sending pictures and videos back and forth and texting.

gojo: just tell me who you are, baby, promise I won’t bite ;)

you: where’s the fun in that, hm?

you laugh at knowing he’s frustrated. You see it on his face everyday when he walks into class, looking at his phone constantly and his eyes scanning the room. He does it in the cafe area as well when hanging with his friend, looking to see if any girl might fit his description of you. But of course, he never looks your way, completely disregarding your existence until late in the night when you’re both horny for each other. You can’t help but send him a video of you fucking your self with your dildo, your phone set up perfectly where you can’t see your face, but can see everything else. And you fuck yourself until you squirt all over your bedroom floor, legs shaking as you imagine it’s his cock.

poor gojo is just losing his mind behind the screen, listening to your moans and watching you squirt over and over, but all he’s thinking about is your face. Doesn’t stop him from getting off though. Of course he’s jerking his cock. Roughly. All the frustration is really getting to him. “Fuck! You’re really fucking teasing me, baby. You know that?”

the cycle continues for several days, until one day he misses class. What’s the problem in that? It’s the fact he needed the notes from that lecture and of course his friends never write them down. So, who did the professor direct him to? You. He’s walking up to you so casually, a bored look on his face as you’re sitting in your seat, palms sweating and internally freaking out. “Don’t mean to bother you, but do you have the notes from the last lecture?” He sighs in annoyance, adjusting his backpack.

“Oh, um…yeah, let me just…” You reach down into your bag and doing so, gojo noticed the color of your nails, his brows furrowing. They looked familiar.

“Nice nails,” he said. You couldn’t be his mystery girl, could you? No, no it was just a coincidence. You’re just some quiet, shy, and nerdy girl who keeps to herself. No way you fit in the description.

You pause for a moment, handing him your notes. “Thanks,” you mutter, quickly standing from your seat.

“Wait, don’t you want these back?” He asked, curious as to why you were in such a rush.

“Keep em, I have a picture of them on my phone.” You grab your bag and hurriedly walk away from him, your heart pounding against your chest. Gojo watches as you disappear from the lecture hall, immediately pulling out his phone to pull up a saved picture of his mystery girl, endlessly scrolling through pictures and videos to find one with your hands.

He stops at a video of you groping your tits, eyes widening when he notices the same color nails and design. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No fucking way.” He shoves his phone in his pocket, quickly following after you, wherever you went. But he doesn’t know that you left home for the day, completely avoiding him.

You can’t believe you got so close to him today, so close you could smell his cologne and hear his voice in person. Just thinking about it had you so horny, so wet. And when he complimented your nails? It meant he was actually checking you out! His eyes were on you! “He talked to me!” You squealed, running to your room, locking your bedroom door and slipping your panties off from under your skirt. “He talked to me…he was looking at me…” You sink your fingers into your already soaked cunt, eyes fluttering shut as you move them faster, pressing against your g-spot.

Gojo stared at his phone, debating whether to text you. He needed to really see if you were his mystery girl. He needed to investigate a little more, meaning he needed to watch your every move before confronting you. “Can’t believe you really might be her,” he sighed, biting down on his bottom lip. “Those tits, that ass, that pussy, all belonging to a sweet little thing like you? Can’t be…” Gojo couldn’t help himself, palming his semi-hard cock through his jeans. “Shit, baby,” he moaned, undoing his jeans, pulling out his cock. His eyes shut, remembering the cute look on your face when he walked up to you, and he could smell your perfume too, and that voice…yeah, he could recognize that voice anywhere. You’re definitely her. “I hope you’re thinking about me too. Fuck that. I know you’re thinking about me,” he breathily chuckles, slowly fisting his cock to your pictures.

“You were so close to me today, mmmph—fuck!” You rub your clit in circles, watching a video of him jerking off his pretty cock. “Wish you would’ve bent me over and fucked me right there—ah!” You heavily pant, hips twitching. “I need more!” You reach over into your bedside drawer, pulling out your dildo. “Want your cock inside me, Toru,” you moan. “Please say you’re thinking about me too, please!”

You know he knows. He has to. Why else would he compliment your nails? And why hasn’t he texted you yet? You’ve scared him off. Of course he doesn’t want anything to do with you. But you’ll have your fun while it lasts.

I know I left it on a cliffhanger (I’m super evil 😈 )

part 1 part 3

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 

They don’t. 

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 

“Sure.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 

“Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?” 

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 

“You wanna do something for me?” 

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 

“I think you know what I mean.” 

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 

“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 

“Yep.” 

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 

You hope he meant it. 

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 

The next day, you’re still tense. 

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 

“I know.” 

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 

“Yes.” 

“Great.” 

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 

“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

click here for more of my writing

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taglist:

@lovely-vamp-princess @mushgloomz @untamedheart81 @kyloispunk

[taegimood]

— bestfriend!ot5’s reaction to you offering to help with their boner ♡

pairing: ot5 x fem!reader (separate) rating: nsfw, mdni wc: almost 3k oops 😭 warnings: some smut (oral obviously, m receiving), suggestiveness, perviness, pet names (babe, sweetheart, pretty girl), tiniest but brief bit of angst in tyun’s, some alcohol in jun’s, beomgyu being an annoying brat lmao

a/n - this took me forever to start (and to finish.. all in one sitting rip my eyeballs) but i loved writing this omg who wants a pt 2 follow-up 🫢

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yeonjun: this is the moment he’s been waiting for, y’all

it’s just like any other tipsy late-night shit-talk sesh on yeonjun’s living room floor, until it’s not. you’ve been lazily sitting against the foot of his couch facing each other while joking about beomgyu’s latest failure to get laid when somehow the conversation turns to your own personal sex lives. it’s not like you’ve never talked about that stuff with jun before; you’re best friends, after all. but something about tonight feels different. maybe it’s because you’ve been drinking, maybe it’s because the dim lighting of his living room is giving it a strangely sensual vibe, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you- facing you with his chin in his hand as his elbow rests up on the couch cushion, eyes more lidded than usual and sculpted collarbone peeking out from the sweater that at some point had slipped down his shoulder- but when the topic turns to your experiences with oral and he’s in the middle of complaining about how his last fling always gave him the worst head, what comes out of your mouth as you suddenly interrupt him is a shock to the both of you.

“i could do better.”

yeonjun’s eyebrows shoot up. the words had died on his lips. your own eyes are wide as you freeze, before fidgeting nervously, attempting damage control. “i mean.. from what i’ve been told. just saying.” you swallow hard as you inwardly kick yourself, avoiding his eyes and his silence as you bring the bottle of soju you’d been sharing to your lips in an attempt to feign casualty.

“is that an offer?”

it’s your turn to be speechless, nearly choking as you set the bottle down a little too hard, turning quickly to stare at him in shock; oh, he’s not joking. he watches you expectantly, a level expression on his face; though if you were to blink, you’d miss the smirk that his lips were threatening to inch up into. when your gaze flickers down to see the tent in his sweatpants that he hasn’t even bothered trying to cover, you swallow hard. the tiny crush you’ve always harbored for your best friend suddenly seems not so unreciprocated after all. you collect yourself. you’ve gotta be cool about this.

“well… do you want it to be?”

your best friend’s hands wrapped in your hair and his shameless moans filling the room as he pumps his cock in and out of your throat isn’t exactly how you imagined the night to go, but here you are! you can already tell from the lewd promises and filthy praises that he’s groaning out as you swallow around him — your legs will definitely be sore in the morning. <3

soobin: soobin.exe has stopped working

he didn’t mean for you to see, he really didn’t. you weren’t supposed to be home for another 15 minutes; what else was he supposed to do when it’s the first time all week that his hermit of a roommate has finally left their shared apartment and he hasn’t been able to comfortably get himself off since last weekend?

your convenience store run ended in disappointment as the tuna gimbap roll you were craving turned up empty on the shelves. with a grumble you had just grabbed the nearest container of ramen and a snack for soobin before trekking back to your apartment sooner than hoped for (by either party..), not in the mood to sit there and eat as you’d originally planned; but unbeknownst to you, soobin hadn’t heard you arrive back home, and also unbeknownst to you, he was stuck in a very… compromising position.

“soob, they didn’t have the- oh, fuck.”

rounding the corner into the living room to see your best friend seated on the couch with his sweatpants shoved down around his hips and his head thrown back as his hand fists up and down his very hard - very big cock - was definitely not on your daily bingo card. (or your lifetime one either, to be quite frank.) at the sound of your voice he’s acting faster than you’ve ever seen him move, a pillow shoved over his lap and his large figure smushed back into the couch cushions so quick that you question whether you even saw his cock at all, or if it was just your mind playing tricks on you. you decide that it wasn’t the latter, however, at the sight of his bright red face and quick, heavy breaths- a deer in headlights as his mouth opens and closes for a few moments, trying to find the words to speak.

you’re in the same boat — what are you supposed to say? hey, sorry that i caught you trying to get yourself off in our shared space that i also own which you’re very much aware of? and by the way your cock is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen and i want it in my-

wait, what? you don’t even have time to process the sudden warmth between your thighs as soobin finally finds his words. well, kind of. “i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t- i was just trying to- i thought you’d still be a while, i- it’s been so long since i-“ he cut himself off at the last part, an even deeper blush coming over his cheeks at his accidental admission. wonderful, now she’s gonna think i’m some sort of incel. but the last thing that either of you ever expects is happening as you step forward carefully, approaching his shocked form on the couch before stopping to maintain some distance.

“soob.. do you want help?”

let’s just say that his best friend slotted between his thighs as she bobs her head up and down his fat cock with eager moans and a mix of spit and pre-cum lewdly dribbling down her chin wasn’t exactly on soobin’s bingo card, either. but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pay you back for it right after. <3

beomgyu: *laughs in your face* 👁️👄👁️ switch-up

um, did he hear that right?? it was an innocent instance of you utterly roasting each other into the grave with bullying remarks, just another tuesday for the pair of you- you’re just sitting on your bed in your usual criss-cross legged gossip-time position when beomgyu apparently decides that he’s bored laughing at something soobin did and chooses you as the better candidate to laugh at instead. the plushie of yours that he’d had resting in his lap is now a method of defense as you attempt to thwap him over the head with your own plushie, yelling at him to “take it back!” as he cackles mercilessly after claiming “at least soobin can get bitches if he stops being shy enough, you’re just an all-around lost cause.”

“you don’t even know what you’re talking about!!!” you whine as you finally manage to knock him onto his back, going in for the kill as your leg swings over one of his, your plushie smushing down into his face as his now-muffled giggles still ring out annoying as ever. “i get bitches too!” you defend yourself, although even your own words immediately cause you to cringe; damn, you really do sound like a loser, huh? but your momentary lapse of attention has beomgyu knocking your plushie away, laughing even louder as he responds “that is EXACTLY what someone who can’t get bitches would say.” you groan and smack his chest, rolling your eyes as he cradles himself dramatically. “you’re literally wrong. i’ve dated before! like once. and there was that other guy from the smoothie place last year.. we, like, hung out a few times.” but you’re mumbling now, pathetic to your own ears as beomgyu’s shit-eating grin grows with each word.

“you’re kinda proving my point, here, babe.” you shiver at the pet name, however condescending his tone may be. god, how is he still so attractive even when you want to strangle the fuck out of him? “you’re so cocky,” you complain with another roll of your eyes, an attempt to both distract yourself from beomgyu and distract beomgyu from the humiliating topic. he sits up to lean back on his hands as it’s clear you’re finished with your little murder attempt. “yeah, cuz of my monster cock.. that can get bitches.”

that’s it. the sudden urge to prove yourself to him overtakes you as you snap back, “i bet your ‘monster cock’ has never even seen head as good as what i can give.” another laugh— until he realizes you’re serious. the smile falls right off of his face. you don’t miss the way his fists clench around the blanket he’s leaning back on; or the slight strain in his voice as he answers, voice suddenly low and almost breathless- “yeah?”

you were right; beomgyu’s cock has never gotten head as good as what you’re giving him right now as your throat bottoms out with a filthy gag, no hesitation when you lift off with a pop before sucking on him hard enough to send his head reeling. you know what.. maybe beomgyu wouldn’t mind being proved wrong more often after all. but of course, he has to prove himself to you now, too. <3

taehyun: “if… you want to” he definitely wants to

taehyun was stressed. that was clear to anybody; the recent storm closing the businesses down for the week, including the local gym, and his own job that he of course relied on to pay rent. you had been over at his apartment when the weather took a turn for the worse; so now here you were, snowed in with no where to go, forced to work from taehyun’s computer, eat his food, and wear his clothes. (the latter of which neither of you would admit to being turned on by. …….yet.) taehyun was doing his best to work out from home with what little equipment he had, although he wasn’t able to do much, which frustrated him to no end — not as much because he was a gym rat, but more because it was his primary stress reliever. so today it doesn’t help, of course, that his pretty best friend is currently sat at his desk in one of his baggy sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants that she had to roll 6 times to fit her little legs.

he didn’t mean to snap at you. when you accidentally knocked his extra monitor off the desk and onto the floor, cracking the screen, it was just because you turned around too fast— you were excited to see him :(— but it’s the last straw of the day for taehyun. he can’t work out properly, his job isn’t paying him during the off-time, he’s had a constant boner from you hanging around in his clothes all week, and now- now he’ll need to go get his stupid monitor fixed once the weather clears up. “shit, tae, i’m so sorry-“

“god, why are you so fucking clumsy, y/n?”

the silence causes instant realization as his eyes snap up to meet your wide, now-watery ones. “i’m.. i’m sorry..” you whisper, and immediately he wants to punch himself. “fuck,” he groans as he shakes his head, coming to kneel down in front of the chair you were still sitting in. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to snap at you like that. you’re not clumsy. i know it was an accident, please don’t cry.. i’ll pay for the monitor. it wasn’t your fault.” he’s murmuring while he soothes his hand up and down your arm. you’re shaking your head as you wipe at your eyes. “no, no, it’s okay; i know you didn’t mean to snap. i’m still sorry though. let me help pay for it…. i know you’ve been stressed, tyunnie.” you say the last part quieter, gentler as you meet his eyes. he hates that his cock twitches in his pants at something so innocent; but what you say next makes him feel much better about his own perverted thoughts.

you’re nervous about your next words. you really hope you’ve been reading the room right this last week. “let me help you..?”

his eyes widen, before he quickly recovers in an attempt to keep a level expression. “help.. me?” do you mean what he thinks you mean??? “the weather still sucks. there’s not much you can do, sweetheart.” he chuckles, testing the waters with a pet name as he studies your face carefully for a reaction. his eyes flicker down and quickly back up when your thighs squeeze together marginally in response. a-ha. “no, tyun… let me help you here.” you whisper with a soft, testing touch to the band of his sweatpants. oh, so you definitely mean what he thinks you mean.

who really needs the gym or your own closet after all, when you look so pretty on your knees for him with his cock down your throat as he calls you his pretty girl and promises to fuck you so good later just like you deserve? not the two of you, apparently. <3

huening kai: *spits out his drink* coughing fit

kai wasn’t kidding when he told you that he might be too busy to hang out if you came over, although this wasn’t exactly what you’d had in mind. when you headed over to his apartment you figured he was caught up studying for some big exam or something of the like; what you didn’t think you’d find was him yelling into his headset at beomgyu as his fingers flew over the buttons of his controller, leaning forward in his seat with crazy eyes and 3 open cans of energy drinks next to the screen. you sigh. “kai, really? this is what you meant by ‘too busy’..?” he jumps slightly at the sudden sound of your voice in his room, but doesn’t turn around. “y/n! yeah, sorry- i’m just in the middle of- FUCKING MOVE, BEOMGYU! of a tournament right now, been trying to rank up for hours- BEOMGYU!!!”

you wince at the intermittent screaming, plopping down on his bed to watch as you hear gyu’s protests of self-defense piercing through your best friend’s headset. “i think you’ll need a hearing aid after this..” you mumble, receiving no response as expected. however, you get bored after scrolling through your phone for a while, sulking shamelessly at the lack of attention you were receiving — although you were warned that if you came over he might not have any to give. you sigh, but you understand; these tournaments are important to hyuka, even if you couldn’t care less about them yourself. don’t get me wrong, you love gaming too, especially with your friends— especially with kai — but you weren’t exactly as obsessed as they were when it came to being the biggest legend in this group of - you squint - 100 players that this world has ever seen.

selfishly, you had almost even hoped for more from this evening… you’ve been trying to drop hints lately at your feelings for kai, although your level of success was yet to be determined. this would be the first instance all week that you’d have some alone time together; despite his claim to busyness, you still figured you’d try your luck by coming over. you eye the 3 energy drinks and his bouncing legs with a chuckle. what are my options here? hmm.. you’d worn some particularly short shorts tonight, knowing he’d definitely notice the plushness of your thighs.. experimentally, you stand up and approach his desk, standing next to it so he’d be able to see you if he shifted his eyes to the right. “hyuka, want me to get you some water? i don’t think you need any more of these.” you fiddle with one of the cans on his desk. he hums distractedly in response; you can tell he hadn’t heard what you said. “hyuka..” this time you reach out to card your fingers through his hair, effectively causing his fixed stare to snap briefly over to you in surprise; ‘briefly’ turning into a momentary distraction as his gaze catches onto your shorts, flitting back and forth between the screen and your soft thighs. “h-huh?”

“some water?” you repeat innocently. “o-oh, uh, yeah..”

when you come back, to say you’re shocked is an understatement as the bulge in his shorts has seemingly popped up out of no where, and the bright pink blush on his cheeks tells you he knows it, too. you don’t realize you’re standing there staring at it with the glass of water still in your hand until kai quickly mutes his mic, eyes still glued to the screen as he groans “i’m so sorry y/n, please don’t think i’m gross, i- i had no time to grab a pillow, we’re in the middle of a battle and my score is-“ wordlessly, you’re sinking to your knees and situating yourself beneath the desk. his bouncing legs freeze. “what- fuck, w-what are you-“

“can i help you? you can keep playing your game,” you ask sweetly. the sight of your innocent eyes blinking up at him nearly has him cumming in his shorts then and there as he breathes out, “fuck- are you sure?”

you definitely show him how sure you are as you worship his cock with your throat, all sloppy and wet, making sure his mic stays muted so beomgyu can’t hear the way you’re making him whine and moan as he bucks his hips up into your mouth the best he can. now just wait until his tournament is over and he has you all to himself. <3

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 2

Themes: homoerotic friendship turmoil... (again iykyk)

A/N: Had a free day so spent it cooking up this next chapter! Felt inspired by all the love you guys gave for chapter 1. Not sure what this says about me, but I love writing character spirals so this chapter is basically just more of that! Enjoy!

WC: 4.9K

Warnings: cussing, angst

**** Chapter 2 ****

It’s been a week since the student center.

Seven days. Five practices. Three recovery lifts. Two film sessions.

Over the summer, it was easier to pretend. They were only on campus for a few weeks of summer session—light workouts, half-empty dorms, no one really paying attention. They could get away with small talk and long stretches of silence. Could convince themselves that the space between them was just timing. Just logistics. Just a break.

But now?

Now they’re back in it. Full team schedule. Practice every day. Group meals. Shared everything. Paige is everywhere again—on the sidelines, in the locker room, just close enough to make Azzi feel the distance even more.

This morning, it’s film.

Everyone’s packed into the team meeting room—sweats, messy buns, Gatorade bottles scattered across the floor. The room smells like sweat, menthol, and the kind of focus that doesn’t fade just because practice ended. Coach is already five minutes into a breakdown of last week’s scrimmage footage, laser pointer in hand, voice rising and falling like he’s narrating a crime scene.

Azzi’s in the third row with the other sophomores, directly behind the juniors, which means Paige is in front of her. Two seats to the right, to be exact. 

Her hoodie’s oversized, sleeves pulled over her hands, notebook balanced on her thigh. Her knee is propped on her backpack like it’s casual, but Azzi knows it’s not. She’s seen the way Paige grits her teeth when she shifts too fast. The way she barely lets the trainers touch it.

And even though she hasn’t said a word to her since that morning—hasn’t texted, hasn’t liked anything, hasn’t even made eye contact—Azzi can’t stop watching her.

Because something’s different.

Not just physically.

There’s a weight to her lately, like she’s constantly holding something in. Like if she let go for even a second, the whole thing would collapse.

And maybe Azzi’s imagining it, but… Paige doesn’t usually carry herself like this. She used to sit forward in these meetings, pen tapping against her knee, whispering dumb side commentary that made Azzi snort-laugh through her water bottle.

Now, she’s quiet. Still. Watching the screen like she’s somewhere else entirely.

And Azzi?

Azzi is fully distracted.

Coach pauses the film on a defensive breakdown from last season—one of their worst games. “This,” he says, circling the screen, “is what happens when you forget how to communicate.”

Azzi hears it. Loud and clear.

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks back at the screen, but her eyes flicker down to Paige again.

She’s not even looking. Just staring at the page in her lap like she forgot how to be here.

And Azzi hates how much it bothers her.

Because Paige isn’t being Paige. She isn’t some party girl. That’s never been her vibe. Sure, they’ve all had nights—team wins, off-season birthdays, someone’s cousin visiting from out of town—but still. Paige has always been the one to know when to call it. To rally the freshmen. To lead by example. To drink water in between rounds because she knows her body matters more than a buzz.

But last Friday? Paige looked wrecked. And not just tired-wrecked. Unraveled.

Azzi shifts in her seat again. Guilt crawling under her skin like something contagious.

Because she knows what she saw in Paige’s eyes that morning wasn’t just hangover haze. It was something heavier.

And she knows—deep down, even if she hasn’t said it out loud—that she’s a big part of why.

It’s not like she hasn’t tried.

To fix it. Mend it. Reset the dial and get back to just being best friends.

But the problem is—that’s not what they are anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.

Azzi sits in her seat, eyes on the film screen but mind drifting, the light flickering over Paige’s straight hair just one row down. A highlight reel from last season is playing. Everyone else is focused.

Azzi’s not.

Her thoughts circle a moment from almost a year ago. Just a few days after that night outside Ted’s.

*Three Days After Ted’s*

She knocked before she could change her mind.

Three quick taps, then silence. Her heart already hammering against her ribs.

It had been three days since Ted’s. Three days since Paige had looked at her like she’d torn something open and then watched her walk away.

Azzi had thought about texting—typed out at least four different versions of “can we talk?”—but nothing felt right. Nothing ever did when it came to Paige.

So here she was.

Standing outside Paige’s dorm room like a coward trying to be brave.

The door creaked open slowly.

Paige stood there in a hoodie Azzi had seen a hundred times—wrinkled, sleeves pushed to her elbows, hair pin-straight and tucked behind her ears like she hadn’t had the energy to care. Her eyes were unreadable. Guarded. Like she didn’t know whether to slam the door or let it all in.

Still, she stepped back.

Didn’t say anything. Just… made space.

Azzi walked in slowly, careful not to brush too close. The room felt dim and heavy—like it was still holding the echo of that night. There was music playing low from her laptop, some slow-burning acoustic song that was doing way too much. Paige didn’t bother turning it off.

They sat on the edge of the bed in silence, the way people do when they’ve already said the most important thing and still somehow left everything unsaid.

Azzi’s fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” she said. “But I do care. You know that, right?”

Paige didn’t look at her. Just nodded, once. No emotion.

Azzi took a breath. “I’m still figuring things out.”

Paige’s voice was flat. “Like what?”

She looked down. “Like… who I am. What I want. What this is.”

Paige’s gaze shifted to the window. Quiet. Not angry. Not cold. Just… tired. Like she was already exhausted from trying not to expect anything.

And Azzi hated herself for that.

Because she knew Paige deserved more than half-truths and safe answers. She deserved certainty. And Azzi—Azzi couldn’t give her that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Because she hadn’t come out. Not to her family. Not to her team.

Not even to herself.

And maybe her feelings for Paige were real. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were something so specific and sharp and only Paige that she didn’t know how to translate them into anything else.

But whatever they were, she wasn’t ready.

They agreed to try again. As friends. Clean. Platonic. Safe.

Azzi told herself it was better than nothing.

And for a little while, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

*The Weeks Following Ted’s*

They tried. They really did.

After that night—after the conversation in Paige’s dorm, the hard truths and half-formed apologies—they both promised to make it work. To go back to something simpler. Just friends. Teammates. People who used to be something else but weren’t anymore.

And at first, it actually wasn’t awful.

They fell into a rhythm. Small talk. Inside jokes. Shared playlists again, but nothing too loaded. They lifted together. Texted about practice.

They were in check.

Until they weren’t.

Because old habits die hard. And Paige—Paige has never had much restraint when it comes to the people she loves.

It started with the little things. A hand on Azzi’s back when she passed behind her in the locker room. A pinky brushing hers on the bench during a timeout. Standing just a little too close in the weight room. All harmless. All manageable.

But Azzi felt every one of them.

And she didn’t stop them.

She let the small touches happen. Craved them more than she should have. Told herself it didn’t mean anything if it stayed small. Told herself it was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Because the looks started slipping in again—those long, unblinking glances across the gym. And the way Paige said her name started sounding too soft again. Like it did back when they were still tangled up in each other, late at night, when no one else knew.

They were close to blurring lines again. So close it made Azzi’s chest ache.

But she couldn’t forget what Paige said that night outside Ted’s.

You don’t get to be all over me in private and then play straight for the crowd. I’m not your secret. I’m not some backup plan you get to use when it’s easy.

Even if it was drunk. Even if it was messy. It had cracked something wide open.

And Azzi knew—knew in her gut—that she wasn’t helping. That every glance, every casual touch, every almost was a slow kind of cruelty.

So she drew a harder line.

Not all at once, but in those quiet, deliberate ways that people notice even when they pretend not to.

She stopped sitting next to Paige during team meals. Started saying “I’m gonna head out” before the end of post-practice hangouts. Kept her phone face-down. Gave shorter replies to the late-night texts that always came without a question but carried too much meaning.

She pulled back from the casual touches. The after-lift stretching sessions that used to end in tangled limbs and unspoken closeness. The jokes that skimmed too close to something intimate. The looks. God, the looks.

She didn’t say it out loud. Never made some grand announcement.

But Paige noticed.

Of course she did.

And Azzi could feel it in the shift—how Paige got quieter around her. How her smile didn’t reach all the way anymore. How she stopped reaching out entirely after a while, like she’d done the math and realized what they were wasn’t adding up.

And maybe that was the point.

Azzi thought she was doing the right thing—protecting them both from another slow disaster. Giving her space to breathe while Azzi sorted through her own shit. Making sure Paige didn’t get pulled back into something Azzi wasn’t ready to name.

But the boundaries brought distance.

And the distance brought silence.

And now, they barely speak.

*Present Day*

Paige

She shows up to film early. Of course she does.

Because no matter what her personal life looks like—and it looks like a goddamn train wreck right now—she’s still Paige Bueckers. She’s still a team leader. Still the one who sets the tone, even if her own feels cracked and paper-thin these days.

She shows up. Every time. Early to film. Loud on the sidelines. Quick with encouragement even when she can barely stomach being on the bench.

Because that’s who she’s supposed to be.

The one who doesn’t complain. The one who leads by example. The one who makes it look easy, even when it’s anything but.

And maybe part of her is afraid that if she stops—if she lets the cracks show—they’ll start to forget. Forget how much she gave. Forget how badly she still wants it. Forget that she was supposed to be the one leading them to a title this year before her ACL exploded and took the whole plan with it.

So yeah, her life’s a mess right now. But her role? Her image? That has to stay sharp.

Even if the sharpness is starting to cut back.

She slips into her usual seat—second row, third from the left—hood up, notebook balanced on her lap, pen already uncapped. Her brace is tight today. The trainers told her to ease up on the stairs but she didn’t listen. Again.

She nods along as Geno talks. Scribbles a few things. Watches the screen like she’s absorbing it. But truthfully, she’s only catching about sixty percent of it.

The rest of her brain? Completely useless.

Because Azzi is directly behind her.

And Paige can feel it—like gravity. Like heat. Like something she isn’t supposed to notice anymore but still does, always.

It’s not dramatic. Azzi’s not staring holes in the back of her head. It’s subtler than that. Flickers of attention. Glances that hover and then dart away like they never happened. Paige doesn’t need to turn around to know—they’ve done this dance too many times.

She can feel it in her spine. In her shoulders. In the way her skin prickles under the weight of not being touched.

Azzi’s attention isn’t loud, but it’s deliberate. Careful. Measured in that way it always is now—like she’s trying not to give anything away, like looking too long might make the space between them collapse.

Paige swallows hard and focuses on the screen. Pretends she doesn’t feel the echo of all the ways they used to reach for each other without saying a word.

Pretends she doesn’t miss it. Even though it’s still right there. Just one row behind her.

She’s good at this—keeping her expression neutral, her body language easy, like nothing’s ever off. She’s been doing it since middle school, since before anyone knew what to look for.

But today?

Today, it takes more effort than she wants to admit.

Her notes are messier than usual. Her focus drifts more often. Her stomach clenches every time Geno pauses the tape on an old play from last season—her feeding Azzi in the corner, Azzi draining the three. The two of them moving like muscle memory.

Like something that used to be.

She exhales quietly and writes something down that she probably won’t remember later.

****

After film, someone says, “Nika’s tonight?” and that’s that.

No group vote, no discussion. Just a general agreement that they all need a break and a bad movie. Team bonding, but make it low-key.

Paige almost bails.

She’s not in the mood for snacks and sarcasm and pretending everything’s normal. But she’s also not in the mood to be the only one who doesn’t show up—especially not when she’s already spending enough time on the outside looking in.

So she goes.

She’s late. Not dramatically. Just enough that by the time she walks into Nika’s apartment, the lights are dim, the popcorn’s halfway gone, and everyone’s already staked out their territory.

She scans the room, pretending not to look like she’s scanning. Ice and Aubrey are draped across the beanbags. KK and Caroline are posted up with blankets on the floor. Nika’s curled into her oversized chair like a queen on her throne.

Only one spot left.

And of course it’s next to Azzi.

Because why wouldn’t it be?

The end cushion on the main couch. There’s space—barely. Azzi’s legs are tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, face turned toward the screen like she’s already locked in. But Paige knows her well enough to know she’s not.

She stops in the doorway, hovering just long enough to feel stupid about it. Her eyes flick across the room again, double-checking like maybe she missed a better option.

She didn’t.

She could sit on the floor, but that’d be weird. Or the counter stool near the kitchen, but that’s a straight-up exile move. Obvious. And most of the team is blissfully unaware of the behind-the-scenes melodrama that’s become her and Azzi’s lives.

So she bites the bullet.

Plasters on a neutral face.

And drops down next to her.

Azzi shifts just slightly to make room—knee brushing Paige’s for half a second before pulling away again. It’s barely anything. But Paige feels it everywhere.

She opens a bottle of water and stares at the screen like the movie’s going to save her.

It won’t.

But at least if she focuses hard enough, maybe she won’t notice how close Azzi’s arm is. Or the way her hair smells like something fruity. Or how Paige used to spend entire nights in that exact space on the couch—knees touching, shoulders warm, everything between them soft and quiet and real.

Now?

Now she’s just trying not to breathe too loud.

****

She’s pretty sure the room wasn’t this warm when she walked in.

Paige shifts slightly, peeling the edge of her hoodie away from her neck like it might help. It doesn’t. The apartment’s packed, sure—but it’s not that hot. At least no one else seems to be melting into the furniture.

Except maybe her.

Or maybe it’s just that she can feel Azzi next to her.

Not in some earth-shattering way. Just enough to make her skin buzz. Just in a too-aware-of-every-breath-she-takes kind of way. Her knee is curled toward Paige’s leg again, tucked under her like she’s trying to disappear into the couch. And Paige’s thigh is right there—barely touching, but definitely touching.

And God help her, it’s all she can think about.

Azzi shifts again and their knees bump. A soft, accidental press. Paige freezes.

Azzi doesn’t move.

Paige doesn’t either.

The movie is playing—some dumb rom-com Nika picked for the aesthetic more than the plot. Something with oversaturated lighting and too many slow-motion glances. Laughter bubbles up around the room at some punchline Paige barely registers.

She doesn’t hear it.

Not really.

Her pulse is louder than the dialogue now, steady and unrelenting in her ears. It drums under her skin like a warning: Too close. Too close.

The couch cushion shifts beside her as Azzi moves—slow, quiet, pulling at the sleeve of her sweatshirt like she’s fidgeting to keep her hands busy. Paige doesn’t look over, but she doesn’t have to. She can feel it.

That subtle give in the cushion. The warmth creeping into the narrow space between them.

Now their arms are close. Like, too close.

Not quite touching, but close enough that the fabric of Paige’s hoodie tugs slightly when she inhales. Close enough that she can feel the static tension gathering in the gap between them like something charged, alive, waiting.

She presses her knuckles into her thigh to ground herself. Keeps her eyes on the screen like the movie might anchor her.

But it doesn’t.

Because all she can think about is the fact that if she moved half an inch to the left, she’d be touching Azzi again.

And that half an inch feels impossible.

Paige inhales through her nose and stares at the screen like her life depends on it.

It’s fine. This is fine.

Just casual knee contact with your ex-best friend slash person-you’re-definitely-not-still-in-love-with. No big deal.

Then—

“Yo,” Aubrey whispers, way too loud for a whisper, jabbing Paige in the side with two knuckles like she’s trying to get her attention and restart her heart.

Paige startles—physically jolts. Her knee knocks into Azzi’s harder than intended, solid enough to make her wince. Her elbow swings wide in the process and lands—of course—right against Azzi’s ribs.

“Oh my God—sorry,” she mumbles, already pulling her arm back like it’s on fire.

Azzi lets out the softest breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. Just… something that says I felt that too.

Paige doesn’t look over. Can’t. If she does, she’s pretty sure she’ll combust.

“Sorry,” she mutters under her breath.

Azzi gives a tiny head shake like it’s nothing, but she doesn’t look at her.

Paige blinks, disoriented, half-thinking she’s about to see a TikTok or a meme or something equally stupid that’ll at least give her a reason to unclench.

She looks down.

And her stomach twists.

Azzi

The interruption is a relief. A welcome one, honestly.

She’s felt like she’s been holding her breath for the last thirty minutes—shoulders tight, legs folded too neatly, heart thudding in some dumb, unsteady rhythm she swears wasn’t there when the movie started.

It’s just a couch.

Just a movie.

Just Paige sitting four inches to her right, jaw clenched and eyes trained on the screen like it personally offended her.

Azzi hasn’t moved in forever. Not really. She shifted once to reach for popcorn and regretted it immediately when her knee brushed Paige’s. Light. Unintentional. But it might as well have been electric. She’s been statue-still ever since.

She doesn’t dare lean back or adjust or even uncross her ankles. Not when her skin is still buzzing. Not when her arm is close enough to Paige’s that she can feel the heat through two layers of fabric and the silence between them is doing more damage than words ever could.

It’s not like anyone else would notice. To everyone else, it probably looks normal. Like nothing’s wrong. Just two teammates watching a movie.

But to Azzi?

It’s suffocating.

She can feel Paige’s tension like it’s her own—like it’s crawling off her skin and settling in Azzi’s chest. She can feel every breath Paige takes and every one she holds. Every shift. Every twitch. Every micro-movement of trying not to care.

And she wonders—stupidly, selfishly—if Paige feels it too.

So yeah, when Aubrey leans over and jabs Paige with her elbow, Azzi nearly exhales out loud.

Thank God.

She tries not to look. Tries to give them privacy, even though nothing about it seems that deep. Just a phone screen, a low chuckle, Paige’s voice tight and unreadable.

But then Paige goes still.

Not physically—emotionally. The kind of retreat you only notice if you’ve memorized her face.

So she glances over.

Not to be nosy. Just… to know.

And that’s when she sees it.

A phone screen held between two hands. Lit up with an Instagram profile. A girl.

Dark brown hair. Sharp jawline. Smiling in cleats and turf-stained socks.

Azzi squints. She recognizes her—vaguely. From the soccer team, maybe? She’s pretty. Objectively.

Something in Azzi’s stomach shifts.

And then—like a puzzle snapping into place—she remembers the conversation from earlier that week.

Caroline and Aubrey sitting at the table in the student center, laughing over iced coffees and talking just loud enough for Azzi to catch the tail end of it.

“I swear, she’d be into her,” Aubrey had said, voice low but not exactly subtle.

“She’s cool. Chill. Doesn’t take things too seriously.”

Caroline had hummed, not disagreeing. “Paige could probably use someone like that right now.”

And then—

“Something easy, y’know? While she’s stuck on the sidelines.”

Azzi hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Hadn’t let herself.

But now? Seeing the girl’s face on the screen? Watching Paige go still?

It lands.

Aubrey’s trying to play matchmaker.

And the match?

Isn’t her.

Of course it’s not her.

Azzi shifts in her seat slightly, just enough to break the contact between their legs. Paige doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t react. That might be worse.

A tightness starts blooming in Azzi’s chest, quiet but immediate. Like a too-small sweatshirt pressing against her lungs. Like she just learned something she wasn’t supposed to hear.

Her eyes flick back to the phone. The girl’s still there—smiling like she has no idea she’s the source of the ache forming behind Azzi’s ribs. She’s pretty. Chill-looking. Effortless. The kind of girl who probably doesn’t overthink a thing. Who’d slide into a relationship like it’s just another afternoon.Who could hold her without all the questions.

Azzi looks away.

Her stomach twists.

Because the truth is, this girl probably is a better fit. Probably won’t freeze when Paige gets close. Probably won’t make her feel like she has to tiptoe around invisible landmines. Probably won’t leave her hanging in the middle of a sentence because she doesn’t know how to say I think about you all the time, but I still don’t know what that means for me.

And that’s what stings the most.

Not that Paige might move on. But that maybe she should.

Azzi presses her hands into her lap. Hard. Just to feel something else.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. She’s the one who stepped back. Drew the line. Told herself it was better this way.

But now, watching Paige stiffen beside her, reading whatever’s on that screen, Azzi wants to reach across the couch and snatch the phone from her hands. Or rewind time. Or say something. Anything.

But she doesn’t.

Because what could she possibly say?

Wait, don’t like her. I still think about you every night. I wasn’t ready then, but I miss you in a way that still scares me. Please.

No.

Instead, she stays still.

Breath shallow.

Heart splintering slowly in her chest.

Because the girl on the screen is probably good for Paige.

And then— Oh God. Derrick.

Her actual boyfriend.

She’d forgotten about him. Completely. Like, not just out of sight, out of mind—but fully erased from her mental hard drive for the past thirty seconds. That probably says something awful.

They’ve been hanging out. It’s not nothing. He’s good to her. Steady in a way that’s rare around here—especially in guys who spend half their lives in cleats and compression sleeves. Derrick’s on the football team, so he gets it. The early lifts, the pressure, the silence that sometimes follows a bad game. He doesn’t ask her to explain the way her brain works when she’s locked in season mode—he just understands.

He laughs at her driest jokes. Always walks her to her dorm, even when it’s out of the way.

It’s not fake.

Sometimes, when she’s with him—when it’s quiet, and he’s smiling at her like she’s not hard to love—she almost lets herself believe this is what right feels like.

But then moments like this creep in.

Moments where her whole body tunes to Paige’s without meaning to. Where a knee bump or a glance makes her forget who she came here with.

And suddenly, even good things start to feel wrong.

Maybe this is what happens when you wait too long to be brave.

Paige

She scrolls for a beat too long. Long enough to memorize the girl’s face even though she doesn’t mean to.

Pretty. Friendly smile. The kind of person you could sit next to in class and not feel the need to impress.

She feels Azzi shift beside her. Just barely.

But Paige feels it. Like a ripple through the couch cushion. Like a silent inhale that doesn’t fully let go.

She doesn’t look over. She doesn’t need to. 

Azzi saw. She knows that much.

And maybe—God, maybe—there’s a version of her that should be thrilled by that. That should take the tension radiating off Azzi’s body as proof. That should cling to it like a sign that not everything’s lost. That maybe there’s still a version of this story where they get to figure it out.

But all Paige can think about is how tired she is.

How long it’s been since someone touched her and meant it. Since she felt chosen. On purpose. Without conditions.

Aubrey leans in again, barely above a whisper. “I told you she’s cute.”

Paige forces a tiny, noncommittal smile. “Yeah. She’s… fine.”

Aubrey nudges her with an elbow. “She’s more than fine. And she’s chill. Pre-PT major. I think you’d vibe.”

Paige keeps her eyes on the screen, where the rom-com couple is slow-dancing in the rain. “We’ve literally never spoken.”

“So? That’s what DMs are for,” Aubrey says, like it’s obvious. “And don’t give me that look. It wouldn’t kill you to flirt for once.”

Paige huffs out something like a laugh. “I don’t even know how to flirt anymore. My game died with my ACL.”

Aubrey snorts. “Okay, drama. You’re still Paige Bueckers. You could wink at a vending machine and it would Venmo you lunch.”

That gets a real smile. Small, but real. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Paige shrugs, letting the phone settle in her lap. “Maybe.”

She hasn’t been with anyone since Azzi. Not seriously. Not in the ways that matter. A few flirty texts. A couple of could’ve-beens. Nothing that stuck. Nothing she wanted to.

Because how are you supposed to fall for someone else when the only person you ever really wanted still looks at you like that—and then does nothing?

Maybe it’s time.

Not to move on, exactly. She’s not sure that’s even possible. But maybe it’s time to try wanting something new. Something easy. Someone who doesn’t come with a year of silence and soft maybes. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s constantly waiting for a door to open that might never unlock.

She nods at the phone, even though the screen’s dimmed now. “She’s cute,” she says quietly.

Aubrey nudges her again, triumphant. “Told you.”

Paige passes the phone back with a smile she hopes looks normal.

She leans back into the couch, exhale soft, heartbeat a little too loud in her ears.

Azzi hasn’t moved. And Paige doesn’t either.

Then— A soft buzz. Azzi pulls out her phone. The screen lights up.

Paige doesn’t mean to look. But she does.

Derrick 💪🏽 One text. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

Paige’s throat tightens. She turns back to the screen, blinking hard. The movie’s still playing, some oversaturated love story about two people who keep finding their way back to each other no matter what.

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth and wills herself not to care.

But the ache sits there anyway. Familiar. Heavy. Right in the center of her chest.

Maybe this is what moving on looks like. Maybe it's not dramatic. Not loud. Maybe it’s just noticing someone’s Instagram profile and not looking away this time.

She pulls her hoodie tighter. Sinks a little further into the couch.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige wonders what it might feel like to be wanted by someone new—someone who doesn't already know how to break her.

[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mentions of school fights and bruises (non-graphic) + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 2.3k | genre: romance, fluff, kinda enemies-to-lovers !! ;p

note: WOWOW, two posts in one day??? who is she??? (definitely not someone procrastinating her to-do list by writing about a rebel basketball captain and a stressed-out student council president falling in love—definitely not.)

anyway, hii !! i had way too much fun writing this !! >< also, feel free to send me messages, asks, or requests—i might (emphasis on might because I’m lazy, hehe) turn this into a series if you guys like it, aaa. ALSO, i really, really need to make a masterlist to keep my profile organized, but guess what? i’m too lazy. someone please bonk me with a pillow or smth. 💔

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ♡‧₊˚

Y/N L/N

Year & Section: 12 - A

Position: Student Council President

Vibe: Miss Goody Two Shoes, Walking Honor Roll, and A Literal Angel

Known For:

- Fixing everyone’s mess (including Natasha’s)

- Straight As, Complete notes, and a color-coded Google Calendar

- Always wearing her ID. Always.

- Literally the only reason the faculty hasn’t given up on this school

- Smiles sweetly while saying, “That’s against school policy.”

NATASHA ROMANOFF

Year & Section: 12 - A

Position: Captain, Women’s Basketball Team

Vibe: Rebel Without a Cause, Hotheaded Heartthrob, and Leather Jacket Energy

Known For:

- Cutting class but still scoring MVP

- Pulling up to school on a motorcycle (allegedly)

- Has a permanent seat in detention—but makes it look like a throne

- Once made a guy cry during a scrimmage... with just a glare

- Looks like she doesn’t care—until it’s Y/N.

What would you do if you got partnered with your polar opposite for a school project? Like... the girl who's practically allergic to rules, shows up late to every class—if she even shows up at all—and somehow makes your life as student council president ten times harder just by existing?

Well, I have... and here's how the story goes.

She's Natasha Romanoff.

If there’s one person on this campus who gives me a headache at least three times a week, it’s Natasha Romanoff.

Captain of the women’s basketball team. Standing at six feet of pure chaos. The type of student who thinks rules are suggestions and uniforms are optional. She’s the exact kind of person I swore I’d never get involved with. You know—the delinquent, the rebel, the walking red flag your mother warned you about.

She rarely shows up to class. And when she does? She’s either asleep, doodling in her notebook, or getting sent out for being a 'distraction.' Her file in the faculty office is thicker than the student handbook—and I would know, I helped revise it.

She picks fights like it’s a sport. She’s been banned from three different cafeterias for fighting in line. Her knuckles are always bruised, her lip usually split, and yet she still walks around like she owns the whole school—because somehow, she kind of does.

It drives me insane. I’m the student council president. I run this place on schedules, protocols, and peacekeeping. I solve disputes between orgs, approve event permits, and enforce policies like my life depends on it—which, sometimes, it kind of does. So imagine my horror every time her name pops up on my desk. 'Romanoff punched someone again.' 'Romanoff’s skipping classes again.' 'Romanoff's motorcycle is parked on the faculty lawn again.'

She's a walking nightmare for someone like me.

Worse, she seems to have no plans for her future. No goals. No ambition. Just… basketball. That’s all she ever thinks about. Practice. Games. Scores. Like the world outside the court doesn’t exist. It’s frustrating. It’s pathetic. And yet—she plays with so much fire, it almost makes you forget everything else. Almost.

Tip: don’t be fooled by her soft-looking face. Sure, she’s got those calm green eyes and a lazy smile that makes girls weak in the knees, but trust me—she’s all sharp edges underneath. Dangerous. Reckless. Untouchable.

Naturally, girls chase after her like she’s a rom-com lead in real life. I’ve seen love confessions on paper cups, flowers in her locker, and girls literally waiting outside the gym after practice hoping she’ll so much as glance at them. But you know what’s weird? Despite how egoistical she is—despite the arrogance, the swagger, the attention—I’ve never seen her date anyone. I’ve never even heard rumors of her with anyone. Not once.

And then came the groupings for our Humanities project. A randomized draw, they said. Fate, I’d argue.

It was one silly project. That’s all it was supposed to be. A one-time, two-week, half-grade assignment. But it led to the one thing I never expected...

Actually knowing her.

That was the day everything changed.

That was the day Natasha Romanoff looked at me like I wasn’t just the school president... but something more.

—

You hear your name and Natasha Romanoff’s in the same sentence and immediately feel the universe collapse.

“Group three… Romanoff and L/N.”

The room goes silent. A beat of stunned silence, and then—

“WHAT?”

“Oh my god.”

“No way.”

“Lord, this is my Roman Empire.”

You shut your eyes and exhale slowly.

“Y/N,” Wanda whispers, clutching your arm like you’re on a sinking ship. “Tell me I heard wrong.”

You stare at your teacher. “Miss, is there a mistake—?”

“No mistakes,” she says cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “I think this will be a… fun dynamic.”

Yelena is already cackling. “Good luck, president,” she sings. “You’re gonna need it.”

Behind you, Natasha Romanoff stretches in her seat like she didn’t just cause a classroom-wide scandal. She yawns, leans back, spins her pen between her fingers like a basketball. You lock eyes for exactly two seconds. She smirks.

And just like that, you know you’re doomed.

—

Later that afternoon

You’re pacing by your locker, chewing your lower lip. You don't have Natasha’s number. But Yelena does.

“I hate this,” you say, typing quickly. “This feels like betrayal.”

“Calm down, you’re literally texting her for school,” Yelena replies while eating fries. “Now go! Be a good president and go manage your delinquent girlfriend.”

“She is not my—never mind.”

You shoot her a glare, then copy the number. You stare at your phone for a full minute before finally typing:

You expect to be left on read. Or worse—no response at all.

But she replies.

You blink.

She does find you. Within ten minutes.

You watch her walk in like she owns the place. In her hoodie, earrings glinting under the warm light, one earbud in, backpack slung over one shoulder. She moves like a secret, like danger with a pulse.

She drops into the seat across from you. “Hey.”

You glance at the time. “You’re… early.”

She shrugs. “Skipped practice.”

Your jaw drops. “What?! Why would you—”

“To work on the project,” she says simply, like it’s obvious.

You gape at her. “You skipped practice. For school.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, presidente,” she teases, resting her chin on her hand. “You messaged. I showed up. That’s the arrangement, right?”

You can’t even tell if she’s being serious. But her eyes are calm, and she actually opens the module you printed out. No complaints. No smart remarks. Just… reading.

You snap out of it and start discussing your plan. She listens. Occasionally nods. Offers surprisingly decent ideas. You make notes. You don’t notice that your voice grows more relaxed. You don’t notice how she’s been watching you the whole time—not the paper. Not the topic. You.

“You know,” she says once you finish outlining the draft, “you talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cute.”

You nearly choke on your water.

—

Once you pack up

“Okay, I’ll message you updates after I type the outline,” you say, stuffing your planner into your tote. “Thanks for actually showing up, by the way. I didn’t expect you to.”

Natasha stands, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll walk you home.”

You pause. “What?”

“It’s late. You’ve got three books in your bag, and your tote’s heavier than Yelena’s sarcasm. Come on.”

You blink at her. “Are you… being nice?”

“Don’t ruin it,” she deadpans.

You roll your eyes but… follow her. She doesn’t ask for your address. She already knows it. (You don’t want to know how.)

The walk is quiet. She keeps her hands in her pockets, glancing at you every few steps like she’s making sure you’re still there. At one point, she slows down to match your pace. You pretend not to notice. But your heart’s doing cartwheels.

When you reach your gate, you turn to her. “Okay, um… thanks. Again.”

She shrugs. “Text me when you’re editing. I wanna see what it looks like.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You care about the final output now?”

She gives you a lopsided smirk. “You care. That’s enough reason.”

Before you can respond, she’s already walking away.

You stand at your gate, heart thundering, cheeks warm.

What just happened?

—

Meanwhile, the group chats are on fire.

—

Your phone buzzes again—more group chats lighting up, your friends collectively losing their minds—but you don’t check them right away. You’re still thinking about her voice. The way she said you care, that’s enough reason. It loops in your head like a song you’re not ready to skip. And for the first time since the semester started, you’re not thinking about deadlines, reports, or disciplinary forms.

Outside, your phone buzzes again.

You smile.

You think that’s it. But then…

Your jaw drops. You type furiously.

You let out an annoyed huff. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself it is. But deep down, you’re smiling like a fool under the covers, kicking your feet just a little—just enough to feel ridiculous.

Because Natasha Romanoff just told you sweet dreams.

Because she showed up. Listened. Skipped basketball for a group project.

Because somewhere between the chaos and the attitude and the teasing, you’re starting to realize something terrifying:

She’s not just a delinquent.

She’s not just trouble.

She’s kind of wonderful.

And she’s starting to mean something to you.

You’re so doomed.

You’re thinking about Natasha Romanoff.

You fling your pillow over your face to muffle the scream

You close your eyes, the ghost of her smirk burned into your mind.

Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.

Very, very interesting.

[torawro]

LIKE SPECKS OF SUNLIGHT IN THE EARLY MORN. ( p. a.)

portgas d. ace & marine!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine it as such! everyone is welcome to read <3 reader wears glasses, and is a marine stationed on an unnamed island at a base along the grand line. ‘lazy morning’ / ‘morning after’ kind of vibes so, a bit of pillow talk (?) . references to smut & making love (it already happened). contains some angst & angsty themes throughout (i.e., ace dealing with his self esteem issues, low self worth, etc..) otherwise it’s supposed to be fluffy ( the quiet, somber kind i think ) ! descriptions of kissing & borderline making out. ace is kind of lovesick and clingy but it’s subtle-ish. lots of introspection and reflection on both him and the reader’s part. kind of based on mitski's "my love, mine all mine", definitely had that song on repeat as i wrote this. romantic and deeply poetic rhetoric but y’all already know that’s just how i write lol. told from omniscient point of view (third person). proofread this as i was feeling sleepy, so please excuse any mistakes or things that don’t make sense!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! guess who's baaaaack.....! i know it's been a while since i have published any original work and i want to apologize for that. lately it's been difficult finding the energy to write something for more than five minutes and honestly, i think i just need to rediscover what drives me so i can tap into the zone more often. i missed it though, and hope i get to write more this year <3 anyway, first fic of 2025 and it feels right to make it about second commander of the whitebeard pirates, portgas d. ace. this fic is my late birthday 'gift' to him and something of a love letter because ohhhhh i miss my pookie bear so much :(( this entire idea started as just me thinking about kissing each of his freckles because i have the personal hc that he doesn't really like them, the reason for it is inherently tied to his distaste for his father and by extension himself :/ and then it just turned into this lmao. i hope ace doesn't behave too out of character here, as this is also my first time writing for him in any context, so pls be gentle with me. REBLOBS + COMMENTARY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED.

IT WAS NOT THE LIGHT chirping of small birds that awoke you, nor was it the ringing of your biological clock telling you that the dawn was near. Instead it was a familiar tugging sensation within the pit of your stomach— the need to relieve yourself— that caused your eyes to peel themselves back slowly and with struggle, slumber from the previous night hasn’t been completely washed away yet.

It took your brain several more moments to dust off enough of its sleepy exhaustion before you attempted to sit up from your comfortable position in bed, but were immediately met with some light resistance.

The resistance in question was a long, muscled arm thrown around your soft torso, blackened ink of a tattoo staining the skin on its bicep. It was still too dark and you were still too tired to make out the sharp angles of the marking, but you knew what they were; your eyes have gazed upon it more times than you could count, and it has made a home in your memory.

That’s when your ears registered the rhythmic and almost nasal snores that flowed from the mouth of the man who held you so securely against his chest, and you almost smiled at how completely at ease and relaxed he seemed. 

At times like this, when things were still or you had a moment to yourself, you still could not wrap your head around the fact that you had gotten yourself involved with Portgas D. Ace— willingly at that. 

The first time was a fluke at best. That’s the excuse you were going to go with. You didn’t realize he was a pirate— an infamous pirate with hundreds of millions of Beri to his name— until your clothes were already halfway off and you were feverishly grinding down onto his lap like some touch-starved whore who’s been aching to feel something. That ‘fluke’ was one spurred on by alcohol, a particularly rough week at sea, and a sizable lapse in judgment, but you hadn’t felt that…… alive in a long time. But now, two years have passed since you have been seeing Ace in secret like this, and you have long since given up blaming it on a fragile emotional constitution further weakened by alcohol. You knew good and well what you were doing, and you could no longer deny the way your heart was constantly set aflutter whenever you spent any amount of time with him.

You did try your hardest to not let yourself enjoy how … domestic it all seemed: waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep entangled with each other at night, having him hide out at your cozy apartment for days at a time, cooking him meals when you were relieved of your duties for the day. You wouldn’t— shouldn’t let yourself enjoy such content thoughts too much, because you also knew it could all be over in the blink of an eye. The world could be cruel that way if it wanted to.

But still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be grateful for these moments. From what you could tell, Ace seemed to enjoy this arrangement as much as you did. And for now, that was enough.

Lightly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you carefully lifted his arm from around you, moving slow so you wouldn’t wake him up. Once you’ve successfully loosened his hold, you sat upright, a muted ache shooting through your lower body as you shifted around to stand. The ache mostly resided in between your legs, and a flood of memories from just hours ago rushed over you at once, causing a tingling warmth to bloom underneath your skin. Ace had poured so much into you, it never failed to leave you equal parts stunned and breathless when you witnessed his passion overflow from the brim of his being. His hands, calloused palms that always ran hot, had been everywhere— your body could still feel the heat of where they had laid, caressed, groped, smacked, and squeezed. And you involuntarily jolted as you recalled where his fingers and lips had been, how it felt to be pressed so closely against him as he simultaneously took you apart. 

After another moment of being lost in your own reverie, you pulled yourself out of it and filed those memories away in a separate corner of your mind, so that you may more fully indulge in them later. As you carefully removed the blankets and climbed over the sleeping pirate, one bare foot had hardly hit the cool wooden floor before a hand wrapped itself around your wrist. 

A quiet grumbling noise vibrated from behind Ace’s lips, his eyes remained closed as he spoke, indicative that he was barely awake. “Wh…where y’goin’....?” His words were slurred and thick with sleep, his deep voice reaching the depths of your being to spark something to life in the pit of your belly. But you promptly ignored it for now. 

“To the bathroom, I gotta pee.”

He replied with another mumbling sort of noise, presumably one of acknowledgment or begrudging acquiescence— you couldn’t be sure. “M’kay, just . . . hurry back t’bed, will ya? M’cold.” 

You found amusement in the inherent irony of his claim that he was ‘cold’  when he always ran a little warmer than most— not to mention his devil fruit powers— but also in the fact that despite his urging you to take care of your business swiftly, he hasn't released his hold on your wrist yet. In fact, he tugged you a little closer to him, as if he was trying to pull you back into bed. 

A small smile began to curl at the corners of your lips as you moved to manually pry his fingers from your arm so you can make your way out of the bedroom and down the hall.

For the next several minutes, Ace was left alone. 

He stirred in his partially-awake state as he made himself comfortable again in bed, but one eye managed to pry itself open by a few millimeters. It was unfortunate he was roused from his deep  sleep, but he was sure he’d doze off again soon enough. 

From what he could see, the room was still dark for the most part, his surroundings washed in a rich, navy blue color, a telltale sign that the sun would rise within the next hour or so. Aside from the faint rustling coming from the bathroom, the air was occupied by a serene silence, meaning his innermost thoughts became that much more perceptible to his mind’s ear. 

Sometimes, a part of Ace felt like fate had shined upon him— just a little, just this once— when his mind mulled over his…unique relationship with you, and all the events that led up to this exact moment. He too understood the implications of seeing you like this, but he couldn’t find it within himself to let go and move on. There was just…something about you, something special. 

Even now, he still couldn’t quite understand why you were taking such a big risk and basically throwing your life away by getting comfortable with a pirate like him. The both of you came from two different worlds, the morals embedded within those worlds constantly pitted you against each other. 

But you willingly ignored them, and so did he. 

Perhaps that was the ‘special’ quality about you and this relationship that he still struggled to articulate, how pure and genuine it all felt— how you were. Either way, he was grateful that he wasn’t the only one being a little selfish. And every now and again, Ace might silently thank the universe for allowing him this one thing, even though he hasn’t, and probably never will do anything, to deserve it. 

The increasing volume of footsteps pulled Ace from his thoughts, and soon enough you reappeared in the doorway, making your way back to bed– back home in Ace’s arms.

Your lips parted in a yawn, putting your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, before carefully climbing over the taller man to reclaim your spot next to him. Ace wasted no time encasing you against him once more, one arm laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting under your neck, acting somewhat as a pillow of sorts.

“...took too long,” the pirate muttered under his breath, the low, vibrating sound of his voice so close to your ear did nothing for your fiercely pulsating heart. It was the only organ in your entire body that seemed to be fully awake right now.

“I wasn’t even gone for that long, ya big baby. Prob’ly less than five minutes.” A soft sigh punctuated your reply, snuggling more into the toned front of Ace’s chest and abdomen as he adjusted the thick blankets over both of your bodies. The covers, as well as the gentle warmth radiating from his exposed skin, provided a steady stream of heat that battled against the crisp morning air, both sensations nearly enough to lull you back to sleep. You enthusiastically pushed aside the fact that you had to get up again in two and a half hours for your shift to patrol around the city.

“Shuddup, let’s go to sleep.” Ace grumbled, pulling you even closer to him so that very little space existed between both of you, and nearly nuzzling his face in the bonnet you wore on your head. A soundless chuckle rumbled within your chest, finding his sleepy and almost pouty tone both amusing and adorable.

However, despite his own request, and the fact that his own eyes were barely open, Ace was finding it difficult to once more quiet his thoughts enough to drift back to sleep. They were still a bit too loud and knocked against his skull too much. 

Such thoughts only seemed to intensify when both of his eyes managed to peel themselves open this time in order to observe your form next to him. From what he could see based on where he laid, Ace silently took note of how tranquil your expression was as your breathing began to even out, how long your eyelashes actually were without your glasses obscuring them, and the small birthmark on your cheek that he developed a habit of kissing. His dark eyes roamed across every inch of your face, and he relished in the soft flesh of your stomach underneath his fingertips, giving it a feather-light squeeze every now and again.

You were here with him— in this bed, hardly wearing anything at all, and practically clinging to the arm wrapped around your abdomen— bound together with a kiss on that fateful night two years ago. You wanted to be here, he knew that. So why was it he still had to wrestle with the phantoms of doubt in the darker sectors of his mind? Why did they haunt him so, and prevent him from just plainly accepting this for what it is? Accept that it was okay to indulge, okay to claim this one thing as his and his alone? He didn’t even claim his own father, but this— you? Oh, how he wanted to be greedy, he yearned for it. But something in him, some dark, caustic, unforgiving thing, made him feel like he shouldn’t.

But didn’t he deserve something nice too? Something that wasn’t, or could no longer be tainted by the wicked and unloving world they were born into?

Ace knew that you cared for him— quite a lot, more than you should. There was a four letter word he might have used to label the way in which you cared about him, and he about you, but he dare not say it. He dared not say it in fear that the universe would snatch it away the moment it left his lips, and reveal that it was only playing a heartless joke on him.

“Hey. Are you… okay? Okay with this, I mean.” The words left his lips without putting a real thought behind them, for his mind was preoccupied with trying to keep itself afloat above the sea of negative ones that tried to carry him off to a place he did not want to visit.

Your left eye opened, then your right, as if opening them would help you better process his sudden question. Your brows furrowed next, digging deeper into your forehead in order to figure out the hidden meaning behind his words— or if there was one to begin with. “I…this position is fine, and I’m comfortable. Unless you want to be closer to the window?” You replied with your own question, uncertainty of what he was asking about thick in your tone. And judging by the way his arm tightened around you by a fraction and the nearly inaudible sigh that left his lips, it became clear that’s not what he was truly asking.

“No, I meant…are you okay with us?” Ace’s already husky voice quieted even more, nearly tapering off into a whisper. But he was pressed close enough to you that you were still able to hear him loud and clear. Something about the way he phrased his question rang a silent alarm in your head, indicating that the forthcoming conversation was going to take a more solemn turn.

With that in mind you shifted in his arms, turning around so that you were now facing Ace directly, still so close that the tips of your noses nearly touched each other. His hold on you readjusted as a result, the tattooed arm once more staking its claim on your waist and effectively trapping you against his front. His sable tresses fell unceremoniously across his face, a few strands nearly covering one of his eyes. Your fingers didn’t miss the opportunity to brush them away. 

“Yes.” Your reply was simple, and you thought it important to make that clear first because something, an emotion you were unable to categorize, flickered in his still-hooded eyes. And something about it worried you. “I am more than okay with us. There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now.” The fingers lingering on his skin suddenly became your entire palm, as you were now cupping the side of his face.

Ace burned even warmer here compared to the rest of his body, and you found physical comfort in the sensation. His skin seemed to ignite under your touch despite his sleepiness, and the dark-haired pirate was internally grateful that it was still quite dark in your room, so you were unable to see the light flush that was beginning to form underneath his freckled cheeks. 

“Why are you asking?” Your inquiry was as tender as your touch, and it made his chest ache. 

It took Ace several seconds to search for his next words and arrange them in a sentence, for your straightforward reply admittedly caught him off-guard. Now he was unsure if there was a need to continue at all.

But the specters of doubt were ever persistent.

“I just…” The words faded away on his tongue before he could say them and instead, your response rang loud in his head. 

‘There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now’.

Did you mean that? Have you always felt that way? Did you just happen to say that because he asked a question, because somehow you knew that’s what something in his soul wanted to hear?

And then, Ace found his words again. “You can do better, you know.” His voice turned more gruff, rough around the edges, as if he had to forcefully tug those words from the back of his throat. As if it hurt to say that. “You could, if you wanted. You’re gorgeous. Intelligent, resourceful. You have a respectable career, and you can cook damn good.”

You released a soft chuckle at that last part, finding it comical how he always found a way to talk about how good your food was. But whatever uptick on your lips faded as soon as it came once Ace parted his lips to speak again.

“You don’t have to spend your time, money, or energy on someone like me. You didn’t have to spread those pretty legs of yours for me, either. Didn’t have to let me stay here whenever I come to town. You didn’t even have to let me sleep in this bed so close to you.”

He paused, the muscles laying against and wrapped around you tensed briefly, his eyelashes met the apples of his cheeks when he allowed his eyes to close for a moment. When he opened them again, he found it harder to look at you— if he did, he might crumble away. “You could do better than a pirate like me, who has nothing going for himself except for instability, anger and…and hate. So, why?”

The next words reverberated in the air without Ace even having to say them. Why choose me? Why risk all of that for me?

Similarly, something throbbed uncomfortably within your chest as you listened to him speak, even after he finished and silence descended upon the both of you. 

You could only wonder where this line of questioning originated from. It was uncharacteristic of Ace to voice thoughts of this nature, even more so when there was no prior word or action to lure them forward. You continued to observe him in the quiet, not even realizing that you had been softly caressing his cheek all this while until your hand came to a halt.

Why? Why were you with Ace, entangled in every sense of the word and jeopardizing the life you’ve built for yourself for his sake? The answer seemed so simple, but not as much now that you had to consciously think about it; you somehow struggled to put it into words. 

Ace was like the rays of sunlight that peeked through heavy drapes in the early morning— much like they would soon be in a few hours— or like the flickering flames of a small fire that offered you solace on an unkind wintery night. He was warm and intense, but mellow and tender at the same time, in his own way. He offered you comfort when you needed it, stirred up something in you when you wanted it, brightened your life when you didn’t even realize how dull and monochrome it was. Ace was…

“Allow me to offer a question of my own. Why are you taking an equally significant, if not greater risk, just to curl up in my bed with me? Why come back so often to this town, risking capture, if only to hold me close, eat the food I make, and to make love to me?”

Your inquiries seemed to tug you forward, motivating you to scoot a little closer to Ace so that there was hardly even an iota of space existing in between your faces. His breath hitched quietly in his chest at that, more so when you leaned forward and simply placed your lips on his cheek, right on top of the dozens of prominent and faded freckles that resided there. Something about the gesture felt intentional— like you did not kiss his face, but the light specks on top of it. And thinking about it like that made his taut chest twinge again in a manner he could not describe right now.

Your breaths against his flesh were soft and leveled, and successfully fanned the flames of an even pinker flush to blossom across his visage.

He struggled to give you a coherent answer to your questions because his inner thoughts seemed to reset every time your plush lips came in contact with his face— all gentle like he would break if you applied too much pressure. He never associated that word with himself before, nor had anyone else in his entire life.

So why did he do it? Why did he do any of it? Why was he so attached to you, to your existence, your presence, and everything that reminded him of you? 

Ace knew the answer. 

He fears he’s known it for some time now.

But would it be right— would it be okay to label it with the word that was sitting on his tongue? Did he truly have the capacity to bear the weight of it? Would this blissful reality he found himself nestled in start to unravel the moment he said it? Would the universe truly let him have this one thing to himself, forever?

A feathery, open-mouthed kiss from you onto his nose cut off his thoughts, but confirmed his answer. 

A bleary sort of smile, edges softened by his affection for you, tugged the corners of Ace’s mouth upwards. The hand that encased your waist traveled further downwards to take the meat of your thigh in its grasp, and toss it over his own hips. He had slung your leg over himself in an attempt to hold your bodies inexplicably closer, the feeling of his fingers gliding lazily across your exposed skin caused your pulse to quicken.

“I understand. Thank you.” 

Within another second or two, his mouth eventually met with yours. His lips and yours seamlessly molded together, like they were two carved parts of the same whole. It was a slow, saccharine thing, ultimately leading your fingertips to slide back and thread themselves through his dark locks, and the calloused, hot palm on your thigh to grip the area ever tighter— as if you’d evaporate if he didn’t do so.

Ace loved you— was in love with you. His heart thrummed against his chest when he tossed that fact around in his head, gradually accepting it to be true as he steadily deepened the kiss.

He murmured those three words into your mouth after languidly coaxing it open with his tongue so the wet muscle could slither inside and make a home there. It was barely intelligible, but somehow you knew what he’d said. Such a declaration was only reserved for you, so of course you recognized it. Ace didn’t even want the words to linger in the air, lest the universe heard what he had said. He still thanked it though, grateful to whatever deities thrusted you into his path that night so that he could have this moment with you, and build similar ones like this hereafter.

You reciprocated it, quietly sighing the words back into him and he eagerly swallowed them up, giving your thigh an affectionate squeeze in response.

Briefly, you pulled back, but only by a millimeter— not wanting the cold air of the early morning to catch you yet— and your palm ended up on Ace’s jaw. The pad of your thumb brushed over the sheet of freckles with no particular pattern or rhythm, and you absently thought about how they might be your favorite feature on his entire body. As if to emphasize this point, you pressed a lingering kiss onto its surface again, and for a moment, Ace thought he might shut down. He simply could not comprehend the loving nature behind such a simple act, or why it affected him so; all he could do was offer a small, fond grin.

Time still marched forward, but it graciously allowed the pair of lovers to bask in each other for a little while longer. The sky’s hue would slowly shift from a deep navy blue to a slightly brighter one, causing the dimness of the room to inch back into its corners for the day. The sunlight would soon come.

( # ) @icy-spicy @triangularz @pookieace @ichore @valentineluvu

[wanderer-six]

Late Night

AN: this tweet changed my life I could not stop thinking about this i needed to write this i need you all to b thinking about this too

Relationships: Hunter x Fem!Jedi Reader

Summary: You and Hunter have been together for years now, living out a happy life on Pabu. You're spending the night together, and time has done nothing to quell your desires.

WARNINGS: unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, edging (it's ok he can take it), old man hunter im dedd 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2k I did not proofread this apologies in advance if it's bad I hope u can at least get behind the Vibes u feel me

It’s another beautiful night on Pabu. The sun set over the island hours ago, and the moon now bathes the ocean in shimmering silver. As the day wound down, so too did the residents; the paths that bustle by day are all but empty now as everyone settles in for a peaceful night.

All around the island, there is quiet. The only sounds you hear now are the gentle drone of the waves, and his heavy breathing.

Like all the others, you and Hunter retired to your bungalow, but rest is far from your minds. In the dark of your bedroom, you and him are bare, chasing off any chill from the evening air with each other’s warmth. Hunter, the man you’ve loved for a lifetime, is beneath you now. You balance your hands on his broad shoulders, riding him slowly, wonderfully, biting your lip as he meets your gaze with weary eyes. 

Even after all these years, making love to him still feels as amazing as it did the very first night you shared together. Each roll of your hips fills you with more of him, and you can’t help but whimper when he hits every spot you love. It seems he hasn’t had his fill of you, either. Though time has had its effects on Hunter, it certainly hasn’t changed the way he yearns for you. Even now, he hangs on your every movement, his vigilant eyes darting between your pleasured expressions and your hips taking his cock.

Deciding he’s gotten a little too comfortable, you descend onto his length at a different angle, allowing him to reach deeper than before. At the sudden sensation, a groan catches in his chest. Between his labored breaths, he chuckles.

“You feel so fucking good, cyar’ika…” 

Humming through a smile, you rest your forehead on his.

“You’re one to talk, handsome…” Your fingers trail through his hair, still just as long as when you first met, but having faded to grey some time ago. “I can’t get enough of you.”

That confident, effortless smirk tugs at his lips. You’ve seen it a thousand times, yet each time he wears it, heat still rises beneath your cheeks.

“Heh… is that so?” Though his once defined, sharp muscles have softened from years of respite on the island, he still feels as strong as ever when he grips at your hips. “I guess time hasn’t gotten the best of me in every way…”

At this, it’s your turn to grin. You know it’s been a few long years since the two of you last saw combat; with the clones’ advanced aging, those years have counted double for him. But even if you’re older than you once were, you know you still have plenty of time left.

And it’s when Hunter starts to pretend as though he’s moments from death’s door that you like to remind him what he’s still capable of.

Without warning, you melt against Hunter, draping your arms over his shoulders and crashing your lips onto his. His tongue dances with yours, and as his arms hold you flush against him by your waist, you begin to roll your hips more quickly. You move faster, harder, riding him for all he’s worth. You revel in every little noise he makes, the way his eyes flutter shut in pure bliss. His fingers tense, clinging to your hips so desperately as to leave bruises.

In the Force, you feel how close he is. How near he is to losing himself fully in you…

… and right before he hits his peak, you lift yourself off of him, robbing him of the only thing he craves in that moment.

Hunter utters a groan, wincing through the torment of his denied release. He leans his head back against the wall, and you can feel his heart kicking fast against his chest.

“F-Fuck…” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Despite his anguish, you can only grin. You lean forward, lavishing him with gentle kisses as he settles down.

“Easy, Sergeant,” you sing. “I’m not done with you yet.”

As you kneel over him, he dares to glance between your legs. You’re so tantalizingly close to his aching length, and though his desperation is clear on his face, he knows better than to think you’ll be so generous. Utterly helpless, he shakes his head. 

“I’m too old for you to be teasing me like this…” he mutters, a weak smile tugging at his lips. You roll your eyes at his self-admonishment.

“Oh, enough…” With a deep exhale, you rest your forehead against his, and your eyes fall shut as you bask in the feeling of him. For every experience you’ve had in every corner of the galaxy, nothing compares to having Hunter all to yourself. “I know you can handle it, even if we may not be young anymore…”

Though he’s clearly just as lost in your attentions, this remark has him prop an eye open to sneer at you.

“‘We’?” he repeats with a chuckle. Sighing, he runs his rough hands up the curves of your waist. “You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you—even if you’re wasting it torturing an old clone like me…”

Your eyes warm, and you bite your lip. With a dangerous twist of your hips, you grind against him, earning a deep grumble from Hunter’s chest. Your lips linger by his ear.

“I think I know my Hunter by now…” you purr, voice low enough to make him shiver, “and if there’s one thing he likes, it’s a challenge.”

Without a word of warning, you lower yourself back onto his cock, taking him deep inside as you begin riding him again. Hunter goes rigid, fumbling for purchase against your hips as they overwhelm him with pleasure. Nothing could ever thrill you more than the way he touches you. For as long as you’ve been together, he’s known exactly how to make your body sing for him. Even now, a desperate mess beneath you, his hands run along your skin purely by instinct.

And luckily, you know his body just as well.

Again, you fuck him harder. Again, you feel the tension in his core, the white-hot release building inside of him…

Again, you stop just short, lifting off of him right before he can come.

Your poor sergeant whines again, his head lolling back as his eyes pinch shut. Between your legs, his cock throbs, twitching in desperate need for the stimulation you’ve so cruelly deprived him of. 

“A-ah…!” Between his heavy breaths, chest rising and falling arduously, he moans in complaint. “You’re… fuck, you’re driving me crazy…”

While he grovels in such a sorry state, you’re no worse for wear at all. You place kiss after languid kiss up his neck, tickling his skin with your breath.

“I can keep this up all night, handsome…” Pulling away just enough to catch his eye, you don a mischievous grin. “I think you can, too.”

 In the face of your taunting, Hunter surprises you when his smile softens. He cups your face with a trembling hand, running his thumb gently along your cheek. You lean into his touch, admittedly falling victim to his sudden tenderness.

“Tell me…” he asks, “what’s it gonna take for you to let me off, huh?”

You giggle, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose against his.

“Hm… I don’t know,” you sigh, playing coy. “I think you might just be too old to manage what I have in mind…~”

With a chuckle, he pinches your cheek. “Try me.”

Pulling away just enough to meet his eyes, you flash him a charming grin.

“Tell me you love me.”

Through his lust-filled gaze, Hunter raises an eyebrow above a half-smirk.

“What… that’s all?”

You nod. “Mm-hm. That is… if you think you can handle—”

You’re cut off when Hunter’s lips catch yours, meeting you in a kiss so deep you nearly feel like you’re drowning. His tongue toys with yours, so desperate to taste you it makes heat flood beneath your cheeks. Still, you can’t help but smile against him. Though Hunter likes to act as though he’s old and grey, now, you know he’s far from gone. In moments like these, you feel the fire that’s burned inside him since the very beginning. It hasn’t faded in the slightest. You know it never will.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t stray far, lips ghosting over yours as he holds your gaze with intense eyes.

“I love you, cyar’ika,” he breathes, a solemn swear. “Always have… always will.”

For the first time that night, it seems you’re the one on the backfoot. Eyes wide and innocent, you’re touched by the sincerity of his words. You know Hunter, know that he does everything to the fullest. But hearing for certain that his passion would be yours for as long as you both have left… your heart can scarcely take it.

With sudden desperation, you press your lips to his, and you bury his cock in your warmth. He moans into your mouth, and you moan back, losing yourself to the feeling as you ride him again. Tense hands grip at every part of you—your waist, your ass, your shoulders—leaving marks on your skin as he tries in vain to bear the sensation. But it isn’t long until his resolve begins to break.

As a gasp catches in Hunter’s throat, his lips break from yours.

“F-Fuck, cyar’ika… I’m gonna…”

You already know. You feel his energy shifting—you feel how close he is. His delayed release has only built up to something more intense… but this time, you don’t back off. You indulge him, rolling your hips even faster than before. With what little stamina he has left tonight, he’s thrusting into you, and you whimper aloud as he hits every perfect spot inside you. You’re as close as he is…

And when you reach your climax, you’re amazed he can stay conscious.

Hunter buries himself to the hilt in your cunt, coming deep inside you. Your orgasm milks him for every last drop, and given the way you’ve tormented him tonight, he has plenty to give. By the time you’ve sucked him dry, his overstimulated cock still twitching in your walls, he’s quivering beneath you, completely and utterly spent. He breathes as heavy as he would during the war, on missions that would see him running for hours… You’re sure he’ll ache just as badly, come morning.

After taking a moment to recover, Hunter opens his eyes, gazing up at you with a precious smile. Gingerly, you tuck his hair behind his ears, supporting his head as you meet him in a feather-light kiss.

“I love you, too, Hunter…” you hum, voice barely above a whisper. “Always have, always will.”

The smile he wears is genuine. He tilts his head to catch your hand, placing a kiss on your palm.

“I’m glad. I don’t know what I’d do without you, cyar’ika.” He pauses, then chuckles bitterly as he closes his eyes again. “Even if you’re liable to kill me, putting me through nights like this…”

Your grin turns more playful. Slowly, you lift yourself off of Hunter, relishing the way he shivers as his length falls out of you.

“Be thankful I’m so generous,” you tease as you lay beside him. You rest your head on his chest, sighing in utter contentment. “If I weren’t, you would be in for another round… or ten.”

Hunter chuckles, voice reverberating in his broad chest in a way that soothes you more than anything else could. Arm wrapped around you, he traces idle shapes on your skin.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something meaner to treat me to when we wake up tomorrow,” he sighs. His gentle lips press to your forehead. “But for now, let me get some rest, huh?”

Giggling, you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck.

“Hm… all right. But only because I love you so much.”

The warm night air, the distant roar of the waves, the embrace of the man you’ll always love… you can’t imagine anything more perfect. But as always, Hunter finds a way to make the greatest things even greater.

“I love you more, cyar’ika. Always.”

AN: Thank you as always for reading mmwah mwah I hope you enjoy, always stay edging that old man ♥♥

[noellawrites]

Dark!Sonny Carisi R*pe and Impregnation HC’s

a/n: happy anniversary my love @rafaslittleboy <3 also gender neutral but afab reader

warning: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, please do not read if this disturbs you! includes: rape, impregnation, virginity loss, inaccurate portrayal of abortion laws, manipulation, forced pregnancy, lmk if i missed any

- As Dominick Carisi Junior’s paralegal, you have a very professional relationship with him. Always running errands, filing papers, gathering reports

- But one day, he asks if you’re free that evening to babysit his three kids

- And you agree, of course, knowing he’s been going through a rough period with his wife

- But when you arrive, only Sonny is there

- “Sorry kid, there’s been a change ‘a plans. ‘Manda’s mom’s watchin’ the kids, ‘n ‘Manda’s off doin’ work stuff,” Dominick sighs, welcoming you in

- You’d been alone with Mr. Carisi many times, but this felt… different. The vibes were off

- He tells you to stick around, that you can help him out with work stuff and he’ll still give you money for it

- You share a few drinks, not unlike some of the late nights you’ve spent in his office together

- Later on, you’re definitely tipsy and sitting on the couch next to your boss

- All of a sudden, his lips are on yours in a passionate kiss, and you feel sick and confused

- Your brain is lagging behind your body, and Mr. Carisi is pulling your underwear and bottoms down your legs

- “Shh, this is jus’ between us, kiddo. Lemme make ‘ya feel good,” he say in your ear as your head lolls back

- At some point, you end up on the bed and he’s pulling his dick out of his pants

- “Been waitin’ so long f’this,” you hear him growl before he pushes in, painfully taking your virginity as you lay paralyzed with fear

- “Mr. Carisi, s-stop!” you whimper, which is pretty much all you can do as he fucks you deeper and more passionately

- He’s thrusting so roughly, and after a few moments you can feel him blow his load in you as he tells you how tight your hole is

- You pass out at some point and wake up in his marital bed the next morning with a dull, throbbing pain between your legs and a check for seventy-five thousand dollars on the nightstand next to you

- You think you must’ve imagined it, you’re in shock and disbelief. Your boss, the man who has worked to bring sexual predators to justice for the last decade? Raping you?

- And the next day at work, Mr. Carisi acts totally normal. Talks about how proud he is of his kids, how his son just took his first steps. It’s almost like nothing ever happened between you

- He gives you a wink, saying he’s always down for some more fun, and that’s the last you hear of it

- You love your job, and you need it, so you go back to acting normal with Mr. Carisi

- Until six weeks later, when you start arriving late and disheveled, sometimes calling out entirely

- “What’s goin’ on with ‘ya, kiddo? C’mon, talk t’me,” Sonny presses, putting a hand on your shoulder comfortingly

- He hasn’t crossed your boundaries since that night, so you’ve gotten more comfortable with him again

- “I’ve just been really sick,” you mumble, rubbing your forehead

- “Maybe ah’ should take ‘ya to a doctor,” he frowns, feigning concern. He knows exactly what’s “wrong” with you.

- “I’m fine,” you mumble, but after a few moments you get up and run to the bathroom to puke again

- “Let’s go,” you sigh, “I probably have the flu or something.”

- The doctor writes down your symptoms and orders a blood test, and you wait in the lobby with Sonny for about an hour until your results are ready

- You know you must be imagining it when the nurse tells you that you’re pregnant, about six weeks along

- Sonny hugs you, tells you how amazing it is that you’ve created the miracle of life together, and you stand still in shock.

- The first words to come out of your mouth are, “when can I come back for an abortion?”

- Sonny’s smile falls and he grabs your wrist, “what tha’ hell?”

- You tell him you don’t want a kid, you’re too young and not ready for it, but he’s not listening

- "'Ya really want an abortion? I ain't gonna let that happen, kiddo. I'll see 'ya in court," he snaps.

- The nurse gives you some resources but you know that Mr. Carisi will find a way to get what he wants, like always

- Your lawyer tells you that Amanda has been unfaithful to Sonny and he just found out that Nicky Carisi isn't his biological son, which is why he's so adamant on forcing you to carry to term

- Your lawyer goes for the rape angle, since you were actually raped and shouldn't be forced to carry the child

- Needless to say, Sonny and his lawyer eviscerate you on the stand, and it's emphasized by the sob story of what happened with Amanda

- He truly sees you and this child as his second chance, and there is no way he's letting you ruin it

- You can't take care of your newborn in New York City on a paralegal salary, and Sonny convinces you to move in with him and out of your shitty apartment

- You share custody, but slowly you can feel yourself becoming more attached to both Sonny and your baby

- You have to work from home, both the new baby and the postpartum struggles making it too hard to go in and do your job

- Before long, Sonny is already talking about baby number two. He needs this family, needs to rebuild what he lost through Amanda's infidelity

- That's when you realize, it was hopeless to ever try and leave

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[desmorotu]

more redacted headcanons!!!

some might be angsty? most of them?

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

- i saw a hc where milo isn’t necessarily short, but the other guys are just unbelievably tall. in my head milo is 5’11, ash is 6’5, and david is 6’9. tank is the only one who looks deceiving bc they’re like 5’10 in my head but their wolf is as big as david’s. ppl from the outside make the joke that shaw security is secretly a tall person club

- guy was a music major before he switched to writing. i mentioned it in his playlist post but i get those vibes HARD. he also writes honey poetry because he knows they secretly like it

- i like the idea that darlin and angel came from a rough family upbringing because 1. it’s relatable to a lot of ppl and 2. it would explain why tank shoves themselves into harms way and why angel is so outgoing now. it shows different responses to trauma imo.

- babe sometimes has crippling panic attacks on the thought of angel being a latent empowered and leaving them alone as the unempowered person of the group, but in my mind babe is the latent one and they’re a fire elemental.

- sweetheart feels guilty sometimes for being empowered while the other mates aren’t. they know it has absolutely nothing to do with them and that they can’t do anything about it, but sometimes they feel a pang in their heart at the fact that the other two won’t feel their core swell and warm up when looking at their mates.

- starlight has night terrors about the time they fell down—both times. they also think about when avior fell and they can’t help but intrusively picture what he looked like when he finally landed. it makes them physically ill. avior has to be extra careful when talking back about their experiences sometimes.

- lovely is still goes to therapy every week to work through the trauma of adam, dying, and now they’ve added the summit on top of that. they’re withering away into a husk of themselves. they’re so exhausted with dealing with all of this pressure, but they’d do anything for vincent (and i think that’s going to be their downfall).

- gavin has been brought to tears on multiple occasions at the thought that freelancer loves him for him and not just because he’s an incubus. he’s had to muffle his sobs because he genuinely does not know how he deserved someone so loving. he hasn’t brought it up to them yet.

- i think that freelancer is on the ace spectrum (greysexual maybe?) and that gavin was the only person they’ve ever really had sex with, or wanted to have sex with. they trusted him enough to “show them the ropes” and he built their confidence to where it is now. gavin helped build their relationship with sex and while they’re still on the spectrum, they’re more positive about it and they enjoy that kind of intimacy with him.

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

that’s all that i can squeeze out of my brain rn >:( i haven’t been on tumblr that much and UGH it’s just bc my real life is more interesting than my redacted life (which is a very good thing, but still it makes me sad) and i have no motivation to post 💔 but here are some hcs that have been on my mind lately :3 i hope they make sense

k byeee 💟

[mingtinysworld]

Don’t Hurt Me

Pairing: kang yeosang x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The presence of a killer is made known on the news. Little did you know, you would have your own encounter with the man, experiencing a night you won’t forget.

Warnings: MDNI, mute yeosang, “psychopath killer” yeosang, mention of a knife, clothed grinding, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), handjob, couple clit slaps

NOTE: the sign language is the italics in terms of conversation

A/n: lowkey this idea was much better written in my head💀 but I hope you like it! I tried to challenge myself with a new concept, and honestly imagining yeosang in this role got me hot and bothered so yeah. Please like, comment and reblog!! - J

It was a late Friday night and you finally got off of work, completely ready for the weekend. To celebrate, you found yourself drinking at the local pub, which is conveniently not frequented by others often. You lazily stir your drink as you lean your face in your hand, watching the tv with an detached frown.

There’s no one around at this late hour. Only the barman and you occupy the space, giving you the option of sitting wherever you’d like. The sports channel gets switched off all of a sudden, turning to the news. You lift an eyebrow in slight interest, trying to see if there’s anything worth paying attention to.

“We present tonight’s news with great urgency. There’s been a dangerous man spotted around town. His face hasn’t been revealed, but he is going around killing individuals. Stay diligent, and if you see anything suspicious, call 911 immediately.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. This little town has stayed relatively peaceful for the 7 years you’ve been living there, so imagining a killer going around shocks you. You know you should head home, but the warmth is pulling you down further in your seat.

Suddenly you can feel a cold breeze brush past your shoulder and you shiver involuntarily. You lift your head up from the counter and almost fall backwards from the shock. There’s a newcomer sitting next to you, very closely.

He has long, silky, sandy blonde hair. His nose is sharp and jaw so sculpted he looks almost statue like. His eyes are looking deeply into yours and you could spend at least an hour trying to decipher all the emotions residing in them. He’s got deep, dark eyes, that are nothing short of being sinful. It’s as if he’s silently beckoning you to fall headfirst into his gaze.

After a few moments of astonished staring at the stranger, you compose yourself and attempt to sit up as straight as possible. You straighten up your spine and make direct eye contact.

“Hey, how are you?” You ask, trying to not sound overly inquisitive. You feel alarmed for a split second when you see him lift up his hands from his lap. You involuntarily lean back, trying to put distance between you.

“Do you know sign language? I’m mute, but I can talk through writing as well.”

Your heart rate immediately goes down. The poor guy was just trying to communicate. Coincidentally enough, you actually do know sign language. Turns out the four years of ASL classes in high school paid off after all, and you feel grateful to your teachers. You instantly sign back to him.

“I do know sign language actually. What brings you here today?”

He gives you a cute, crooked smile and leans in a tiny inch closer.

“I saw a pretty girl sitting here, thought I’d keep her company.” He finishes off with a smirk.

You can’t help your surprise at his blatant flirting, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Trying to match the vibe, you flirt right back.

“Wow, I’d love the company of a very handsome man actually. Thank you.” You send a wink and immediately cringe at yourself. What is wrong with you?

He opens his mouth in a silent laugh and you can’t help but admire his perfect teeth. He really is a beautiful man, the type to catch the attention of anyone and everyone around him. You can bet that even your most straight friends would want to get in his pants, no questions asked. He notices your distracted state and waves a hand across your face.

“What are you thinking about pretty girl?” He asks.

You flush from being caught staring at him. You’re thankful that he can’t read your mind, but from the confident tilt of his head it looks like he can tell anyways. You think of an excuse but choose to tell the truth.

“I just think that you’re very pretty.” You say honestly.

His face brightens at your admission, and he scoots a little closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you feel desire bubbling deep within. You can feel the soft puff of air from him against your own mouth and you dart your eyes between his eyes and lips. You close the distance between your bodies and slot your lips against his.

He moves along with you, breaths synchronizing. He slides an arm behind you, holding onto your waist with a gentle tug. His body warms you up and you melt into his touch, making you completely disregard the fact that this man is still a stranger. You cling to the edge of his shirt tighter when you feel a sharp, thin object against your ribs.

You pull back with a start and find that you’re held still by his strength. As you look into his eyes, you note with slight panic that his eyes have changed dramatically. He’s looking down at you with an excited malice, as if he’s looking forward to destroying you. You shrink down with dread, realizing that you’re utterly fucked.

You take a subtle glance at the tv which is showing the news still, and he catches the look, shooting you a toothy smile.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m the ‘psychopath.’” He admits somewhat proudly. “I won’t hurt you though sweet thing. Not unless you want me to.” He drags a cold finger down your jaw, lightly holding you in place.

He removes the knife away from you, gazing at it fondly. “This little friend of mine has been with me through some things. Isn’t she beautiful?” A shudder goes through your body as you look at the sinister shine of the blade. He’s looking at you expectantly, wanting to hear an answer. You don’t bother using sign language anymore as he can hear perfectly fine. You only used it out of consideration, but there’s no more consideration left for him.

“I couldn’t care less about your stupid knife.” You spit with venom. You want him to be offended, to burst out in anger, but he only gives you the most irritating grin. It’s as if nothing can phase him.

“You’re so cute,” he shakes his head in what appears to be endearment. “I can’t wait to be buried in you.” Your eyes widen at that and you feel an involuntary fluttering in your core. You can’t believe that you’re getting turned on right now. The situation is absolutely absurd, a killer is sitting in front of you, and you’re getting your panties wet.

His eyes follow the movement of your thighs, trying to gain friction against each other. He splays out a hand against one thigh, keeping you still. You look at him with both shame and lust in your eyes, and he mirrors the latter. With a glance to the bartender, who appears to be heavily involved with his phone, he grabs your hand and drags you out of the bar.

You pull back slightly, making him stop in his tracks. “Wait, I want to know what your name is.” You ask him.

He looks intently into your eyes and answers. “My name’s Yeosang.”

Before you can say anything he drags you forward again. You walk for a few minutes until you reach a very shiny looking car. At a closer glance it appears to be a Ferrari. You look at Yeosang with a surprised look and his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

“What, Princess? Were you expecting a trashy car from me?”

“I guess??” You say uncertainly with a shrug. He shakes his head again and opens the door for you. You get in and he closes the door after him. You sit there awkwardly for a second, not sure if you should do anything. Yeosang breaks you out of your thought however when he attacks your lips.

His lips are on yours in a flash, and you’re fighting with tongues. He squeezes your hip and slides his knee in between your legs, subtly rubbing against your now very wet panties. You should feel mortified, but all you feel is desire.

You grind against his clothed knee, and your clit catches it at an angle that makes you moan into his mouth. He grabs hold of your ass and moves you against him harder, eliciting pathetic mewls from you. You shockingly feel your climax approaching very quickly, and so could Yeosang apparently, and he immediately stops his movements. You whine in complaint but he shushes you with another intense kiss.

He quickly rids of his pants and your panties and pumps his cock a few times. You eye his length and your mouth salivates an embarrassing amount. You choose to give in to your temptations. You spit on your hand and slide it up and down Yeosang’s cock. He jolts in surprise but lets out a pleased hum, covering your hand in his, following the up and down motion.

If he wasn’t addicted to you already, he definitely is now. Seeing your tiny hand jerking him off sets off fireworks in his brain and he feels short of breath. He feels about ready to burst so he gently takes your hand away and has you lie down. He hovers above you and you can’t help but vibrate with anticipation.

He slides in slowly, filling every inch of space inside you. You arch your back in pleasure and throw your head back. Yeosang watches your reaction with eager eyes, needing you to feel like a goddess. He then watches your cunt sucking him in hungrily and loses all composure.

He pulls out until the tip is left, and slams back in with so much force your back bounces on the seats. He hits your sweet spot with every thrust, making you see stars, and you babbling incoherently by this point. You grab onto whatever you can find, his shirt being one of the items.

He slaps your clit harshly and you cry out at the sting. He slaps it two more times, leaving you a sobbing writhing mess. A knot tightens in your stomach and Yeosang can feel you clenching around him. He grits his teeth tightly and somehow thrusts even harder.

A few more sloppy thrusts later you’re coming undone around him. Your stomach convulses and your legs can’t seem to stop shaking. He pulls out and comes all over your stomach, ropes of cum coating your soft skin. He hangs his head and lets out a few deep breaths.

You close your eyes and bask in the afterglow. Quite literally, because the light of the lamppost is hitting your stomach and illuminating his cum brightly.

He looks around for something to clean you up with and finds one of his spare shirts. He cleans you the best he can and caresses your flushed cheek. You flutter your eyes open and find him looking at you with adoration, corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

He signs “thank you” and you let out a chuckle. “I should be the one thanking you, Yeosang.” He smiles softly and proceeds to put your clothes back on. As soon as the band of your skirt is snapped back onto you, you hear the sirens.

Yeosang stiffens in place, and looks at you with a distressed tilt of his eyebrows. He looks about ready to flee, but he hesitates. He looks around for something and you look on curiously. He finds a pen and paper and writes down some digits. He hands it to you and you see that it’s a phone number, along with an address.

“Come find me soon.”

With a mischievous wink he leaves the car and disappears into the night with the sirens fading away. You stay there for a bit, completely stunned with the turn of events. You can’t believe he just left you and the car like this, but you also can’t get over the intense passion you two shared. Slowly you get out of the car and head to your apartment where you should’ve been all along.

You do your regular nightly routine, get into pajamas and set your alarm.

You’ve got an important trip tomorrow.

[concretejunglefm]

It’s funny how you love someone, and when it’s over, said and done it’s almost like you never even knew ’em.

Summary: Noah grapples with the aftermath of your sudden breakup.

CW: all hurt no comfort vibes with a sprinkling of melancholy and underlying resentment, implied deception and lies from reader.

When Noah wakes it isn’t to the smell of fresh made coffee, or the sound of the radio humming in the other room, or your hair tickling against his nose as he rolls over to drape a long arm over your frame and pull you in, flush to his chest with the refusal to let you go, its to a quiet room, a half empty room, because you took all of the things belonging to you and left him with nothing.

You left it empty, just how you left him.

Whatever clichés there are about heartbreak, he can confirm to be true, because he feels them deeply, as if they’re etched into his very soul. His appetite has vanished, and the desire to even move from the spot he’s chosen to rot has completely disappeared.

A room that once radiated light and echoed with the joyful sounds of your laughter now feels empty and cold—hollow.

He doesn't know what's worse; your sudden departure without a word or the heartbreak of discovering that the person he’s been in love with all along was a complete lie.

The person he loved, they didn’t really exist, not in the way he thought. He doesn’t entirely understand your motivations, maybe you were afraid to show him your true self, but that doesn’t mean he hates you; it just means he’s hurting more, grieving for the loss of someone who never truly belonged to him, no matter how hard he loved or wished for it.

The first twenty minutes after waking, he repeats the same routine, refusing to leave his bed as he goes through the motions of grieving you and the life you once shared. It’s a vicious cycle that he repeatedly promises himself he won’t fall into, yet every morning, he wakes up with the same hollow feeling, unable to stop as the thoughts pass through his mind like fleeting images in a film reel.

You were once happy, weren’t you?

The battle from his bed to the kitchen is tiresome, but the ghost of you continues to haunt him. Your coffee cup sits on the draining board, long clean but now collecting dust because he hasn’t made an effort to move it. Most of your belongings are gone, except for the occasional smaller items he passes by—the things you’d have never thought to collect or didn’t care about being left behind.

The kitchen is cold and empty, save for the faint aroma of coffee that only begins to fill the room once Noah turns on the brewing machine. It’s not the same as when you make coffee the yourself; it lacks the sweet flavor and instead tastes as bitter as coffee should.

As he brews his coffee, he’s lost in thought, contemplating how everything unfolded and trying to pinpoint the moment it all went downhill. Was he to blame? Sometimes, he delves into that thought, realizing his lack of consideration for you and how he failed to notice the signs despite them being right in front of him.

Instead of offering you the support you needed, he dismissed you, causing you to turn away when you were at your most vulnerable. But you never needed him, that’s what he tells himself.

Looking back, it’s a lie because instead of burdening him with your own problems, you held yourself together and allowed him to lean on you until he realized too late that you had shattered every aspect of yourself, bending to his needs for support.

Was he selfish, or were you too willing to compromise your own needs and boundaries for him? Were you too afraid to express your own needs and expectations? Did you need more from him?

Coffee brewed and cup filled, he shuffles through the hushed house and down the hallway towards his studio room. He tries his best to immerse himself in his writing, using it as a distraction. But, how can he when every song he starts playing as a background distraction has you haunting him with the memory of what you both shared?

Every line, every word, every melody echoes your presence, and all he wants for is the ability to forget about you, about his feelings, and about the love he clings to with the hope that perhaps you’ll return.

How can he give his love to anyone else when you’re the only one who exists?

When he sits in silence for an extended period, and the memory of you resurfaces, he believes he can discern the pivotal moment when everything shifted. The moment when your lengthy declarations of love were replaced by concise, affectionate messages, as if you had conceded defeat because he hadn’t reciprocated in kind.

Noah began with a romantic spark, but then he simply stopped. There wasn’t a valid excuse, maybe complacency, but you had an abundance of love to share between the two of you. Perhaps that’s what ultimately led to his downfall. He never considered the possibility that you might grow tired or resent him for his lack of effort.

When he reminisces about the things you wrote, the messages you left, and the little moments you jotted down in your journal, he realizes the subtle hints and nods you gave him, hinting at your need for more from him because he wasn’t giving you enough.

Why did he stop giving?

He doesn’t fully accept the blame; instead, he downs his bitter coffee with self-pity, grumbling about how this isn’t entirely his fault. You should’ve spoken to him, but how could you when he never made you feel like you could? He dismissed you once, and that was one too many. That single incident sent you into a tailspin, contemplating packing your bags and leaving him behind.

If he had known then what he knows now, would he have acted differently?

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @limerinseme @lilgarbitch

[elainsgirl]

I’m already seeing gwynriels point the finger at SJM for tricking them into liking gwynriel and it’s just 😭 They have no one to blame but themselves. There hasn’t been a single romantic interaction between gwyn and az while elain and az have dozens throughout four books. They tricked themselves. This is entirely their own doing and they are still somehow making themselves the victims

Hey anon 🫶

LMFAO WHAT? Gwynriels have gaslit themselves into creating such an elaborate, crackship. No one else.

If you came away from acosf liking whatever gwynriel interactions there were, great. That is normal. Till this day, people still like the idea of Lucien and Feyre. Nesta and Eris. Etc. You are not going to like every single ship Sjm creates. It is also not her job to cater to YOUR specific preferences.

Gwynriel was created due to certain people in this fandom not liking elriels vibe/dynamic. That was it. They saw a single woman having innocent interactions with Az and managed to delude themselves that Sarah J mass - the queen who loves foreshadowing and setting crumbs well in advance- would introduce Azriels “mate” so late in the series. Every single gwynriel theory, point and arguement has been disproven countless times over with the canon text. Gwynriels ignored it and still shipped Gwyn and Az.

No where has Sjm shown gwynriel in a romantic light within acosf or the bonus chapter. Gwyn, canonically speaking, is not even Azriel’s love interest. They have no romantic tones - neither have shown romantic feelings or even basic attraction towards each other. Gwynriels “believe” that their development will come later on but that is choosing to ignore Sjm’s style for writing and foreshadowing relationships.

Nobody is going to believe gwynriels are the victims, all you have to do is a few hours of research and its clear that gwynriels were deluding themselves all along and purposely misconstruing Sjm’s very obvious hints towards elriel. Its all on the internet for anyone to search up. It is quite literally no one elses fault except from gwynriel stans. It is definitely not Sjm’s fault either - she couldn’t have made herself clearer in how she planned the spinoffs to go.

This is what happens when you purposely ignore chunks of the text, misconstrue scenes, use the wrong quotes in the wrong contexts, create fanarts romantacising scenes that were not romantic in the slightest between characters, etc. I fully expect Gwynriels and Eluciens to throw tantrums once elriel is announced and become spiteful (already have) and petty on purpose- but one thing they can’t do is feel “betrayed” by Sjm. She has made everything obvious for us. And it is. Also…let’s be honest. If elriel is endgame, antis lose a lot of credibility when it will come to the fandom.

[salty-croissants]

I gots a small request!

You know those big Japanese’s bath houses? They’re like big ponds,,, but for humans!

Maybe a cute reader x bullfrog, where bullfrog is just vibing and reader can’t help but gush at the lil frog like mannerism while soaking in a bath house after a long mission? 👀👉🏼👈🏼 perhaps he’s embarrassed when they point it out lol

Thank you for the request ! 

This was really nice and creative ! I enjoyed writing it :D 

I actually ended up making a whole little story out of it instead of the usual headcanons , cause I live for Bullfrog and the reader being soft to each other :,)

Hope this turned out okay !

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed 

If there was one thing that you and your boyfriend enjoyed the most after a long , harsh day , it was the tranquility of your favorite bathhouse : 

just the two of you , alone with the relaxing warmth of the water , without having to worry about anything or anyone else … 

That was all that either of you could really ask for . 

< Ahh , now that’s better … are you comfortable , mon amour ? > 

< Mhm … > 

You smiled , glancing at Bullfrog who was sitting right next to you in the bathtub , and then gave him a little kiss on the forehead . 

< I’m so happy we got to do this today . It’s been a while since we came here , hasn’t it ? > 

< Oui … speaking of which , I’m very sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you y/n , but - > 

< There is nothing to apologize for my love : Eden has really been stepping up their game lately , today’s been proof of that … so please don’t feel guilty about it , okay ? > 

He smiled softly in response , grateful for your understanding , then he leaned his head on your shoulder , letting out a content sigh : your presence alongside the calm atmosphere of the bathhouse was already making him feel a lot more at ease each passing minute … 

Your eyes couldn’t help but wander on the fresh scar on Bullfrog’s back , a result of a particularly difficult fight that had taken place just a few hours ago … 

Not like that was any news : traces of old and recent battles could be found all over his tiny body , and every time you looked at them the thought that he was willing to get hurt over and over to keep those around him safe made you feel … quite worried . 

However , those morbid reflections disappeared the second you turned around , only to realize that Bullfrog had been staring at you the whole time you had been silent …

< Heh … enjoying the view , darling ? ~ > 

He let out a tiny gasp as he heard your words , shaking his head while looking away … you could swear his cheeks were slightly red .

< Ah - j-je suis desolat , I just - > 

The assassin took a deep breath , fidgeting with his fingers while giving you a shy smile .

< You look so beautiful right now , mon cher … I mean , you always look beautiful , but after all we’ve been through today it just feels … different , you know ? 

Plus I am quite exhausted , I’ll admit , so looking up at your dreamy visage made me so comfortable I almost fell asleep …

I hope that’s not too weir - mm — > 

Bullfrog was caught off guard the moment you leaned closer to his face to place a kiss on his lips , but after a moment of surprise he gladly reciprocated , his arms surrounding you in a gentle hold while little waves caused by your movements shook the surface of the otherwise completely still water … 

After a few minutes of bliss you both pulled away and you caressed his cheek , your eyes never leaving his .

< It’s not weird at all , Bullfrog … 

You’re always so sweet to me , and I love you so much for that reason alone ~ > 

He looked up at you in awe , his breathing still slightly labored after being showered with so much affection , and he buried his face in your chest , the sound of your heartbeat making him feel like home …

< I love you too , y/n … you really do mean everything to me ~ >

[hexcii]

First actual post of 2025!

I just want to take the time to ramble a bit about TNG. The Name Game is very special to me if I’m being honest, it’s the first fic I’ve EVER written (not counting drabbles and the random oneshots rotting in my google docs) and it’s been such a surprise to see so many people enjoying it. It’s such a weird feeling, so many people liking my writing and art feels so surreal

TNG has only been out for six months and it’s already surpassed every expectation I had of it, and I want to thank all of you guys for that :)) I never expected my lil health comfort fic to attract this much attention, it’s a little scary haha!

That’s truly what made me write this fic though, (skip this part if you don’t wanna hear about my health struggles 👍👍👍👍)

I’ve always been disabled but I had no idea I was up until maybe late 2022 to early 2023? But my health really started to decline throughout 2023-24 because 11 years of professional level circus training when I shouldn’t have been working out at all finally caught up with my piece of shit body and my symptoms got worse really really fast. And that was really fucking scary, and it’s definitely taken a toll on my mental health too. So, for comfort, I decided to turn to the dca lmao, I remember being incredibly inspired by the song Happy Hare by Yaelokre and that started this whole thing. So, I just put together the vibes I got from that song, a fnaf-esc plot along with the dca and my own struggles with my disabilities and boom! The name game woo!!!

It’s really special to me, I don’t think I would’ve been able to go through the whole medical process as well as I did without it (that’s not to say it hasn’t been a hellhole cause uh yeah healthcare kinda sucks for the disabled (and afab people) but that’s a whole other rant for another day)

Does this count as a love letter to my own fic? Oh well, I just wanted to ramble on about my feelings about it. I’ll probably write more fics after I finish TNG but I think it’ll always hold a special place in my heart <33

And ofc I wanna thank you guys for reading it and giving me so much support :]] I love reading your guys’ comments and tags (AND GOD THE FANART???? NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS DID I EXPECT THAT)

And also another thanks to @r0tting-rat @pluck-heartstrings @naffeclipse and @bamsara for inadvertently getting me inspired to write hehehe (sorry for the random tag I hope that it’s okay-)

And another another thanks specifically to @miahead for encouraging me to write it in the first place and dealing with my shenanigans in the process of writing each and every chapter, love you!! <3333