#pride before downfall

[random-xpressions]

I prefer a sin than a 'good' deed that is followed by pride...

Random Xpressions

[achilleswishes]

I think the biggest difference between natehawk via death dependency goes something like

Nate: You're going to kill me? Do you promise?

Hawk: You're going to kill me? Whyyyyyyy? Why? ;w;

[subtlesolitude-tailoredtaste]

🧠🔫🧿

[kittytudor]

something i really love about “the crystal pavillion, for the third time” is the fact that the entire plot only happens because a servant was ill.

most of the mysteries maomao solves are related to high ranking officials or concubines, and if they aren’t, they usually happen in such strange circumstances that it’s impossible to not suspect potential foul play. in contrast, this episode’s mystery isn’t even really a mystery at all. a servant girl got sick with a rather common and treatable type of illness, and was put in isolation by her boss. on surface level, it’s as low stakes a plot as it could get. in the imperial court, servants are merely tools that can be replaced once they die. their lives are not seen as valuable, as even maomao acknowledges.

and yet, it is this unknown, nameless servant girl who becomes shin’s downfall. maomao may have had her suspicions about shin and the perfumes, even before this episode, but she had nothing concrete to go on. she couldn’t accuse a high ranking concubine’s chief attendant of trying to harm a preganant concubine with no evidence (at that point, she didn’t even know who shin’s target was). shin may have been a lot of things, but she was no fool, she was an incredibly intelligent woman who knew how to cover her tracks well, which is why maomao had to goad a confession out of her in order to prove her guilt. she’s arguably one of maomao’s cleverest adversaries yet, after suirei and lakan!

but shin’s fatal flaw is pride. she believes she’s better than lihua and she believes she’s better than a mere servant girl. so she cruelly uses her as a means to an end in order to hide the forbidden perfumes through the smell of her sickness. and in the eyes of the palace law, she is not committing a crime either. a servant girl’s life is nothing compared to the life of a high ranking concubine. who would even notice she’s missing? who would care if she quietly died?

but people did notice. the clinician noticed the maid had been missing and was worried enough to ask maomao to look into it. the other crystal pavillion servant loved her friend so much she planted flowers outside the shed because she hoped it would help her get better, which was the key clue that made maomao realize that’s the place where the servant is locked up. all of shin’s machinations get revealed because she refused to treat a servant girl as someone who mattered. it’s such a powerful message and i love it.

[crazziforazzi]

The All-Star Bet - Day 1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Short novel (3 parts)

Warning: MDNI,

A/N: As the poll decided, the one-shot came first. Though somewhere along the way, it stopped being a one-shot, so here’s Part 1. Let me know if you want the rest… ;)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Thursday afternoon – Indiana, Pazzi hotel room, 6.04 p.m.

Paige Bueckers is pretty sure this is the single stupidest bet she’s ever agreed to.

And that’s saying something for someone with a long and well-documented history of doing dumb things. She once ate an entire jar of peanut butter in under ten minutes on the UConn team bus during freshman year just because someone dared her to while another time she lost a rock-paper-scissors match to Nika and had to DM Caitlin Clark a flirty GIF with no context. 

But none of that compares to this one. This is an entirely new level of idiotic. 

And she knows exactly why it happened, why she said what she said and why she agreed to this whole thing in the first place.

This wasn’t peer pressure or a dare or even boredom. It was her own ego, plain and simple. Her stupid pride. Her own inability to back down from Azzi Fudd, who had clearly decided to weaponize a memory from last week and turn it into Paige’s personal downfall.

It had started so innocently. 

The morning after their game in Arizona, everyone at breakfast tried to move on from their loss the night before. Azzi was next to her in an oversized hoodie, Paige’s own hoodie, one that Paige knew she would not see for the next three weeks at least. 

Azzi had her left leg curled under herself on the chair, hair in a messy bun, poking at a plate of scrambled eggs with that quiet satisfaction that said I had not slept a lot last night and now I am starving.

Paige, for her part, had tried to keep it together, to act like the poorly concealed hickey on her collarbone wasn’t visible beneath the half-hearted layer of concealer Azzi slapped on it in the bathroom mirror 15 minutes earlier. 

She was still sipping her orange juice when Aziaha glanced over and grinned.

"Yo," she said, not even trying to lower her voice. "We already know what Paige’s focus is gonna be this All-Star weekend," nodding at her collarbone.

JJ burst out laughing. "Bet that she is not even gonna make it to the actual game without getting caught simping on the Studbudz stream, like, five times minimum."

Azzi had tilted her head, all innocent curiosity, though her smile was already betraying her. She didn’t say a word, just looked over at Paige and blinked knowingly.

Paige, like a dumbass, had laughed and tried to play it cool. "Y’all are so dramatic. I’m not that down bad. We are there to hoop. I’m not some lovesick simp who can’t go 72 hours without touching my girl."

Which was a massive lie. A fully unhinged, delusional, ego-fueled one. But it got a few laughs, even from Azzi, who just leaned into her side and nodded quietly.

Paige should’ve known then. The second Azzi leaned into her with that silent little nod, she should’ve known she’d just sealed her own fate. That look wasn’t affection, it was foreshadowing. And Paige, in all her ego and confidence, had walked right into it.

And now they were both finally here in Indiana. The chaos of All-Star weekend had already kicked off, media appearances, brand obligations, cameras everywhere, but for the first time in days, they were in the same place again. Same city, same room, and same bed. No more blurry screens or falling asleep on FaceTime.

Paige had been counting down to this. Just getting to fall asleep beside Azzi again felt like a win in itself.

So even though she was bone-tired when she finally made it back to their hotel room that evening, there was still something buzzing underneath the exhaustion.

Because no matter how loud the noise was around her, no matter how many people tugged at her attention, her mind hadn’t strayed from one thing all day.

Azzi Fudd.

She had only gotten to see her for five minutes the entire day. They could only get one quick hug before her orange carpet attendance, both of them pulled in different directions immediately after. But even in that split-second of contact, Paige felt her body react. The smell of Azzi’s perfume, the way her hand had rested briefly on Paige’s lower back, it had taken her everything not to turn her head and kiss her on the spot.

And even as Paige smiled and gave her soundbites, hit her media training points, she felt her attention split, one part on her job, the other part irreversibly stuck on the vision of Azzi in that damn dress.

The dress Azzi wore to the ESPYs last night was low cut with an open back and that dangerous thigh slit that Paige had thought about no fewer than twenty-three times today. It was also lilac which was absolutely Paige’s favorite color and Azzi knew that. She wore it knowing Paige couldn’t be there with them in person, but wanted her to be part of it in some ways. 

She was still annoyed that she couldn’t attend the ESPYs the night before with the rest of her Huskies team, all due to bad scheduling on the League’s side. But social media made sure she didn’t miss a single angle. 

Every picture that dropped, every tagged story, every behind-the-scenes post of Azzi standing there like a living dream had made her chest ache. Not just from how gorgeous her girlfriend looked, but because Paige hated that she could not be the one to unzip her out of that dress. She was craving to kiss down the slope of Azzi’s shoulder and to press her lips to the soft line of skin at the small of her back.

And now, walking into their hotel suite, Paige’s entire body was keyed up with tension, part adrenaline for the weekend, part sheer, unrelenting want. 

They had just under three hours before the Nike pre-party. In Paige’s mind that meant they had more than enough time for her to get her hands on Azzi and finally make good on everything she’d been replaying in her head since the night before.

She stepped into the room, dropped her All-Star duffel on the carpet and turned toward the soft shuffle of movement coming from deeper in the room.

And then she saw her.

Azzi was standing in the middle of the suite, barefoot, unpacking outfits with that casual, oblivious grace that she always had. Her back was to Paige, her hair twisted up into a loose bun that left the elegant slope of her neck exposed, soft curls escaping to frame her cheekbones. 

She was humming something under her breath wearing Paige’s gray sweatpants low on her hips and the navy hoodie that Paige had been looking for all week, the one that clearly ended up in Azzi’s bag last week whether she admitted it or not.

Azzi finally heard her and turned, smiling that warm, familiar smile that Paige had known since she was fifteen. The same smile that still hits her like a punch to the gut even after eight years together. Azzi’s eyes lit up like she’d been waiting all day just for this, and maybe she had. Paige was too.

"Hi," Azzi said simply, like she wasn’t literally standing there radiating sex appeal in Paige’s clothes.

Paige didn’t even respond. She didn’t ask about her day or say how good it was to finally see her. She just stood there, watching. Letting her eyes trace the slope of Azzi’s neck, the way the waistband of her sweats sat sinfully low on her hips. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her fingers flexed at her sides, twitching with restraint. She wanted to be patient, wanted to savor it, but her self-control had apparently also taken the day off.

She closed the distance in three long, determined strides and reached for the hem of that goddamn hoodie without a single ounce of hesitation. 

Azzi’s breath caught, barely audible, but she let Paige pull it off, arms lifting automatically. Her smile turned into a smirk as Paige yanked the soft cotton over her head and tossed it somewhere to the side without even looking. It landed in a crumpled heap on the armchair.

And suddenly, Azzi was standing there in just the grey sweatpants and a black Nike sports bra that clung to every line of her chest, her stomach bare and golden in the afternoon light. Paige let out a sharp breath, one she hadn’t even realized she was holding, and her hands found Azzi’s waist, fingers curling tight like she needed to anchor herself or float off entirely.

She dragged Azzi into her without a word, lips crashing together with all the hunger she’d been biting back all day. There was no teasing, no build-up, just raw, open-mouthed urgency that had Azzi gasping softly against her mouth. 

Azzi kissed her back like she’d missed her just as much, arms sliding up to wrap around Paige’s neck, hands burying themselves in her hair. She tilted her head, parted her lips and let Paige deepen the kiss. Paige’s left hand slid down, over her hip, down the curve of her ass, gripping tight and pulling until their bodies were flush against each other.

Paige’s mind was done thinking about anything but her girlfriend. She wanted to press her down, to climb on top of her, to drag down those damn pants and finally feel skin where only imagination had been for the last 24 hours. 

She started turning their bodies, slowly, angling toward the bed, already planning her next move. But just as she was about to guide Azzi down on the mattress, Azzi braced a palm against her hip and pushed back gently, creating space between them.

"Wait, wait, wait," Azzi said, her voice low and breathless but somehow still in control.

Paige blinked, dazed, mouth parted.

Azzi smiled, that smile, the one Paige should’ve learned to fear by now. It was playful, slow, and dripping with challenge, the kind of smile that always meant Azzi was going to push her to insanity. 

"I thought you said you weren’t gonna be all over me this weekend?" Azzi asked, tilting her head, one eyebrow lifting in faux-innocence.

Paige shook her head, blinking back to reality. "I didn’t say that."

"You did, actually," Azzi replied sweetly. "At breakfast in Phoenix. In front of your entire team."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Paige was in trouble.

"I think I said I’m capable of not being a simp."

Azzi’s smile sharpened. "Babe. We both know that is not true. You literally texted me, ‘I already miss your thighs around my head’ the second I left for Canada."

"You loved that text," Paige muttered, trying to go back in for another kiss.

Azzi slipped just out of reach, her smile growing more wicked by the second. "True, I screenshoted it and added it to my collection for rainy days. Does not change the fact of what you said in Arizona."

"I was joking!" Paige groaned.

"You really weren’t."

Azzi crossed the room with terrifying calmness, arms folded, as she looked Paige up and down like she was preparing to deliver a fatal blow. She was glowing, already smug, already victorious in whatever quiet war they were always fighting.

"Look me in the eye," Azzi said, pausing in front of the window, "and say you can go the entire All-Star weekend without touching me."

And that, right there, was the moment Paige should’ve swallowed her pride, admitted defeat, maybe even begged, but she didn’t. 

Because she’s an idiot, and also, because Azzi was standing in the golden hour light looking like every fantasy Paige has ever had since she was seventeen, but she could not confess that right now.

So instead, Paige rolled her eyes, lifted her chin, and said something she would immediately regret, "I’m perfectly capable of keeping my hands to myself. I can go without touching you for a weekend."

Azzi blinked once, then extended her hand like it was nothing.

"Bet."

Paige hesitated. "Wait, like... a real bet?"

"Yep." Azzi’s smile was syrupy sweet. "Until the end of the weekend. No sex. First one to break has to do whatever the winner says."

"Whatever?" Paige asked, not even pretending to hide the suspicion in her voice.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled. "Whatever. I already know what I want."

Paige should’ve run. Her brain was screaming at her. Azzi still had that look in her eye, the one indicating that she’d set this trap days ago, maybe even weeks. She was playing chess while Paige was out here losing to a Sudoku app. 

But her pride reached out and shook Azzi’s hand.

The second their palms touched, Azzi leaned in, lips brushing Paige’s ear, her breath warm as she whispered, "Good luck, All-Star."

And then, without a backward glance, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of Paige’s sweatpants and slid them down her hips with one slow, teasing motion. 

Paige’s eyes followed that motion, heart stuttering as the fabric peeled away inch by inch. The underwear was lace. Purple. A delicate triangle of devastation, designed to be seen and then ruined by Paige’s hands. 

But Paige wasn’t allowed to touch. Her entire brain had gone offline, leaving only one panicked, horny thought looping on repeat: She’s not going to survive this weekend.

She was so, so fucked.

Thursday night — Pazzi hotel room,  9:02 p.m.

Paige started regretting the bet before they even left the room.

By the time Azzi stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, steam still clinging to her shoulders and water dripping slowly down the curve of her back, Paige had already downed an entire bottle of water, turned the AC down to a dangerously low setting, and ordered them dinner through room service.

She was trying to distract herself, to reset her brain. Anything to remind herself that she was in control, that she could absolutely survive this weekend without breaking.

And for a while, it worked.

Azzi pulled on one of Paige’s oversized tees to lounge in, no bra, obviously, and they curled up across from each other on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, working their way through their paste dishes and laughing about how chaotic the last few days had been. 

They caught each other up on everything, from Azzi’s ESPYs red carpet look and the horrible host the event had to Paige’s game last night and the All-Star schedule ahead. 

It was familiar and soft. This was their ritual, usually done over FaceTime in hotel rooms with glitchy wifi or airport lounges with noisy background, but always there. No matter how far apart they were, they never went a day without catching up over dinner. It was their thing, the thread that kept them tied together when their schedules pulled them in opposite directions.

And for a moment, it felt easy and safe. Like they were just two girlfriends, curled up in bed with nowhere to be, like this weekend wasn’t already a minefield of chaos and restraint.

Until they started getting ready.

Paige slipped into autopilot, pulling on the outfit she’d planned earlier: a gray Gallery Dept. shirt, her camo knee-length cargos, gold accessories, and white sneakers. Hair slicked into a bun. Light makeup. Done.

Then she looked at Azzi and forgot how to function.

Paige had distinctly remembered them agreeing on a chill vibe tonight. Casual and simple was the theme, just enough effort to look good. She remembered Azzi mentioning baggy jeans with a loose shirt, maybe.

So when she stepped out of the bathroom in short-short black shorts and a tight cropped white tee that hugged her chest and framed her abs, and that damn glittering belly piercing, Paige’s brain just short-circuited.

That is… not what you said you were wearing," she muttered, already suspicious.

Azzi, who was now sliding her bracelets onto her wrist and checking herself in the mirror with a very intentional lack of concern, just shrugged. "It felt too hot. I wanted something a little more… freeing."

Paige furrowed her brow, still watching her from the corner of the bed. "You forgot to mention this one."

Azzi turned slowly, gave her a smile that walked the line between sweet and evil. "Did I?"

Paige groaned under her breath. Azzi’s tone was innocent, but the look in her eyes was anything but. It was the same look Azzi gave her before annihilating her on the court or in bed. Except now she was doing neither because of a stupid bed.

Paige dropped her head into her hands with a groan. "You are evil."

Azzi laughed softly, crossing the room with that smooth, practiced ease she always had when she knew she had the upper hand. She perched at the vanity and unzipped her makeup pouch, the sleek black one with tiny pink hearts that Paige had gotten her for Christmas. 

And then she didn’t go for her usual basic concealer-mascara-gloss routine. No, tonight, Azzi went full face. Foundation, contour, blush, eyeshadow. 

Paige tried not to stare. She tried not to notice how Azzi’s waist curved as she leaned toward the mirror, how her thighs looked spread over the bench, how her arms flexed as she tilted the mirror just right. But it was impossible.

Especially when Azzi reached for the lipstick.

Not just any lipstick, the one with the darker, perfectly-blended lipliner and the shade that made her lips look extra full and criminally kissable. The one she usually saved for red carpets, photoshoots and award shows. She usually had a full team applying it on her.

But this time, she was doing it herself.

Her hands were steady, her movements practiced. Paige recognized the concentration in her expression, that same stubborn precision Azzi brought to her shooting point form was now applied to perfecting the line of her lip.

"You’ve been practicing," Paige said, her voice rough, dangerously close to reverent.

Azzi hummed, not looking up. "A little. I have had more time lately."

That was true, she knew that. Ever since Paige moved to Dallas, Azzi had been keeping busy. Working out with different trainers across the US, trying out cooking new recipes, and experimenting with new hobbies. Makeup had become one of them and clearly, she’d gotten very good.

"I hate you," Paige muttered.

Azzi turned around slowly, lips done, lashes curled, eyes wide with faux innocence. "What?"

"You know what," Paige groaned, falling back onto the bed like a martyr. "You’re trying to kill me."

"I’m just getting ready," Azzi said, sauntering over, bare legs catching the light. "Nothing in the rules about looking good."

"You’re getting ready to ruin me."

Azzi perched on the edge of the bed, knees touching Paige’s. Then she shifted forward and, without asking, slid into Paige’s lap, straddling her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Paige stiffened, eyes going wide. "This feels like cheating."

Azzi smiled sweetly. "I’m not doing anything." She smoothed her hands over Paige’s shoulders, then trailed her fingertips down her arms, feather-light. "You’re the one with the problem, babe."

Paige exhaled sharply, fists clenched in the bedspread behind her. "I’m gonna die."

Azzi laughed, soft and wicked. "You could always forfeit."

"Not a chance."

Azzi leaned in, her lips brushing Paige’s cheek, not kissing, just hovering, then whispered, "Suit yourself."

She slid off Paige’s lap with an infuriating amount of grace, smoothing her shirt down with both hands, the stretch of her body sending another surge of heat through Paige’s already fried nervous system.

"If you’re gonna lose," Azzi said casually, grabbing her purse, "you should at least enjoy the view on your way down."

Paige didn’t respond. She couldn’t really, not with her brain short-circuiting.

Instead, she grabbed another bottle of water, cracked it open, and took a long, slow sip—her eyes glued to Azzi’s reflection in the mirror.

There were still twenty minutes before the car downstairs.

And Paige already knew: this party was going to be hell.

Thursday night — Nike Pre-Party, 10.47 p.m.

An hour into the night, they were holed up in a surprisingly empty bar dressed in LED swooshes and bathed in soft blue-red light. The music was a little too loud for conversation and not nearly loud enough to make anyone dance yet. The DJ was decent, if forgettable, and the whole thing felt more like a warm-up act than the main event.

Maybe they were early. Maybe half the league was still at dinner or stuck at some other branded pre-party across town. But Paige wasn’t really complaining, not when it meant she and Azzi could sit for a bit, catch up with KK and Sarah, and pretend for a moment that this was just another random weekend hangout at Storrs.

They’d claimed a tall round table near the bar, half-lounging on the high stools, drinks in hand. Paige had her body turned slightly toward Azzi out of habit,  her thigh pressed lightly against Azzi’s under the table, t trying not to get distracted by the way the low red lighting made Azzi look stunning.  The sheen on her skin caught the glow, that damn white crop top clung to her in all the wrong ways, and that dark lipliner was still pristine despite the drink in her hand.

KK was in the middle of a story, something about Kelis stealing CD’s shoes during training camp, which Paige vaguely remembered hearing about from Azzi. She was nodding along, chiming in here and there.

Until she felt it.

A light pressure settled on her thigh under the table. Just a simple, casual touch, nothing obviously sexual about it. Except this was Azzi. Her fingers resting just a little too high to be innocent. 

Paige’s breath caught. It wasn’t dramatic, just one of those automatic full-body responses, like her skin had been waiting to be touched all night and finally got a small teaser.

She glanced sideways, but Azzi didn’t even look up from her phone, just kept scrolling lazily through her camera roll, helping Sarah find a photo from earlier. Completely unbothered.

Paige tried to play it cool. Told herself it was just a comfort thing. Nothing intentional from Azzi this time.

She took another sip of her drink and forced herself back into the conversation. KK was now impersonating CD yelling from the sideline, and Sarah was already losing it. Paige laughed along.

And then the hand moved.

Just the slightest drag of fingertips upward, soft and unhurried, skimming higher like Azzi had all the time in the world. Not quite between her legs but dangerously close. Paige’s breath caught in her throat and her spine straightened.

She reached down and caught the hand mid-move, fingers curling tight around it. She gave it a soft squeeze, just enough to say, I know what you’re doing. Cut it out. Without making a scene.

She turned her head just enough to see her face. Azzi finally met her eyes and gave her the most innocent, sweet, absolutely bullshit smile Paige had seen in a long time.

Like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to Paige. 

Paige’s jaw clenched. Her grip tightened just enough to be felt. That smile had to go.

So she stood up, downed the rest of her drink in one long gulp, and set the empty glass down with a clean little tap.

Then she looked at KK and Sarah, both of whom had gone suspiciously quiet, and said with zero explanation. "We’ll be back soon."

No one asked where they were going, no one needed to.

KK rolled her eyes, like she’d just been waiting for the inevitable. "Nothing has changed."

Sarah snorted into her drink. "At all."

But Paige barely heard them. 

Her pulse was pounding in her ears, drowning everything out, KK’s teasing, Sarah’s laugh, even the music, as Azzi’s low, amused chuckle lit her nerves on fire. She felt Azzi’s fingers curl tighter around hers, not resisting as Paige led her across the bar like she owned her.

They moved together through the bar, weaving between tables and low couches, Azzi’s hand snug in hers like it belonged there. Paige didn’t look back. Just led them toward the farthest corner of the room, where the VIP booths sat half-empty, roped off and shadow-drenched beneath the navy glow of the overhead lights.

She found the darkest one she could, slid the curtain partway shut with one hand, and tugged Azzi inside with the other.

"Sit," she murmured, already breathless.

Azzi obeyed. She sank into the cool leather with maddening grace. She crossed her legs like this was a casual conversation waiting to happen. That smug, smug smile twitching like she was about to win something.

Paige followed, sliding in beside her, shifting close enough that their knees touched.

Paige followed her in, closing the distance in one fluid motion. She slid onto the booth beside her, knees brushing, but didn’t stop there. Her hand found Azzi’s thigh, bare, warm, and maddeningly soft. She rested them there like they had every right to. It was a slow, claiming touch, fingers splayed wide just beneath the hem of those obscenely short shorts.

She didn’t speak right away. 

Instead, she leaned in and let her other hand drift up to Azzi’s neck, brushing just beneath the jaw. Right where the skin was the softest. She brushed her thumb gently over that spot she knew Azzi was sensitive to. The one she usually left marked after long nights during the offseason. It has always made Azzi’s breath catch just a little when Paige’s lips found that spot.  Azzi’s breath caught, sharp and shallow.

Azzi’s eyes dropped to her mouth. But Paige didn’t kiss her, not yet. 

"You know this is a slippery slope," Azzi added, her tone feather-light, but her gaze dark and challenging. "I thought someone made a bet about not ending up in bed."

Paige leaned in, not enough to kiss her, but enough to make it clear she wanted to. Enough to let Azzi feel every breath against her cheek, every brush of heat from her lips.

"You think this is a game," Paige murmured, voice rough. Her hand drifted lower, fingers sliding down Azzi’s neck, then across her collarbone, tracing the line of skin exposed by the crop top. "You think you can tease me in front of everyone and just… walk away untouched."

Azzi smiled, but it faltered just slightly. "Isn’t that the rule?"

Paige didn’t answer. She just shifted even closer, her hand on Azzi’s thigh pressed harder into the bare skin just under the hem of those goddamn shorts now. She dragged her palm upward slow and steady, just enough to make Azzi squirm slightly beneath the touch.

"I agreed to no sex," she murmured, her thumb trailing down Azzi’s throat now, slow and deliberate. "I never said I wouldn’t touch you."

She leaned closer, mouth ghosting over Azzi’s cheekbone, her nose brushing the shell of her ear.

"Never said I wouldn’t make you squirm," she added, lower now, breath hot against skin. "Did you think this was gonna be one-sided, Fudd?"

Azzi’s breath hitched, her thighs tightening instinctively under Paige’s palm. Her lips parted, but whatever she was about to say got lost somewhere in her throat.

Paige took advantage of the silence. She leaned in fully, her mouth grazing Azzi’s jaw, then trailing lower, just barely brushing along the edge of her neck, lips hovering without contact.

She felt Azzi shiver. 

"You wore that outfit to mess with me again," Paige said, voice dark now, her lips ghosting over skin. "You touched me under the table. You started this."

Azzi’s response was almost a gasp. "And you’re finishing it?"

Paige finally let her lips touch skin, just once, soft and slow, right on that sensitive spot under Azzi’s ear. Then she pulled back.

"No," she said, smiling faintly. "I’m just getting started."

Azzi’s fingers curled tightly around the edge of the seat. Her eyes were blown wide now, dark and hungry, and for the first time all night, she looked like the one who might lose.

"Not even close," she said again, her voice lower now, like it dropped an octave just for Azzi.

And then, without breaking eye contact, Paige reached down, hands firm at Azzi’s waist, and pulled her forward, closer and closer, until Azzi was straddling her lap in one smooth, practiced motion. Azzi barely had time to gasp before she was settled across Paige’s thighs, her shorts slipped slightly higher, thighs spreading instinctively around Paige.

"Paige.." Azzi started, breath hitching.

But Paige was already moving, closing the distance. The kiss landed with heat, open-mouthed, slow, but instantly deep. There was nothing shy about it, nothing tentative. Paige kissed her like she was trying to win a game they weren’t supposed to be playing. Her mouth moved with purpose, tongue slipping past Azzi’s lips in one smooth stroke, drawing a soft, startled moan from the back of her throat.

Azzi kissed back instantly, tilting her head to deepen it even more, her fingers finding Paige’s arm, gripping it tightly. Her other hand found the back of Paige’s neck, nails grazing her skin lightly, guiding her closer even though there was barely any space left between them.

Paige’s hand stayed at her neck, thumb still brushing, but now her other hand splayed across Azzi’s lower back, pulling her in so tight their chests pressed together.

Azzi bit gently at her bottom lip, pulled it between her teeth, sucked just enough to make Paige growl softly in response. She dropped her mouth to Azzi’s throat, tongue dragging along her pulse point, sucking just below her jaw.

She wanted Azzi messy and ruined and she knew how to get her there.

Azzi let out a quiet moan, hands finding Paige’s shoulders for balance as her hips rocked forward, just once. A reflex, a quiet betrayal. 

Paige felt it and she smiled against her skin.

"Shit," Azzi whispered, breathless, nails digging into Paige’s back now.

"You like playing games, don’t you?" Paige murmured, lips ghosting across her collarbone as her hands slid down, finding the curve of Azzi’s ass. She grabbed it hard. Fingers digging in, possessive, confident. She pulled her even tighter into her lap, just to prove a point. "You think you can keep teasing me and stay on top of this."

Azzi whimpered, forehead dropping to Paige’s shoulder. "I wasn’t…"

Paige tilted her chin up with one hand, made her look. "You were."

She kissed her again, quick, rough, addictive. Her tongue swept deep, her hand kneading at the soft muscle beneath Azzi’s shorts, the kind of touch that didn’t technically break the rules, but sure as hell didn’t honor the spirit of them either.

Azzi was breathing hard now, mouth parted, eyes dark with heat. "We’re…fuck…we’re in public."

"Barely," Paige said, licking along the seam of her lips, her voice all breath and bite. "Curtain’s shut. No one can see unless you start moaning loud enough to draw attention."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her hips rocked forward again, slow this time, deliberate, dragging herself against the tightened muscles of Paige’s abs.

"I am not folding," Azzi whispered, voice wrecked.

Paige grabbed her ass again, pulling her harder against her lap. "Me neither."

Their mouths met again, slower this time but no less intense. Azzi was pliant now, hands tangled in Paige’s hair, her body melting into the rhythm Paige set. Her lipstick was halfway gone, clearly smeared. Her skin glowed under the low lights, flushed and wanting.

After what felt like hours compressed into minutes, Paige finally pulled back. Azzi chased her, lips parted, eyes heavy. "Are you really stopping, P?

Paige brushed her mouth along Azzi’s jaw, kissed the corner of her lips, then her neck again, soft this time. Teasing.

Then she leaned into her ear and said, "We’re gonna finish this at the hotel. You know that, right, babygirl?"

Azzi’s nails scraped gently down her neck. "You are so full of yourself."

"Mm." Paige bit her earlobe softly, then whispered, "We will see."

And then she eased Azzi off her lap with slow hands and a smirk that said this wasn’t over. Not even close.

Azzi sat there, flushed and wrecked and trying not to look it, while Paige stood and straightened her shirt, casually rolling her shoulders like she hadn’t just edged her girlfriend into delirium in a public booth.

"Come on," she said over her shoulder, voice light now. "We should get back before they send someone to look for us."

Azzi didn’t move right away.

"Babe."

Azzi glared, half dazed. "I hate you."

Paige winked. "Yeah, you love that too."

And just like that, she held her hand out again. Azzi took it.

Thursday night — Nike Pre-Party, 11:16 p.m.

They didn’t even make it halfway back to the main room before running straight into Auntie Nae.

Azzi spotted her first, halfway through reapplying her lipstick with the help of a compact mirror Paige had yanked from her purse two minutes earlier. She cursed under her breath, snapped the compact shut, and tried to subtly wipe the last bit of kiss-shine off her neck.

Too late.

"Ayyy, there y’all are!" Nae’s voice cut through the music as she walked over, grinning wide. "I was just saying, where did those two sneak off to?"

Paige’s hand, still loosely wrapped around Azzi’s, instinctively tightened. She could feel the residual heat radiating off her own skin, cheeks still flushed, mouth slightly swollen. Azzi looked... disheveled in the most suspiciously glowing way possible.

"We were just—" Azzi started, way too fast.

"Hydrating," Paige finished for her, nodding solemnly. "We take recovery very seriously."

Auntie Nae gave them both a look that said I’ve seen things. Don’t lie to me. But she didn’t press. She just chuckled and held out her phone.

"Cute. Now smile. I want a picture of all my girls."

Neither of them could say no to her. Paige lifted her arm for a casual piece sign while Azzi leaned in, and they both turned on the smiles for the cameras.

"Perfect," Nae said after snapping three. "This is going to Insta right away."

Azzi groaned softly, Paige just chuckled. Then they finally escaped, ducking into a hallway mirror to do some real cleanup.

Lipstick fixed, shirt adjusted and a quick spritz of Azzi’s perfume. Paige tucked a loose curl behind Azzi’s ear and gave her one last once-over.

"You’re good," she said quietly.

"You still look like you’ve been making out in a booth."

Paige grinned. "I have been making out in a boot."

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink.

When they returned to the group, KK and Sarah were still at the table—but now joined by Morgan, Jana, and Ice, all lounging around with fresh drinks and very obvious smirks. KK raised her eyebrows as they approached, eyes flicking between their freshly powdered faces and still-slightly-mussed hair.

"Took you long enough," she said, not even bothering to hide the grin.

Azzi ignored her and slid straight onto the stool next to Paige, her hand resting on Paige’s thigh again, but this time Paige didn’t even flinch. She just let her arm fall easily over Azzi’s shoulders, her fingers drawing idle patterns against the soft skin of her upper arm.

Morgan tilted her head. "Y’all good?"

Azzi just hummed in response, leaning into Paige, body soft and unbothered, eyes half-lidded like she had nothing to prove.

And just like that, for the rest of the night, Azzi behaved.

Not in the way people expected, but exactly how Paige wanted her: clingy, affectionate, absolutely unwilling to stop touching her in one way or another. A hand clutching her arm, her cheek pressed to Paige’s shoulder, fingers slipping into Paige’s back pocket while they waited for drinks.

Paige was more than happy to give her every ounce of that attention, soft touches, casual kisses on the temple, arms wrapped around her waist while they talked to other players.

They didn't talk about the bet, neither of them was trying to win anymore, not tonight.

And if the Studbudz stream caught a few of those moments on camera? If there were clips by morning of Paige whispering something into Azzi’s ear that made her smile, or of Azzi half in her lap during a group photo?

Well. Paige didn’t care and Azzi didn’t either. They weren’t hiding anymore.

[narcjsistx]

i’ll just say sae itoshi x "what if the current version of you met the future version of you?"

angst start but a happy ending <3 TRUST ME GUYS TRUST

The fights weren’t the end of the world — you knew that perfectly well. You’d been together for almost two years, and you’d argued a million times before, but this time you felt a heavier weight on your heart. Maybe it was because things hadn’t been easy for either of you lately. He had just come back home from a tour in Italy — one that had exhausted him more than usual, dragging him through some of the most remote places in the country for nearly three months — and most importantly, far from you. You, on the other hand, had just failed an university exam. You’d get the chance to retake it in a few weeks, but all the stress had been for nothing

Three months apart, the tension you both carried, and Sae’s return home had sparked one of the biggest arguments you’d had in a long time — all just a few days after he got back

For four days now, the house had been completely silent. You only spoke when necessary: he would go out to train even when he didn’t need to, and you preferred eating at the restaurant downstairs rather than sitting across from him. The words you had thrown at each other had been harsh — definitely not true, but absolutely devastating for both of you

You still shared the same bed, but it wasn’t the same anymore: Sae no longer pulled you close, no longer kissed the back of your neck, no longer showed you affection — and neither did you. It felt like he was still thousands of kilometres away — only this time, you saw him in real life, not through a phone screen. By the second day, you had already planned to talk to him and clear things up, but his stubborn pride, mixed with your own, kept you silent. You knew things would get better eventually — probably in just a few more days — but by now, you felt so overwhelmed that you didn’t know what else to do except cry in silence. You knew he was in pain too like you, but why was it so hard for him to speak about this?

It wasn’t the end of your relationship — and yet, it felt like the beginning of the downfall. What if all of this was actually the beginning of your breakup? Why now, just when you had started talking about more serious things, like marriage?

It’s just around dinnertime when you hear something crash in the living room — like the entire bookshelf had fallen over. There hadn’t been any tremors or earthquakes in the past few minutes… so how could that have happened?

You rush into the living room, noticing Sae stepping out of the bedroom — probably with the same question on his mind. You exchange a brief glance, but you’re the first to look away, turning toward the center of the room, where the bookshelf is, in fact, perfectly intact. Except… lying on the floor are an older version of your boyfriend — is he still your boyfriend? — and an older version of yourself. You take a step back, covering your mouth with both hands as you stare at the scene in front of you. The older version of Sae is the first to stand, reaching out a hand to help the older you to her feet. She rises and steps to his side, and he wraps an arm around her waist — only then seeming to realize where they’ve ended up

"I can’t believe it actually worked. That bastard from Bastard München really is a magician"

"That’s why they call him the Magician! Although, umh… it’s weird seeing you this young"

"Are you saying I’ve aged?"

"Only by, like… ten years"

You stare at both of them in complete shock, while Sae steps forward, placing himself slightly in front of you — shielding you, almost, as if concerned for your safety or simply overwhelmed by the situation unfolding before his eyes. The older versions of yourselves turn in your direction, and the older you walks forward, passing by your Sae and gently taking your hands in hers. You just stare at her, still stunned

"Oh my god, it’s so weird seeing myself this young! My hair looked really good like this, didn’t it, Sae?" the woman says, and both Saes turn to look at her — the older one nodding, while the younger casts a slightly jealous glance at his future self. The scene makes you chuckle a little, but your attention shifts back to the older version of yourself. She’s not that different from how you look now, but it’s clear she’s a few years older, with slightly more defined features. She smiles warmly, gently letting go of your hands and walking over to the couch, where she sits down. She alternates her gaze between you and your present-day Sae, genuinely curious

"What’s wrong? Did you sleep badly last night?" she asks, but her Sae comes closer, sitting beside her and sighing "I think we’ve landed in that phase when we used to fight all the time. Look how awkward they both are" he says, and you take a step forward "We don’t fight every day-" you mutter, embarrassed, but your Sae just shrugs "Almost" he says, and you turn to glare at him. The older you chuckles, curling up closer to her Sae "We haven’t changed at all" she says. You sigh, awkwardly

The more you look at them, the more they seem like the perfect couple — the kind you and your boyfriend aren’t right now. How can the same people be so different in such a short time? They’re just... stronger. You can see it in the way they simply sit next to each other, while you can barely speak to your Sae at all. The older Sae looks at you, slightly puzzled, then gestures for you to sit down. You do as he says — almost as if this weren’t your own home — and your Sae only sits when the older you takes his hand and gently places him beside you. It feels strange to have him this close again after days of silence… and yet, at the same time, it feels so good — like finally being able to breathe after holding your breath underwater for too long. You rest your hands on your lap, hesitant, but Sae doesn’t seem to hesitate at all — he places a hand on your thigh, a gesture he would never normally make unless the situation was something… unusual, like this

The older you chuckles softly while you try to collect yourself, clearing your throat "So… you’re us, but… adults?" you ask uncertainly, still struggling to understand how any of this is even possible. The older you nods "We’re the version of you from ten years in the future" she says, and her Sae nods in agreement "We’re thirty" he says it clearly and concisely — a trait that clearly hasn’t faded over the years. You notice how your Sae is watching them the same way he studies matches, like he’s trying to analyze something impossible "Are you still together?" he asks, and the question tightens something in your throat. If he asked that question, he probably doesn’t believe in your future together — and that just confirms your theory about the start of your decline. You lower your gaze, feeling a bit sad, when you hear the older Sae’s words "Are we still together? We’ve been married for years" he says

Both you and your Sae lift your heads, clearly surprised. You look at each other, and only then do you notice the beautiful ring encircling your ring finger — the same one that the older Sae is wearing. Your cheeks automatically flush as the older you seems to notice your surprise "What’s wrong? Are you surprised to be married?" she asks affectionately. You shake your head "It’s not that I’m surprised by that, it’s just — it’s strange to actually see it, not just imagine it or talk about it" you say awkwardly. The older you nods "It’s normal. It happened three years ago, so seven years from now… but it’s something we both wanted. I definitely didn’t put up with this stubborn head for years just to end up without a ring on my finger" she says, kissing her husband’s hand. You find yourself a little caught up in her playful tone — something that clearly hasn’t changed. Your Sae looks genuinely confused but shrugs "Married? Is that all? Isn’t there anything else to know about our future?" he asks, and his words hit you once again — so cold, somehow. The older Sae seems to notice this, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders "Well, it’s not just that. I’d avoid telling you about having three kids, winning the Champions League, and the Ballon d’Or, but if you want to know…" he says nonchalantly. This time, it’s Sae who’s left speechless, while you find yourself lingering on the part about having children. You instinctively look down at your stomach, shifting your gaze between it and Sae’s face, imagining what mini versions of him and you might hypothetically be like

You see how the smiles on their faces suddenly become more amused — even on adult Sae’s face. You swallow a lump in your throat, noticing that your Sae still hasn’t recovered "Kids?" you ask innocently, and the adult you nods "Three, two boys and a little girl we had recently. You’ll have to work a bit before getting there, but trust me, they’re wonderful" she says affectionately, and your heart warms a little. You’re about to speak when Sae interrupts you "Are they healthy? Are they okay?" he asks, and, surprised, the adult you nods happily "All three are doing well, in excellent health" she says

"There is anything else we should know?�� you ask, pressing your lips together. The two of them look at each other for a few seconds, then turn back to you and shake their heads "Probably not. It wouldn’t make sense to tell you more and spoil a story you still have to live through" says the adult you, and you nod, though a bit thoughtfully. Her words are certainly true and reasonable, and yet you find yourself wanting to know the story ahead of time. It’s a bit of a difficult moment, and having some reassurance would help — but asking too much wouldn’t make sense. You know they’re standing here in front of you, but what truly confirms that it will actually turn out this way? That the arguments before won’t become too much, to the point where you can no longer bear each other’s presence? What can truly reassure you that you and your Sae will become the version standing here now?

"Excuse me for a second..." you say, getting up quickly and disappearing as you head toward the kitchen. You enter and close the door behind you, leaning against a cabinet as you hold your head: the doubts have been eating you alive for days — too many words thought but never spoken, slowly piling up in your mind, which is gradually becoming a crowded, overflowing space. You know that Sae loves you, but at the same time, you wonder — how much longer can he keep loving you? How much longer can you keep loving him before you finally break? How much time do you have left before you start to hate each other? You’ll never become those people…

"Hey, am I interrupting?" asks a deeper-than-usual male voice. You look up to see the adult version of your boyfriend standing in the doorway, looking a little embarrassed. Wiping away the few tears that fell, you shake your head "No, go ahead. Sorry for the sorry state I’m in" you say, sounding a bit pathetic, but he closes the door behind him "I only find you pathetic when you doubt yourself. You were the most beautiful woman in the world, even drenched in sweat while giving birth to our son" he says, and though that moment hasn’t come yet, a warm feeling spreads in your heart. He seems aware of the weight of his words and clears his throat "Too much?" he asks, and you offer a small smile "Just surprised. Don’t worry" you say this, sitting down on the chair. He nods, looking around "Do you argue often?" he asks, and you reluctantly nod "Lately, yes. It’s like… like we don’t understand each other anymore, and then I look at you two and wonder how that’s even possible" you say innocently, resting your head on the table. He chuckles, sitting down across from you "I used to wonder the same thing back then, and I still do now. The more I see you, the more I wonder what you saw in me, this bundle of pride and inability to express his feelings" he says, and honestly, it makes you laugh a little

He looks relieved as he gazes at you more seriously "Listen, I know what you’re thinking. I used to think the same every time we argued back then, I was just less able to show it. It hurts me to see you so rarely, especially when the little time we have is spent not talking, but things have gotten better. When two people truly love each other, they find a way together. We’ve found it a million times before, and we still do now. You think we never argue in the future?" he asks, and you shake your head "It’s impossible that you fight, you’re so close. You’re really the opposite of what we are now" you say, despondent, and he shakes his head "We still argue, often more harshly. Everyone has their limits, their struggles, their provocations. We hate each other when we need to, but she, you, are always the woman I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with because I don’t think anyone could give me more than what you give me every day" he says it sincerely

"She saw something in me that no one else ever even tried to see, a version of me off the field, a Sae who loves falling asleep holding his wife whenever he gets the chance. She’s the one I live for, work for, the reason I can just be myself. I’ve probably gotten even worse since she became my wife, if I was protective before, now I even glare at Rin if he looks at her too long during family dinners" he says, and you chuckle "You and Rin… have you gotten better?" you ask, and he nods "We’re still brothers, off the field. Resentment turns into something else once you finally learn how to talk"

You stay silent for a moment, letting his words settle as you think them over. In the past, you always managed to find a way — through all kinds of situations — reaching compromises, but never breaking apart. You know how words can carry double meanings, shifting depending on context, and especially on the person hearing them. You’ve both changed since the day you met — grown as individuals, and as a couple — but the love has never changed. You look at the adult Sae, and in his eyes, you see the hundreds of nights where resentment slowly turned into deeper love after misunderstandings. The more you look at him, the more you realize that he is your Sae — just with more awareness

"The way forward… is it always there?" you ask one last time, and he nods "There hasn’t been a single time we didn’t find it. When it doesn’t exist, we create it. When you exist, I can create anything" he says, and a small tear slips down your cheek. You press your lips together, letting out a sigh "Even when we’re tired?" you ask, and he nods again "Especially when we’re tired" he says, and a weight on your shoulders lifts and fades away. You almost start to breathe again, wiping your face and searching for something to say — though, honestly, you think silence might be the best answer. You clear your throat after some time "Is there something you’ve always wanted to say to the younger me?" you ask, and he smiles at you "There is one thing. Small, but important. Thank you"

You stay in the kitchen for what feels like an eternity. The way is always there — always — and even in the past, you managed to create one when it seemed impossible to find. You found it when the matches took him far from home, you found it when your family wasn’t sure about Sae at first, and you found it in the shared desire to scream at each other as much as needed, but never, ever walk away. Your anxieties are valid — but impossible to truly hold onto, not when you have someone like him by your side. As much as he tries to show the world otherwise, Sae Itoshi would probably throw himself off a cliff if you asked him to. You’d do the same — without hesitation — if he were the one asking. The way was found, is found, and will always be found — even when you’re tired, even when you’re lost in the dark. You’ll always find it if you two are the result

When you lift your gaze, the adult Sae is gone. Your breath catches slightly in your throat as you glance around the room, searching for him — only to find your Sae standing in the doorway. Your breath catches in your throat, but you manage to stay calm, even as you notice the same tightness reflected in his expression "Hey" you say, breaking the silence that’s lingered for days. He walks closer and sits down across from you "You okay?" he asks gently, and you nod "Yeah. You?" you ask back, and he nods too "I’m okay if you are"

You both fall silent again, but his hands slowly reach out across the table until they gently wrap around yours. You let out a sigh of relief — one you’ve probably been holding in for far too many days, as your tense muscles begin to relax, slowly, naturally "I missed you" he says in a near whisper, but just loud enough to reach your heart and pull a smile from you "I missed you too. I hate it when we’re like this" you admit, and he nods "I hate not talking to you at all, especially after we’ve already spent so much time apart. But it’s okay… with you, I always want to find a way. It’s okay, even if we spend days in complete silence, as long as the outcome is what matters to me" he says, but his words echo those of the older Sae, but this time it’s your Sae sitting in front of you. You exhale and nod "Me too. Always. Even when we’re tired" you say, and he kisses your knuckles softly "Especially when we’re tired"

In the quiet of the kitchen, both you and Sae let a few tears slip alongside kisses and soft laughter. After days, the house fills with noise again, but the loudest thing of all is a framed photo in the living room: a young married couple kissing on a soccer field — probably right after a game, maybe the Champions League. Their emotions are raw and genuine like their long photographed kiss, especially like the love they share and that surrounds them, most of all coming from the three children at their feet, holding tightly to their legs

✶ beautiful dividers by @dollywons !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[astryxie]

you're drunk !

characters: yami sukehiro, fuegoleon vermillion, nozel silva, & william vangeance

tags: fluff , multi characters x fem reader

a/n: i'm back with the scenarios ! sorry if it's been awhile, i'm just really busy with school and all

🍂 YAMI SUKEHIRO

The cool night air wrapped around you as you stumbled along the path, still feeling the warmth of the drinks you had with Yami back at the tavern. The night had been filled with loud laughter and challenges from overly confident patrons that Yami either shrugged off or jokingly threatened to handle with his sword.

Yami walked beside you, hands shoved casually into his pockets, his steps as steady as ever despite the amount of beer he’d downed. He glanced at you, clearly entertained by your struggle to walk in a straight line. “You’re wobbling like a newborn deer.” he teased, his smirk growing wider.

You shot him a glare, though you knew it lacked any real bite. “I’m not wobbling.” you insisted stubbornly, your voice slurring just a little. “I could walk a straight line if I wanted to.”

Yami raised an eyebrow, his grin daring you. “Oh yeah? Prove it.” He stopped, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying this far too much.

With an overly determined look, you tried to step forward, concentrating so hard that your tongue peeked out between your lips. But despite your best effort, your feet betrayed you, and you tripped. Yami quickly caught you, pulling you upright and steadying you against his chest.

“Yeah, real convincing.” he chuckled, keeping his strong arm around your waist. “Remind me to never let you talk yourself into a drinking contest again. You’d end up starting a bar brawl and lose.”

You scowled up at him, though you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at your own clumsiness. “I don’t need your help, Captain.” you grumbled, but you made no effort to move out of his hold. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

His smirk grew more teasing. “Sure, Miss Independent.” he said, leaning in closer. “You’re strong as hell, but right now, you’re about as coordinated as a fish out of water. Admit it.”

“Never.” you shot back. But your pride softened, and you couldn’t hold back a smile. You let yourself rest in his embrace, at least for now.

Yami seemed pleased, but he wasn’t done teasing you yet. His eyes glinted with amusement as he added, “You know, you’re lucky I’m here to catch you when you do something reckless. Otherwise, I’d be scraping you off the pavement.”

You gasped, playfully swatting at his chest. “You’re the worst!” you exclaimed, though a grin spread across your face. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Yami shrugged, his smirk never fading. “Probably because I’m devastatingly handsome.” he said, then leaned in close, his voice dropping to a mock whisper. “And because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart skipped a beat. “Arrogant as ever.” you shot back, though the affection in your voice was undeniable. “One day, that ego of yours is going to be your downfall.”

“Maybe,” he replied, squeezing you a little tighter as the two of you continued down the road. “But at least I’ll have you to catch me when I fall, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, you big idiot. Just don’t make me regret it.”

Yami let out a soft chuckle, and for a moment, the silliness fell away, replaced by a genuine warmth that lingered between you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” he said, his voice unusually gentle before he quickly added, “Now hurry up. I don’t feel like carrying your drunk ass home if you pass out on me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him playfully as the two of you continued down the path. The night felt perfect, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy leaning into his warmth, knowing that your silly, playful love would always make you feel this light.

🍂 FUEGOLEON VERMILLION

The mission had been a resounding success, but the celebration that followed had clearly taken its toll on you. Fuegoleon had joined the squad in raising a glass—or several—to the victory, but unlike you, he’d known when to stop. You, on the other hand, had indulged a little too freely in the wine.

Now, you found yourself lying on your bed, your limbs feeling heavy, and your head buzzing in that telltale way that meant you’d had far too much to drink. Fuegoleon sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing your boots as you mumbled incoherent protests.

“You don’t have to do that.” you slurred weakly, though your attempt at resistance was half-hearted at best.

“And yet here I am.” Fuegoleon replied calmly, his voice laced with patience as he set your boots aside. “It seems tonight I have the honor of looking after you, my love.”

You blinked up at him, a hazy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re too good to me.” you murmured, the warmth of the wine in your system amplifying your emotions. “I don’t deserve you.”

Fuegoleon chuckled softly, reaching for a damp cloth. “If that’s true, then what does that say about me? I’m the one who chooses to stay by your side.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment before you peeked at him again. “Probably that you’re too noble for your own good.”

“Or perhaps,” he countered, his voice quieter now, “I simply know a treasure when I see one.”

The words made your cheeks heat, and you let out a shy laugh. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.” you said teasingly, though your voice cracked ever so slightly.

Fuegoleon smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before running the damp cloth over your hands. “No tears tonight, sweetheart. Only rest.”

You watched him in silence for a moment, taking in the way his purple eyes glowed softly in the lamplight, his every movement deliberate and tender. “You’re really handsome, you know that?” you murmured, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Fuegoleon paused, glancing down at you with a look of amused surprise. “Am I now?”

You nodded with conviction, your voice growing dreamier. “Mm-hmm. Handsome and kind and strong and... warm. You’re everything, Fuegoleon.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks, but his smile didn’t waver as he set the cloth aside. “You’ve had too much to drink, my love.” he said softly, leaning in closer. “But I’ll take your words to heart.”

“I mean it.” you insisted, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re amazing. And I love you.”

He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you too.” he murmured, his voice full of warmth. “Now rest. You’ve earned it.”

You hummed in contentment, your eyes fluttering closed as sleep began to claim you.

Fuegoleon stayed by your side, his hand resting lightly over yours as he watched you drift into peaceful slumber. Even as the night stretched on, he remained there, his heart full and his resolve unshaken. For all your stubbornness and mischief, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

🍂 NOZEL SILVA

The night had gone exactly as Nozel predicted—messy. You’d gone out to celebrate your friend’s birthday, promising him you wouldn’t overdo it. Yet here you were, kneeling on the bathroom floor, your stomach emptying every last drop of the party’s "fun."

Nozel stood behind you, his hand carefully holding your hair back, the other steadying you with a light touch on your shoulder. His usual pristine demeanor was intact, save for the slight furrow in his brow and his sleeves rolled up—a rare sight that might’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently miserable.

“I should’ve known.” he muttered, his voice calm but tinged with irritation. “Letting you go to a party unsupervised was clearly a mistake.”

You groaned, wiping your mouth weakly. “It was... one night. I don’t always do this.”

“Precisely why you don’t handle it well.” he replied, offering you a glass of water. “Drink. Slowly.”

You took the glass, sipping carefully before giving him a half-hearted grin. “Look at you, Sir High and Mighty, tending to a lowly drunk like me. Isn’t this beneath you, Captain Silva?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grip on your hair steady. “It’s certainly testing my patience.”

You laughed weakly, leaning against the wall. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this just a little. You love me too much to leave me here.”

He let out a sharp sigh, though his hand on your back moved in slow, soothing circles. “Loving you doesn’t mean I enjoy watching you throw up.”

You cooed, turning to look up at him with a tired smile. “You said you love me. That’s rare. Must be the alcohol working its magic.”

“Don’t push your luck.” he replied, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Now stop talking nonsense and rest.”

“But you’re so handsome when you’re annoyed.” you teased, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch as he helped you shift into a more comfortable position. “It’s like... brooding prince energy.”

“Foolish woman.” he muttered, shaking his head, though his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“You'll live.” you murmured, your voice softening as sleep started to creep in. “You’d miss me too much if I wasn’t around to drive you crazy.”

Nozel paused, his amber eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Perhaps.” he admitted, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. “Now sleep, before you say anything else you’ll regret.”

You gave a small laugh, your head lolling to the side as exhaustion overtook you. “No regrets... just you.”

As your breathing evened out, Nozel sighed, his hand lingering on your back for a moment longer before he stood. He quietly adjusted the blanket draped over you, his usual sharpness replaced by a rare tenderness.

“Rest well, my love.” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be here.”

🍂 WILLIAM VANGEANCE

It had been one of those days where everything felt overwhelmingly boring. After a mission, everyone had dispersed to rest, and you found yourself wandering the halls, feeling antsy. The idea of a drink crossed your mind—just to pass the time and try something new. You'd never really been interested in alcohol, but today, curiosity got the better of you.

You found an unopened bottle of something fruity-looking in the pantry, poured yourself a small glass, and took a sip. It wasn’t bad. A little sweet, a little tangy. You went back for another, and before long, you’d emptied half the bottle. You could feel it starting to settle in—everything was a bit fuzzy, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

After a while, the alcohol made you feel a little too good, a little too brave. You thought about how lovely it would be to visit William. You had to tell him something important, after all.

You made your way to his office, swaying slightly as you walked, still feeling the warmth spread through you. When you entered, William looked up from his desk, and for a moment, his expression was a mix of surprise and concern.

"Y/N?" he asked, standing up immediately, his brow furrowed in worry. "What’s wrong?"

You smiled up at him, feeling unusually lighthearted. Without thinking, you dropped to one knee in front of him. “William Vangeance.” you said dramatically, though your voice was slightly slurred. “Will you marry me?”

William froze, his eyes widening, clearly taken aback. "Y/N, what are you—" His voice softened as he rushed over, kneeling in front of you. “You’re drunk.”

You giggled, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “I’m not drunk, I just… really love you.” you said, trying to focus on him. “You’re kind and smart and… and perfect. How could I not want to marry you?”

William’s expression softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached out and gently cupped your face, his touch tender. “My love,” he said softly, “You’re a little tipsy right now, aren’t you?”

You nodded, still smiling up at him, completely at ease. “Maybe. But it’s still true.” you said, your voice warm with affection. “You’re everything to me, William. I’m lucky to know you.”

He chuckled lightly, the worry in his eyes replaced by something softer. “You’re adorable when you’re drunk.” he murmured, his voice fond as he helped you sit back down on the floor. “But I think we should get you comfortable. You’re not thinking straight.”

You pouted, but it was more playful than anything. “I am thinking straight.” you said, leaning into his chest as he wrapped his arm around you, helping you to the couch. “I’m just being honest.”

William's arms wrapped around you more securely as he guided you onto the couch. He sat beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His voice was calm, but affectionate. “You’ve always been honest with me, even when you're sober. But I think tonight, we’ll keep the marriage talk for another day.”

You relaxed into his embrace, still feeling giddy and safe in his arms. “But one day, though.” you murmured, your eyes fluttering a little. “Promise me we’ll talk about it when I’m not… all wobbly.”

William smiled softly, his heart full of affection for you. “I promise.” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “But for now, just rest. You’ve had a long day, my love.”

You hummed, leaning into his warmth, the world around you beginning to fade into the comfort of his arms. “You’re so sweet, William. I’m glad you’re here.”

He held you close, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m always here for you, Y/N. Always.”

You sighed contentedly, letting the last of your energy slip away as you drifted off in his embrace.

[crystallakec]

HI CRIS....cried a little while drawing this and cried a little more while reading your tags. thank you for leaving these it means so so much to me and I wanted to talk about him a little more😭

even if I want to believe, it's already too late.

[sidemari]

• Object of Obsession •

He would be her downfall, and she knew it.

Character included: Danny Johnson (Ghost Face) x Fem!Reader.

Mari’s notes: This story is still an ‘x reader’ text, but narrated in third person, using ‘she/her’ pronouns instead of ‘you.’ I wanted to try something different and hope you enjoy it. The text is about 2,100 words long.

TW: Aftercare absence, blackmail, CNC (consensual non-consent) themes, creampie, cunnilingus, dub-con, emotional manipulation, impact play (spanking, slapping, hair pulling), light humiliation, overstimulation, photo taking, power imbalance, stalker behavior (home invasion, privacy violation), threats of violence, video recording, weapon mention.

It was a freezing night. A tedious, deceptively harmless night—the kind that kept most people in Roseville locked inside their homes, too scared to go out thanks to the string of serial murders.

She was in her own apartment, but she didn’t feel safe.

Her heart was tight in her chest, like it already knew he could be lurking somewhere nearby. She knew his dirty secret. She knew that beneath the fake persona of a journalist chasing the Ghost Face murders… there was a sick, twisted mind: Danny Johnson.

Months ago, she thought he would kill her the night she had caught him. A night not unlike this one.

Coming home from work, distracted, only to catch sight of the masked killer mercilessly taking the life of his latest victim—a coworker of hers. His mistake had been taking off the mask, thinking no one was watching. Or maybe… sparing her.

Her whole body was tense. So tense she could almost want him to help her with it. They’d spent nights together before, back when she still believed he was just Jed Olsen. Intense nights, filled with whispered confessions and muffled moans. But the terror in her eyes the day she learned who he really was hadn’t lied: she feared him now… and was fascinated by him all the same.

She stared at the mug he’d once gifted her on one of those nights they shared, letting out a deep, tired sigh, fighting the conflicting feelings rising in her chest. She made coffee, choosing that damn mug to drink it from. He’d definitely tease her if he had the chance. “Coffee this late?” He’d say, before pulling her close just to steal a kiss.

She lifted the mug to her lips again but didn’t get another sip. Her entire body froze at the sound of the front door opening… or closing. Silent, she slipped through the dimly lit apartment, moving as far as the tiny space would allow from the noise.

In the bedroom, she held her breath. Locked the door as quietly as possible. Took a few shaky steps back, still staring at the door she’d just locked—with the suffocating certainty that he was already inside the house... looking for her.

That’s when her back hit his chest. “You’re so predictable it hurts,” he murmured, a gloved hand covering her mouth without care, the other gripping her hip. “Danny…” Her voice came out muffled as she struggled to get free, in vain. “Did you miss me?” He teased, lifting the mask just enough to press a kiss against her skin. “Please…” she begged, her voice nothing but a frail thread of resistance against the fabric of his glove. “Gonna fight like the others?” He growled low, pinning his body harder against hers. “Or are you smart enough to just let it happen?”

She didn’t answer. Her pride wouldn’t let her. But when his hand slid from her hip to one of her breasts, squeezing softly through the thin fabric of her shirt—the exact way he knew made her weak… She moaned.

And that was all he needed. It was enough to tell him she wanted it as much as he did. Enough to make her hate herself for giving in again. Enough to make him smile against her skin, knowing she was already his from the second he broke through that door.

Resisting might buy her a few minutes, but she didn't know his intentions.

She didn't know if he just wanted pleasure, one more night... or to drain the life out of her, like he had done with the others.

“Scream and you die,” he muttered against her hair, guiding her hand to feel the blade he kept tucked into a compartment of that bizarre shroud. “Understand?”

She nodded, lungs finally taking in a full breath when he pulled his hand away from her mouth.

Without ceremony, he threw her onto the bed. Grabbed the camera—the same one he used to photograph every victim—and captured her for the first time: flushed face, eyes heavy with fear, her expression a messy blend of dread and expectation.

“You’re going to…” She started but couldn’t finish. “Kill you?” he laughed. That low, gravelly laugh that sent chills straight down her spine. “No. Not tonight.”

She didn’t believe him. Because his eyes—those dark eyes—glowed with that same insane, dangerous gleam that told her his mind was far gone.

She watched his every move with breathless anticipation, holding it in until her cells screamed for oxygen. He didn’t say a word. He just tilted his head in that infuriatingly cocky way of his. She knew exactly what he wanted. They’d spent enough nights together for her to recognize every twisted little game he played.

Her trembling hands moved to the buttons of her pajama shirt, unfastening them one by one until her breasts were exposed to him. She couldn’t see his face… But she knew him well enough to know he was grinning like the bastard he was beneath that mask.

Swallowing hard, she guided his hand to one of her breasts. He laughed. The camera flashed, filling the room with light for a few seconds—click after click as he captured his hand on her skin, squeezing, marking.

“Danny…” she whimpered, squirming beneath him. His cock pulsed at the sound, his entire body begging to break her without mercy.

“If you’re… manipulating me…” He growled against the valley between her breasts before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking with enough force to make her cry out, breaking her pride, “…I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Her hands moved desperately to push down her own pants, the fabric pooling around her ankles before she kicked them somewhere across the room. Her stomach twisted with anticipation. Her whole body throbbed, hot, wet, desperate for his touch… his attention… his punishment. Her panties were drenched, sticking between her thighs. And she hated herself for that. She hated how a bastard like him could make her feel this wanted, this needy, this hungry… even while being terrified.

“Please…” she whispered against his lips when his mouth finally left her nipple.

He pulled her into a kiss—fervent, urgent, his tongue easily claiming dominance and setting the pace he wanted. He handed her the camera before ending the kiss with that signature filthy smile on his lips, pressing the record button as soon as it was in her hands.

Her heart pounded, realization hitting her fast and hard. He wanted this recorded. He smiled with pure malice when she focused the lens on his face, capturing every second as he trailed wet kisses down her stomach until reaching her hips.

Instinctively, she spread her legs wider to give him space between them. His eyes never left the lens, even as his greedy hands pulled her panties down.

She touched his mask with one hand—asking for permission. He nodded. She removed it, pushed the hood back, guiding his head exactly where she needed him most, while her other hand clutched the camera, still recording every filthy second of their game.

Her thighs clamped around his head, her voice shaking as she moaned his name with devotion, hunger, and desperation.

“I missed tasting you like this…” he murmured against the inside of her thigh before kissing her there—his eyes never breaking contact with the camera lens. He knew she was watching him through that little screen. And his exhibitionist side loved every second of it.

“You like filming me, huh?” He teased, his fingers teasing her entrance, prepping her. “Like seeing how fucking obsessed I am with you?”

Her answer was her orgasm. Her body arched, the camera falling from her trembling hands as he snatched it up, turning the focus on her—on how utterly wrecked and beautiful she looked cumming for him.

Every gasp, every muscle spasm, the way her sex clenched around nothing—she was completely exposed, every reaction captured by the most dangerous man she’d ever met. And she liked it. God… she liked that filthy little game a bit too much.

She knew it was wrong. Twisted. Dirty. But then why…? Why did her body obey every single command he gave? Why did she crave every touch, every kiss, every degrading word that fell from his lips?

The only answer she could come up with… Was that she was just as dirty as he was? And only he could drag the worst parts of her out—exposing every flaw, every secret, every buried fantasy in that broken little soul of hers.

The universe had a sick sense of humor sometimes. He’d be her downfall. And she knew it.

The recording stopped just long enough for him to kiss her again. She tasted herself on his tongue… and loved every fucking second of it.

“Get on all fours,” he ordered, pulling off the shroud, exposing the athletic body only she knew. She obeyed without resistance, her skin breaking out in goosebumps, anticipation clawing at her insides. She heard the camera click—a few more photos—more filthy memories he’d keep for himself.

Her cheeks burned hot. She hated feeling exposed. She had spent her whole life avoiding attention. She hated speaking in public. And she would’ve rather died than be the center of attention… And now? Now her stomach twisted with excitement just knowing he’d keep something so intimate… so hers… in his possession.

He’d use these photos. These recordings. To threaten her, manipulate her, and control her whenever he wanted—she knew that. But she ignored the crushing weight of her own conscience screaming at her to hold onto what little dignity she had left.

He pressed the record button again, the camera focusing on his teasing her clit. He was already dripping, spreading precum all over her folds, slicking her up even more for what was about to come.

“Beg,” he ordered, the hand that had just been guiding his cock now slapping her hard enough to steal a broken moan from her lips.

“Please, Danny…” She cried, her back arching as another slap landed in the same spot. Her skin glowed red in the recording, the camera catching every tiny, filthy detail of her body from the best angles possible.

She didn’t want to beg. Some tiny, stubborn part of her still wanted to hold on. But when he pushed just the tip inside—the camera zoomed in on every inch stretching her open—she snapped.

“Please… Put it all in… Please fuck me… I need you…” “Good girl…” he laughed. That bastard fucking laughed as he stripped away whatever honor she had left. “One more time… say it again.” He pushed in a little deeper, his cock stretching her out with relentless precision.

“Please… I need… I need you, I need your cock…”

The shame of hearing herself say words that filthy burned her from the inside out. And the moan that tore from her throat when he buried himself all the way to the brim… was even dirtier.

“Faster…” she begged, her sanity long gone.

He gladly obliged. Their moans blended together, the bed protesting under their violent rhythm, skin slapping against skin—wet and obscene—filling the air alongside the whirring of the camera still recording every goddamn second.

The thrusts grew deeper, rougher, and faster. His grip on her hip tightened, fingers digging in, leaving bruises she’d feel the next day… maybe the whole fucking week.

For the first time since he started the second recording, he focused the camera on her face—wrecked, spent, cheeks wet with tears, her gaze glassy with pleasure and self-loathing… And yet, even ruined, even dominated, even coerced… She still wouldn’t look into the lens.

“Look at the camera…” He growled, voice wrecked, strained, nearly losing control. “Want to see you coming for me.”

And she obeyed.

When he hit that one spot inside her that made her weak, her second orgasm crashed down on her without warning; the line between pain and pleasure had been blurred long ago.

The camera caught every second: her body collapsing onto the mattress, his weight falling over her, both of them gasping—filthy and desperate—the sound of his final thrusts as he buried himself deep one last time… spilling everything inside her… marking her as his, and, even after the orgasm, her body kept squeezing him, holding him in, like it refused to let him go.

They stayed like that for long, heavy seconds—both of them panting, their breath tangled and obscene, the static hiss of the recording filling the background.

“Say you’re mine.” He yanked her hair, focusing the camera on her cock-drunk expression.

“I’m… yours…” she whimpered, too drained to fight back.

The recording cut. The last thing she heard before blacking out… was the camera clicking, capturing her ruined face one final time, just before he let her hair fall from his grip without an ounce of care.

[ganondoodle]

as funny as this scene is ... toby and the team are very good at combining humor and serious things (or rather, the humor works so well bc it has a solid base? idk words) the longer i think about it the 'worse' it gets

even with them trash talking each other constantly its so obvious that they still care (they share so many phrases and themes you cant even tell who got what from whom.. though i suppose its more likely spamton got them from Tenna .... but also he would have had to be there for quite a while to have so many similarities) even if its complicated- and like, spamton kind of sounds so genuinely happy here?? and the fact he (if you have the dealmaker) comes out of your inventory on his own here when Tenna talks to himself about being at his lowest and wishing him back (more or less) is kinda heartbreaking to me????? for all i know (cut me some slack its been a long time) we dont know why spamton never came back or left in the first place (and there is the thought of ... would he have even been able to come back given that they are all tied to physical objects and to get Tenna to safety later -if you dont let him die- susie literally has to carry him away) and even if its some sense of resentment or pride or shame or something that made him stay away/avoid him, NOW that you got him here and he hears and sees this he actually makes a move????????

for all that spamton is weird and kinda fucked up for unkown(?) reasons, treated badly (even if for good reason(??) i dont remember everything of the first chapters) and everything im just so?? he could have just stayed in your inventory like hes done before but he doesnt

but you also cant really blame Tenna for reacting the way he does here (and yes i do think he knew it was spamton and the overblown reaction was mostly trying to think of soemthing to do bc HOW would you handle this?? and also i do think he could be petty about it but also maybe overreacting ... i know how it feels to overreact in weird ways ahaha- just .. i get it but, dude, why q-q)- you were hiding and he was talking to himself and then spamton just freakinge appears in front of him like that (when Tennas desperate attempt to avoid being thrown away fails, no matter how far he went, when everything is falling apart, when its kinda .. too late) after who knows how long of silence, knowing literally nothing about where he went or why (yet he still kept the pipis.......)---

and then how spamton says hes never gonna do that again, while understandably so and very funny in the moment, im just so .... the one time he actually does seem to try to reconnect (?) with someone he seems to have actually genuinely cared about he gets rejected like that (for also understandable reasons aaaaah) and swears to never try that again ......................................................

blaming each other for their downfall but still caring and then fumbling the one chance they get to meet again im so .............................................. fine about it.

(and not to derail but why .... why is it so easy to let Tenna disappear or die ..............?? even if you do all the nice things if you dont go to the hub after church (if thats possible, i dont ...actually know), or dont give him to mettaton, toriel throws him out and once it rains and hes outside its like the last chance to get him to safety (and most people would probably avoid going there before the church bc you are told to go home when its raining and most would then check everything else first and end up in the church at night.. skipping out on finding him outside in the rain and after that he is just gone??? (i think?)- ALSO if you dont recruit enough/are nice enough Susie says she still went back and searched for him in the dark world (i love her so much) but couldnt find him and the other NPCs refused to help out.................. the boarded up tv room in the hub??? arhj my heart man q-q .......... and when you actually break him the broken TV just stays in the room????????? at least spamton can just chill in your inventory nfjksbfshfkjnfksl)

((also also ...i found it weird you dont get to see susie help him in the dark world or the sealing of the fountain there, i know its at the end of the chapter and sth happens with Kris and the shelter but ... i think thats the only time we havent seen the actual sealing?? and then she tells you what happened if you interact with the TV instead ... i do love the highly missable dialog of her telling you she found and patched Tenna up with the help of the other NPCs if you got them all recruited though.... qwq))

(sorry these thoughts have been spiraling around sicne i woke up today and i literally could not concentrate on work at all bc i kept ... thinking about it .... either way these all all just current incoherent thoughts im throwing around........ i hope we get to see Tenna again later on, though i kind of doubt that)

[florencebirdsong]

Monthly Hunt

Rio Vidal x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2025 - Day 3: Breeding

Summary: Foxes don’t submit on command. Rio has to catch you if she wants to breed you.

Tags: breeding, breeding season, pet play, hybrid, primal play, biting, strap-on, fox hunt, Dom Rio, Sub Reader, Non-human Rio, Fox hybrid Reader

No pronouns used to refer to Reader.

Words: 976

Authors note: Shout out to @caroldantops for introducing me to the wonders of hybrids!! I'm obsessed

This is another non-human Rio chasing you in the woods fic. I’m employing the “oh yay two cakes!” mentality here and enjoying it immensely. I hope you do as well

ao3 | masterlist

Your heart beats in your ears. Rio is close but there’s no way of telling how close. Her aura seeps from every direction. Soothing and familiar.

You fight the urge to run. It’s just as likely you’ll run directly towards her as away. You have to wait for the right moment instead of guessing. 

Sometimes guessing right doesn’t even matter. If she’s impatient enough she’ll appear in your path anyway. But it’s so rare it’s better not to risk the blind running. She likes the chase too much and she’ll give you just enough of a chance to slip from her grasp again. 

Your ears twitch as you listen for any whisper of her. You can’t always trust what you see but Rio has yet to trick you with fake footsteps. Nothing except for the feel of her aura growing stronger.

Snap. You twitch, barely resisting the instinct to run. Leaves rustles in the same direction. You hold still. It could be a trick. Your ears twist and twitch. You block out the natural, and unnatural, sounds of the forest and try to sense any hint of a footstep.

There. You take off in the other direction. Footsteps follow you. Then to your left. Wind rises behind you and you know Death is above you. Your erratic changes in direction do little to lose her.

You feel her descend and you launch yourself forwards and into a roll. You pop up into a run then pivot right. You’re too slow. Claws rake along your skin before sinking in, twisting you towards her.

You snarl and twist and swipe, the thrill of the fight filling you. Rio allows the illusion of scratches to appear and your chest fills with pride at having managed to make any at all. Rio likes the fighting just as much as you do and you’ve improved a lot as you learnt her quirks.

Seeing an opening, you go for her neck with bared teeth. The very tips of your canines graze her skin before she slams you into the ground. You yelp in surprise. You’d been too focused on the taste of her skin to remember to keep her from gaining a proper hold of you. It’s one of your usual downfalls.

You still struggle despite her tight grip. She uses her own weight to trap your lower body. She manages to get a hand in your hair despite your continued squirming and scratching and pushing. She pulls your head back far enough to put your neck at an awkward angle which forces you to still.

You bare your teeth and growl at her. Unfortunately, your growls keep petering off into needy whines.

“Caught you,” Rio says, her voice deep.

You snarl your denial. You aren’t caught until you’re limp.

Roots break from the ground around you and curl over your limbs. The roots pull your arms and legs towards the ground. You fight against them but they’re too strong.

Your wrist is close enough for you to snag your teeth onto it and chew on the one surrounding it. Your teeth are sharp but the root is thick.

“Still so much fight in you.” Rio’s voice is velvet. Another root replaces the one you break. You growl. Rio growls back. You instinctively bare your neck. She laughs. You hiss. Her hand releases your head to press down on your neck. You grumble but you’re as immobile as before.

“None of that,” she tsks before her voice turns into a husk. “Time for the real fun to begin.”

Rio pulls her strap out and you still. You shouldn’t stop. There’s still a small chance you can get away from her again. But you don’t want to. You’re empty and aching and she’s moments away from soothing it all. Prolonging the chase isn’t worth the denial with her cock brushing up against you.

Rio purrs at your obvious submission. She doesn’t ease her grip on you entirely but her weight lessens and the tight grip on your throat eases into a caress. 

She slowly pushes inside of you. She’s big and you’re incredibly wet. You moan at the stretch. She pushes in to the hilt and you try to meet her. Her roots keep you still. She’s in complete control. 

She pulls out until only the tip is inside you before filling you with one thrust. The pace she sets is harsh and fast. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the clearing. Her roots keep you against the ground; keep your claws away from her: stop you from turning the tables and riding her.

Your tail curls around your hip and Rio gently runs her hand through the soft fluff. Electricity races from your tail and up your spine. You moan and arch into her. You’re so full yet you want more. You want to feel the stretch, you want her entire weight on you, you want the feeling of her presence to be a strong pressure instead of a light caress You want to be surrounded by her, inside and out.

Rio’s focus has left her distracted to other things. Like the fact that your face is pressed against her shoulder. Her smell fills your nose. Salt seeps across your lips. The impulse is as strong and instantaneous as always and you bite down on the deceptively soft skin.

Her own teeth sharpen and she sinks them into you, right on the scar from when she’s bitten you so many times before. The pain is sharp and travels directly to your core. You whimper into her skin, her continued movements turn it into a moan. Pure bliss rushes over you.

You tremble below her and you feel her own body tense. Warmth floods the deepest part of you and you moan again. Your jaw tightens reflexively and Rio growls her triumph.

[kokokoula]

pt 1

prompt pt2: wanting to tease tsukishima a bit, you ask him if he was really that worried about not being able to kiss you anymore. he huffs and denies it. he insists that he was trying to save you from the embarrassment of having to go back on your own words once you realise that you can't go on without his kisses. you take that as a challenge. and he isn't going to back down, not with his pride on the line.

so the next few days go about the same, but only without kissing, even including small acts like on the hands and cheeks. without you knowing, he hated those few days. conpletely resented it. tsukishima's ultimate downfall though, is when he sees you eating strawberries. he watches as the juice paints your lips a glossy red. gosh, it drives him nuts. he tries not to look at them, but that's all his mind can focus on.

"dammit, pipsqueak." kei grunts and tugs you in by the wrist, smashing his lips against yours. you taste just like how he expected it to be, sweet strawberries. he relishes in it as he kisses you harder with a hand behind your head. after a while, he pulls away, but not before licking your lips. he sees your victory grin, all cheery and smug. with smile of his own, he brings you in one more time. because at the end of the day he gets to kiss you again, and he's set on making up for lost time.

taglist: @priv-rose

[daemon-in-my-head]

Still of the belief that Gortash is so Gortash because he simply can't accept that his life and childhood have been shit for no particular reason. Like he can't accept a bad day is just a bad day. For him everything has to have a reason and justification and if there's none he will create one if he has to. After all he has justifications for everything else he does and the terror he unleashes as well.

And that's also why he himself is so fucked up and stuck. There was no reason for what happened. He knows this, subconsciously, he is smart and quite rational after all, but he simply can't accept it. It has to have a reason, there needs to be purpose otherwise all the pain and misery will have been just that and that's something he simply can not deal with.

So he destroys himself and others and talks about a grand purpose and how it's for the greater good when in reality it's just a man refusing to accept that his agony had no reason. That he, much like everyone else, is a plaything for the gods or the fates and that's a truth that he refuses to live with. That's why he calls a titan his equal. That's why he's obsessed with what parents do for their children. That's why he needs to find out how much agony one can endure before dying.

It's simply to justify what happened. The downfall of the Chosen who prides himself on rationality was that he refused to accept his emotions. That he wasn't destined to be the hero or the shining knight, that he was just like everyone else. That he's just human, with everything that entails.

[n30nwrites]

hiya neon <3

How you been ? ໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১₊˚⊹♡

hope you're having a good day ~ ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Anyways, can you write something fluffy about poly!141 and male reader

Just...cuddle piles bro...hhfjsjsk

-- 🪸anon

Like Real People Do (Poly!141 x Male Reader)

Sorry this wasn't long, a lot has happened in my life lol.

I've been okay, everything is turning up.

I debated on doing more but if It did it would've turned to angst so.

You were always tired, work didn't have to be stressful and you would still be tired. You think it had to do with interacting people, just talking could make you tired.

The only thing that could make it better, were the people that greeted you at your home.

Gaz is cooking. The smell swallows you and your stomach turns, growling for the food. You can tell its Gaz simply because of the smell of seasoning, something you were still helping the other three boys on. Soap and Ghost either did Microwavable dinners or take out, and Price thought that the only seasoning he should use is salt and pepper.

He's such an old man.

Your knees ached, as did your ankles and back. It was usually hurting, but you never got it checked out, didn't consider it important too.

The solo mission lasted 3 months, you know they had each other for company and some part of you questioned if they really needed you. If they could last without you for 3 months, what's the rest of their life?

Then Soap opens the door and grabs you like his life depends on it, and all that doubt disappears. He holds you, his arms wrapped around tight and your bag of items drops to reciprocate the hug. He feels like home.

They are home.

You attempt to let go and take a step forward but he still holds on, and you kind of just awkwardly shuffle into the door.

Ghost calls out your name and announces you're home. Price comes through the door wearing your favorite pair of sweatpants (that looked so good on him) and a tanktop, Ghost is in similar wear, and you could take a guest that they just stayed home all day.

"Soap you gotta let him go at one point." Soap is buried in your chest, pushing himself further so his words come out mumbled. "What is Gaz cooking?"

"How do you know it's Gaz cooking?" Price asks.

"Cause I can smell how good it is, you left the window open." You tell him which causes Ghost to go over and shut it, locking it as well.

"He's making some rogan josh-"

"Oh god..." You moaned, most of the food you ate was dry crackers (that tasted like cardboard) and some bad lasagna. You had always loved food, that was one downfall to being the governments rat. "God I'm starving."

"Thankfully you're home just in time." Gaz comes in wearing the stupid apron you got him, it's pink and frilly, a stupid gift because that was just the tradition on Christmas. Soap had gotten you a shirt that said 'Don't Bully Me I'll Cum :(' on it, which unironically became your favorite. You got Simon a shirt that said 'I Identify as an American Patriot and this is my Pride Flag' which the Brit hated but everyone else had a great time.

"Tell me you have naan."

He did

----

You ate like you hadn't before, the dinner was delicious and it brought you all to the bedroom to rest like never before.

You laid against the pillows set up on the wall, Gaz was laying in between your legs and on your chest, Price was laying on your right side, his head resting on your shoulder as Ghost laid on the opposite with Soap on top of him, though with the way Soap was laying, he was on top of everyone. Soap was holding your hand as you rested your head on Ghost, the tv is playing a show called The Maid, it was interesting so far, you were going in and out of focus on it, more focus on your boyfriends next to you.

Eventually husbands, hopefully.

You took a glance to the side where the bedtable sat. You each got a drawer for your stuff, and in yours were five rings that took 5 paychecks to get. You were just waiting.

There would be a right time.

Soap's loud snores fill the air, and you laugh a little at how sudden it is, as does Ghost. The bed was crowded but none of you cared, it was perfect.

They were perfect.

"I love you guys." You mumble, and Price leans over to you, causing you to turn your head and kisses you. It's soft, not leading to anything and it's not holding expectations, it's warm and soft and everything to you. And when he stops, you just smile, because this was it.

[16wolke11]

TEMPESTUOS - Max Verstappen 

A/N I know Max has his temper under control by now, but I needed him to be that way (:

Tempestuous -> Very stormy, full of strong emotions

WORDS: 2259

_____

Max Verstappen has always been known for his temperament. The world of competitive racing seems tailor-made for someone like him. Someone who thrives on speed, the passion for racing, and the rush—a mixture of adrenaline and victories. But with every win, there seems to come a burden. The pressure when a race doesn't end as expected, when an overtake results in damage, or anything else that can set his short temper ablaze and make him snap. His temper causes problems, not only for himself but also for those around him who need to fix the damage. Sometimes, Max's emotions bubble up like a storm that can't be tamed, and those around him become the target.

Acting as the polar opposite of him is something only a few people on the Red Bull team manage: his race engineer GP, his PR Vicky, and others close to him, like his trainer and the bosses of Red Bull. Max likes his team as it is, but when Vicky has to step away due to illness, the team faces the bitter reality of figuring out who can accompany Max to his interviews. In the end, they settled on me. And while I would usually be happy with the promotion, given how Max Verstappen currently behaves, I'd rather be anywhere but close to him.

I've been working around the paddock for a few years now, usually keeping a close eye on the Red Bull juniors. They might have their PRs in the junior categories, but for certain duties, they want me there as well. Usually, I handle the pressure in the paddock easily, getting along with a few interviewers, joking with the drivers, and staying calm no matter what happens. Until I was ordered to work with Max.

The start of the season wasn't easy for Max or the team. Instead of winning by 20 seconds, they had to fight just to get onto the podium. It stirred tension, not only within the team but also making interviews harder. The interviewers obviously love the "downfall" of Red Bull, as they like to call it, while everyone wearing dark blue works on changing that direction. Working with Max during that time wasn't a pleasure—interviews were tense, he snapped at them more than once, and he'd already accumulated a few fines. Luckily for him, no race bans yet. Then, finally, Max made it back to the top step, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was grinning brightly.

He even hugged me, and I thought that would be the turning point—the moment he evolved from the snapping, hunting lion to the leader of the pride again. But oh, I was so wrong. Even though Max managed to win with great overtakes, the interviewers still found a way to turn his happy energy into a storming one.

"Max, you had quite a few rough patches this season," the interviewer starts, and I tense up. Hopefully, this is just a review of the season and how he managed to turn things around today, but luck isn't on my side these days.

"Do you think you finally got past the issues, including your temper and the car in general?"

I take a deep breath, close to snapping at the interviewer myself, but I keep a blank expression, hoping Max will remember what we talked about. That he has to keep it low with the anger, especially around cameras. That he can snap when he's in hospitality or anywhere else where only people from the team can see him. I quickly glance at Max, hoping he'll get the hint to stay calm, but the storm is already brewing behind his eyes.

"What does this have to do with me winning?" Max asks, his shoulders tense. That would have been enough, but of course, Max isn't finished yet. "I won, haven't I? That's all that should matter, not the kind of problems you project on me." His voice is cold, and before I can even try to step in or the reporter has a chance to continue, Max just walks away.

I mutter an excuse before hurrying after him. Great, there goes the happy Max. Back comes the one with the stormy personality. A thick skin is something everyone around Max needs at the moment, and even though I know he won't react positively, I still decide to give him a lecture.

"Max, you can't talk to them like that," I hiss at him when we're back in hospitality, shielded from the journalists who love to take pictures of a fuming Max just to fuel their stories with proof.

"Excuse me?" he asks, arching his eyebrow. There's a storm in his eyes, one that can't settle due to the constant reminders of how bad his season is going.

"You can't let your temper define you and overshadow your victories. If you snap at them like this, all they're going to write about is your temper issues, not your win." I explain to Max, and for a moment, he just stares at me, like he's debating whether this is worth discussing. Then, he just huffs and leaves. This time, I don't follow him. This is the first time I want to scream at him to calm down, my anger building, but I know it wouldn't make a difference if he isn't ready to listen.

Max doesn't talk to me during the next media day. He follows me to his interview but cuts his answers short. Not ideal either, but still better than him yelling again. During my break, I met up with one of my friends on the team who works for the social media department. She knows my struggles with Max and is one of the few people I can gossip with about him.

"Why do I have to keep working with him?" I groan at one point, placing my head in my hands and sighing, feeling like working with Max is giving me grey hair. I'd need at least two wellness holidays to cope with it.

"You're the only one he tolerates right now," she shrugs, and I know she's right. They tried bringing in other PRs to give me a break, but it was even worse with them. Max didn't even follow them. Instead, he stayed in his room until I got there and brought him to his interviews.

"Great," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. Looks like I'm stuck with him for longer.

By the next weekend, Max seems to warm up towards me, but in the media pen, his expressions are still dark, jaw clenched, and eyes storming. As soon as we finish the last interview and leave, he still looks upset by the questions he was asked, but it seems like he's trying to keep his emotions under control.

"I tried, you know," he speaks up quietly, his voice unsteady and anything but confident—not like the usual Max, but a broken one.

"Hm?" I ask, not sure what he means.

"Holding my temper down." His eyes are locked on the path in front, and I'm pretty surprised by his words.

"Really?"

Max sighs, frustration starting to show, and I'm almost sure I'll be yelled at. "I'm not perfect, never said I was," he says, before another sigh leaves his lips.

"No one is," I try to reply gently. "But you can still choose how to react." There's a long pause, and for a moment, it seems like the storm in Max's eyes settles down. It's not gone, but it's more controlled, like he's slowly getting a hold of it.

From then on, we kind of clicked, spending time together even though we didn't have to because work was finished. We made each other laugh, and the tension at Red Bull seemed to lessen with every day Max smiled instead of frowning or wearing an ice-cold expression. But after one particularly hard media day, I'm back with my friend again, whining about how hard it is to work with Max.

"I thought you two got on pretty well? Didn't you say you liked him last week or so?" She teases me, and she's right. We did get along well, and I did say I liked him. But spending more relaxed time with Max also led to more than that.

"My problem is that I like him a little too much for my sanity," I huff, blushing at my words and kind of regretting saying them out loud—especially when my friend laughs softly.

"Oh, so that's the problem."

"That, plus the fact he'd like to rip apart the reporters who dare speak up around him." I manage to say with a slight laugh. Liking Max and working with him sometimes clash, and I still need to figure out the right way to balance it.

"Give him time," she says, her voice gentle and reassuring. "He's getting much calmer with you around. Even Vicky struggled with doing that."

"Maybe because all he did was win last season," I reply with a dry laugh. Working with a winning Max is easier than working with one who's losing podiums on track.

"That could have been a positive benefit for his temper."

The next media day comes, and slowly, I want to curse the person who decided that letting the drivers answer the same question over and over again is an okay concept. Max is tense; I can see it in the way he stands, his fingers twitching, his eyes wandering. Then one of the interviewers seems to overstep a boundary because Max snaps again, drawing all the eyes on him. Before I can react or get over to him, he hurries to my side.

"You need to get me out of here," Max mutters, his voice pressed, eyes looking everywhere but at me.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, trying to figure out what could have put him in this state. There are many curious eyes and cameras on us, but Max is ignoring them all.

"Please," he whispers, his eyes so desperate that it pushes me into action.

"Okay, okay," I mutter, already thinking about a safe spot to take us. "Come with me." I take Max by the sleeve of his jacket and pull him with me, knowing these pictures will be everywhere in a few hours. I manoeuvre us through the paddock, walking between the hospitality areas, until I reach a spot where no one from the media is allowed. Max sits down, shoulders shaking, and I crouch in front of him.

"Max, breathe," I instruct, and he takes a hasty breath. Even though I wonder what brought him to this state, I need to focus on calming him down first.

"I tried to stay calm, to remember what you told me, take a deep breath and not snap at them." He rambles, his eyes wandering from left to right, not really focusing on anything. "But I failed. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You tried." I reassure him, and this time, he looks directly at me.

"I couldn't stay calm, and now I'm fully relaxed. I just want that to work during the interviews." He sounds frustrated, and I understand him. The pressure makes him snap, but being away from the media makes him calm. It does make sense.

"Can you think of anything that would help?" I ask, trying to figure out a way to make things better for him.

"Not doing interviews anymore?" he asks, a bit of humour in his voice, and it makes me laugh softly.

"Not possible."

Max is silent for a moment before whispering, "You staying close to me."

My mind goes blank, and I don't know what to say. "What?" I still don't know how to answer, but luckily, Max speaks again.

"You're the calm to my storm, the peace I didn't know I needed. When you're with me, I can stay grounded, calm." He explains, his voice still so soft it makes my heart ache.

"Max..." I try to say something, but he interrupts me.

"I need you, okay? I know I haven't been easy to work with, but I promise I want to try," Max admits quietly, his voice softer than I've ever heard it before. "To make things easier for you," he adds, lowering his head.

I feel the weight of his words sink in—how much he struggles with everything coming down on him, but that he's trying to change. Not for the sake of his image or balance in his bank account, but to make my work easier.

"I like your stormy personality a little too much, but you're right. Having a soft wind instead of a storm would make my job easier." I tell him with a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension bubbling inside him.

"So, you like me being a hot-headed idiot?" He asks, his face softening, and suddenly, he looks really young—like a boy craving the love of someone.

"Mostly the idiot part," I tease him, knowing that even though he's difficult sometimes, I wouldn't try to change him if he doesn't want to.

"I deserve that one." Max says, grinning at me.

"We'll figure this out together," I tell him, carefully taking his hand in mine. In return, I get the happiest smile.

"Together," Max promises, holding my hand a little tighter. And for the first time in forever, the distance doesn't look wrecked by the storm inside him, but rather like it's being petted by a soft wind of calm emotions.

[tenebristism]

surrounded

pairing: nam-gyu (player 124) x reader

Nam-gyu goes looking for silver in the squid games, but instead strikes gold rather quickly.

word count: 3,134

dae ho watch yourself...youre next you hunk of a man

also the original was much longer so the other parts will be posted as i finish them

If it wasn’t the kidnapping that tipped you off, the killing certainly did. 

When the all-too-smug businessman had approached you in the subway station, effectively humiliated you, left you with blooming marks all over your face, and walked away with your pride, you didn’t expect he’d give you something after taking, taking, taking. Yet, there it was–a business card. Sure, he’s a businessman, or at least he appeared to be. However, the card he gave you was no ordinary career calling. It was laden with mystery, bearing only 3 symbols and a phone number on the back. 

That card was your downfall, though you wouldn’t know it until later. Now you were in some playground-esque ‘arena’, for lack of better word, with a doll on one end and a crowd of confused people on the other. You were to play children’s games for money. Simple enough, you had thought. What’s the catch?

Before anything even starts, a man darts out of the crowd and into the open space. His jacket reads 456. All eyes latch onto him like he was crazy, shouting and gesturing wildly, spouting nonsense about the fact that moving during this particular game meant death. A spectacle to behold, and you were sure everyone else felt the same. You shift your weight onto one foot. God, these shoes are uncomfortable. Maybe ignoring him was a good idea. Better yet, stay 10 feet away at all times. 

The crowd began buzzing with chatter, words like crazy and dramatic being thrown around in regards to the frantic man up ahead.

Someone bumps your shoulder trying to jostle their way to the front. A man, with greasy hair and judgmental eyes, barely casts you a sideways glance. Then he does a double take. “What?” you gesture, hands raising slightly. It looks like he’s about to say something before his purple-haired friend elbows him, remarking about another girl ahead you could only make out the hair of. The man turns to look at you once more, and to your confusion–and amusement– he nods his head at you and throws you a half assed peace sign. Okay? You nod back slowly, brows furrowed. 

The voice on a speaker pivots your attention back to the sandy space. A woman on the intercom begins speaking. 

“...Let the game begin.” 

“Green light.” 

The crowd shuffles forward. A couple stumble, but regain their footing. Dust kicks up from the movement. You squint through it just in time to catch the doll’s head swiveling back into place. 

“Red light!”

“Freeze!” 

His voice rings clear as day. No one needs to be told twice, and the mass of people stop dead in their tracks. It’s strange seeing so many people coordinated–almost inhuman, the way the silence fills the air. Despite how psychotic as 456 had looked, and as humorous as his speech had sounded, no one dared to find out if his words were the truth. 

“Green light!” 

The crowd washes forward like a wave. 

“Red light!” 

Of course, the sea always withdraws. No one moves. You allow yourself to think about what you’ll do with the cash once you get out of here.

Until, of course, someone stumbles. Your eyes catch her porcelain face out of the corner of your eye. The girl from earlier, who throws the purple-haired man a teasing smile. You can’t make out her words before blood is pouring from her forehead, and her corpse folds onto the sand like a ragdoll.

You flinch. Were you seeing things? Did she just get shot? No one else reacts. It had to be a trick of the eyes. The pounding in your ears grows in volume to the point you can scarcely make out what 456 is saying now. You don’t dare move, even after the horrific death you just witnessed. Were you really just playing the game at this point? Maybe you were just frozen in fear. As these thoughts are assaulting your mind, slowly, realization sweeps over the crowd. A woman turns to look at the corpse. She screams. Just like a row of falling dominos, panic erupts. More shots ring out, and you can’t turn to see it, but you're sure the floor behind you looks like a scene from a slasher film judging by the thump after every shot. Fight or flight kicks in, but you’ve discovered a third–freeze, which may be to your benefit, though you don’t realize it.

The chaos subsides, and the distraught man is proven right.

He suggests–more like commands–smaller people to line up behind anyone bigger. The doll can’t detect motion it can't directly see, he says. As soon as the change to green light is called, you rush forward only to crash into the back of someone else, someone much taller and broader. He cranes his neck to get a look at you, and you get a full view of his player number.

“You,” 124 says as he redirects his focus forward, sneaking along, “Thought you would’ve croaked by now.”

You huff, but don’t have time to reply. “Red light!”  

“Bet you’re glad I was in the right place and time, huh?” he mutters, keeping his volume to a minimum to avoid movement. 

For once, you don’t bite back with a snarky reply in lieu of his reprehensible attitude. Instead, you’re genuinely grateful he was in the right place at the right time. 

“...Thank you,” you breathe, and suddenly you release a grip you didn’t know you had on his tracksuit. “Fuck, I thought that guy was just crazy…”

“Green light!” 

Now with someone in front of you, moving becomes less of a hazard. You relax a bit. Just before the doll’s song ends, 124 lowers his head.

“Red light!”

More shots fired. The person next to you, whoever it was, crumbles into a limp pile right at your feet. 124 doesn’t move a muscle, lucky for you, because your face visibly jolts away. Whether consciously or not, 124’s concealed hand creeps back in an effort to still you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper on the verge of tears, voice unsteady. It’s now, out of the corner of your eye, you become aware of the single-file line that’s gathered behind you. The woman behind you cowers, unable to meet your eyes. Others have done the same–multiple lines of desperate souls trying to avoid their ends are all you can see.

Green light is called again. You glance at the clock. 1 minute and 34 seconds left, and the entirety of you have just crossed the rough halfway point. 

“You think we’ll make it?” Your voice is so subdued it almost misses his ears. 

“Sure,” he replies, maybe more of an effort to keep you composed, for your sake and his. One misstep from you, and you both go down.

“Red light!” 

You almost bump him. So far, so good. Assuming no one behind you slips up for whatever reason, maybe you’ll even make it out alive. You had also assumed everyone was on the same page about mutual preservation until there was a scuffle off to the side. To your left, the row of people suddenly fall forward with yelps and gasps–as if they were pushed. 

“Fucking asshole,” comes the remark from the man in front of you. The entire group, at least as far back as you can see, is shot dead, just like dominos.

Green light. 124 instantly turns to the corpses, and you follow his eyes until they find the purple-haired man from earlier. 230, his patch reads, and despite having just deliberately caused about 10 people’s deaths judging from the smile on his face, he skips along with a bounce to his step. 

“That your buddy?” You say in awe, except it’s more in distaste than admiration. Some part of you does admire him, if only for being so bold as to make enemies so early in the game.

“...Yeah,” he drawls, as if he’s not sure whether to consider him as such. “Know him from a club.” 

This song and dance continues for what feels like hours; red light, crouch behind your human shield, flinch from the noise, slink along behind him. You’re surprised he hasn’t tried to rid himself of you yet. 

After this arduous, bone-chilling tango, he propels forward without warning, and you can see the finish line right in front of you. You follow suit, finished with 30 seconds on the clock. Several others collapse beside you with heaving chests. 

“Easy stuff,” 124 rolls his shoulders with a nod to you as you straighten yourself up. You’re both heaving from adrenaline and trepidation. “You good?”

“Probably?” He inspects your trembling form, coated in a disgusting sheen of shiny sweat, and nods, clearly unconvinced. Easy. Nevermind the fact we’re now in the scope of dozens of shooters. Not like we can die any second.

Something catches his attention. A name being called by the purple guy. You’re almost sure he said Nam-su, and 124 doesn’t spare you a goodbye as he pushes through the crowd to 230, complaining about something all the way there. 

Okay. Bye. You roll your eyes. You didn’t even know the area had a roof until it begins to cast and shadow and swallow all the light you all have. You’re sharply drawn back to reality–the fact that you were currently standing ahead of dozens of corpses, covered in blood, and are currently participating in a game that will kill you if you lose. Panic takes hold of you, and so do ghastly thoughts of death and pain. As your breathing spirals out of control, a hand on your shoulder steadies you. 

“Stay calm,” a smooth, comforting voice says. She–who you can now see is player 120–shakes you gently. Despite being covered in blood herself, her solemn face quirks up in a slight smile for you. “Now isn’t the time to panic. We’ll get out of here, alright? At least we’re alive.” 

“I hope so,” you breathe, and smile at her.

God, I hope so.

Back in the ‘living quarters’, as you’ve come to call them, a somber, eerie silence has fallen over the survivors. Smaller groups had come to form, spanning anywhere from 2 to 10 people. 

Unfortunately, you ended up alone. Your gut was telling you to find someone to stick with. You would definitely be safer with others, but who? Sure, 120 had come to converse, but she had already split off into a group with a few others. You had no idea where Nam-su was, either; not that he seemed the best candidate. 

But it seemed he would be your only, as he nudges your shoulder from the bed beside you. You hadn’t noticed his group chatting right next to you, somehow, with how loud his friend was.

He skips formalities. “Gotta group yet?” 

“I think I caught your name was Nam-su?” You eye him from your seat on the mattress and ignore his previous question. At least be polite. 

Nam-su grinds his teeth, clenches his jaw. He relaxes slightly–a show of assurance on your end. 

“My name isn’t Nam-su,” ‘Nam-su’ says through gritted teeth, clearly trying to maintain his patience. “It’s Nam-gyu. Gyu, not su.”

Nam-gyu gestures with his hands to stress the importance of avoiding this mistake.

“Okay. Nam-gyu, got it,” you tease with a soft, exhausted smile–your first genuine one in a long time. You don’t notice the way he suppresses one himself.

“And you?” 

You give him your name. Nam-gyu nods, staring down at his shoes as he shifts his weight between them. He’s about to say something before a boisterous voice kills any words he was about to speak.

“Nam-su, my boy…” 

“Nam-gyu,” Nam-gyu grumbles.

You both turn to the source of the voice. The same man that pushed the entire row of innocent people, covered in blood as evidence, saunters up to you, shouldering Nam-gyu aside.

“Nice to meet you, senorita,” He says brazenly, and your eyes catch Nam-gyu’s for a split second–a silent but somehow obvious oookay, yeah, yet Nam-gyu doesn’t return it. He’s more interested in the ground as he idles around behind 230. “Welcome to the Thanos world.” 

“‘Thanos world’”? You laugh dryly and cross your arms. “Who are you again?” 

“Thanos, the legend,” Thanos says as if it’s common sense. He makes some strange gesture with his hands and shoots you a somewhat detached, empty grin. Definitely hopped up on something.

“Never heard of you.” 

“That’s okay. Now you know. Anyways-” Thanos slings an arm around your shoulders in  mock alliance, and you stumble against his form- “Maybe you should stick with us. We’ll keep you safe. See, my boy Nam-gyu here’s a little sweet on you-”

“Save me from what? Yourselves?” Sweet on me?

Nam-gyu shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. His sleeves are already too big on him. 

Thanos nods in amusement and taps your shoulder playfully.

“Playing hard to get, I see how it is.” The group of men behind him watches on in his attempt to ‘court’ you. His voice lowers into something a bit more serious. “Listen, senorita. Safety is guaranteed here. We’re in it to win it. Yeah?” 

Your anxious grin slowly crumbles away. You bite your lip. You’re throwing yourself headfirst into a group of deceitful, probably sleazy men. If it came down to it, they would probably toss you to the wolves if it meant they would escape unscathed. You’re the smallest person in this corner by a longshot, just like a rabbit being dragged into a den of coyotes.

Then there’s Nam-gyu. He doesn’t quite fit any of those descriptions, but is still someone to keep an eye on, for other reasons. 

Somehow the circumstances only make your choice all the more appealing. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you blurt, making your way around the two men and planting yourself firmly on a mattress against the wall. The others are practically undressing you with their eyes. A couple size you up. “Whatever.” 

Thanos turns with newfound triumph. As he returns, his tail branches off from his side and meanders over to you. He finally meets your eyes for the first time since the end of red light green light. You notice just how dark they are, like staring into a pit of tar.

“Good thing you’re with us now,” Nam-gyu seats himself at the end of your bed. He slings an ankle over his thigh and leans back. “Don’t think any other groups here can compare.” 

“I dunno. These guys kind of…” You cross your legs upon the white sheets. They’re stained with dirt. “They kind of scare me.” 

Nam-gyu hesitates for a moment. You expect him to laugh in your face, to be just like the others and muddle you into a paste. “Don’t freak out. I’ll make sure they don’t try anything.” 

You nod, a silent thanks, and swing your legs over the side of the bed, inadvertently scooting a bit closer. 

“So why are you here?” You mean it as a genuine question, but Nam-gyu seems a little distraught. 

“Why is anyone here?” He scoffs. “Debt.” 

“Oh. Sorry,” You say dumbly. You don’t know why you’re apologizing to him. It just comes naturally. 

“‘S good.” Nam-gyu turns to you. “You in debt?” 

“Not...Well...” You dig the toe of your shoe into the slick floor as if it’ll give in. “Not because I’m a gambler or druggie or anything. I went to college a few years back.”

“So you’re one of those smart girls? Degree and all?” 

“I guess. If you wanna say it like that.” 

Nam-gyu hums. His eyes are contemplative, yet somehow vacant at the same time when he turns back to the group. “I like smart girls.”  

You laugh. Your hands are sweaty, but not out of fear. 

“You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Thanos is into that shit, not me. Having brainless women hanging off his arm all the time, that kind of thing.”

“You work at a club,” you emphasize. “You’re around those kinds of women…people, all the time.”

“Only for the thrill.” Nam-gyu clarifies, as if he’s any better than Thanos. Maybe he is, with how self-aware he is. It’s jarring. You’ve always thought of friends as being cut from the same cloth. Maybe he has more brains than his friend. Maybe he’s different than he lets on.

“And why exactly did Thanos say ‘sweet on’-”

Suddenly the guards come marching in, guns in hand. Your attention instantly snaps to their pink suits, unsettling black masks, and you and Nam-gyu instinctively back against the wall. For once, you share a fellow feeling–fear. He’s so close you can smell the cigarette smoke on him, probably from yesterday, and see the sweat beading on his forehead. He’s warm. Something stirs in your gut, and you’re disgusted when you recognize it as your good friend oxytocin.

The crowd is riled up. People crowd between the mattresses, cower under beds, crouch next to them. Metal bed frames screech on the floor amongst the buzzing, only amplifying the chaos. Even Thanos’ perpetual leer drops into more of a wide-eyed frown. 

The guards announce the results of the first game. The number on the screen atop the entrance drops with a beeping akin to a slot machine, as if their deaths were just part of a gamble. 

456… 430…399…365. 

91 people. Holy shit.

The guards, unfazed by the way the crowd is shuddering at their very presence, congratulate the survivors for making it through the first game. First gane, you play over and over in your head. More games. How many? Your head feels like it’s underwater, and when an old woman and her, presumably, son, rush into the open space to plead for their lives to be spared, you don’t react. 

More games. More deaths. More-

“What’s the matter with you?” Nam-gyu says shakily, as if he himself isn’t unsettled by what he had just witnessed. His gaze scans you up and down. In the background, everyone joins the pair in begging for mercy, to be released from their newfound purgatory. 

“We’re gonna die in here,” you say, wide eyed, and bring your knees to your chest. The commotion has you even more panicked than you were before. What if the guards start shooting again, for order? The man from before, 456, emerges from his place within the bunk beds and begins to nearly argue with the guards. The guards respond calmly, as if they’re on autopilot and his words mean absolutely nothing to them.

“No damn way we’ll die before getting out of here. Especially without the money.” Nam-gyu claps a hand onto your shoulder and lightly squeezes, ignoring the uproar slowly growing behind him. “I’m a man of my word.”

We, he says, and you have no choice but to believe him.