#so I’m trying to decide which of these to go for

[arinapop]

Ultraviolette

LE SSERAFIM Chaewon x M Reader

Tags: Smut

9k words

People don't come to parties like this to be themselves.

Not to be anyone, really.

The point—or the lack of one—is to let loose. To give in to feelings they'd swear don’t exist. Get stupid drunk and high. Make out with strangers in random hallways. In short: act like they've never heard the word "decency.” And the next morning? Drop it off like a temporary persona, head to work, and pretend nothing ever happened.

Heejin's taken it to heart, evidently.

“That girl definitely likes it rough,” she says, clicking her tongue. “Y’know—on her knees, mouth fucked senseless, head against the wall. Till she can’t feel her throat. Or anything.” She takes a sip from her straw—you don’t even want to know what’s in the drink. “And finish with slick dripping all over her.”

You stare at the speakers, bass thumping through the floor. “God, I wish they’d turn up the music just a bit. So I could go deaf. Permanently.”

Apparently, she’s already deaf, because: “Probably likes being called fuckslut when you fuck her up. Fuckslut or cumslut? Can’t decide which fits better.”

(Oh, and about forgetting nights like this. By morning—you'll be praying for that kind of luck.)

“Does the first thing you say about a stranger always have to be how they’re in bed?”

“Don’t be mistaken—there’s no bed involved. Just her knees on cold tiles, bathroom floor. Wall behind her.” She drains her glass, swirling the straw around. “I've never been wrong. Go ask her if you want.”

“Gee, and here I was thinking I’d start with a ‘What’s your name?’ sorta thing.” The blue lights swing around, catching you right in the eye. You flinch and raise a hand, squinting.

“Bow and call her queen while you’re at it,” Heejin mutters and drifts off towards the drinks table.

You exhale, shoulders sagging. Your fault for pointing the girl out to her in the first place. Should’ve known better.

Lonely Friday nights drive a man to dark places. In your case: a shitty party, where the only person you know is Heejin? That’s about as dark as it gets.

You came here begrudgingly, Heejin doesn’t hear “no” when it comes from you. And you were right: you were enjoying yourself exactly as much as expected. Not at all.

Until you saw her.

The girl.

You weren’t trying to notice her; she just kept appearing in your line of sight. A constant. And you’ll admit she’s nice to look at. Like now, the way she leans against the wall—glass dangling loose between her fingers, head tipped just right for the light to trace the curve of her throat.

She lifts the glass. The light follows—up, towards her face. A jolt: her hand trembles, nearly drops the glass. A faint pop, a subtle crack in the air, but she recovers quickly. As the light shifts away, so does the tension. And you're back in your head again:

Those lips, parted beneath your teeth. Her body, pinned and pliant against the wall—

Fingers tap your shoulder. You turn, Heejin’s back, a fresh refill of her poison in hand.

Ugh.

Sober Heejin is unbearable. A few glasses in? There’s a reason no one but you ever sticks around.

“No one ever told you staring's rude?” She sips through a new straw that takes several unnecessary detours on the path to her mouth.

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh. And I’ve been drinking tea all night,” she bites. “You sure you don’t wanna drink tonight?”

“No. I’m driving us home.”

“One glass won’t kill you. Here—I’ll ask AI if you like.” She pulls up her phone, holding the power button. “Hey Google, how many glasses before you can’t—”

You snatch it, switch it off, and shove it back in her purse. “I’m good.” You couldn’t care less about Heejin, or the drive home, or anything else she’s whining about. Your focus is elsewhere entirely.

A look back confirms it: the girl’s still there.

“I think she’s alone,” Heejin says, peeking over your shoulder. “Name’s Chaewon, by the way. A little birdie told me. Come on, let’s go talk. Maybe she’ll—”

You cut in: “Forget her. Wanna go dance?”

Why you asked is anyone's guess.

Maybe because you don’t want to keep imagining things you shouldn’t; shut down the reel playing in your head.

Maybe because even if you did talk up the girl—Chaewon, it wouldn’t be with Ms. No-filter, 5 drinks deep, as your wing-woman. Or anywhere in the same zip code, for that matter.

And when’s she ever taken no for an answer.

Heejin snorts, raising a brow. “I didn’t come here to dance with you.”

“I know, but I don’t see anyone hitting you up. And me, well.” You shrug. Needs no explanation.

“Didn’t think you’d like flailing around in that sweaty mess. But sure, if it floats your boat.”

She heads toward the crowd, and you trail behind. Chaewon’s disappeared now, nowhere in sight.

First order of business: ditch Heejin in the crowd.

The crowd swells as you step in. Bodies press in, the bass rattling in your chest. You lose track of where Heejin is in the mess. She was ahead of you, but now you think she’s somewhere behind?

On track so far.

You scan the edges, trying to spot Chaewon—but no luck. Just a swirl of backs and raised arms. Party lights slice through the dark, leaving flickers of blue and white on damp skin.

“Your moves suck,” a voice cuts in behind you. Heejin, unmistakable even over the thrum of the speakers.

Can’t catch a break tonight.

“Never claimed to be a dancer.” You turn to spot her shaking her hips, lifting her glass high like a trophy.

“Everyone’s got one in them. Just need a little encouragement.”

Before you can react, she tilts your chin up—her fingers cool against your sweat-warm skin—and brings her glass to your lips. She pours what’s left of it into your mouth in one swift motion.

The drink hits fast and sharp. Sharp, burning, with a hint of sweet. You burst out coughing, nearly stumbling as someone brushes past you. But you’ve swallowed most of it. Your throat’s on fire.

She grins, patting your back. “The shit I threw in it should give you a spine now.” Among other things, you'd fucking think.

“Fuck you,” you spit.

Just when you think the night’s tapped out on ways to fuck with you, a bead of sweat rolls down your neck when you see who’s right behind her.

Chaewon. Dancing. Alone.

Just hope to god she disappears before Heejin spots her. You throw your arms in the air and move, swaying to the pounding music.

“There we go,” Heejin says, amused. “Alcohol finally gave you a dancing bone.”

You keep your eyes locked on her. Try your best to hold her attention. Keep her gaze from drifting where it’s not needed. She holds your stare without looking away—surprisingly long.

Strange.

Then it hits you: she isn’t looking at you. She’s looking just over your shoulder. Small, but crucial difference.

You glance back, heart skipping.

See, the thing about crowds at parties is they’re never still: bodies shift, swirl, rotate—and the flow has just turned, perfectly, to line you up with her. The light spins around to land on her, and there she is: Chaewon, now right behind you. The blue light slides across her face, casting her features sharply.

Fuck.

Something else’s off, too. Her eyes quiver—not a blink, more a microquake—under the light, with a look on her face you can't quite attribute to any emotion you've known. A glitch is the only way you can put it. But that thought quickly drops in priority because—

Amusement slips into Heejin’s eyes as she pushes past you, heading straight towards her. To utter something totally fucked, no doubt.

“Heyyyy, beautiful.” Drags the y out like it’s for show. “I was just telling him. Do you prefer fuckslu—”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” You don’t even remember deciding to push Heejin; your hands moved before you could think. The last thing you see before the crowd swallows her up is her body tilting, on a collision course with the floor.

Good thing the tiles are hard.

The press of bodies returns, but there’s an opening now.

Chaewon, standing there in an expensive dress, looking at you with an expression that says both curious and you’re-fucked-in-the-head. Which, okay. Fair.

The light hangs on her longer than it should.

“Why are you wearing a dress like that? You’re classing this shithole up.”

“I was expecting a…” She looks around, lips parted, searching for the right phrase. “Different kind of party.”

“One with less physical violence?”

“You could say that.” Her lips curl slightly. “Not that I’m particularly averse to it.”

She says it casually—like a throwaway line, an obvious extension, an aside of no particular importance.

You should walk away. You know how this night ends—with you passing out in the middle of nowhere. And you know what this girl is: nothing but trouble, wrapped tight in a 5’4” package.

But—seeing her now. All dolled up, perfect makeup, a pretty one-shoulder dress. Hair pulled back neat with a band. Sticks out in the middle of a dirty party like a flame flickering in smoke. The dress hangs criminally low off the other shoulder, showing off smooth collarbones—delicate, catch-the-light sharp. It ends right where it should, too, exposing pale thighs you can already imagine your fingers sinking into.

Goddamn if that isn’t an attractive fucking package.

“She was insane, by the way. Batshit crazy. Had it coming for a while.” You wave a hand vaguely in the direction of where you sent Heejin spiraling.

Her shoulders drop in a shrug. “I didn’t say a thing. Are you convincing me or yourself?”

“You gave me a look.”

“Maybe. But I wasn’t the only one giving looks.”

It feels like another unholy cocktail was just poured down your throat; something sour twists in your gut. Oh, she’s got you. In the palm of her hand. In under a minute.

She’s a killer, that one.

“Shouldn't we find a better place to talk than dead center of the dance floor?”

She tilts her head, leaning in close. “Talking, is that what we're calling this?”

Honest hand to god, you don't even know what else this is.

Okay, maybe you’ve got some idea. Promises don’t count at parties. Not when the girl in front of you looks like that. Or something.

“Whatever it is.” You catch her wrist, pull her close—a sharp elbow slices through where she just stood. “Not the place.”

See, humans have definitions: a set of principles, rules. Little lines in the sand that make each identity (or the illusion of one) unique. Without those, people blur into each other. Everyone becomes one.

These definitions change, evolve over time. You're not who you were a year ago, or even yesterday, before you walked into Heejin’s room without knocking. (That’s one you’ll remember alright: always knock.)

One such definition you've carved from experience: nights like this—shady party, girl you’ve never talked to before and probably never will again—are never a good idea. It's a drink; alcohol, a numbing of something deeper. And when the high fades, the weight inside just settles heavier.

So you swear it off. No more drinks. Not a drop.

But what if a glass of scotch worth more than you'll make in a year—the kind you'd ruin just by holding—shows up? Yours to do with as you wish.

Oh, ruin it, you will.

Scene cuts. Fast-forward a few minutes. A secluded, dark corner; somehow, there's still one left that doesn’t reek of sex layered over alcohol and sweat. You're on your way to fix that problem.

The reel plays again, bolder now: your hands in her hair, hers all over your body. Lips sealed, your mouth tugging at her bottom lip, tongue teasing, teeth hovering just close enough to threaten a bite.

Except it’s not in your head anymore.

The scent of alcohol is sharp on her breath, but it only adds to her charm; luxure, if you will. Besides, with whatever toxins Heejin force-fed you, you’re probably not doing much better. Not that Chaewon seems to care, not when her dainty fingers are skating across your crotch, feeling your hardening response in real time.

Which is why it’s so jarring when she pulls back to ask, soft and almost playful: “What was she going to tell me?”

You shake your head, clear the static. “What?”

“Your friend?” She raises a brow; you give a reluctant nod. “Was telling me something before you football-tackled her. Just curious what it was.”

“You don't wanna know,” is all you manage.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I'm asking because I do wanna know.”

“And I'm telling you that you don't.”

She grabs your hand and presses your palm to the inside of her thigh, her skin cold against your fingers. Then she slides it up her curve, squeezing tighter with each inch.

“Look, we don’t even know each other’s names,” she reasons. You can find a better time to tell her that’s not completely true. “Just thought I heard something I liked.”

She squeezes again, like that’s supposed to make you more likely to give in. Which, okay. Fair.

“She was narrating a porn script. About how you’d be in bed.”

Chaewon raises her fingers in a little camera-cut rectangle, framing her own face in the center.

“Huh, interesting.” Her lips quirk. “Give me the screenplay.”

You didn't think it was possible to meet someone more fucked in the head than Heejin, but clearly, you were wrong.

“Starts with you on your knees,” you begin.

“Classic,” she says.

And you go on: ”You’re looking up at me with those pretty doe eyes, in nothing but a black bra and panties. Drool at the corner of your mouth, begging for my cock.”

She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “Begging, how?”

“Well, you know… all desperate, maybe,” you offer.

“Please,” Chaewon murmurs in the filthiest tone she can manage, “stuff your thick cock in my mouth. I can’t live without it.” Her eyelashes flutter a faux pout. “Something like that?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, something like that.”

“Continue.”

“Faced with begging that persuasive, I’d have to give in, right?”

Her palm presses firm against your crotch. “Obviously. Suspension of disbelief can only go so far.”

“So I wrap my hand around the back of your head, clutching your hair. In the movie, you like it rough. I push your mouth onto my cock in one go, make you swallow all of it.”

She bites her lip. “In the movie?”

“Uh-huh.” You gulp, flicking through your mind for more. “In the movie.”

She helps: “What about the camerawork? A nice angle of the spit dripping down to my tits would add texture.”

“A visual of said tits would help first.” Your hands snake back to her dress's zipper. “Bathroom? Anyone could walk in on the shoot here.”

Chaewon shrugs, lazy and amused. “Wherever you want. I don't care.”

One more cut. This one runs longer. Finding a bathroom at a party without puke all over it is about as hard as you’d expect, but you manage.

“Like I was saying—visual.” You bring down the zipper in one smooth go, and her dress falls to a puddle at her feet. There’s something ironic about a classy dress crumpled on a grimy bathroom floor, but no one’s here for the symbolism. Not your department.

Her boobs present themselves, perky and tight. The soft, creamy bits spilling from her bra make you want to lean in, nibble already. Her nipples are taut, showing faintly through the red fabric. You slide a lazy finger over one, brushing the nub.

“Good enough?” She tilts your chin up to meet her eyes.

“That works. More than, actually.”

Let your palm wrap around her boob, a mere thin cloth preventing skin contact, and squeeze—a soft moan escapes her lips.

“So, what's next?” Her tongue slips out and runs over her lip.

“Where were we? Oh yeah, the angle of spit dripping down onto your red bra—”

“Wasn't it black?” she cuts in, impatiently tapping her fingers on her thigh.

“Was it?”

“Last you said, yeah. Can't have continuity errors.”

“Definitely not. Post-production’ll have to take care of that.”

A flick of movement draws your eyes downwards—her fingers already slipped under her panties, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. Soft, wet sounds rise as her fingers slide against her pussy.

“What? Couldn't wait for the scene where we fuck?”

“You're stuck on the blowjob intro for half a fucking hour,” Chaewon snaps. “God forbid a girl gets herself off.”

“I wasn't the one pointing out continuity errors in a porno.” You blink.

“Can't we skip to a part where you eat me out or something?”

“No can do. Script says blowjob, then fucking.”

She sighs. “Of course, made for a specific gaze.”

“Maybe. But the director's strict on the vision. No going off-script.”

“Sounds very pretentious. Nobody likes pretentious movies.”

“Only if they don’t pull it off. And, well, after a while—when you see the filth people clap for, it's hard to take their opinions seriously.”

She exhales, amused. “Then at least get a move on.” With a quick twist of her hair, she drops to the floor.

“It was very specific about having you against a wall.” You take her wrist and guide her to the sink, pressing her down to her knees.

Just her knees on cold tiles, bathroom floor. Wall behind her.

First, she gets your zip undone, and you help her slide your pants and underwear down.

She spends a couple of seconds just looking. Not stroking, licking, slurping—all that will come in due time. For a few moments, her eyes stay locked on your cock like it’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

Her fingers wrap around your base. She spits—a sharp, wet sound—then uses her palm to smear it over your length, slow, firm strokes from tip to base, then back again.

Not wanting to miss out, her other palm slides up your thigh, grazing your balls. It’s gentle; massaging softly as she continues stroking you up and down.

Chaewon—her dress crumpled beside, in underwear too expensive for a setting like this—is someone who shouldn’t be sucking you off in a dimly lit party restroom, blown speakers pounding stupid bass through the walls.

But that’s exactly what she does next: parts her glossy lips, swallowing your tip first, her tongue flicking out to lap along your length. You trail a finger down her cheek, down the delicate line of her throat.

She’s one of those modern artworks—the kind that actually looks like art—marked Do Not Touch. But you’ll touch anyway. You let your fingers rest right at the hollow of her throat, cradling it between your index and middle fingers.

You tug her upward slightly, and her pupils dart up at you as she slobbers around your tip. She’s agonizingly slow, dragging her tongue in lazy licks, lathering you up even more. She keeps her gaze locked on yours, mouth working leisurely, her plush, pillowy lips rubbing all over your head.

Agonizingly slow. You’ve waited long enough. Your hand tightens in her hair, and you push her mouth down onto your cock. She’s the one who wanted to get a move on—it’s alright.

Chaewon’s mouth is soft and warm. Wetter than you could ever imagine. Drool spills down the corners, streaking her chin, smudging her makeup. Her tongue flattens and swirls around you. Eager. Precise.

You grip the sides of her head and press her upright against the wall, angling just right to thrust into that warm, tight hole.

It’s hard to tell with how busy they are multitasking right now, but you swear you catch the faintest curl of a smile on those spit-slicked lips. Oh, she’s planned this alright. Planned to get that cute little mouth fucked senseless. And who are you to deny her?

Her eyes flutter shut the first time you push, your tip pressing into the back of her throat. A sharp gag—but she steadies herself with one hand on your thigh.

She tilts her head back slightly, sinking deeper and deeper into the feeling of having her mouth fucked. Her fingers slip back below, a trail of slick stretching all the way to where the dress lies on the floor. How’s that for recurring symbolism.

Oh, it’s distinctly pornographic how she rubs circles under her panties while her mouth is getting thoroughly used. Those eyes tightly shut as she gives you moans that only grow louder—vibrating all over your cock. You'll give her artistic credit for that one.

There's already slick dripping down from your cock to your balls, but she's not satisfied with it. Not when she uses a free hand to catch the spit spilling from her chin and uses it to rub your balls, all soft and fondling. Like it’s the most important thing right now that you're properly pleasured.

You’ll give her credit for all of that.

Her knees shuffle around on the cold floor, one hand bracing against the sink, adjusting her height so that it's convenient for your cock to keep thrusting into her mouth.

An interruption: the set lighting gets dodgy. The yellow bulb behind you dims further—then stutters. Chaewon’s eyes glaze, a thin film rolls over her pupils as her face freezes momentarily.

You pause, getting on the floor beside her to ask what’s wrong. She blinks twice, says she’s okay, and once the light steadies, she’s back to leaning against the wall like nothing happened. And asks you to fuck her again. That, you'll do.

You’re lucky the thrum of the speakers makes it impossible to hear anything, with the rising sounds of a number of things—moans from the pair of you, wet, filthy gargles of your cock in her mouth, and the slick noise of her fingers on cunt.

You find your rhythm—faster pumps—and Chaewon matches it.

“You wanted this all along, didn’t you?” You tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes on you again. “Wanted to get your—”

Another push deep inside, her nose brushing against your waist, before you pull back to thrust again. “—mouth fucked by me till my cum is all over you.”

All she can give in response is a moan tinged with indignation—it’s crystal clear what the accusation is: as if you didn’t.

Her fingers rub faster, leaving you with no option but to match her pace. By now, she's basically using her pussy as throttle; speed control for how fast she wants to be fucked, knowing you'll follow without hesitation.

And when she drives it up to 11, there's no way you're lasting much longer.

“Fuck—Chaewon, I'm going to cum,” you tell, and she nods with a vigor that can only mean that she’s right there with you.

A soft pop, and she pulls her mouth off, lips glistening. Her palm takes over, stroking you with the same relentless pace, the tip hovering just over her face. Driving you closer to your edge—“do it on me,” she says, breathless, and you're not about to argue.

Those soft thighs clench—a trembling mess—on the floor, lips curling into an ‘O’ as she moans, louder than you thought was humanly possible. It gets completely drenched, her panties leak and spill a visible wetness on the tiles. That's when you release too.

Thick streaks land all across her face—cheeks, lips, hair. Her mouth, open and waiting, catches a good few too.

She smiles, panting, as her tongue flicks out to taste more from her cheeks. You collapse next to her on the ground, leaning against the wall. Spent.

“Tell Heejin the script feels screen ready,” she breathes.

The dim yellow light spreads softly across her hair, casting long shadows on her face—hiding, blurring her features—as she leans back with you, dazed. Cock-drunk dazed.

You can mark “getting a room to smell like sex” as done.

Another cut: the cleanup is of little interest. You also dumped your thoughts about definitions on her while helping wash her hair off. It was kind of an accident; you don't really want to talk about it.

Once you're done and the tap’s turned off, the bathroom settles into an eerie quiet. Sure, the party music still thumps faintly in the background. But it’s just that: background. Second nature now. What matters are the layers above it. And those are gone—until her dress, crumpled in the corner, starts buzzing like her juices just brought it to life.

“Look,” you say, “I thought we had a symbolism thing going on with the dress, but this is taking it too far.”

She brings her dress over to where you're sitting—a couch make-shifted out of a bathroom tub: you on the corner, her on the floor. You weren't the one who suggested this particular seating arrangement, but you’ll surely accept it.

“Relax. There’s a phone in it. Thought it was dead already, though. Dress with pockets—greatest invention of the 21st century.”

“Think the 20th century already got there. Probably even earlier.”

“You’ll be fun at parties.” Her eyes flick through her screen.

“I’d actually be a little offended if you don’t think that after all this.”

She closes her phone and puts it back in, shaking her head. “It’s a news notification.”

“Why don’t you turn those off?”

“Never bothered learning how to. Staying away from the settings app is one of my definitions.” The last word she says in a cheeky tone you're not sure you're a fan of.

“You don't have to use that word,” you offer, sheepish.

“I like it. I want to say it.” There's a twinkle in her eyes—sarcasm dressed up as something nice, you’d guess. “What's the story behind it?”

“Don't know. Found it gives me some semblance of a structure,” is what you'll say, and she'll believe you.

“That's no fun.” Maybe not agree, but she'll believe you.

You nod to the phone. “What breaking news was so important it had to interrupt our post-sex-pre-aftercare session?”

“Guess. If you get it in 2 tries, you can have my dress.”

“Why in the hell would I want your dress?” Never mind the part where she’d have to walk home naked. That's her problem.

“You were practically worshipping it earlier.”

“Doesn't mean I wanna keep it.”

Chaewon sharply taps her wrist. “Time's ticking.”

“I dunno. Two politicians having a dick measuring contest? Planet’s still on fire?”

“Our grandchildren will be married to…” She pauses, hoping for some show of interest. When it’s clear she's not getting any, she continues: “AI, apparently.”

“Like bots with AI?”

“The whole shtick. Marriage licenses and all.”

You scoff. “Yours won’t have to, with those genes. Mine might.”

“Not if I have any say in it,” she blurts, then looks down immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing. Would you marry an AI?”

“I’m not clinically insane, so no.”

“Why not? Imagine your favorite food cooked fresh, anytime you want. Can do a lot of things girls can’t.” It’s kind of hilarious the first thing she wants from a partner is instant food. Or worse: that she thinks you would.

“And girls can do a lot of things AI can’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like being able to kiss me without tasting like silicon.”

“Depends on what she’s been drinking.”

“Or not collapsing when she runs out of compute.”

“Humans need sleep, too.” Her hands pick up the rubber ducky next to you. “For what it's worth, I'd marry a bot. AI-powered fucking would go so hard.”

“What—I wasn't good enough?”

“You were. But not AI-optimized.” She squeezes the ducky on your face—squeak. The image is ridiculous.

“You're like, disqualified to be a human being.” You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Do you even think before saying stuff?”

“All my decisions are well thought out.”

“Like wearing that dress to this shithole?”

“Probably made it so hot for you.”

“Fluke,” you wave it off.

“I stick to it,” she volleys back. “What if I’m a bot? You wouldn’t even know.”

Your hand brushes the line of her neck—soft, sharp. As your finger drifts lower, she reaches behind and unhooks her bra with a snap. It slips off and lands on the tub floor. She takes your hands and presses against herself, filling both palms with her boobs.

“Well?” she asks. “What’s the conclusion?”

“If you’re a bot, whoever made you deserves a hell of a raise.”

She laughs. “All me, darling. Self-replicating AI.”

“Some human would have had to start you.”

“After enough copies, does that matter? For all practical purposes, I'm the maker of myself,” she says, indignant. Like you're robbing her of credit she's earned fair and square.

“That's like saying the mom's the only parent because it's been nine months since the dad was involved.” You grab the ducky from her hand and squeeze it in her face. It makes a different sound for you. Deeper, a little ragged.

“No, it's like saying your great-great-grandfather doesn't count—because you probably don't even know his name.” She snatches the ducky back and presses it again; her old sound returns. Her head tilts, trying to make sense of it.

“So somewhere along the way, the start stops mattering.”

“Like somewhere along tonight, you stopped resisting and gave in. After that, didn't matter what you were before.” Her hands shift grip, closer to how you held it. Your version of the sound comes out.

“You didn't have to point that out.”

“I know.” Her lips curl into a smile, little puzzle solved. “I just wanted to, it's like a modern version of Ship of Theseus.”

“How so?”

“I mean, how far can you replace and reinvent until the original just doesn’t matter? Same dilemma, new packaging.” She tosses the ducky aside, irrelevant now.

You squint an eye. “I can kinda see it.”

“Maybe I’m reaching,” she adds, softer.

“This whole night's been reaching.” You throw your head back against the wall.

“Cheers to that.” She lifts an imaginary glass and clinks it gently against yours, just as invisible. “I could go for a drink.”

“Drink me.”

“Any more and I'll be less me and more you.” A flicker in her tone; something undiscernible.

“What's even you?”

Her voice tightens. “What do you mean?”

“We've been talking a while, and all you've done is play one role or the other. Porn muse. AI evangelist.”

“Isn't that what everyone does, play roles?” She forms a little circle with her thumb and index finger, spinning it through the air in slow motion.

“Maybe. But I think I know less of you now than before we met. And what gang signs are you throwing?”

“You've not been paying attention. I’m swirling my glass,” she says, mock-offended. “It’s almost empty—go fetch me a refill.”

“Enough pussyfooting. I want to know the real you.” You mime grabbing her glass and smashing it against the tub. “Surely you don’t talk in riddles 24/7.”

“Ouch.” She rubs her hand, as if something stung her. “Seriously, I’ve been real all night. I'm an open book, ask whatever you want.”

You pause for a second, thinking. “What do you… do for work?”

She snorts, like that question personally insulted her. “Come on. That’s like, the worst way to get to know someone.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You used a nice word earlier: definitions. You think the least interesting part of someone's day is one of those?”

“That's the part that keeps you alive.”

“But the rest is what you stay alive for.”

“Not everyone hates their job.”

“Not the point.” She crosses her legs, resting her hand on her knee. “It’s an obligation; would you do those eight hours if there wasn’t a paycheck waiting?”

“No,” you admit. “I have to meet metrics at my job.”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “These metrics, would anyone give a shit about them in a vacuum?”

“Maybe it’s not a definition, more of a side effect.”

“Yeah. And even if the passion’s there—buried under all that overhead—there's better ways to reach it than that question.”

“Try this on for size: you like parties?”

She smiles. “Do you?”

“You said I could ask anything.”

“You can—and I’ll answer. But you first.”

“Not really,” you tell. “People act like decency’s optional the second the lights go out.”

“That much was clear the moment I saw you.”

Unnecessary pretense, you think. “Then why ask?”

“Curious how you’d frame it. You chose to put the blame outside. And if I may, we're not being so decent ourselves.” Chaewon dramatically motions to the various states of undress you two are in.

“My bad for asking.”

“Not a dig. Just saying—this actually says something.”

“Point taken. So I asked, and I haven't gotten anything out of you yet.”

“Parties are okay.” She unhooks the handshower from the handle and points it at her wrist, thoughtful. “But I could do without the striking lights.”

“Really? You seemed fine out there.”

A soft breath. “Not paying attention isn’t new to you, is it?”

“That one’s a dig.”

“Not really. Not being hyper-aware isn't a character flaw. Most people aren't.”

“Yeah, not everyone’s wired like you, huh?” Your case is only helped by the way she's fixated with the shower head streaming water at her wrist.

“You can put it that way, but I'm not sure you're anyone’s poster child for normal either.” Her other hand lands on your thigh, as if to ground you from any delusions.

You’ll kick yourself in the shin every time you remember you told her about definitions.

She poses: “My turn. You like your friend?”

“What do you mean—like?” You raise a brow, suspicious.

“As in, like them as a person. Not in a funny way—just, you think they're cool. Sort of.”

“Heejin’s fucking intolerable. At times. Most of the time.”

“Why hang out with her then?”

“Dunno. She's my friend. You don't ditch your friends just because they're annoying.”

“You totally can, actually,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I have, plenty of times.”

“Yeah, who am I kidding—I probably have too.” You point the shower down, and water spills onto her legs, sliding past her ankles on the way out. Somewhat of a ritual. Just not a clean one. Chaewon’s probably the kind to think none of them are.

A ritual needs some truths too, and you'll supply them: “But it’s not all bad. She dragged me out to this party, and now I'm here. Would probably be holed up with a movie otherwise.”

“Doesn't sound too bad. That's my preferred way of spending Friday nights, too.”

“Why here, then?”

“Active effort to put myself out there—whatever that's supposed to mean.” She exhales sharply. “Thought I’d done enough of that in college.”

“If you did, you wouldn't have to now.”

“Well, enough for me. Couldn't be arsed to do more.”

“Fair,” you offer, soft. “Was expecting your question to be how I knew your name.”

“Saw Heejin talking to the only person I knew here earlier. Wasn't too hard to figure out.” She flips through the shower settings, going through her post-sex-pre-aftercare-waterplay-ritual in different flavors. “Besides, would've been a little hypocritical of me. After that whole rant on bad questions.”

“Don't like getting caught being two-faced?”

She shifts on the floor slightly. “Nobody does. I'd like to think I'm consistent.”

“Sure. Though you can never know that for a fact.”

“Says who?”

“God—”

Chaewon cuts in: “He isn't telling me anything.“

“Gödel.”

“Who? Actually—scratch that, don't wanna know.” She raises her palm at you, like a stop sign.

“That won’t make it any less applicable to you.”

“Uh-huh,” she says and squints her eyes at you, considering if your next words are worth the trouble. “Fine, I'll bite. Who is it?”

“A math—guy. Proved no system can show itself to be consistent (among other tragic facts about math; they hated him). If math can't know it’s consistent, what luck do you have?”

“Shoot for the stars, land on the moon. Yada yada.”

“Wasn't it the other way around?” You glance at the wall—squiggly green patterns ripple across a blue background. “Shoot for the moon, land on the stars.”

She shakes her head. “That doesn't even make sense—the moon’s closer.”

“A lot of sayings don't make sense.” You point the water towards your own feet. The soft flow on skin feels quite relaxing.

“Like what?”

“Like… rules were meant to be broken. I think that's the last thing the folks making the rules had in mind.”

Her lips curl into a half-smile. “You're breaking your own rules by being here.”

The water suddenly turns harsh. “Thanks for the second reminder.”

“Your turn—go.” She flicks the nozzle, switching it to a concentrated burst—no warning.

You flinch, fling the head away, and kill the tap. “You know what? I think we should get going.” You don't think that—not yet—but two can play the game of saying things just for the reaction.

“It was just starting to get fun.” Her lips pull into a fake pout.

“You'd say that.”

“You’re dying to ask something,” she clocks. “Go on.”

You grip the tub edge, moving around a bit. “Did you actually, uh, mean what you said earlier?” you mumble.

“Darling, I said a lot of things tonight.”

“About being into physical violence.”

“Oh god, no,” she says. “That was a little two-for-one special: say something clever and fuck with you a little. Couldn't pass it up.” That twinkle in her eye is back again; you hate it.

“You should be careful going around saying stuff like that,” you warn.

“I know who to say it to. The kind that’d flinch harder than myself.”

As if right on cue, the light behind you flickers again—hitting her right in the eye. She flinches—barely. A jerk you can miss if you blink. Her eyes quiver for a split second, teetering between shut and just open.

You raise a hand, shielding her eyes. She freezes. Only when the light settles do you lower it.

“Could barely tell it affected you, to be honest,” you admit.

“I've had practice. Only changed my reaction on the outside, though.”

“Let’s switch places.” You get up and offer her a hand. “It’s worse on your side, when it happens.”

“We don’t need to.”

“Just come here.” You grab her hand, palm and fingers smooth against yours—cold to the touch—and she stands up. After helping her to the tub's edge, you drop to the floor. “You could raise a hand, block it, y’know?”

“How would I have practice then?” Chaewon pauses for a second. “It’s not worth it.”

“Lights always do that to you?”

The tub floor is gross, you think about pointing it out—but she's been sitting on it for the better part of the night without any complaints. So you keep it to yourself.

“Ever since I remember.” Her gaze wanders up behind you. “Went to a doctor once. Got some tests done. Said it’s inherent and just something I should avoid,” she says without missing a beat. Like a script, rehearsed—an actress playing her part. Not too well, not too convincing; you can’t buy in totally yet. It’s a written line, meant to be heard, maybe even pitied. But to be believed, it needs more practice. Or less.

“None of that’s true, is it?”

“It's partly true. That’s the trick.”

“Which part?”

“I did go to a doctor. And they did say there’s nothing they can do about it.” A darkness pools in her eyes.

“So it wasn't always there.”

“No.”

“Since when?” you press.

For the first time all night, her replies aren’t so quickfire. “It’s not that interesting,” just doesn’t have the same wit; the cleverness you’ve gotten used to.

“You wanted good questions. This feels like a definition; the making of one.”

“It’s really not,” she insists.

You'll try a hail-mary: “You know another, timeless packaging of Ship of Theseus? Lying about yourself—so well, so long—you forget who you were to begin with.” You lean back, giving her space to think. “When do you reach that point?”

She stares at you blankly. A pause, a sigh, and then:

“You know you’re kind of an asshole, right? I used to like them, actually. The lights. My family thought I was nuts.” She laughs, dry—there’s no humor in it. “But they didn't mind it too much; it helped me sleep. At our old place, when I was young. I used to lie on my bed at night, watching the lights flickering from sirens through the window.

The sirens used to zoom past, lights entering one way—draping my room in a faint blue—and leaving from the other, as fast as they came. Used to have the best fun counting them, too. See, life was just that simple back then. But I could never get past 40 without falling asleep.”

“Of course,” she adds, quieter, “that was before that night. When the blue sirens just kept going. Crossed 40, and I got so excited. Clutched the pillow so hard it almost tore—I’d never made it that far. It kept going. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. My heart picked up with the numbers.”

A small, uneasy shock crawls up her legs—they start shaking.

“Then I realized they’d stopped at our house.”

A piercing banging on the door interrupts whatever she was going to say next.

“Occupied?” shouts a sharp, annoying voice. “Ugh. Just puke and fucking weirdos jacking off in here, I swear.”

“Is that—” Chaewon starts.

You finish: “Yeah. Heejin herself, in the flesh. Who else could it be?”

She presses her palm to her forehead. “My head's spinning. I’m getting dizzy.”

“You okay? Need some water?” The pupils in her eyes go grey, and slowly go deeper in the white. “Or meds?” you add, concerned.

“No, no, I’ll be fine.” Her voice says otherwise—faint, fraying. Like she’s losing control of herself. “I just thought—the headaches were quiet for a while.”

“You’ve had them before?”

She nods, slow. “Headaches—noises—visions. I need to leave.”

“I'll come with you,” you say, and her eyes dart up at you, an uneasy look surfacing. “Till you're okay, if you'd like.”

A soft breath escapes her lips. “Alright… thanks.”

“If I don’t hear a response, I’m kicking the door down,” Heejin barks from outside.

“Is she gonna be a problem?” Chaewon picks up her dress from the floor, trying to straighten it out.

You grip her shoulder, steadying. “Get dressed, okay? I’ll deal with her.”

Your fingers graze the doorknob. One last look behind.

Her hands are gripping her head tightly, knees drawn in. Curling inward, like she wants to disappear. Unfortunately for her, she’s still here…

Closing the door behind you, you step back into the filth of the party on its last few breaths. The bathroom, somehow, felt cleaner. Music’s back to head-pounding loud; you miss the softer hum inside.

Heejin’s eyes widen on seeing you. “Thank fuck. I was looking—”

“What do you want?” you ask, words rushing out.

“What were you doing in there?” She squints, suspicious.

You let out a long sigh. “I was with her.”

“So I was right all along—bathroom floor, knees, everything—”

“Whatever you want, make it quick.”

“Someone fucking smashed my car’s rear view mirror. We need to leave.”

“Then go, take the car and go. What the hell are you calling me for?”

She takes a step back. “You’re a dick. I came with you. Figured I should be the one getting you back.”

“No. Tell the truth: you’re too fucking drunk to drive.”

Heejin presses her lips together, frowning. “What are you being such a dick for?”

“Because Chaewon’s—sick. In there.” You jab a finger over your shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“In where?” She leans in to look past you, brows furrowing.

“In…” You turn around to find—

The bathroom door hangs wide open, creaking. Your eyes sweep the room—tub, sink, toilet, floor—there’s nobody inside.

There’s nobody inside.

One last cut: It's something you’d rather forget. (You can't.) You roam the dance floor, hallways, drinks tables; they’re all dead—of what, you're not quite sure. Searching.

Music's replaced by a high, unbearable ringing. Lights burn brighter, sharper, piercing—you can feel them enter your eyes. Yes, they enter from your eyes, boring through the soft flesh of your brain, then drilling a hole through your skull on the way out. If you place a hand behind you, you swear you can catch it in your palm and stop the light—but you're wrong; it cuts through your hand, too. 

You can't stop it.

People look different, look like nobody. Faces—aren't. Faces aren't—anything. The lights turn every expression into the same; everyone looks like everybody. But none of them are the one you're searching for: hers.

The only one you wanna see. The only one missing.

This is the longest cut of them all. Time stretches, snaps, folds. You couldn’t put a number to it if you tried. All you know is: it’s long.

It ends out on the lawn, between wet, scrunching blades of grass.

Sit down and look up. There are no lights here; not for others, that is. But in your eyes, they're more striking than ever. Dancing in the front of your eyes when open, etching themselves in the back of your eyelids when closed—you have no escape, no solace. They’ve made themselves home, manifesting vivid shades of the feelings curled deep in the folds of your mind. If anything, the visions have to be them. If anything.

Someone did say the color of dread is blue.

They’ll be your stars tonight; they’ll be your muse—what you look at to feel things you can’t elsewhere. A cocktail of emotions—mostly dark, base being a stunning flavor of regret.

If you did a post-mortem, you’d trace it back to the first mistake: coming to this party. You'll need to do some re-defining—stop listening to Heejin’s suggestions. Fuck it, maybe push her out of your life once and for all. You knew this night was a bad idea.

Ask her and she'll say you're living life like a lunatic, chained to your concepts. (About that? She might be right.)

The second misstep: breaking your own rule. Maybe it was the drink forced on you; maybe she was so magnetic that man-made barriers stopped mattering. But something, something, made you lose control. Like Chaewon said. She was right: she said a lot of things. Deflections, quick wit, smoke and mirrors. Until the first time she said something strange.

She'll be less her and more you. What if the reverse was true, too?

The excuses can go on. So, when you wake up tomorrow, cut out the part that said it's okay to break your definitions, because that's what started this. Make that a definition.

But—if you were willing to break one definition… there's nothing stopping you from breaking another.

Then what? Make a new one? Swear it'll hold? Swear you will?

You can draw one more line in the sand. You'll end up watching yourself step over it.

If you can break one, you can break them all. The underlying assumption doesn't hold.

It's not consistent. Not anymore.

It has collapsed.

And whatever you’ll face is punishment for the same.

—

“Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect, he ceases to love.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

To be continued.

Part 1 of definitions - Ultraviolette

—

Heejin’s bloodshot eyes stay locked ahead, her palm clenched around the top of the steering wheel. A glance at the cracked rearview mirror—there’s a police car tailing, signaling her to pull over. She groans loud, annoyed, and steers to the side.

The cruiser stops behind her. A cop steps out, mutters something under his breath, and trudges up to her car.

“I swear I’m not drunk,” she protests as she rolls the window down. “I wasn’t even supposed to be driving. I had a partner—he just disappeared. And I spent a fucking fortune financing this car. I’m not leaving it at a party where it'll get trashed six ways to hell by tomorrow morning,” she finishes, flippant.

The officer reaches into his bag to pull out a breathalyzer. “Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to blow into this.”

It takes roughly three warnings. Each one a little sharper: “Last chance. Refusal to take the test will result in arrest and license suspension—I need you to breathe into this now.”

Only then does she sigh, roll her eyes, and finally blow into the device.

Nothing is said when the machine blinks with the result; he just flashes her the screen. She doesn't understand the numbers, but the implication’s obvious. So she sighs again, and steps out of the car.

A cold breeze stirs her hair. She turns—nearby, a woman hurries past, head low. Deliberately hidden, like she's trying not to be there. Which, of course, only draws Heejin’s attention more. The way she's dressed doesn't help.

A soft, elegant—though slightly crumpled—dress hangs off one shoulder, flowing down to her knees. It looks familiar. Heejin’s definitely seen it before. Where exactly? She’s too drunk to recall.

Tucked in the dark corner of the street, a phone booth sits waiting. Behind it, a shop. Or at least, what she thinks is a shop. A sign reads Sweet Decorations.

But there’s no cashier. No counter. In fact, there's only one shelf standing between the place being a shop—or just an empty room. All the walls are glass, the door too—like it’s saying: look at me, I’ve got nothing to hide.

The light inside is a dim, sterile white. It's not flickering; steady, actually—but it feels like it might go out any second and take the shop with it. It's been on too long. Far too long.

The shelf is clear, like everything else. Just big enough for two teddy bears. Still in plastic. Unused.

Her eyes dart back to the phone booth. It’s occupied now. The woman slips a coin into the receiver, dials a number, and presses the phone to her cheek—gripping it like she’d die if she let go.

One ring, two.

Two slim fingers lift from the receiver, brushing her hair back. For a moment, a sliver of her face is visible—before the strands fall forward again.

Heejin catches a glimpse—and lurches forward. She tries to run to her, but the cop’s hand clamps down hard on her shoulder, locking her in place.

“Hey—you,” she shouts into the wind.

Three, four.

The next motion unfolds in three acts, but feels like one, really:

Chaewon’s grip on the phone slowly loosens, till it slips from her grasp and is en route to a free fall to the floor. The cord is too long to matter.

Her eyelids flutter, and she collapses into a heap on the floor, cheek pressed flush against the cold concrete.

The phone hits the ground—a blunt thud. It rattles once, twice, then settles right beside her ear. She stares into the distance; eyes—lifeless.

Five, six.

An ambulance has been dispatched to your approximate location. Please look for the blue sirens.

—

[crazziforazzi]

The All-Star Bet - Part 1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Short novel (2-3 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.

[visceradiva]

the people demand more sub könig (please diva)

ok wait storytime i'm talking to this guyyy and he's like. a total gymrat but also a huge nerd. like he keeps explaining the dune books to me and i'm squeezing his biceps 🤤... and i've been reading sooo much @konigsblog sooo pls enjoy ❤️

nerdy!könig who loses control & mean girlfriend

you perch on his gaming chair, painting your nails at his desk. you moved his keyboard and various little trinkets haphazardly, which he allowed because you batted your eyelashes and touched his abs. 

“i just wanna paint my nails,” you pout. “you love when my nails are painted.”

“i do! i do, hasi, but p-please be gentle with my things-”

“i’m always gentle. you’re the rough one, you always bruise me,” you spin it around on him. 

“i-i am not rough-”

you flip up your skirt and show him the bruises on your thighs from the last time you came over, and he had practically superglued his mouth to your pussy.

“ich liebe diese muschi,” he moaned against you, his whole mouth shining. 

he ate your poor kitty until you had to literally beat him away. 

he rubs his forehead, savoring the bruise you left when you whacked him in the face and threatened to do it again. 

“i do not mean to be so rough… you just taste very good, häschen…” 

könig stands next to you, explaining the lore and strategy of his favorite video game while you blow on your nails, helping them dry. 

“and then once you have leveled up- schatzi,” he pouts. 

“what?” you ask, not looking away from your nails.

“you are not looking.”

“i can’t paint and look at you at the same time.”

“but you said i could tell you about my game,” he mumbles, looking at your legs. 

“you are.”

“but you are not paying attention,” he whines.

you look up and narrow your eyes, making him shrink like a turtle. you laugh at him, reaching out to squeeze his thigh. 

“you’re such a dork,” you tease him.

you turn back to your nails and roll your eyes.

“well? stop staring at my legs and keep going. pervert.” 

his dick strains against his boxers when you call him that. 

later, you straddle his lap in that gaming chair, his dick buried inside of you and his hands behind his back, gripping the chair so hard you’re worried he’ll break it.

you snap a picture of your freshly done nails against his bare chest.

“i-i don’t like when you are taking pictures, liebling-”

“did i ask?”

he whimpers when you lift yourself up by pushing on his buff shoulders. 

“oh, schatzi… deine muschi ist so eng…”

you grab his face and angle it down to meet yours, smirking at him.

“aw… you’re all pussydumb, big guy?”

he nods, panting.

“it is s-so wet…” 

you’re bouncing on it now, the dirty sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and the way your pussy is soaking his cock.

“one hand,” you say, and he quickly releases one side of the gaming chair, offering his hand. you push it between your legs and whistle at him.

“hey. gentle.”

“ja. ja, very gentle.”

his big fingers rub your clit, making your back arch in his lap.

“fuck, könig,” you purr, your lip-glossed lips in an open pout.

he can hardly hold it together, and decides to press his luck, his other hand sneaking around to hold you up by the waist. you’re too filled up to notice.

“y-you are so full of me, häschen,” he tries to tease you. 

he grabs your hips with both of his meaty hands and lifts you off of his cock.

“könig, put me down!”

you land a slap on his cheek before he turns you around and slips his cock back inside of you, moaning as he rests his face against your shoulder.

with this angle of control he can fuck up into you and bully your clit at the same time.

you gasp and try to elbow him from behind. 

“könig!” 

“y-you are so mean to me, häschen, but i love you so much…”

you hit him in the sternum and you would have knocked the wind out of him if he hadn’t slipped his arms under yours, locking you in a nelson. 

“i-i love it when you hit me and call me names-”

“you’re such a fucking freak, könig!” 

he sighs like you complimented him, kissing the nape of your neck. you hear a familiar wince from him and try to turn your head back.  

he pins your arms behind your back, holding them with one hand as his other returns to your clit. 

“so pretty… please cum for me… please?”

“let go of me,” you growl, thrashing as much as you can. you tense up around him and his breath shakes.

“loser! you can’t even handle pussy, you’re too used to fucking your own hand,” you snarl back at him. 

he circles your clit, pressing in and groaning as your walls tighten around him. 

“cum around me, hasi, please… please, please-”

he covers your mouth before you can scream, and presses kisses to your back and shoulders. he shudders at the feeling of your pussy gripping him that tight and quickly pulls out. he starts to stroke himself to get off. you sit on his thigh, rocking through your orgasm and turn around, fire in your eyes.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

you slap his hand away from his cock and he whimpers when you stand up. he’s so fucking big you can’t believe it, but he trembles like a mouse.

“you think you can pull that stunt and i’ll just… what? pretend it didn’t happen?”

“i-i’m sorry, häschen-”

you huff and roll your eyes.

“just get on the bed so i can sit on your face, weirdo.” 

“ja, schatz,” he sighs dreamily. 

[stayycalm]

“All that glitters is gold”

꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Hyung Line x gn!reader ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst, hurt-¿no comfort? (maybe), they accuse you of being with them for the fame/money (a.k.a the classic they call you a gold-digger).

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — I may or may not be becoming an angst author lol, I couldn’t decide which member to do for this so I figured let just do them all! Let me know what u think! <3

Maknae Line

Bang Chan

The silence in the apartment was louder than usual.

Chan sat across from you at the dining table, poking absently at his food, barely eating. The air was thick with tension, unspoken words hanging like fog around the room. You watched him for a moment longer, trying to ignore the odd feeling in your stomach.

He hadn’t really looked at you all week.

“Hey,” you said gently, setting your fork down. “You’ve been kind of… off lately. Is everything okay?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. Just shrugged.

“It’s nothing.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t feel like nothing. Did I do something? Or say something?”

His jaw clenched, and you saw it, the brief flicker of emotion before he forced it down. But you knew him too well. Something was wrong.

“Chris,” you tried again, softer this time. “Talk to me.”

He pushed his plate back and stood suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. “I just—I don’t know,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and sighing in frustration. “It’s like… I’m starting to wonder why you’re really here.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned to you then, and the look in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs. His eyes normally so warm and filled with love were cold. Accusing.

“I mean, sometimes it just feels like you’re here for the lifestyle, not for me. The trips, the hotels, the expensive stuff… I don’t know. Maybe you like being with Bang Chan of Stray Kids more than you like being with Chris.”

It hit like a slap.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stood up slowly. “Are you serious right now?”

He didn’t answer.

“You really think I’m using you?” Your voice cracked, equal parts disbelief and rising anger. “After everything?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. You didn’t have anything before we got serious—”

“Neither did you!” you shouted, the hurt now boiling over. “Don’t you dare act like I showed up when you were on top! I was there when you couldn’t hang that shitty blue curtain and were living off ramen.”

He flinched.

“I stayed up with you on the phone through breakdowns. I listened to every demo. I cheered you on behind the scenes when you didn’t think anyone else would. You remember those nights, Chan? When you wanted to quit and I told you to keep going? Or do you think I did that for some free merch and a backstage pass?”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Not yet.

“I have never once asked you for anything. Not money. Not trips. Not fame. I was happy sharing takeout on your floor, remember? I didn’t need the five-star dinners or the designer clothes. I wanted you.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable now. But you saw the storm behind his eyes. The regret. The fear.

“I love Chris, not Bang Chan. I didn’t fall in love with the spotlight, I fell in love with the man in it. The one who worked until his body gave out. The one who held my hand like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.”

Your voice dropped. “And now that you’ve finally made it, you look at me like I’m some stranger trying to steal it from you.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Chan didn’t move. He just stood there, eyes glossy, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You shook your head, pain anchoring itself deep in your chest. “You’ve forgotten what we built. Or maybe you’re just too scared to believe it was ever real.”

You turned away, heart pounding, and walked to the bedroom. You didn’t even know if you wanted him to follow.

Lee Know

The tension in your apartment had slowly settled like dust. quiet, over the past week, and impossible to ignore.

Minho had been distant for days. Not cold exactly, just…off. You knew him well enough to notice when his energy shifted. Fewer jokes. Less eye contact. No soft touches as he passed by, no random teasing texts during his breaks.

It was like he was pulling away inch by inch, and you couldn’t figure out why.

You curled up next to him on the couch that evening, legs tucked under you. He was scrolling on his phone, barely acknowledging your presence.

“Min,” you said quietly, nudging his arm, “what’s going on with you lately?”

He didn’t look up. “Nothing.”

You frowned. “Don’t lie. You’ve been acting weird for days. I’m not mad, I just want to understand.”

He sighed heavily, annoyed. “Why does it matter? Maybe I’m just tired.”

You blinked. “Okay… but tired doesn’t usually include you completely shutting me out.”

He finally set his phone down, eyes sharp as he turned to face you.

“Can I just ask you something? And I want a real answer.”

You nodded, wary.

“Would you still be with me if I wasn’t in Stray Kids?”

The question caught you off guard.

“What?” you asked, confused. “Of course I—”

He held up a hand. “No. Really think about it. No tours, no cameras, no money, no designer crap or exclusive events. Just me. Would you have stayed if I was just… Minho from Seoul, with a normal job and a tiny paycheck?”

You stared at him, the accusation hitting you square in the chest. Your heart cracked a little.

“Where is this coming from?” you asked, voice trembling slightly. “Why would you even ask me that?”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but his eyes betrayed him. “I just see the way you talk about the trips. The restaurants. The gifts. Hell you haven’t shut up about the Gucci Ambassador thing. Sometimes it feels like… you like all this more than me.”

You sat up straight, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m with you for the perks?”

He didn’t answer, which was somehow worse.

You laughed, bitter and disbelieving. “You’ve got some nerve, Minho.”

His gaze darkened. “Don’t turn this into something dramatic—”

“Dramatic?” Your voice rose. “You just accused me of being a gold digger, and I’m the dramatic one?”

He flinched but stayed silent.

“I’ve been with you since the days when you barely had time to sleep. When we I had to sneak you instant noodles five days in a row. I was there before the sold-out shows, before the interviews, before the custom suits. Before the world knew your name—I did. And I loved you then.”

Your voice cracked. “I still do. But clearly you don’t believe that.”

He shifted like he wanted to say something, but you weren’t finished.

“You think I stayed for the money? The money?” You stood now, shaking with hurt. “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to support you. I’ve missed holidays with my family to be here. I’ve cried in silence while you tour the world, performing sold out concerts while I cheer you on from right here. I’ve loved you in all the quiet, lonely moments no one else ever sees.”

Tears burned your eyes.

“And I’ve never once asked you for anything. Not a purse. Not a trip. Not a damn cent.”

Minho looked down, jaw clenched tight. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Yes, you did,” you snapped. “You said what you meant. You just didn’t expect me to pick you.”

The silence between you throbbed with everything that had just been broken open.

You looked at him, really looked at him. and for the first time, he didn’t feel like home. He felt like someone who didn’t trust you. Someone who could believe the worst of you that easily.

You stepped back.

“I would’ve stayed with you through anything, Minho. But I won’t stay with someone who looks at me and wonders if I only see a paycheck.”

With that, you turned and walked to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you before the tears could fall.

Changbin

The first sign was how quiet he had gotten.

Changbin, usually full of energy and teasing warmth, had grown quieter over the past few days. He still said all the right things; “How was your day?” or “Did you eat yet?”but they came out hollow, like he was on autopilot. His laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his kisses had started feeling like a routine rather than a choice.

You noticed. Of course you did.

So tonight, when he barely glanced up from his phone while you were rambling about your day, you had enough.

“Bin,” you said gently, setting your mug down. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You just feel… far away lately.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, all at once, it snapped.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he said, voice low, “if you’re proud of me or just proud of what being with me gets you.”

The words landed with a dull, echoing thud in your chest.

You stared at him. “What?”

He shrugged, suddenly defensive. “I mean, it’s easy to be in love with someone who can give you all this, right? The nice apartment. The expensive clothes. All the luxuries.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “Are you actually saying that you think I’m using you?”

He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.

Something inside you cracked.

You stood up slowly, hands shaking. “Wow.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—” he started, but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You think I stuck around for the fame? That I put up with the sleepless nights, the long-distance, the missed anniversaries for some perks?”

His eyes flickered with guilt, but the damage was done.

“I was there when you doubted yourself. When you deleted entire songs because you thought no one would ever want to hear your voice. I stayed up with you through tears and burnout and breakdowns. I’ve loved you when you had nothing to give me but a tired smile and a kiss goodnight.”

Your voice cracked, tears pooling in your eyes. “And now that you can buy the luxury things, you think that’s why I stayed?”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “I didn’t mean to say it like that… I’ve just been… people talk, okay? Online, in interviews. I hear things. I start to doubt.”

“You doubt me?” you asked, eyes wide. “You let strangers in comment sections shake your trust in me after everything?”

He winced.

“You think I stayed because you became successful?” You laughed bitterly. “No, Changbin. I stayed because you’re you. The same guy who made me tea at 2AM because I had a bad dream. The guy who practiced until his knees gave out. The guy who cried with me on the floor of your dorm when life felt like too much. That’s who I love.”

You stepped closer, voice softer now, but still fierce. “You’re so much more than your money. More than your status. And I saw all of that before the world did. But if you don’t believe that… then maybe I’m not the one who’s changed.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, all the defensiveness dropped. Replaced with sorrow and regret.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

But you weren’t ready to forgive, not yet.

“I don’t need your apology, Changbin. I need your trust. And if you can’t give me that… then maybe you don’t deserve the kind of love I’ve been giving you.”

You left the room before he could respond, because staying in that silence any longer might break you completely.

Hyunjin

The canvas was still blank.

You stared from the doorway of Hyunjin’s room, arms wrapped around yourself. It had been weeks since you’d seen him paint. The brushes sat untouched. The space, once splattered with life and color, now looked dull. Quiet.

That quiet had bled into the rest of the apartment, the silence while not unusual held a kind of weight that felt intentional.

He barely spoke anymore, just soft nods and short replies. You hadn’t been in this room in days. It used to be your shared sanctuary, a place where you’d sit with him for hours, quietly listening to music while he painted until the sun rose.

Now, it felt like a door he’d locked.

You stepped inside slowly. “You haven’t painted in a while.”

Hyunjin didn’t look up from where he was sitting, sketchbook in his lap. “I haven’t felt like it.”

You moved closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

You sighed. “You’ve been distant. You don’t talk to me, you don’t kiss me goodnight anymore. I feel like I’m losing you and I don’t even know why.”

He finally looked up at you. And what you saw in his eyes made your stomach turn.

Resentment.

“You want to know why?” he said, voice low. “Because I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us. You. I don’t know if you’re here because you love me… or because you love what comes with me.”

You stared at him, completely blindsided. “What the hell are you saying?”

“You love the trips. The brand events. The way people look at you when you’re with me. I see it,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just your golden ticket.”

Your chest tightened. “You think I’m using you?”

“Would you be here if I wasn’t Hyunjin of Stray Kids?” he asked quietly. “If I wasn’t ’the Versace Prince.’ If I didn’t paint, I didn’t dance. If I didn’t have millions of people who knew my name.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Do you really think that little of me?”

“I don’t know what to think,” he said, turning away. “Everything feels like it’s for show.”

Your heart cracked. “I have never faked a single moment of this relationship. Never. Not when I held you while you cried over a routine that didn’t go right. Not when I stayed on the phone with you until sunrise during tour. Not when I cleaned paint off your fingers when you were too exhausted to move.”

Tears burned your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Not yet.

“I’ve loved you through every ugly, raw, broken part of you that no one else ever gets to see. And you think I’ve been doing it for clout?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t even look at you.

So you kept going, voice shaking. “You stopped painting the day you started doubting me. You shut me out, not because I did something wrong—but because you got scared. And instead of talking to me, you convinced yourself I was the villain in some fake story your insecurities wrote.”

Hyunjin’s lips parted, a crack in his armor.

“I didn’t fall in love with the idol. I fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin—the messy, soft-hearted, overthinking artist who listens to sad songs on loop and colors outside the lines.” Your voice dropped. “And now I don’t even recognize the man standing in front of me.”

He stood there frozen, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

“I never asked for the perks, Hyunjin. I asked for you. But if you don’t believe in my love, if you really think it’s all some lie, then I don’t know how we come back from this.”

You turned before he could see the tears fall, walking out of the room that used to feel like a shared dream and now felt like a broken promise.

[revelboo]

Please tell me to shut up🫠

He's like a drug to me...

🤣 nah, we love Steve (are you guys buying up the LS01 BMB Nitro Zeus figures by any chance? I’m dying because he went from $30 to doubling and even tripling in price in two weeks time- you guys scare me sometimes)

Coin-Operated Boy Pt 12

Steve and Vehicons x Reader

• Putting up your groceries and heading upstairs to change, you almost trip over a broken stair. And your head lifts, noticing the gouge in the paint on the wall. Apparently some of your alien cats have been in your house while you were out. Heading upstairs and mildly surprised the floor of the old house didn’t cave under their weight, you push open your bedroom door and inhale slowly. That’s not your bed. You’re not entirely sure what it is. Some kind of crude metal frame on the floor wedged against the walls and your dresser so you won’t be able to open the drawer. What had they done, robbed a mattress store? There’s four of them wedged into the frame and a mountain of blankets and pillows on top.

• ‘We got the berth fixed,’ one of his brothers lets him know and Steve shifts on his shocks slightly. Not particularly sure how he ended up the defacto leader here, but somehow his brothers have decided he’s the human expert. The one allowed to speak to you. “They need a fence. A tall one,” he says. Tall enough they can move about freely mass displaced so the gray human can’t worry you anymore. And he wants to be able to interact with you out of his altmode more freely. Still slightly off balance from you sliding across his center console. Unsure what that was. What it meant.

• You’re not dealing with whatever this is right now. Finding your pajamas, you head into the bathroom to shower, letting the hot water strip away the flustered embarrassment of possibly feeling up poor Steve. Dressing and pushing open the door, you nearly scream, stumbling back and banging your hip on the vanity. Because one of them is in the house, holding up your robe and slippers. Heart hammering as he holds them up expectantly, you know he wasn’t trying to jump scare you. But still. Which one is this one? Know it’s not Steve, but there’s so many of them now. “Thanks,” you murmur, taking the stuff he’s holding out and his visor brightens, a fist thumping against his chassis.

• Knows he’ll need to wait until full dark to start the fence, but that doesn’t mean he can’t plan. Make sure his brothers are on board, but then, they’re as happy to take care of you as he is. You’re theirs to protect. Had helped him when no one else would have bothered. Other Decepticons wouldn’t have. To them, Vehicons are tools to be used and then discarded once they’re no longer useful. Knows it and had thought he’d accepted it, but now he craves your kindness and attention. Would do anything for a little more of it. You’re becoming an addiction, something soft in his hard, unpleasant life.

• When you go back downstairs, your helper shadows you, the stairs creaking so badly that you’re sure they’ll collapse under you both any second. There’s another one of them in the living room poking around at your stuff and his head lifts guiltily when he spots you. Both him and your helper following you into the kitchen. Maybe they want something? Or they’re bored. Finding a frozen dinner and microwaving it, they both hover and watch like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. You’re not sure if you should be flattered or unnerved. And they watch you carry it to the table to eat, too. “Do you guys need something?” You ask a little desperately and they both flinch, heads shaking. ‘Do you?’ One asks, sounding almost hopeful and his visor dims slightly when you shake your head. Alright then. Skin prickling, you eat your food as quickly as possible. Maybe you’re like an alien nature documentary to them, watching your boring life their form of entertainment? But if one of them starts narrating your every move for the benefit of the others, you might just lose it.

Previous

[gooseraider]

magic alpaca

a/n: this is maybe the dumbest thing i’ve ever written

you woke up to a gnawing pain in your stomach. unsure of why, you climbed out of ellie’s grasp and went to the bathroom. it didn’t take too long to figure out that you’ve started your period.

hoping to ease the pain, you head to the kitchen to make some tea. you open the tea drawer realizing there was no more tea except for the bitter tea bags you and ellie refused to try.

you walk back to you and ellie’s room, laying down right on top of ellie. she stirs awake once she feels your weight on top of her. upon opening her eyes she’s met with you wrapping your limbs around her like a koala.

she laughs, bringing her arms around you. “good morning to you too.”

you mumble an incoherent morning as you further borrow your head into her chest.

she turns her head to look at you, “you okay? you’re never this clingy in the morning, not that i’m complaining.”

you slightly lift your head off her chest to look at her, “i’m fine, my stomach just hurts.”

her hand finds your head, gently raking her fingers through your hair. “i’m sorry, do you need anything? pain meds, tea, cuddles?”

“we don’t have any tea, i already checked.” you say, rolling off ellie. now side by side.

“if you want tea i can go to the store real quick.”

you sigh, “you don’t have to.”

she moves some hair from your face, pulling you closer to her.“it’s not far, if it’ll make you feel better i’ll go okay?”

“okay, i’ll go with you if you want.”

“it’s fine, you can stay here and rest until you feel better okay?”

you nod against the pillow, watching ellie’s as she gets up and throws on a random hoodie. reaching out for ellie’s pillow, you hold it close to you to replace ellie’s warmth.

“you want anything other than tea?” she asks, looking over at you on the bed.

you shrug as you burry yourself into her pillow.

she comes over to you, planting a kiss on your head before leaving the room. the quietness of the house makes you sleepy, eyes growing heavy as you begin to drift off.

at the store, ellie heads straight for the tea isle. grabbing you favorite tea before walking to the front of the store, a display of stuffed animals catches her eye. walking over to them, her eyes immediately go to the alpacas. she thinks for a second, would you be mad at her for buying a stuffed animal, but it’s your favorite animal so you’d have to be okay with it, right?

after her internal debate she decides to buy the stuffed animal, hoping you’d think it’s cute enough to not be mad at her.

once ellie’s home, she starts making your tea. pouring it in your favorite mug before she takes it to you.

the sound of your bedroom door creaking wakes you up, you’re met with ellie standing above you. one hand behind her back and the other holding a mug of tea.

she sets the mug on the nightstand, now holding both hands behind her back.

a small smile appears on her face, “you have a visitor.”

“what?”

removing her hands from behind her, she holds the alpaca plushie infront of your face.

you blink a few times before questioning her, “what is that ellie?”

“your favorite animal, i saw it at the store and it looked too cute to leave there so now it’s here and it’s your emotional support alpaca.”

you laugh, “i already have like twenty stuffed animals.”

she rolls her eyes, “i know but you don’t have an alpaca which is weird because they’re your favorite animal.”

you take the stuffed animal from ellie’s hands, looking at it and realizing how cute it is.

“it is cute.” you say.

“i know, it’s supposed to rid you of your stomach pain.”

you raise an eyebrow, “who told you that?”

“the alpaca.”

she climbs on the bed, rolling over you and laying down next to you.

she takes the alpaca form you hands, holding it in the air. “it’s a magic alpaca, it can speak.”

“why isn’t it speaking then?” you ask, poking at the stuffed animal.

“it only talks to me because i’m super cool.”

you scoff, “am i not cool?”

“you are, just not cool enough to speak to the alpaca.”

she brings the alpaca to her ear, nodding her head before turning to you. “it says that you have to give me a kiss to be able to speak to it.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you’re making the alpaca do your bidding now?”

“yes, now give me a kiss.” she says, puckering her lips.

straddling ellie, you lean down and give her a quick kiss. “can i speak to the alpaca now?”

she smirks, “no, i need a better kiss.”

you kiss her again before laying down against her, “can i speak to the stupid alpaca now?”

she gasps, “don’t call it stupid, it hurts its feelings.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing the alpaca and looking into it’s plastic eyes. “sorry for calling you stupid mr alpaca.”

ellie starts talking in a high pitched voice as she hold the alpaca against her face. “apology accepted.”

you laugh, resting your head back on ellie’s chest. moving the alpaca aside, she wraps her arms around you. “your stomach feel any better?”

“yeah.”

she pulls you closer to her, hand moving under your shirt to rub your back. “see the alpaca does work, it’s truly magical.”

“y’know what would be truly magical?”

“what?”

“if we stayed here and cuddled all day.”

“i think the alpaca can make that happen.” she says, kissing the top of your head.

the rest of the afternoon was spent in bed. both of you wrapped around eachother, exchanging soft kisses with the alpaca sitting right next to you both.

a/n: hope yall enjoyed!🦙

[salemlunaa]

Oh my god Salem please.... 😭💔

I can't take it anymore I'm falling apart now I don't even know how to tell you but tomorrow something is going to happen that will decide my fate and it's the worst and I don't know how to ignore it I also know that 3D is just an illusion and it's not real and time isn't real either but as soon as I remember tomorrow everything falls apart plus everyone reminds me of it too I've been trying to enter the void and change everything but it hasn't worked I've been trying all the time I know you'll tell me that I shouldn't rely on what I see and that manifestation is instant and I should give in and make the decision but I know all this because something happened 3 months ago when I was reading one of your posts and I suddenly realized that everything is my imagination and it's my only reality after I realized that I felt happy and safe I don't know what happened but all my doubts disappeared and I told myself that I don't need the void and I don't need to manifest everything is already there and I own it I don't need it to exist in 3D and it was around 11 pm so I went to sleep I didn't set an intention or anything and I wasn't planning anything but when I went to sleep I woke up in the void and it was amazing but I focused on my symptoms I was excited Because I realized it was the easiest ever, but when I woke up, I felt frustrated because I focused on my symptoms and the doubts returned after I woke up. But I also realized that manifestation is instantaneous and that imagination is my only reality and that once I surrender and realize I own it, nothing matters anymore and I don't even need a decision because it's all inside me. But I tried to reclaim this, but it didn't work, even though I know all that, and I've been trying ever since. I tried to ignore my circumstances, but it's hard because today is my last chance and I can't ignore it because I've been trying to change this for months, but it hasn't worked. I know the power is within me and only I can change this. But it's no use. I'm asking for help. What should I do? I'm crying my eyes out as I write this. I have no one to complain to or tell how bad my condition is. I lied to everyone and told them everything would be fine, but they'll find out the truth tomorrow. I'm really scared. I have no one but you who can help me. I need your advice and encouragement. You're the one who made me realize my strength at that time.

I hope you reply to me quickly or you can ignore this and post a blog that can help me

first of all i’m so so sorry you feel this way, and i hope you feel better as you are reading this.

I know what that’s like, i don’t talk about my old story as much but before i manifest everything i had all the odds against me so i know what it feels like to have your back against the wall. But what made me get out of the situation was realising the wall was not real, and even the body that was up against it was not.

You keep wavering, and that’s the problem, and i know that this is so frustrating to hear. But it’s the truth. Reality is 100% mental, there is nothing but you here, you are the one keeping this life, because you choose to be aware of it. I would just say go within, but that’s easier said than done.

You say you believe in time, but you’re telling me you didn’t induce the void state. How do you know that? it’s because you’re referencing the past, that which does not exist. You have this story for yourself, and you are so powerful that you have created this story on the fly every single moment.

That you:

Try and induce the void and it doesn’t work

You have this really dire circumstance that will ruin you (which you talk about as if it’s inevitable)

Everyone keeps going on about it

Let go of that story, you are not the body and these things or not happening to you. If you were able to step into the POV of god you would lack nothing and your “desires” would come to you in a matter of seconds, even seconds is too long actually.

Imagine what you want to experience. congrats it’s done. The only reason you are not seeing it is your deep belief that this “reality” is real, that it’s solid, some way somehow you still view what you want to attain as some dream.

It is not dream vs reality

It is dream vs dream

you are dreaming up these circumstances as week speak

You are dreaming those tears,

All you must do is observe the new dream. And don’t contradict yourself. Perception controls reality, change your perception and you change reality. If you were to perceive yourself as god holding views such as: your orders are instantaneous, nothing can contradict you, and that this is all your creation by the mind,

Then you would be able to have anything, actually you would realise that you already ARE everything therefore you cannot lack, and it would all materialise.

Infact, you must realise that you are already looking at life in the POV of a god, and your pov is the only one that exists.

Change who you are identifying as, you are not the body with things happening to you. You are a creator, consciousness and things are happening through you.

You need to collapse the duality between 3D and 4D, there is no 3D vs 4D it is all just the mind. there is no difference between the image and the mirror reflecting the image. When the image moves the reflection moves to match instantly. Change the Image. And you know how to do that because the Image is you.

And immediately drop the assumption that changing thoughts take time and saturation, those two concepts are illusionistic. Imagined it? Cool it’s yours. There’s no wait for catch up, it has caught up.

I say this to so many but once you realise that you are beating some sort of clock or racing against time, is when the dream comes crashing down and you are now able to control it. You don’t have to do Anything, realise it’s already done. Don’t rely on your senses and drop the idea of the “3D” Know the outcome you wish to experience is a reality now without any blockages.

Please breathe, my lovely and realise you are afraid of your own imagination. Release yourself. Relax the mind.

also some more gorgeous posts to help,

i believe in you, infact there’s no point in me saying that, since you’ve already done everything, creation is finished. 💖💖💖

[killerblueeyesxprettybluedude]

in which the nogitsune possesses eli and finds stiles. it’s not even being evil this time, just enjoying the drama. “been a while since you’ve seen your pal derek, huh? have you noticed that my face is an exact combination of both of your faces?” 

stiles just stares at him. 

and for a while, eli was sure his mom was someone bad. that dad was just protecting him. even if she died tragically, wouldn’t he say… and it’s not like needing a paternity test. 

but maybe it is. and maybe, maybe dad was just sure stiles wouldn’t want him. 

“what?” dad says. “eli. of course not.”

but it doesn’t make sense, otherwise. why dad wouldn’t just tell him, hey, guess what? we have a son together. 

unless he knew that stiles would walk away. no thanks! i’m actually having an amazing time with my no family, leave me alone. 

unless… there was a spell, or something, and dad just couldn’t say it out loud. or eli would just, like, fade out of existence. or change states by being observed. 

“oh my god,” stiles says. “derek. why didn’t you tell me our kid was so smart?” 

like he’s always been here. like they’re just one big family. 

like just saying the truth will ruin it. so just shut up, play normal. that’s all you wanted, right? 

eli rubs at his eye.

but dad’s sorry. he swears it’s more complicated. takes eli aside, so stiles won’t see him trying not to care so much. 

it’s not really working. dad talks, and eli stares at the wall. 

“i should’ve told him,” dad says. “you’re right. i should have. there’s no excuse for it.” 

but eli wants an excuse. or a million, all of them. all the stupid reasons dad never actually called him. or texted, or told scott to do it. 

scott’s his best friend, supposedly. it’s just been a million years since they actually talked to each other. 

“stiles needed time,” dad says. “a lot of things happened here before you came along, and… i don’t think he was ready to deal with that stuff again for a while.” 

that’s such bullshit. “why didn’t we just go to him?”

hey, remember me? we have a kid now. 

“you’re right,” dad says. “i probably should’ve done that.”

he’s sorry. eli hates when dad’s sorry, and reasonable. you can’t even be mad anymore. 

it feels too awful. 

he moves closer, and dad puts his arms around him. eli buries his head in dad’s shoulder. 

“i’m sorry,” dad says. “i’m sorry. and—i’m gonna make it up to you. it’s gonna be different, from now on.” 

eli has the best dad in the world.

and now he has stiles. who says, “i’ve been missing out big time.”

dad squeezes eli’s shoulder as the world blurs. 

“tell me everything,” stiles says. “how did it finally come up? or no, wait. you just cracked the case all on your own, didn’t you. stilinski PI genes.” 

eli doesn’t know. it wasn’t really… he was just there, suddenly. 

at stiles’ door, saying things.

he doesn’t remember driving. or deciding, or knowing stiles’ name. 

and dad says, “you don’t remember it? eli.” 

moving toward him, but something in eli wrenches his arm away. and won’t let him move back, or get closer, as dad’s eyes widen, and eli’s mouth stretches into a thin smile. 

“eli,” stiles says, and then, “this isn’t fucking happening. my fucking kid, are you kidding me?”

dad, eli tries to say, but he can’t. dad, DAD! 

“we’re gonna stop this,” dad says. “eli? it’s gonna be okay.”

“be right back,” stiles says, and dad nods, and eli’s mouth says, “leaving so soon? aww. eli thought you guys were gonna be family.” 

“we are,” dad says, and stiles says, “don’t you dare. don’t you, dare, try to hurt my kid, try to trick him into thinking…”

“go, stiles,” dad says, and stiles nods, but he says, “i’ve had that fucking thing in my head. the most important thing you can do? is just not listen to it. don’t even try to argue with it, just… play a song in your head, okay? and list the elements, or the state capitals. anything distracting. and i swear to god, eli, all it does is twist everything to try and hurt you. that’s what it is, it just feeds off pain. but we’re not gonna let that happen to you. i’m just gonna grab something out of my car, and i swear to god i’ll be right back.”

no he won’t, something says in eli’s head. you know that already. dad got stuck with you, but he knew how bad stiles is at lying. he’s been sparing your tender little feelings—

arkansas, eli thinks. new york, new jersey. utah, new mexico, washington, greece…

it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense. it doesn’t matter, just keep your mind busy. 

monty python. sevendust, the mets, mexico city. search party, the TV show, the lead actress, what was her name? alia something. shawkat? alia shawkat? maybe. hey! and that’s an arrested development joke. 

there’s a ring around him. stiles is back already, pouring it into place. 

“we’re gonna be here,” dad says. “no matter what, eli.”

but eli can barely feel him anymore.

[for the fluffiest ending, click here.]

[for a slightly angstier ending, click here.]

[for the slightly more canon-compliant ending ft stiles, come back on thursday! i apologize in advance.]

[brooklyn-duo]

Steve scowls and has to clench his fists so tight he can feel his nails digging into the skin of his palm and he stalks forward, “Don’t you blame your shit on me Tony, And don’t you put fuckin’ words in my mouth you-,” he starts but when Tony tries to leave, he acts without thinking even as much as he had wanted to avoid a fight and try to defuse this. He steps forward easily and takes hold of Tony’s arm and stops him, “Oh no you don’t; you don’t get to just come in here, dump all your shit on me, then walk out like that,” he snaps, pulling him back enough to stand between him and the door,

Which was good, because Bucky was in the hallway on the other side of Steve’s office door. He’d sent the message to Tony about dinner tonight and then decided to come ask Steve if he wanted to train. He knew how much Steve hated debrief paperwork after an assignment and he was more than recovered enough to be able to train thanks to the serum and the accelerated healing. He figured it would be good for both of them, especially with what happened the day of the surgery. There were still things that needed to be said and cleared up and they always managed to work through things easier when they trained together rather than in a sit down conversation.

But when he’d been walking up the hall, he’d heard the raised voices, and it had made him come to a halt just a few feet from the door. He recognized Steve’s voice saying that he was sorry about something and then ‘if you think he’s ever going to leave you for someone else..’ and he can only stand and listen in confusion. At least until he hears the next voice, and he immediately recognizes that it was Tony, which makes him realize that Steve had been talking about Bucky when he walked up. He barely has a chance to process that before he’s trying to understand what Tony was saying. He was confused, he never really thought of himself as having one night stands. Alleyway dalliances weren’t what he would call one night stands, and he had dated women pretty often before the war, even gone steady a few times. So he wasn’t sure if he’d misled Tony or explained poorly at some point. But he does know he never said that he thought dating wouldn’t work. He was happy with what they had but he wonders if somehow he’d made it seem like he also didn’t want more? Bucky doesn’t know what to do so he can’t help but overhear what Steve’s says next as he stands frozen in the hall.

Steve was glaring at Tony with more anger than he’d ever felt towards him, his teeth clenched hard enough that his jaw was starting to ache as he tried to figure out how to address everything Tony had spat at him. “I don’t know what I did to make you think that I had this..this shitty image of you in my head, but it cannot all be coming from the fact I didn’t tell you about your parents. Maybe i think you’re reckless sometimes and we’ve clashed over how to handle missions, but jesus christ, i’ve never thought you were actually an asshole. Ever. I said two things, knee jerk reactions, which I already apologized to Bucky for. I told him I was happy for him, and i am, and that whatever happened that I would support it, because I will. I don’t know what the hell you mean by seeds of doubt about you, or that I’ve poisoned him? I don’t know how two stupid things that I said could have done all that, especially…i mean i saw how you two were in the recovery room, and..” Steve seemed on the verge of softening before he fully processed the last few things Tony said.

“Fuck you Tony, I don’t judge you for how you live your life. I was momentarily worried about my best friend but that doesn’t mean that I’m judgmental. I don’t care if you think I’m lying to you or to myself, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t. We don’t agree on everything, we clash like…like this all the time,” he gestures angrily between them, “but we both had misconceptions about each other. You called me a lab experiment gone wrong, everything special about me came out of a bottle, right? And I thought you were a rich jerk, and then after Loki I knew I was wrong. I didn’t see you as a jerk or as an entitled showboater. We might have disagreed but I always trusted you to have my back, and maybe I ruined it by keeping that secret. But I told Bucky what I truly thought about you when we spoke after his surgery. I told him he should trust you, that he should be upfront about how he feels. I told him that I know that you’re a good guy, that you were my friend and that i care deeply about you too, not just Bucky, that you deserve to be loved and to feel safe, and that i would love to see you both happy together. But I know you won’t believe anything i say anyways so I don’t-“

“He’s telling the truth”

Steve hadn’t even noticed the door opening behind him, and he falls silent as he hears Bucky. He looks back at him startled but then steps aside to let Bucky speak directly to Tony, his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, the MIT hoodie that he may or may not have commandeered from Tony.

“Tony he’s telling the truth, he did say those things. And it’s not Steve’s fault really, that I…the state I was in after my surgery. He might have played a part in my anxiety getting worse but i was already extremely anxious because of the procedure. If it had been a normal day, he wouldn’t have triggered me nearly as much or even at all. And he did apologize, he took it back as soon as he could, and he said all those things and more to encourage me. He’s the reason I didn’t try to hide it from you that night, and he’s the one that was able to explain why I wanted to do things for you even though you don’t need me to. Tony I..I don’t have all the answers on how to fix it but I know this ain’t enough to ruin us, not for me and I don’t think you’ll push me away for it either. I..” Bucky’s voice is wavering and Steve squeezes his shoulder lightly before stepping away to give them a bit of space.

Steve’s eyes flash and he’s starting to forget his resolve in not wanting a screaming match because god was Tony pissing him off. What was he supposed to think when just a few months ago he was constantly at Bucky’s throat about his parents?

“Bucky told you he’s had casual sex before the war? Are you talking about his one offs in the alley? Because that’s not the same as this and you fuckin’ know it. I’m talking about this type of casual, where you’re just friends who have fun once in a while. And as far as I know, he’s never done that before, not for long at least. And sue me for thinking you didn’t want to settle down, you never seemed interested in it with anyone else, that’s just what I saw!”

His eyes narrow at Tony saying he hurt Bucky, as if he didn’t know that. As if he didn’t see that hollow look in his eyes from the diner in his mind even now. His arms drop from being crossed and his hands clench into fists at his side because he knows Tony’s right about how he hurt Bucky and he hadn’t meant to.

“Fuck you Tony. I know I upset him, I know that I triggered him and I’m still beating myself up for that so i don’t need to hear it from you to. But that’s not the kind of hurt I’m worried about from you. I’m worried he’s going to get his heart broken, and you cannot stand there and act like you’ve never broken anyone’s heart, even if it’s been unintentional. You’re acting like I sit there in that diner and shit on you intentionally.”

He takes a deep breath and turns back to Tony with anger but also exhaustion in his eyes. He’d just come back from an assignment , hence doing the debrief paperwork, and he didn’t want to fight. “I was shocked. I didn’t take the time to process and I said something when I was angry. I jumped to a conclusion and I’m sorry for that. But you’re a goddamn idiot Tony. It’s not that I think he deserves better than you. I see how happy you make him, that’s all I want for him. I don’t know what you think that I think of you but you’ve got it all wrong. I don’t think you’re..” he falls quiet and shakes his head to himself, “forget it. Doesn’t matter what I say. I get that. If you don’t think we’re friends..that’s my fault. If you think I hate you and that’s why I said anything to Bucky..I’m sorry, I don’t know how to convince you that it isn’t true. If you think he’s ever going to leave you for someone else, that’s between you and him. But that isn’t the sort of thing he’d do.”

[shanklin]

Do you, by chance, have any more ideas about Sentient Mystery Shack that Loves Stan and Hates Ford? It's ok if you don't, just wondering

Context

Now, now, hate is such a strong word.

The Shack doesn’t hate Ford.

The Shack is…defending its territory. Ford is an intruder who wants to get rid of Stan, so the Shack will drive Ford out first.

Ford has NO right to kick Stan out or close the shop. The only one who gets to decide that is the Shack itself...or Stan. But the Shack has decided a long time ago that Stan is part of the Shack whether he knows it or not.

It’s really a shame the Shack can’t just throw Ford down the stairs, break his neck and call it a day. Stan would be sad again and all work the Shack put into making him feel better would be wasted.

The Shack didn’t want to hate Ford.

It was looking forward to Ford finally coming back and making its Stan light up again. Ford was supposed to FIX Stan. Not the lightbulbs.

The Shack can take care of the lightbulbs itself! Or it can get Soos or Stan to do it. Who does the intruder think he is to maje Stan feel small and vulnerable again!?

Just one hit, a couple of words and the darkness that finally stopped gnawing at Stan's soul with the kids around came back with full force.

To answer your question, I haven’t really thought much about what else the Shack could do to annoy Ford out of the house and punish him.

But I love the thought of Ford being constantly minor-inconvenienced to the point of insanity.

The shower is always either too hot or too cold, he keeps tripping over the same damn steps, and there is a noise from somewhere that only he seems to be bothered by. 

Is it mice? Ghosts? Gnomes?

Whatever it is, it just. Won't. Stop. And Ford can’t find the source. 

Time for Ford to go all scifi exterminator and for the rest of the gang to stop him from destroying the Shack. The walls not shutting up is not an excuse to try out your newest plasma canon, Stanford. There are children living here! 

The shack is honestly a little bit disappointed. It was so ready to throw hands wooden beams with Ford.

Poor Ford. The only explanation for everything would be that the Shack really wants him gone. But that’s not right. This is his house. Stan is the intruder! He’s the one who messed everything up and he even put the house in danger by rebuilding the portal.

The house should be grateful he’s putting an end to this disgraceful tourist trap business!

There is a beautiful period between Weirdmaggeddon and the reopening of the Mystery Shack in which Ford and the Shack exist next to each other without any murder attempts pranks.

And then Ford asks Stan to leave with him.

And Stan agrees.

And the Shack is heartbroken furious

How DARE this man thinks he has any right to steal Stan for himself now, after all this time? After he hurt the Shack's person so much?!

No! Jail for Ford. Jail for Ford for a thousand years!

 If Ford stays so will Stan.

So the Shack puts Ford under housearrest.

Ford is stuck. No doors open to the outside...no windows either. Even digging a tunnel leads to no results. He always ends up looping around to where he started.

With Bill defeated, his relationship with Stan restored and 40 years of guilt and regrets to make up for, Ford finally allows himself to understand.

Ford looks at the ceiling. It seems far lower than it used to be and was the room always this small? If Ford didn’t know better he’d assume they made some mistakes rebuilding the Shack, but this situation is much more interesting than that.

“I know you’re mad at me and I can’t blame you. I’m mad at myself as well. But this isn’t the answer.”

Ford slowly turns around as the walls keep moving closer.

“If you keep Stan here you’ll be no better than me.”

The ground starts to creak and shake in indignation

“You’ll shatter his dream. Just like I did.”

The room dims.

Ford pets the walls that are now only inches away.

“Don’t take it away from him just to keep him safe.”

Ford blinks and the room is back to normal. Or as normal as it can get in Gravity Falls.

The lightbulb above Ford flickers and a door creaks open. 

A sign of defeat.

Ford grins and pulls out his notebook.

“In fact I have a much better idea, but first you need to tell me a few things about yourself…”

The next day there is a wall mysteriously missing from the shack and the Stan o’ War 2 gained a few improvements.

The “Shack” o’ War keeps bullying Ford even out at sea but this time it’s a sign of affection…or so Stan tells Ford.

Ford is not so sure about it. Especially not when he knocks his head on the door frame for the third in a row, but hearing Stan's laughter might be worth the humiliation.

A lightbulb explodes above Ford’s head.

Nevermind. 

He’s going to kill the Shack.

[charmnyu]

IN THE NAME OF LOVE AND PRANKS! ♡ j. grace

𓇼ㅤ word count — 5k i love blond boys with glasses that’s my explanation. give it a chance bae 😞

𓇼ㅤ synopsis — you really hate that goody-two shoes, pretty faced, praetor guy that transferred from camp jupiter to camp half-blood. roman and greeks are enemies, anyway, and so is he. but you kinda wanna kiss him in a not-so-enemy-like way. child of hermes!reader !!

𓇼ㅤ lovequeue ୧ notes: do u guys like the new layout (had to copy from noah it’s pretty af 😛) burrtt yah i’ll get to luke stuff l8tr!! blond boy come ere!!! i personally don’t like enemies2lovers cuz all the plots are cliche but i js suck it up 😞 but erm this one is also cliche (i’m self aware see ahahah) u guys better enjoy this cuz

you're pretty sure jason grace is the most annoying person to ever walk into camp half-blood, and that's saying something considering you live with the stoll twin.

it's not just that he's roman—though that's definitely part of it. romans and greeks have been at each other's throats for centuries, and here he comes waltzing in with his perfect blonde hair and his stupid perfect face like he owns the place. no, it's everything about him. the way he carries himself like he's still got that praetor stick shoved up his so far up his own ass. the way everyone immediately falls over themselves to be his friend. the way he's so goddamn good at everything without even trying. (and it’s pissing you off, to be honest.)

it’s the way he’s a blond superman shows up from camp jupiter with his perfect posture and his stupid honorable attitude and suddenly everyone's acting like he's the second coming of zeus himself.

which, okay, he kind of is, considering his dad is jupiter. same difference.

but it's more than that. it's the way he carries himself like he's never done anything wrong in his entire life, like he's never stolen anything or lied to anyone or had a single impure thought. it's the way his hair always looks perfect even after capture the flag, like he's got some kind of divine hair gel situation going on. it's the way he says "please" and "thank you" to the camp store nymphs and actually means it, not just because he wants extra snacks.

it's the way everyone loves him.

you've been at camp half-blood for three years now, and you've worked your ass off to earn your place here. you've pulled pranks that are still talked about in hushed, fearsome whispers. you've mastered lock-picking, pickpocketing, and about fifteen different ways to sneak out of camp without getting caught. you're a child of hermes, for fuck's sake—mischief and cunning are literally in your dna.

but then golden boy shows up and suddenly everyone's acting like he hung the stars. even your own siblings are practically drooling over him.

"did you see jason at sword practice today?"

"jason helped me with my latin homework!"

"jason's so nice, he walked me to the infirmary when i twisted my ankle!"

it makes you want to puke. because when do your siblings ever do their homework? when are they ever actually doing something other than planning pranks and finding ways to sneak out of camp?

the worst part is how he doesn't even seem to notice how perfect everyone thinks he is. he just goes about his business with that calm, collected demeanor, like having half the camp worship the ground he walks on is just another tuesday for him. which, knowing his track record, it probably is.

you decide pretty early on that if everyone else is going to kiss his ass, you're going to be the exception. someone has to keep his ego in check, right? it's practically a public service.

so you start small. classic hermes cabin pranks—nothing too serious, just enough to piss him off. you short-sheet his bed, replace his shampoo with honey, put plastic wrap over the toilet seat in his cabin. standard stuff that would have anyone else either laughing or plotting revenge.

jason grace does neither.

the first time you prank him, you're lurking around the corner of the jupiter cabin the next morning, waiting to see his reaction. you've rigged his door so that when he opens it, he'll get doused with a bucket of ice water. it's simple, effective, and guaranteed to ruin his perfectly styled hair.

you hear the door creak open, followed by a splash and a sharp intake of breath. success. you're already grinning as you peek around the corner, expecting to see him dripping wet and pissed off.

instead, jason is just standing there, calmly wringing out his shirt. his hair is plastered to his head and there's water dripping off his nose, but his expression is completely neutral. he looks up, makes direct eye contact with you, and nods once like he's acknowledging a job well done.

then he goes back inside to change.

what. the. fuck.

you try again the next week. this time you've spent hours perfecting a trap that will cover him in glitter the moment he sits down at the dining pavilion. you've tested it twice to make sure it works perfectly. there's no way he can just shrug this one off.

except he does. he sits down, gets absolutely covered in pink and gold glitter, and just continues eating his breakfast like nothing happened. a few people at the apollo table start giggling, but jason doesn't even look up from his eggs. when he's done eating, he stands up, brushes off what glitter he can, and heads to his morning activities.

he sparkles for the rest of the day and doesn't say a word about it.

it's infuriating. (infuriating because he still looks damn good even with glitter clinging to his body. gods oh gods.”

so… you go even further. you replace all his important study books with romance novels. he reads them without complaint and even returns them to the library when he's done. you fill his cabin with balloons. he pops them methodically, one by one, and uses the deflated rubber for arts and crafts with some of the younger campers. (husband material or what…)

nothing gets to him. nothing even makes him blink. it's like pranking a brick wall, if brick walls were annoyingly attractive and had perfect teeth and beautiful sandy blond hair.

the breaking point comes three weeks into your pranks. you've just finished setting up your masterpiece—a complex system of ropes and pulleys that will dump a mixture of maple syrup, feathers, and biodegradable glitter on him the moment he opens his cabin door. it's taken you two days to set up and it's absolutely foolproof.

you're hiding behind the big house, practically vibrating with anticipation, when you hear the door open. there's a pause, then a wet splat, followed by what sounds like a small avalanche of feathers.

you can't help yourself—you have to see this. you creep around the building and peek toward the jupiter cabin, expecting to see jason looking like a very fabulous, very sticky bird.

instead, you find him sitting on his front steps, methodically picking feathers out of his hair. he's covered head to toe in your concoction, looking like he lost a fight with a craft store, but his expression is still that same infuriating calm.

"you know," he says without looking up, and you realize with horror that he's talking to you, "most people would have given up by now."

you freeze. he's not supposed to acknowledge the pranks. that's not how this works.

"i don't know what you're talking about," you say, stepping out from behind your hiding spot because there's no point pretending anymore.

jason finally looks up, and there's something in his blue eyes that you can't quite read. "the water bucket was clever. simple, but effective. the glitter was a nice touch too—took me three showers to get it all out."

"if you knew it was me, why didn't you say anything?"

he shrugs, which sends a small shower of feathers floating to the ground. "why would i? you're not actually trying to hurt me. you're just... testing me, i guess. plus, some aphrodite boy said i’m glowing and sparkling and called me handsome.”

well… the boy wasn’t wrong, was he? you watched jason from afar and you tried your hardest not to think about how hot he looked. in glitter. (who looks like a man sculpted by the gods in fucking glitter??)

"testing you?" you repeat, incredulous. "i'm trying to make your life miserable."

"are you?" he asks, and there's something almost amused in his tone. "because if that's the case, you're really bad at it."

the comment hits you like a slap. "excuse me?"

jason stands up, brushing syrup-sticky feathers off his jeans. "look, i get it. you don't like me. you think i'm some uptight roman asshole who doesn't belong here. and maybe you're right about some of that. but if you really wanted to make me miserable, you'd have to try a lot harder than some harmless pranks."

"harmless?" you sputter. "i've been making your life hell for weeks!"

"you've been mildly inconveniencing me," he corrects. "there's a difference."

you stare at him, speechless. this is not how this conversation was supposed to go. he's supposed to be angry, or at least annoyed. he's supposed to threaten to tell chiron or challenge you to a duel or something. he's not supposed to be standing there covered in craft supplies, talking to you like you're having a casual chat about the weather.

"why aren't you mad?" you finally ask.

jason considers this for a moment, picking a particularly large feather out of his eyebrow. "honestly? because you're the first person here who's treated me like a normal person instead of some kind of celebrity."

that stops you cold. "what?"

"everyone else either wants to be my friend because they think it'll make them look good, or they're too intimidated to talk to me at all. you're the only one who's treated me like just another camper. even if that treatment involves a lot of syrup and feathers."

you don't know what to say to that. it's not the response you were expecting, and it makes something uncomfortable twist in your chest.

"plus," jason continues, and now there's definitely amusement in his voice, "some of your pranks have been genuinely impressive. the balloon thing must have taken hours to set up."

"it took three hours," you admit before you can stop yourself.

"see? that's dedication. i can respect that."

you're still staring at him, trying to process this entire conversation, when he starts walking toward the showers. he pauses when he's a few feet away and looks back at you.

"for what it's worth," he says, "if you ever want to have a conversation that doesn't involve me getting covered in various substances, i wouldn't be opposed to that."

then he's gone, leaving you standing there with your mouth hanging open and your entire worldview slightly tilted.

the problem is, after that conversation, you can't stop thinking about him.

not in the "gods, i hate that guy!" way you've been thinking about him for weeks, but in a way that's infinitely more dangerous. you keep remembering the way he looked sitting on those steps, calm and unbothered even covered in your prank materials. the way he talked to you like you were worth listening to, even though you'd been making his life difficult since the day he arrived.

you try to go back to hating him, you really do. but it's hard to maintain that level of animosity toward someone who complimented your dedication while picking feathers out of his hair.

so you stop pranking him. not because you've given up, but because you're not sure what you're trying to accomplish anymore. the pranks were supposed to make you feel better about his presence at camp, but now they just make you feel confused and slightly guilty.

unfortunately, avoiding jason grace turns out to be harder than pranking him.

he's everywhere. in the dining pavilion, laughing at something one of the apollo kids said. at the climbing wall, casually scaling it like gravity is just a suggestion. in the strawberry fields, helping the demeter kids with the harvest because of course he is.

and every time you see him, he nods at you. just a simple acknowledgment, like you're friends or something. it makes your stomach do weird fluttery things that you absolutely do not want to examine too closely.

the worst part is that now that you're not actively plotting against him, you're starting to notice things. like how he always makes sure the younger campers get served first at meals. how he stays after sword practice to help anyone who's struggling. how he never talks about his accomplishments, even though everyone knows he was basically running camp jupiter before he came here.

you're starting to realize that maybe—maybe—you misjudged him.

which is a terrifying thought, because if jason grace isn't actually the uptight, arrogant asshole you've been painting him as, then what does that make you?

you're mulling over this uncomfortable revelation while sitting by the lake, throwing rocks at the water and trying not to think about electric blue eyes, sun-kissed blond hair and perfect teeth, when someone sits down next to you.

you don't have to look to know who it is. jason has this presence about him, like the air gets a little more charged when he's around. which makes sense, considering his dad is literally the king of the sky.

"nice evening," he says, like this is a perfectly normal occurrence.

"what do you want, grace?" you ask, not looking at him.

"to apologize."

that gets your attention. you turn to stare at him, and he's looking out over the water with that same calm expression he always wears. "apologize for what?"

"for what i said the other day. about you being bad at making me miserable." he glances at you, and there's something almost sheepish in his expression. "that was unnecessarily harsh."

you blink. "you're apologizing for insulting my pranking abilities?"

"among other things." he picks up a rock and skips it across the water. it bounces seven times before sinking. show-off. "i've been thinking about what you said. about making your life hell. and i realized that maybe i haven't been taking your feelings seriously enough."

"my feelings?" you repeat, confused.

"you clearly have strong opinions about me being here. about romans in general, probably. and instead of acknowledging that, i've been treating the whole thing like a game."

you stare at him. "it... it was a game. sort of. i mean, the pranks were just—"

"were they?" he interrupts gently. "because from where i'm sitting, it seems like you have legitimate reasons for not wanting me here. and maybe instead of just shrugging off your pranks, i should have asked what those reasons were."

this conversation is not going at all how you expected. you came out here to brood and throw rocks, not to have jason grace psychoanalyze your motivations.

"you really want to know why i don't like you?" you ask.

"yeah. i do."

you're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "it's not... it's not really about you being roman. i mean, it is, but not in the way you probably think."

jason waits patiently for you to continue.

"when you showed up here, everyone immediately loved you. and i get it, i do. you're this war hero, you saved the world, you're powerful and brave and all that shit. but..." you trail off, frustrated.

"but?"

"but some of us have been here for years, working our asses off to prove ourselves, and we're still just... background noise. then you walk in and suddenly you're the most important person at camp. it's not fair."

the words hang in the air between you, and you immediately regret saying them. they make you sound petty and jealous, which you are, but you didn't mean to admit it out loud.

jason is quiet for a long time. when he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you've ever heard it.

"you're right. it's not fair."

you look at him in surprise. "what?"

"it's not fair that people treat me differently because of things i did before i even knew this place existed. it's not fair that i get credit for being powerful when that's just genetics, not something i earned. and it's definitely not fair that my being here makes you feel like your accomplishments matter less, because they don't."

you don't know what to say to that.

"for what it's worth," jason continues, "i think what you've done here is pretty impressive. connor told me about some of your pranks—not just the ones on me, but the legendary ones. the time you convinced the entire ares cabin that they were under a curse that made them speak only in rhymes? that's genius."

despite yourself, you feel a small smile tugging at your lips. "that was a good one."

"and prancing the athena and aphrodite cabin of last summer?"

"okay, that wasn't just me. travis helped."

"still. the point is, you've made your mark here. people know who you are, and it's not because of your godly parent or some prophecy. it's because you're clever and creative and you work hard at what you do."

you're quiet, absorbing this. it's strange, hearing jason grace—perfect, golden jason grace—talk about your pranks with what sounds like genuine admiration.

"why are you being so nice to me?" you ask finally. "i've been nothing but a pain in your ass since you got here."

jason laughs, and the sound does something funny to your insides. "honestly? because you're interesting. most people here either worship me or avoid me. you're the first person who's treated me like a regular person worth messing with."

"so you liked being pranked?"

"i liked that you saw me as someone worth pranking," he corrects. "there's a difference."

you think about that for a moment. "that's... actually kind of sweet. in a weird way."

"i'm a weird guy."

you snort. "no, you're not. you're like, aggressively normal. it's unsettling."

"aggressively normal?"

"you know what i mean. you're polite and helpful and you probably floss twice a day and eat all your vegetables. it's creepy."

jason is grinning now, and it transforms his entire face. suddenly he doesn't look like a marble statue come to life—he looks like a regular seventeen-year-old guy, and that's somehow infinitely more dangerous to your peace of mind.

"i do floss twice a day," he admits. "but only because reyna drilled good dental hygiene into all the praetors. she said we couldn't lead new rome if we had cavities."

"see? aggressively normal."

"what about you?" he asks. "what's your dental hygiene routine like?"

you stare at him. "did you just ask me about my teeth?"

"i'm making conversation!"

"by asking about my flossing habits?"

"i'm not good at this," jason admits, and there's a faint flush creeping up his neck. "talking to people, i mean. when it's not about work or battle strategy or official praetor stuff."

and just like that, the last of your animosity toward jason grace crumbles completely. because he's sitting here, looking embarrassed about asking you about dental hygiene, and you realize that maybe he's not as perfect as everyone thinks. maybe he's just as awkward and uncertain as the rest of you, he's just better at hiding it.

"your conversation skills could use some work," you agree. "but points for effort."

"thanks. i think."

you sit in comfortable silence for a while, both of you throwing rocks into the lake. the sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, and you're acutely aware of jason's presence beside you. he smells like ozone and something clean and sharp, like the air before a thunderstorm.

"can i ask you something?" you say eventually.

"pray tell."

"why haven't you gotten mad at me? like, really mad? because if someone had been pranking me for weeks, i would have lost my shit by now."

jason considers this. "honestly? because i could tell you weren't really trying to hurt me. annoyed, maybe. frustrated, definitely. but not actually malicious. and..." he hesitates.

"and?"

"and because i kind of liked having someone pay attention to me for who i am, not what i am. even if that attention came in the form of syrup and feathers or glitter."

there's something vulnerable in his voice that makes your chest tight. you look at him, really look at him, and for the first time you see past the perfect exterior to the person underneath. he looks tired, you realize. and maybe a little lonely.

"that's pretty sad, grace."

"yeah, well. occupational hazard of being a child of the big three, i guess."

"is that why you transferred here? to get away from all that?"

jason shakes his head. "not exactly. it's complicated."

you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. instead, he stands up and brushes off his jeans.

"i should probably head back. early morning tomorrow."

"yeah, me too."

you both start walking back toward the cabins, and you're surprised by how comfortable the silence between you is. it's not the charged, antagonistic energy you're used to—it's something softer, more peaceful.

when you reach the fork in the path where you'd normally split off toward your respective cabins, jason stops.

"hey," he says, and when you turn to look at him, there's something intense in his expression. "for what it's worth, i'm glad you're here. camp half-blood wouldn't be the same without you."

before you can respond, he's walking away, leaving you standing there with your heart doing acrobatics in your chest.

fuck.

you're in trouble.

the next few days are torture. not because jason is doing anything different—he's still his usual helpful, polite self—but because you can't stop thinking about your conversation by the lake. about the way he looked when he said he was glad you were here. about how his smile had transformed his entire face.

you try to go back to your normal routine, but everything feels off. pranking the other campers doesn't hold the same appeal when you keep thinking about jason's laugh. capture the flag is less fun when you find yourself looking for blonde hair in the crowd. even your siblings notice something's wrong.

"you've been weird lately," travis informs you one morning over breakfast. "weirder than usual, i mean."

"i haven't been weird."

"you put salt in your orange juice yesterday," connor points out. "and you've been staring at jason’s table for like ten minutes."

you immediately snap your gaze away from where jason is sitting, laughing at something piper is saying. "i was not staring."

"uh-huh." travis exchanges a look with connor. "so who is it?"

"who's what?"

"who's the guy?" connor asks. "because you've got that look."

"what look?"

"the 'i have a crush and i'm freaking out about it' look," travis says helpfully. "we've seen it before. remember when you had that thing for that apollo kid last summer?"

"i do not have a thing for anyone," you say firmly. "and especially not for—"

you cut yourself off before you can finish the sentence, but it's too late. your brothers are already grinning like sharks.

"oh my gods," connor breathes. "it's jason fucking grace."

"it is not!"

"it totally is," travis says, delighted. "you have a crush on the golden boy!"

"i do not have a crush on jason grace," you hiss, looking around to make sure no one else can hear this conversation. "i hate jason grace."

"sure you do," connor says. "that's why you've been staring at him all week."

"and why you stopped pranking him," travis adds.

"and why you get all flustered whenever someone mentions his name."

"i do not get flustered!"

"you're flustered right now," they say in unison.

you want to argue, but they're not wrong. you are flustered, and you do have a crush on jason grace, and the whole situation is absolutely fucked because he's roman and you're greek and he's perfect and you're... not.

"this is a disaster," you mutter, putting your head in your hands.

"why?" travis asks, suddenly serious. "i mean, yeah, he's roman, but he seems like a decent guy. and he's definitely cute."

"it's not about him being roman," you say, though that's part of it. "it's about him being him. he's this war hero who saved the world and everyone loves him. what could he possibly see in me?"

"uh, you're awesome?" connor suggests. "you're funny and smart and you can pick any lock in camp. plus, you've got that whole 'i don't give a fuck' attitude that people love."

"connor's right," travis agrees. "and besides, didn't you say he seemed interested when you guys talked by the lake?"

you think back to that conversation, to the way jason had looked at you when he said he was glad you were here. "maybe. i don't know. probably not."

"only one way to find out," connor says.

"absolutely not."

"come on," travis wheedles. "what's the worst that could happen?"

"he could reject me and then i'd have to live with the humiliation for the rest of my time at camp?"

"or," connor counters, "he could say yes and you could live happily ever after."

"this isn't a fairy tale, fuckface."

"no, but it could be a pretty good love story, you dipshit."

you're about to tell him exactly what you think of his romantic optimism when someone clears their throat behind you. you turn around, and your heart immediately starts doing that stupid fluttery thing again.

jason is standing there with his breakfast tray, looking slightly uncertain. "sorry to interrupt. i was just wondering if i could sit with you guys? the jupiter table is kind of lonely."

travis and connor immediately start grinning like idiots, and you know you're about to be subjected to the most embarrassing few minutes of your life.

"of course!" travis says, scooting over to make room. "we were just talking about—"

"nothing," you interrupt quickly. "we were talking about nothing."

jason raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. he sits down across from you, and you try very hard not to notice how his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

"so, jason," connor says, and you can already tell this is going to be bad. "what do you think of our dearest sibling here?"

you kick him under the table. hard.

"ow! what? it's a valid question!"

"i think their pretty cool," jason says, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents of this conversation. "kept me on my toes since i got here."

"oh, their good at that," travis agrees. "keeping people on their toes. among other things. if you know what i—“

you kick him too.

"you know," connor continues, ignoring your death glare, "they were just saying how much they enjoyed getting to know you better."

"oh?" jason asks, and when you look at him, there's something almost hopeful in his expression.

"yep," travis chimes in. "in fact, she was just saying how they’d love to spend more time with you. weren't you?"

you're going to murder them both. slowly and painfully. and sacrifice their pieces to your father hand delivered.

"i... that's not exactly what i said," you manage.

"close enough," connor says cheerfully.

jason is looking at you now, and you can feel your face heating up. "is that true? would you like to spend more time together?"

there's something in his voice that makes you think maybe, just maybe, your brothers aren't completely wrong about him being interested. and before you can lose your nerve, you hear yourself saying, "yeah. i would."

the smile that spreads across jason's face is like watching the sun come up.

"great," he says. "are you free this afternoon? i was thinking we could go for a walk or something. maybe you could show me some of the places around camp that aren't on the official tour."

"like where?" you ask.

"wherever you want. i'm sure you know all the best hiding spots."

he's not wrong. you do know all the best hiding spots, the secret places where you go when you want to be alone or plan your next prank. the idea of sharing them with jason should feel wrong, but instead it feels... right.

"okay," you say. "meet me by the big house after lunch?"

"it's a date," jason says, then immediately turns red. "i mean—not a date date, just—"

"it's a date," you agree, and watch his expression shift from embarrassed to pleased.

travis and connor are practically vibrating with excitement, but for once you don't care. you're too busy looking at jason, at the way his eyes light up when he smiles, at the way he's looking at you like you're something special.

maybe this won't be a disaster after all.

lunch passes in a blur of nervous energy and your brothers giving you increasingly ridiculous advice. by the time you're walking toward the big house, your palms are sweating and you're second-guessing everything about your appearance.

jason is already waiting for you, leaning against the porch railing and looking unfairly attractive in jeans and a camp half-blood t-shirt. when he sees you approaching, he straightens up and smiles.

"ready for the grand tour?" you ask.

"lead the way."

you start with the easy stuff—the strawberry fields, the beach, the woods. jason is a good companion, asking questions and actually listening to your answers. he doesn't try to fill every silence with chatter, which you appreciate.

it's when you're walking along the edge of the forest that he says, "can i ask you something?"

"sure."

"why did you really stop pranking me?"

you'd been dreading this question, but now that he's asked it, you find you don't want to lie to him.

"because i realized i didn't actually hate you," you admit. "and it felt wrong to keep messing with someone i was starting to like."

"starting to like?"

you stop walking and turn to face him. "okay, fine. more than like. happy?"

jason's expression is unreadable. "are you?"

"am i what?"

"happy. about liking me more than you thought you would."

it's a loaded question, and you both know it. because liking jason grace is complicated. he's roman, you're greek. he's a former praetor, you're a camp troublemaker. he's destined for great things, and you're just... you.

but when you look at him, standing there in the dappled sunlight with his hair slightly messed up from the wind, none of that seems to matter.

"yeah," you say quietly. "i am."

jason steps closer, and suddenly the air between you feels charged with more than just his natural electricity.

"good," he says. "because i've been thinking about you a lot lately. about our conversation by the lake. about how you're the first person who's seen me as just jason, not jason grace the son of jupiter or jason grace the former praetor."

"jason," you say, and your voice comes out rougher than you intended.

"yeah?"

"i really want to kiss you right now."

"thank the gods," he breathes, and then his mouth is on yours.

and it sends electrical waves through your body. literally and figuratively. jason's free hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and you melt into him like you were made to fit together.

when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. jason rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, lashes fluttering as if he scared you’ll disappear out his arms.

"jason," you start, but you're not sure what you want to say.

"yeah?"

"i'm really bad at this. the whole... feelings thing."

he laughs softly. "me too. we can figure it out together."

and then he's kissing you, soft and tentative at first, like he's not sure you want this. but you do want it, more than you've wanted anything in a long time, so you kiss him back and let yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips against yours.

when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"so," you say, trying to sound casual despite the fact that your entire world has just shifted. "this is happening."

"seems like it," jason agrees. "is that okay?"

you think about it for a moment. about how complicated this is going to be, about what people will say, about all the reasons this is probably a bad idea.

then you think about the way jason looks at you like you're something precious, about how he makes you laugh, about how he sees past all your defenses to the person underneath.

"yeah," you say. "it's okay."

jason grins, and you realize that maybe you were wrong about him from the beginning. maybe he's not perfect after all. maybe he's just perfectly imperfect in all the ways that matter.

and maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what you've been looking for all along.

"so what now?" you ask.

"now," jason says, taking your hand, "you show me the rest of those secret hiding spots. and maybe we can make some new memories in them."

you laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. "i can work with that."

[telephoniii]

Any headcannons for Rook helping reader clean up Ramshackle? The place is massive and there's only so much Grim and incorporeal beings can really do. In exchange he gets to explore the place all he likes

FIXER UPPER

☆彡 in which Rook helps clean up Ramshackle before the VDC

rook hunt x GN!reader

word counter: 4K

tags: pre-relationship, falling in love, reader is prefect, possible ooc, rook hunt is a weirdo (canon), non-french author tries to use french

a/n: i may or may not have gotten very carried away with writing the head canons that i decided to turn it into a full fic... sorry! i hope you enjoy :>

It’s an absolute miracle that Ramshackle is still running.

That rusted down building has failed you more times than you can count. From the ceiling falling on you to the stairs literally breaking mid step, it was clear that the sad excuse of a dorm has seen better days. It made sense though.

You’ve heard a plethora of stories from the ghost of the building. Some were mundane life experiences. Others sounded straight out of a movie. One of the ghosts apparently got thrown out of one of the windows back in their prime. They tried to fix it themselves afterwards— explaining one of the many mystery cracks on the glass.

You didn’t mind the semi-broken window. It gave Ramshackle more character.

Even though you didn’t mind it, a lot of other students didn’t share your sentiment. Especially during the VDC.

After Crowley oh so graciously offered Ramshackle to house the VDC members, you gave Vil a little tour of the place! Nothing crazy, just a short and sweet look at the different rooms…

The scolding Vil gave you however was anything BUT short and sweet.

“The dorm has potential, sure,” He crossed his arms, a disapproving look on his face.

“But there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. Have you seen the wallpaper? It’s practically falling off the wall. Oh, and that’s not even covering the dust problem—“ Vil talked your ear off for about an hour or so. You let out a small sigh. “Alright. I’ll try to fix it up with the ghosts before all the boys get settled in.”

He nodded in response but didn’t comment, causing you to continue. You flashed him a nervous smile. “…At least it’s better than when I first settled in? We had to replace so much furniture. I think I slept on the floor a few times because my headboard for the bed broke and I didn’t have the couch yet.”

Your attempt to lighten up the conversation only caused Vil to look at you like you were insane. You swear you could see his eye twitching.

“…Uh huh. Just get it fixed up, Prefect.” “Rodger that!”

.

.

It was hard cleaning it up before the seven boys moved in. Mainly due to Vil’s high standards. Every time you’d show him what you changed, he’d scoff and say it could be better.

Very constructive criticism. Truly.

At this point, you were getting tired. You figured you might just settle for mediocre and tell them Ramshackle was ready.

You got to the dorm after school, letting your bags hit the floor with a sigh. Grim was out with Heartsbyul today. The ghosts rushed to greet you. “Prefect! Prefect!” They sounded more hurried than usual, but you didn’t think too hard about it.

“Hey. I think I’ve made up my mind about the whole VDC thing,” At your words, the ghosts shared looks between one another.

“About that—“ “I’m just going to let them move in already. I mean, the dorm’s nice enough for Deuce and Ace’s standards. And I’m sure Jamil and Kalim won’t really care.”

As you moved to go to your room, the ghost stopped you. Slightly concerned expressions stained their faces, causing you to raise a brow.

“With the VDC situation… we believe we’ve found a solution.”

You gave them a funny look, your eyes bouncing between the different ghosts. “What do you mean—?”

“Beauté!”

The eerily familiar voice echoed throughout the dorm. Your eyes widened as you swiftly turned around to see a certain French man standing at the end of the stairs. He enthusiastically smiled as he caught your gaze, tipping his hat towards you.

“Ah! Trickster! I am enthralled by the beauty of Ramshackle!”

“How did you—!?” You turned towards the ghosts, eyeing them suspiciously. “You guys let him in, huh?”

Like a bunch of dogs caught chewing on the couch, the ghosts’ eyes averted downwards as they gave you a guilty nod. You let out a tired sigh and moved to face Rook once more.

You stiffened as you realize he totally heard your plan to knowingly settle for mediocrity. Swiftly, you clasp your hands together and give him a pleading look. “Please don’t tell Vil what you heard!”

Rook let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. “Non non! Though the sight of you pleading is rather pleasant, I’d never be so cruel!” He let his eyes travel across the room as he observed the furniture.

“This dorm is anything but mediocre! Ramshackle carries a brilliant atmosphere! So unique! So beautiful! You’ve done well with a place that was mere bolts and boards when you arrived!” You give him a small smile, appreciating the praise. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s enough to really satisfy Vil.”

Rook let out a hum, nodding in acknowledgment. “Roi du Posion is one to never accept anything but the best. A truly admirable trait.”

His eyes sharply scanned the area. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone look at your dorm— or any room— as intensely as he was right now. A part of you was just glad he wasn’t looking at you. You would’ve melted under his gaze.

Rook broke the silence with an eager smile.

“May I propose an idea?” You raised a brow, cautious about what was going to come out of his mouth. Nonetheless, you nodded.

He leaned closer to you. “I am very well acquainted with Roi du Posion. It’d be an absolute honor to fancy up the dormitory for him!”

You went quiet, looking at him with slight disbelief. “You’re…offering to help?”

“Oui!” Shaking your head, you took a step back.

“Okay…? And what are you trying to get in return?”

After the whole Azul situation, you knew better than to believe that anyone at this school would want to help just to help. Rook’s grin widened at your question. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.

“You’re quite intelligent, Trickster.” His hand went up to fiddle with the tip of his hat.

“In return for my help, I request unrestricted access to every room in Ramshackle.”

Out of all the things you were preparing to hear, you definitely did not expect that. For a moment you just stared at him before blinking in surprise. “Every room in Ramshackle? That’s it?”

Rook cheerily nodded. You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicion clear in your gaze.

“… Can I ask why?”

The vice housewarden laughed at the question. Unexpectedly, he gave you a light pat on the head. “Why? Why, because your little dorm is absolutely fascinating!”

Your eyes travel towards the living room; a dinky, little couch paired with a barely working TV and half broken table. A few rats in the corners chewed at the walls. Spider webs were hidden all throughout the place. You moved to sit on the couch, only for it to let out an embarrassingly loud squeak before a small spring flung out from the bottom.

"Fascinating is one way to put it..." You gave him a nervous smile which was returned with Rook's enthusiastic grin. He stared at you expectingly, making you shift in your seat. At least he didn't seem repulsed by the state of Ramshackle?

Having the help of Pomefiore's vice housewarden would certainly give you the best shot at satisfying Vil. Not to mention that another pair of hands would overall make everything easier...

"Sure. I don't see why not."

Rook's eyes lit up at your words. In the blink of an eye, you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug. Somehow it was just as suffocating, if not more, as Floyd's embraces. "Oh, merci! I promise this arrangement will spur no regret within you!"

You patted him on the back, letting out a small squeak. "Y-Yeah that's awesome, Rook. Could you let me go now?"

.

.

You were starting to regret this.

The next morning you awoke to a flash of sunlight on your face. "Ugh, Grim. Keep the curtains closed..." You grumbled, squirming in bed to find a spot where the sun wasn't directly on you.

Abruptly, the comfy blankets that kept you warm were ripped off of you in an instant. A cold breeze swiftly hit your body all at once.

"Grim!—" "Bonjour!"

You never sat up on your bed faster than now. Unfortunately, you were met with the dreadful sight of Rook standing at your window. He held the curtains open with that bright smile of his.

Right. You gave him unrestricted access.

"Rook?! Where's Grim?" Your head frantically searched around the room. The blonde man in your room seemed way too calm compared to you.

"I sent Monsieur Peluche on a... supply run. He shall be back shortly!" Before he could ask anymore questions— such as 'What the hell do you mean by supply run??'— Rook grabbed your arm and yanked you out of bed.

"Rise, Trickster! You mustn't sleep in! Up, up, up!" You groaned, trying to wiggle your arm out of his grasp.

This was going to be a long day.

Rook left your room, giving you privacy as you got ready for the day. Walking downstairs, you were surprised to see a plethora of cleaning supplies laid out on the living room table. A variety of different sprays, towels, dusters, mops, and brooms were sprawled out beside a tired-looking Grim.

You'd never seen so many cleaning items in your life. You had gotten accustomed to an old mop and bucket for most of your troubles. Maybe a spray bottle if you were feeling spicy.

"Oh là là! You did not disappoint, Monsieur Peluche!" Rook emerged from the kitchen, moving to stand next to you. Grim shot the blonde a dirty glare.

"Not like I had a choice! I just didn't want to get—" "We should get started! Ramshackle isn't going to clean itself!"

You couldn't help but giggle at Grim's misery. You'd repay him with a tuna can for his work later anyways.

It was refreshing to have another pair of helping hands, especially one that worked so fast. You were on dusting duty while Rook sprayed down the shelves and Grim mopped.

The ghosts peeked out, not expecting so much activity so early in the morning. Swiftly spotting them, Rook shot them a smile and wave. Though they were hesitant, they returned the favor.

There was one cobweb on the stairs you struggled to get. It was underneath one of the higher steps. A part of you told you to just leave it. Not like anyone would be checking under there anyways, right?

A bigger part of you told you that Vil would kill you if he saw a spider on the stairs. With a sigh, you glanced towards Grim and Rook.

"Hey, is there a stool or something I could stand on?" The two both turned to face you at those words. Grim gave you a lazy shrug before going back to mopping. Great help, truly.

Rook let out a small hum. "What for, Trickster? Are you planning something?" You couldn't help the small chuckle that left your throat at his question.

"Just trying to reach a cobweb. Does that count as 'planning something'?" Rook's smile widens as he laughs.

"Perhaps. Though, your plan is less devious than I had originally thought."

The banter is amusing, but the dust is starting to get to you. Your nose is practically killing you. Glancing around, you sigh at the lack of things to stand on. "It's fine I guess. I'll just grab a chair from the kitchen—!"

Suddenly, you feel a pair of arms on your waist. In the blink of an eye, Rook hoists you onto his shoulders like you weigh nothing. "Can you reach now?" His voice is way too innocent when compared to his actions. You didn't even hear him approach.

The added height was disorienting for a bit but you were quick to snap out of it as you were now face to face with the web. "Oh, uh— Yeah. I can."

Your voice is just a murmur as the feeling of Rook lightly squeezing your thighs with his hands sends a shiver throughout your body. You try to ignore it as you lean forward, swiftly swiping the web with your duster.

"Done! Could you put me down now?"

Rook gives your thighs another light squeeze as he shakes his head. "Surely there are other spots you cannot reach, Trickster. Allow me to accompany you until you finish them all."

Well, he wasn't wrong. There were spots you left dirty; telling yourself you'd come back to it later. It seemed like later was now. "... Alright then. To the kitchen!"

You'd continue to point in a direction for Rook to walk in so you could clean the harder to reach spots. The French man was more than happy to oblige, claiming that carrying you was an easy feat.

"How'd you get so strong anyways? I don't exactly see you training often." You mindlessly mused, swiping away dust from a closet corner.

"Oh là là, a curious one, aren't you?"

You shrug at his words, continuing to clean. It wasn't a question you expected an answer to. However, Rook caught you off guard when he spoke once more.

"I was in Savanaclaw prior to Pomfiore. Ask you may know, the king of beasts' dorm has a heavy emphasis on physical strength."

Your cleaning came to a halt as you glanced down at him, wide eyed.

"You were in Savanaclaw!?"

Rook laughed at your reaction, looking up at you.

"You're not the only one filled with surprises~"

.

.

Your wrist started to ache from mopping the floor for so long. Another day, another area to clean. This time it was the upstairs. You handled the hallways, mopping and drying every piece of wood.

It was taxing, but it had to be done. Grim had been complaining nonstop about his arm hurting, so you decided to take over mopping duty.

Rook was busy cleaning the doors. You could hear him spraying them down from a distance. With Grim's "hurt" arm, Rook had assigned him the responsibility of gathering any trash build up throughout the dorm.

Overall, it was a rather quiet day with each of you working diligently. Besides maybe Grim who got distracted by a rat in the trash.

"Trickster?"

You turned around at the familiar voice, already knowing who it was. He stood there, towel and spray in hand as he looked at you expectingly. You titled your head in confusion.

"Do you need something...?"

Rook laughed. "It seems as though you need something, Trickster. Look at your bucket."

Frustratingly enough, he was right. Your water and soap bucket was running low. "... More would be nice please." You murmured.

He looked satisfied, giving you a nod. "As I suspected. I'll be back shortly, Mon Amour."

You chuckled at the nickname, watching him move downstairs. Once he returned, he carried a huge container filled with the liquid for the mop. Despite you telling him that you could pour it yourself, he insisted on doing it. As he did, you decided to question him a bit.

"So... Mon Amour, huh? Where'd that come from?"

He glanced up at you, attempting to gauge your reaction to the name. "Ah, it just slipped. Why the question? Do you not like it, my dearest Trickster?"

You shrugged, watching the water and soap mix fall into the bucket.

"I'm neutral. Leaning towards disliking."

Rook let out an entertained chuckle. "Why the hostility?"

"I dunno. Just reminds me of those cheesy love novels. You know, the ones that try to be romantic but end up being barf worthy?"

He raised a brow at your comment, filling the bucket up to the brim before stopping. "I can't say I do. Is that something from your world?"

The mention of your original world made you pause. You fidgeted with the mop in your hands.

"Well— Maybe? I just assumed those kind of novels were universal. But I guess I haven't seen any of those books in Twisted Wonderland. There's definitely a chance this world just has better literature than mine." The thought makes you chuckle a bit. It seems like it also amused Rook too.

"If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me about some of those novels from your world? I'd like to better understand where you came from."

With that, you ended up going on a bit of a tangent about the books from your world. Whether or not you were an avid reader didn't matter, your world definitely had some notable and awful books.

Then the conversation moved from books to movies. Rook was quite the film nerd— explaining his semi-obsession with Vil. He listened intently as you talked and talked.

Then it went from movies to your family. He listened as you recalled what your home life was and how it made you the person you are today. In a way, it felt kinda therapeutic.

You never really took Rook for a good listener considering he was often the one going on tangents. However, with the roles flipped, you confided with Rook about things you haven't even told Grim.

Not much cleaning got done that night. But Rook gave you a rub on the back and told you how truly fascinating you were.

For some reason, it felt comforting to know someone thought of you that way.

.

.

The days where they would move into the VDC came closer and closer.

With Rook's help, the entire downstairs was squeaky clean. If you didn't do some of the cleaning yourself, you'd think it was done by a professional maid.

Ramshackle had never looked better. The ghosts gave small nods of approval as you passed them.

The upstairs was pretty much clean. All the hallways shimmered and shined. Rook even took the liberty to add a few nice vases and paintings.

You were weary— Grim had an awful tendency of breaking nice things— but Rook had looked so eager to add them it was hard to refuse.

You still weren't sure what Rook gained from having unrestricted access to Ramshackle. He's looked through some of your boxes and photo albums, but they weren't anything special. Just a few polaroids of you with Grim or some of the other first years.

At the corner of your eye you might've spotted Rook pocketing a few of the pictures.

You didn't call him out on it.

It doesn't bother you anymore. The fact he could go anywhere in your house creeped you out at first, but you started to get used to it.

He became somewhat of a roommate to you; appearing at different spots of the house. You even started to find some of his stuff lying around.

Notably, he left his violet, Pomfiore robe folded on top of your room drawer…

Your impulse control could use some work with the way you immediately grabbed it to try it on.

It was mere curiosity! Ramshackle didn't have any fancy dorm uniform and you wanted to see how it'd feel wearing one!

"Trickster, are you ready to begin another day—" Rook opened the door to your room, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him.

A wide grin soon appeared on his face. He stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe. "Beauté~"

Embarrassed at getting caught, you swiftly tug off the robe and hand it back to him. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you give him a sorry smile.

"Uh—! I... don't know why I did that. Sorry! Just... wanted to try it I guess."

Your stuttering only seemed to add onto his amusement. He shook his head as he took the robe from your hands. Surprisingly, he wrapped it back around your shoulders.

"Non non. It suits you well."

Rook gives you a pat on the head, his fingers running through your hair.

“We still have the bedrooms to clean. They move in tomorrow. Don’t get distracted now, Mon Amour~”

Something about the way he said that nickname now felt... different. More intimate. It kinda makes your brain malfunction but you try not to think too hard about it.

Rook was right. They moved in tomorrow. You had to make sure it was ready for them. Ready for Vil. No time to get distracted by Rook.

With a nod, you and Rook grab the supplies and start immediately. Grim left to tag along with some scheme Ruggie had going on, so today it was just the two of you.

While you cleaned one room, Rook did the other. There were four guest rooms, leaving an even two and two for each of you to do.

The ghosts would appear and disappear sporadically, so you never really knew when they were going to be here to help.

They also had quite the rebellious streak. Something you'd learn firsthand. Multiple times.

As you fixed the sheets on one of the beds, smoothening it out, one of the ghosts abruptly appeared from the headrest. They lunged toward you, arms out. Naturally, you screamed because what the hell.

The ghost laughed at your reaction, floating behind you as you groaned. "Really? Was that necessary?"

With a shrug, the ghost circled around you. You sighed.

"You think you could move the boxes out of here and into the storage room? I'm almost done cleaning." The ghost complied, bringing down a few of the boxes in no time.

"What's going on between you and the huntsman?" A meek voice asked from beneath the bed. Another ghost. Seemed like they were hiding all over this bed today. You shook your head.

"Nothing. I consider him a good friend? He's helped me a lot these past days."

The ghost moving the boxes let out a huff as they delivered the last one. "He sure is gettin' comfy here."

You shrugged, fluffing the pillows. "It was part of our deal so that doesn't really bug me."

Moving from out under the bed, the shy ghost tilted their head at you. "Is that the reason you don't mind? Or something else?"

That causes you to pause, raising a brow as you registered the ghost's words.

"... What're you trying to say?" "Nothing. Just word for thought."

.

.

"That was the last room! We're officially done! Yes!"

You excitedly announced as you and Rook walked down the stairs. Plopping down on the couch stomach first, you let out a sigh mixed with relief and exhaustion. Rook let out an amused laugh, taking a seat beside you.

"Indeed, Trickster. I'm sure Roi du Posion will be pleased once he sees how far your humble abode has come."

You roll onto your back, glancing towards the blonde with a smile.

"Thanks for all the help... Really. I couldn't have done it without you."

Rook waved his hand, returning your smile with his own.

"Non non! It was my pleasure. I've learned plenty about Ramshackle, Grim, and you, my dearest Trickster~! It was time well spent."

In your defense, you were tired and not really thinking straight. You didn't register the comment till it slipped from your lips.

"Aw, no more Mon Amour? Darn. I'll miss it."

Rook paused, raising a brow. Realizing what you just said, you let out a groan and hid your face in one of the couch pillows.

"... I didn't mean it like that—" "Then what did you mean?"

He leaned closer to you, his grin widening. Rook had you like a cornered animal. And he loved it.

"Just... Uh..." Think, Prefect, think!

"I like the way you say it is all?"

Rook nodded, his hand brushing over yours. "I see. You enjoy my voice then? Merci."

Of course he had to find a way to still make it embarrassing. Another groan escaped your lips. You shifted on the couch so that your back was facing Rook. He found this amusing.

"Merveilleux, Trickster. You continue to be simply amazing. Truly. I'll dearly miss this once the VDC concludes."

That had you perking up. Oh, yeah. With the VDC coming and ending, you won't be around Rook all the time anymore. The thought saddened you a bit.

For as obnoxious as he could be sometimes... you've grown to like his presence.

You sit up, the pillow now in your lap as you glance towards Rook.

"Feel free to stop by Ramshackle whenever you like! I seriously owe you for everything you've done. Maybe someday I'll come over and help around Pomefiore?"

He glanced out the window, considering your words with a small hum. His hand brushed against yours. Except this time, he let it linger.

"I'd like that, Mon Amour."

[vaamppiraa]

BUCKY BARNES x LIBRARIAN!READER ๋࣭ ⭑

when you and bucky first met. pure fluff.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

۶ৎ “just this one?” your voice chimed out softly, sweetly. always sweet, you were. you’ve been working at this library for around three weeks now, and you absolutely loved it. you were always a big reader, you had giant bookcases at your apartment that you always actively added to- even though you could read any book you wanted for free at your job, you always wanted them for yourself.

you finished checking the woman’s book out, it was some random dark romance one, one that had to be trending online since you’ve been sold out of this book for months now, barley got a restock, and now you were almost out again. you then noted that you had no more customers, so you pulled out your laptop, figuring you’d work on some job applications. you didn’t go to college to be a nurse for nothing.

while you were distracted, bucky had entered the library. he hadn’t ever even stepped foot in a damn library once in his hundred years of living- and yet here he was, because nat wanted a book but was to busy to get it herself.

the man sighed as he began looking through the aisles, running a hand through his hair with his flesh hand as he tried to find books with similar genres, that way it would be easier to find that exact one. though when he reached the fifth book shelf, he gave up and decided he’d just go ask for help from the worker up front, who he assumed would be a grumpy old lady or a sweet old man.

he didn’t expect you.

the second he saw you it was like the air was sucked from his body. you were just sitting there with your hair down, your face illuminated from the tv screen, and yet you were the most gorgeous person that he’s seen. and that was saying a lot.

he almost felt… nervous. he hadn’t felt nervous to talk to someone in damn centuries, and here he was hesitating to make his presence known to you. he knew you’d probably know him, that’s what came with being an avenger who was constantly out and about fighting weird species, but he still found himself reaching up to roll down his sweatshirts sleeve to hide his metal arm. he didn’t want to scare you away from him.

eventually, he grew a pair and walked up to the front desk, clearing his throat when you didn’t hear him approach. your head shot up, your eyes wide as you quickly scrambled to shut your laptop. your eyes almost made his knees weak. “sorry, i was completely zoned out right now” you said with an awkward laugh, a laugh that made his lips almost automatically turn up into a smile for a split second. “no worries doll” he spoke back, his voice gruff.

“did you need help with anything?” you asked sweetly, to which he hesitated for a second before clearing his throat. you didn’t recognize him. you didn’t know who he was. “yeah, i’m trying to find a book for my friend, it’s called uhm..” he spoke, losing his train of thought with the way you were looking at him. “one second, sorry” he said, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone to open his text thread with natalie, rereading the title she had sent. “pride and prejudice” he spoke up after a moment.

he watched as you let out a soft ‘ah’ as you nodded, standing up from your chair. he almost grunted seeing how short you were compared to him. he turned, following you as you guided him to where the book would be. he almost forgot what he was looking for again, focused on the way your hair swayed with every step you took, the way you hummed as you walked like there wasn’t anything bad in this world.

“here it is” you spoke up, sliding the book off the shelf as you turned to him, holding it out to him with a smile. “i can ring you up at the front” you said. his hand reached out to take it from you, and as he did his fingers brushed along yours, and it immediately felt like his hand was holding active fireworks.

he took a moment to breathe when you walked away, his metal hand reaching up to clench the book shelf as he ducked in’s. breath. he’s never felt this way before. he didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him, why he was suddenly feeling all weak and like he wanted to just feel what you’d feel like pressed against him.

bucky turned around, following you before it got concerning that he wasn’t automatically behind her. he approached the front desk, sliding the book on to the desk as he looked down at you as you typed into your computer. “that’ll be thirteen dollars” you chimed out softly, watching him as he pulled out his card. he almost wanted to tell you take it all, take every last dime in his damn bank account if it meant he could see you again. you watched as he tapped his card against the reader, watching as it chimed that it was approved before watching as you printed out the receipt and slid it into a bag alongside his book.

“here you go” you said softly as you held out the bag. he smiled at the bag, and at you as he took it away from you. you thought that would be the end of things, especially when he turned around and began to walk away, but you hesitated when he suddenly stopped, stopped like he had an idea.

“actually, one more thing” he spoke, turning around again to come back to the desk you were standing behind. “are you seeing anyone?” he questioned. he seemed confident to you, but to him he was literally cringing at the way he sounded, but he kept it going. you felt a smile raise up onto your lips, a soft laugh leaving your lips, gracing his ears. “no, i’m not. why?” you responded, your hands going onto the edges of the desk as you leaned against it. “well, i was wondering if i could have your number then. maybe take you out for dinner, if you’d like” he offered, watching as your lips raised even higher, a slight blush creeping up your face at his question, it was clear as day you were shy. “yeah, sure” you responded, tipping off a piece of paper from a sticky note pad, scribbling down your number as well as your name.

“amazing, thanks doll” bucky responded, happily taking the note from you and sliding it into his pocket, making sure he’d be able to keep it safe. “keep that safe” you chided out, smiling up at him. that smile. god he could get use to seeing that. “i’ll keep it safer than anything else” he responded, smiling down at you as he tapped on the table a couple times, giving you a once over before he turned back around, this time actually heading out to leave.

written by vampira - do not steal or claim as your own <3

[lilhughesy]

hi guys!! i just wanted to say that i will be taking a break from writing for a little bit here on tumblr (which includes media mondays, gc leaked!, soaa etc etc). i mentioned it a few days ago that a break is coming and i think its gonna start a bit sooner than i expected it to! i’m going on a trip for two-ish weeks with my friends and family and i dont plan on writing or posting anything during that time. i also think ive hit a small writers block recently (considering how hard it was for me to finish my most recent luke fic lol) and im just gonna take the vacation time to take a small step back and reset from writing! i was planning to write a whole bunch and have things queued prior to my vacation, but things don’t always work out and i never got around to writing all of that oops! i’m sorry too for saying that gc leaked would be back the second i posted the luke fic but i also ran out of time to write that too lol i guess that soaa luke fic is almost like a mid-series marker for the umich au and it’s going on a mini break before getting into the second half of the series (don’t mark my words on this yet lol I haven’t decided anything!!!)

but yeah! that’s all i wanted to say, i might still be lingering here on tumblr but if not, i guess i’ll talk to you all in two weeks!🫂💝💓🫶😽

love love you alllll so much!!

💌 hallie

edit: my inbox asks will still be open the entire time and i will try my best to talk to u guys ☺️

[shalottoflady]

*cruising the acotar critical tag*

*screeches to a halt*

*lowers sunglasses*

OMG YES

Like I’m not at all surprised that SJM didn’t address this in canon because Feyre/the NC/the IC can do no wrong, why would they ever be self aware or held accountable ever, so that’s par for the course.

But this is legit the first time I’ve EVER seen it brought up in the fandom discourse. Or, if it has come up, I just haven’t seen it.

It was legit all I could think about after I’d finished acotar and was partway through acomaf. Like Amarantha’s Whole Thing was that humans don’t know real or true love, humans are incapable of love because human affection is fickle and inconstant, right?

And here comes still-human Feyre, so full of love for Tamlin that she not only returns to the Fae lands after specifically being told not to (very on brand for Feyre, let’s be real), but she is deadass wiling to go Under the Mountain just to try and save him, and she actually does. She does the damn thing! She literally goes there, enduring months of pain, horror, torture and humiliation just to try and save the man she loves!

And you’re telling me after all of that, she decides, ‘Mmm, nah, I never loved him actually, I love this guy instead.’

Like?????

Miss Ma’am!!!

I get that you very understandably have The Trauma, and both you and Timtam have been doing a poor job of handling it, i.e., not handling at all.

But that shouldn’t negate your feelings for him, this man you risked your life and literally died for.

Thinking you’re ‘not good enough’ for Tamlin because you killed faeries, but then Riceman shows up and you are apparently not only now Good Enough for him (despite the murdering faeries, which you definitely still did) but he’s now a Perfect Romantic Partner and the Best Guy Ever OMG So Much Better Than Tamlin Eewwww!

I cannot believe there weren’t tongues ‘a waggin’ in The Spring Court about this exact thing.

‘Wasn’t that the girl who broke the curse because of how much she loved Tamlin?’

‘Yeah, she’s in the Night Court now. She’s married to the High Lord. She became his mate.’

‘…she what now.’

Like I know she’s a fae now, but that sure seems like that type of changeable, fickle, inconstant human love from where I’m standing.

remember when the first acotar book was about the power of love especially from a human heart for a cursed faerie and then it gets undone within the span of like a quarter of a book because SJM decided go switch abusers I mean love interests for her FMC with a human heart making Amaranthas point of fickle humanity

[matt0bsessed]

oh, fuck it - C.S.

warnings: dom!chris??, public, reader is slightly older than the triplets, basically just some makeout scenes (I apologize🙏)

you are on your way to meet your new clients

3 triplet brothers who recently had some disagreements with their manager,

which is why they decided to look for another person to do the job,

so they reached out to you.

You didn’t have lots of clients yet, but the ones you did have were always pleased with your work.

You thought keeping it professional was easy…

until you laid eyes on him.

As you walked through the front door of a large building, where apparently everything about their career is managed and where you were going to have your first meeting…

you saw him, waiting at the entrance.

As you make your way over to him, he finally lifts his gaze and gives you a friendly smile.

You almost didn’t notice it, completely blinded by his looks…

and there were going to be three of him?

„You must be, ms. y/l/n! I’m Chris it’s so nice to finally meet you.“

he says with a smile, though there is something different lurking in his voice that you couldn’t quite name..

„please, call me y/n. I’m sure we will have a great time!“ I give him a small smile as well, trying to hide my nervousness.

„come on, I’ll show you the way to our meeting room“ he gestures for you to follow him.

He leads you over to an elevator, which you where nowhere ready to enter.

Being in such a close space with chris made your uncertainty rise,

you’ve never felt that way, especially not with clients.

As you finally reached the top floor, you finally felt like you could properly breath again.

And when he lead you to the room where his brothers were sitting, you felt a weight fall off you shoulders.

They greeted you nicely, and just like chris they seemed like such friendly people.

As you all sat on the table, discussing future projects and collecting ideas for content,

your unease rose bit by bit.

You could practically feel Chris' eyes burning into your skin - the tension so thick you could probably cut it with a knife.

You try your hardest to keep your composure under Chris‘ eyes, but you couldn’t deny the relief you felt when it was finally time to wrap it up.

You and the triplets arrange another meeting and review today’s results,

and just as your about to leave..

nick, the oldest, speaks. „Chris, why don’t you walk her outside?“

you freeze as you silently curse at him in your head for even suggesting that.

But to, not much, of your surprise Chris gets up and holds open the door for you.

The walk to the elevator is silent, but the tension is undeniable.

He felt it to, he knew he was attracted to you..

more than that.

Chris was seriously trying his best to keep it together and not make out with you in this hallway.

When you both enter the elevator, still no words exchanged since the meeting…

chris finally snaps.

as soon as the doors closed he locked eyes with you, but they had a glint in them.

something darker, more lustful.

„oh, fuck it“

he says as he crashes his lips onto yours

Your body is pressed tightly against the wall as he pins you against it.

you were caught of guard,

but finally all that pent up tension was released.

You knew it was wrong, that you shouldn’t be doing this,

yet you still kissed him back.

Chris collects your hands at your sides and pins them above you,

eliciting a whimper to escape you.

He obviously caught onto that and with a smirk on his face he pulled back just enough so you could still feel his warm breath against your mouth.

„wanted this just as much as I did hm?“ chris whispers as he connects his lips with yours once again, rougher this time.

You whine against his mouth, agreeing with him.

Your surroundings long forgotten as you take in the feeling of his lips against yours.

Chris smirks as he feels you squirm beneath him „So eager…“ he mumbles against your skin

His kisses now trail down to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin roughly.

You hum in approval as he works his mouth on you, your head tilted back and eyes closed.

And just when it couldn’t get any better, the door opened.

You and Chris immediately stand up straight, collecting yourselves before stepping out of the elevator.

Without a word he walks you over to the exit.

The scene that just played in front of you replaying in your head over and over again.

he leans in close to your ear, making a shiver run down you spine as he whispers in your ear.

„See you soon, y/n“ he says teasingly.

„See you soon, Christopher“ you answer, giving him one last smile before walking over to your car.

authors note: sorry for being so inactive!! I’ve been so busy and life just been a lot but I wanted to give y’all this at least😭 Tysm for 180+ votes and here’s the dom!chris fic I had in mind! Ik it’s not THAT dom and not THAT smutty but I wanted to include the elevator pic of chris lol…An actual dom fic out soon, I promiseee!Anyways, what are y’all opinions on Chris’s new haircut bcs I’m going FERAL!

stay freaky, 🍒!

(kinda)taglist: @courta13 @lyingonchris @conspiracy-ash