#stone is... reconsidering some things

[technically-human]

Cured!

[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[alwaysanangelneverag0d]

~Fast Break to your heart~Pazzi AU

NWSL Paige x WNBA Azzi

a/n:im so sorry for the wait yall!!!i have a very busy life outside of writing😭😭😭.This is my favourite thing thing ive written on here so far.Also will probably have a song that inspired every chapter at the top.

wc:5.2k(Chapter 4’s gonna be long. This one is more of an important but shorter chapter)

masterlist

Chapter 3:Olive branch

June 2026

For the past three weeks, Azzi had been swallowed whole by the season—and endless stringz of games, both home and away, that had left her exhausted to think about anything but basketball. Her schedule had become a blurred mess of early practices, flights, post-game ice baths, and sponsor obligations that she met with tired eyes and sore limbs. Lately she had barely spent more then a day or two in her own bed. The walls of her apartment began to become a checkpoint more then a home. Only adding to the feeling of this city not being home. And tonight was no exception

She had traded her sneakers for heels this evening. The event was a charity gala held in some swanky hotel —a fundraiser for underfunded girls and women’s youth sport programs across California, something that should’ve lit a fire in her. Giving back to the next generation of kids like her was one of the few things that tugged at her heart strings outside of basketball. But tonight instead of anticipation, she felt a low thrumming dread stirring inside her stomach. Because it wasn’t just the Sparks in attendance. Angel City FC would be there too. Paige’s team

Three weeks ago, Azzi had left Paige on read. She could still feel the quiet shame of it nestled somewhere inbetween her stomach and collarbone. That night in May she had been embrassingly stone-cold sober when she texted her. It was a simple message. Nothing overt. But maybe a little too on the edge of being flirtatious. Then Paige responded. And something inside her clicked back into place, snapped tight like a defensive switch. Paige Bueckers was the exact type of distraction Azzi had spent her entire adult life avoiding. So she did the only thing she knew how to do best: shut the door. Left the message unanswered and opened. Pretended it never happened.

To her own relief—Paige didn’t reach out after that.

And yet somehow she still remained in Azzi’s mind. Not entirely. Not in a loud obnoxious way that made her lose focus—but in quiet moments in bouncing echoes. In the lull of plane rides. In the space between reps. In the minutes before sleep overtook her. Paige lingered. She haunted the peripherals of Azzi’s discipline.

It was absurd. Paige was just a woman. A very attractive, widely rumoured, undeniably captivating woman. Someone Azzi didn’t know and hopefully would never know. But that first night they had met at the soccer pitch she had felt something that stuck.Leaving her on read had been an act of self preservation. A full stop. But it didn’t work like she had expected it to. It didn’t erase anything. It only pushed the thoughts deeper into the depths of her skull,where they buzzed low and constant, yearning to be reconsidered.

Paige Bueckers was annoyingly unforgettable. Like temptation in a stained glass chapel—something beautiful you weren’t supposed to reach for, but still found yourself praying about.

And Azzi Fudd didn’t pray for things like that.

But here she was. Headed to a gala where she might have to see her again.

She stood in front of the mirror, arms folded tightly across her chest,eyes tracing the reflection that stared back. The sleek black dress clung to her in all the right places—elegant but understated, just enough formality for the evening. She let our a slow grounding breath and ran her palms alomg the fabric, smoothing out a set of stubborn wrinkles near her hip. It wasn’t her thing—any of this. The dress, the gala, the delicate jewelry Rickea had talked her into wearing. But she looked amazing. Presentable. Composed

She’d decided hours ago to stay sober tonight. No bubbly champange or whatever other fancy liquor the venue supplied. No loosened limbs and scribbled thoughts. She wanted to be sharp. She told herself i was about professionalism, about representing her team well at an important high profile event. Though, the truth nestled deeper then that. The truth was she needed to keep her head on straight. Clear-blooded and deliberate, no haze to give her any feelings any room to grow wild. No excuses to look across the room and find her.

There was too much expectations to prove this season. Too much at stake this early in her career.

From down the hall,she coukd hear Rickea’s voice rising, teasing someone, her distinct laughter echoing across the walls of the hotel suite they had all gotten ready in. A minute later the door creaked open,and Rickea appeared in her heels and smokey eyeliner, nodding in approval at Azzi’s outfit.

“You clean up alright rookie.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, lips twitching into a smirk. Behind Rickea, two of her teamates—Rae and Dearica. They followed in a flurry of perfume and clicking heels. Together the four of them stepped out into the hall, preparing to soon be paraded in front of donors and cameras for the headlines.

Azzi swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and moved forward.

Control yourself.

——————————————————————

The ballroom glittered in warm golds and soft creams, like something plucked out of a magazine spread—too pristine, too perfect, too much. Chandeliers hung like frozen rain above the room, catching every flicker of light and reflecting it actoss the walls. The air buzzed with polished laughter and the faint hum of a live jazz quaret in the corner. Waiters in black vests weavedthrough the crowd, balancing trays of champagne glasses and food that looked far too delicate to eat.

Azzi moved through it all like she was outside of her body. Composed. Shoulders back. Smiling at the right times, laughing at dry jokes.

She had lost track of her teammates about an hour ago. The four of them had entered together—Rickea in the lead, always a natural in public spaces. But somewhere inbetween the check in, speeches, and the second round of champange they had scattered. Azzi had seen Rae flirting with someone near the silent suction display and Dearica was laughing too loudly at some executives' jokes. She had stuck by Cam’s side most of the night but had eventually lost her as well. Now Cam was in deep conversation with a tall man in a tailored navy suit who looked like the kind of person with “Dr.” in front of his name and a golf course named after his family

Azzi lingered near one of the empty tables, idly sipping her carbonated water,eyes skimming across the room. Everyone looked so at ease, so polished. Like they belonged here. She tugged at the hem of her dress, skin itching underneath the fabric.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Only that she hadn’t seen her yet. She had even seen some of Paige’s teamates. But no Paige

And she wasn’t sure if that was a relief…or a quiet disappointment.

Then her eyes shifted to a corner she hadn’t looked yet—to the one person she attempted to not look for.

And there she was. Tucked into a space on the other side of the room.

Paige.

In a loose black suit,no tie, collar open, hair down in curly waves. Laughing with someone Azzi didn’t recognize—some blonde photographer with an over-polished smile and perfectly manicured hands that were now casually resting on Paige’s forearm.

She blinked once. Then again.

The woman said something that made Paige laugh. That laugh—lazy and low, like she was trying to act like nothing affected her. A laugh Azzi hadn’t been the one provoking. It made her grip on her glass tighten.

Cute.

Guess that’s what Paige is into.Charming,obvious,and conveniently already halfway into her lap

Azzi shifted her weight and forced herself to look somewhere—anywhere—else.

But she couldn’t help it

Her eyes couldn’t help it, pulled like gravity to the way the woman leaned closer and the way Paige leaned away. She did it subtly—not showing interest in the woman, yet still remaining polite

Azzi caught that.

And she hated that she caught it

Because now her jealousy wasn’t clear—it was sharp edged.It wasn’t just that Paige was flirting with someone at the gala

It was a question :Why isn’t she interested?

The woman was beautiful.Someone Paige wouldn’t take a second thought to get into bed. Yet she continued to pull back from the woman. Smiling, but it was one that didn’t reach her eyes. Fabricated. Not like the smile Azzi had seen in that Stanford team photo.

Azzi looked away,shaking her head in attempt to rattle the thoughts loose from her brain.

Cam was most definitely right. Paige is a player. Or maybe she isn’t anymore. Or maybe she’s just…selective of the women she brings into bed? Or maybe i need to stop watching her like she’s mine to figure out..

Azzi took another sip. Bubbles not even bitter like alcohol, but still clawing deep in her throat.

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But her body was already moving—heels clicking a a little too sharply across the floor as she made a beeline for the exit. She needed air. She need space. The kind that didn’t come with forced laughter and champange flutes and Paige Bueckers standing a few feet away, laughing at something that probably wasn’t even that funny.

She didn’t let herself look,not really. Just kept her gaze pinned forward, past the curve of Paige’s shoulder, past the sudden rush of heat toward her own neck, and toward the stairwell tucked near the end or the corridor.

————————————————————————

The rooftop sat just one floor above the gala, but it felt like an entirely different world entirely. Empty. Peaceful. The air was cooler up here—brushed with a hush that made her feel like maybe, just maybe she could finally breathe again.

Azzi leaned against the stone railing,one hand still clutching her half finished water.

She stared out over the city lights gleaming in the dark night sky.Jaw tight

I need to stop

Seriously i need to stop acting like I care.

The woman back inside had been Paige’s type right?? Polished, outgoing, willing to do anything for one night with Paige.

But Paige hadn’t leaned in. She had leaned back

The heat in her chest still hadn’t cooled. If anything she was simmering in it now that she was alone.

God what the hell is wrong with me

I left her on read. Buried it beneath everything.I have a goal to focus on. Basketball. Real pressure. Real expectations. Whatever this simmering was—-it’s a distraction. A distraction I can’t afford

And yet….there was a look in Paige’s eyes.Not the fake warmth she saw Paige giving others at the gala.This one was different.Controlled,yes.But exhausted. Buried under the surface.

She did not want to be talking to that woman.

Azzi saw that clear as day.She tippped her head back and let the edges of cold nip at her jaw.

Why do i care?

She rubbed her thumb against the side of the glass.

I dont want her.She will only confirm what I think of people.

But Paige doesn’t fit into the boxes I keep trying to shove her in.

And that—it scared her more then anything had in years.

She couldn’t have been out there for more than five minutes.

Just enough time for the chill of the wind to bite at her shoulders. Just enough time for her breath to even out, though her thoughts still rumbled underneath the surface.

Then—-

A soft click. The door behind her creaked open, careful and slow.

Azzi didn’t turn.

She didn’t have to.

Azzi felt the shift in the air before she even hesrd the footsteps. A subtle change in atmosphere, like the tension was shifting the second someone you’re trying your hardest not to think about waltzes in. Paige didn’t say anything at first—no casual greeting, no teasing remark to disarm her like Azzi expected. Just the soft thud of a door easing shut and the sound of her moving across the rooftop.

Then stillness. The kind of silence that said: I know you noticed me, and i’m not going anywhere.

Paige settled near the railing, a few feet away, not close enough to be imposing. Not far enough to be ignorable. Like she was leaving space for Azzi to breathe—but still choosing to be near her anyway.

Neither of them spoke. The LA skyline blinked back at them, indifferent and sprawling, the kind of view that made Azzi disappear into her own thoughts.

But she couldn’t disappear. Not with Paige there

“You good?”

Her voice was low. Tentative. Cautious, like she meant it—like she wasn’t just asking out of kindness.

Azzi let the question sit for a moment, not sure if she wanted to answer it truthfully.

“Just needed air“ she said finally, voice even.

Paige didn’t press. She just nodded, eyes fixed towards the nothingness in the distance.

“I get that” she murmured.

There was another small pause before Paige let out a breath, shifting her weight.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Crossed a line with the DM’s or something.”

Azzi shook her head—firm.

“You didn’t cross a line” A beat—Then dryly “I’m simply just not interested in being one of your flings Paige.”

Paige blinked, startled by the abrupt honesty.

“That wasn’t my intent,” her tone was firm and controlled now. ”I just wanted to get to know you…thats all.”

“When you liked that post from three years ago—and messaged me back I figured the feeling was mutual.” She gave a faint yet nervous shrug.

“But if i read that wrong, that’s on me”

Azzi looked towards the skyline—lips pressed into something unreadable.

“When I liked your post” she began, fingers skimming the edge of her glass.“I was….looking for something in you.”

The words came soft, almost ashamed to exist in the open air.

“Something that made you more than the version I’d heard about”

She paused letting her gaze follow the distant headlights of a car crawling through the streets below.

“You seem like someone who's bothered by nothing. Someone who doesn’t crack under pressure. I guess I wanted to see if there was anything real underneath that.”

Paige turned to look at her—really looked at her. With blue eyes that were enough to make Azzi feel weak. And smiled

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

It wasn’t a cocky smile. It was curious. And paired with a look that hit Azzi low in the gut—piercing, like she was being studied and seen all at once.

Azzi felt her throat go dry.

In that moment, she didn’t have a clear cut answer. She just shrugged, voice dropping into something small. “I don’t know,” she muttered, more embarrassed by her striking honesty than she had expected.

Somewhere inbetween the space between truth and quiet, they’d moved closer without realizing it. Shoulders nearly brushing. Azzi could feel the heat off Paige’s body this close—could smell her.

A sharp-spice perfume. Not overly feminine, not too masculine. Just… specific. Clean. Edged with something soft and dangerously sweet—vanilla burned at the edges. Made her want to breathe it in like it meant something

She didn’t.

She stayed still. Like touching the moment might set it ablaze.

A silence fell again. Not awkward. But charged. The kind of silence where something could happen if either of them let it.

The city between them murmured along—distant tires against pavement, the hum of a plane overhead.

Then Paige cut through the stillness, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve heard things about you too”She glanced at Azzi, then stumbled over her words when she saw the confusion written on her face.

“God-uh not like bad things.” She chuckled, nervously rubbing her neck. ”Sorry I should have phrased that better.”

“Cam told me good things about you. That you’re kind…Focused. Compassionate”

She exhaled a little voice dipping. “That’s why your coldness threw me.”

Azzi gaze met her’s again—long enough to burn.

“I don’t keep many people close” she stated. Voice firm

And that was the truth.Maybe the truest thing she had uttered all night

She let the silence linger longer before continuing—words coming out slower now,like each one cost her something.

“I shouldn’t have left you on read.” She didn’t look at Paige when she said it. Just focused on the skyline like it was easier to confess to the city then the woman beside her.

“That wasn’t cool.” Azzi started her voice quiet now. “I just..”She exhaled, shaking her head,eyes fixed on a random light in the distance. “ I didn’t know what to do with the way you came across. I’d been hearing things about you for years—media stuff. That you were cold. Calculated.”

She flicked her eyes towards Paige’s again, studying her face in the low light.

“And then we actually met….you were cold. But only to me.”

There was no accusation in her tone—just quiet openness.

Paige nodded, lips tugging into a dry smile “Yeah. We weren’t exactly kind to each other,huh.”

Azzi bit back a smile and nodded—still reserved as ever “No we weren’t.”

A thick pause settled this time in the gap between conversation.

“To be crystal clear” Azzi said, voice sharpening. “I’m not looking for anything with anyone.”

The words were deliberate. Not cruel. Not mean. Just resolute. Immovable—carved with clear intention. The kind that didn’t make space for question.

“I’ve got too much riding on this year. I don’t want confusion, or feelings or…” She paused, pulling her lips together. “Anything that pulls focus. I’m here to play basketball. I’m here to live my dream. That’s it”

Finally she looked deep into Paige’s eyes. No flinch. No apoligizing.

“So whatever this was starting to be—It can’t be. But I could use a friend, if anything. That’s all I've got the room for.”

And just like that the door didn’t just close—but it was locked. Not from anger. Not from fear. Just the discipline of someone who’s learned to protect herself with silence and structure.

Something about it felt final.

Even if it didn’t feel finished.

Paige didn’t flinch at the shutdown. Didn’t push back. Just nodded slowly, accepting the words like they were gospel.

Her expression was unreadable

But her eyes lingered.

“I’m not trying to date you, Azzi”

Her tone wasn’t defensive. Just steady. Controlled in that Paige Bueckers way—but this time there was no smugness in it. Just quiet understanding

“I’m not trying to be anything you have to guard against.”

She looked down, then off to the side, jaw tightening as she chewed on her next thought.

“I’ve got my own shit going on too. I’m not out here trying to start something that makes either of us lose focus.”

Then—after a beat,

“I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all”

There was a shrug,casual but careful .Her voice softened—almost like she was trying to defuse something she hadn’t meant to light in the first place.

Then with a quiet exhale

“But I hear you. If you want to be friends that is all we will ever be.”

And Paige looked like she meant those words.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first.

She just stood there. Eyes fixed on a point beyond Paige’s shoulder, like if she looked directly into her infuriatingly gorgeous face, something might break.

Azzi expected defensiveness. Sarcasm. A cocky quip to brush it off. Something that showcased the player personality Cam and Rickea had so clearly described.

But Paige had taken it with complete understanding. No pushback.

Just with consideration….

And somehow that had made it worse. She was almost hoping Paige would be offended and leave her alone. But no. She wanted to be friends.

I told her I wasn’t looking for her anything.

So why does if feel like i took something away from her?

There was something disarming about how honest Paige had just been. Something unexpected. That soft, careful tone. The way she didn’t even flinch. The way she said I just wanted to talk to you like it actually mattered

Azzi forced her breathing to settle, composing herself

This is the right call.

I don’t have room for something like this

Even if part of me wanted to know what she meant when she said she wanted to know me..

She shifted her stance, eyes following toward Paige once—-just long enough to take in the way she stood in the stillness.At a distance now. Perfume no longer close enough to be breathed in. Hands in her pockets like she wasn’t sure if she should leave or stay. The stillness Paige carried now felt different, less like nonchalance and more like hesitation.

Azzi tore her eyes away again

And for a mere second. Just a breath of one. She wished she didn’t mean the boundary she’d set. Wished she could take it back, or at least soften it. But she didn’t. Because Azzi Fudd didn’t go back on things. Even when something in her soul ached to.

“You drinking tonight?” Azzi asked, voice casual like she hadn’t just cut the thread between them.

Paige shook her head “Nah didn’t feel up to it tonight.”

Azzi nodded, thum brushing a wrinkle at the hem lf her dress.”Me either.”

“But to be honest,” Paige added, huffing a quiet laugh, “this whole kissing up to rich donors thing kinda sucks without it.”

Azzi allowed a smirk “Yeah, I think I’m going home. I’ve done enough sucking up for one night.”

Silence followed—lingering lightly. Not awkward. Just suspened… Like they were both aware the moment was ending and unsure how to land it.

Paige glanced towards the door, then back at Azzi. Her throat bobbed lightly as she swallowd and cleared it, voice nervous when she spoke.

“You—-uh need a ride?”

Azzi looked at her, one brow raising, guarded as ever.

Paige immediately threw up both hands like she was surrendering.

“Not like that.Not—like that, like that”,she rushed out eyes wide

“I meant-like a literal ride. Car wheels transportation. You know.”

Azzi blinked. Slowly

Paige groaned under her breath and ran a hand down her face.

“Jesus. I’m messing this up.” She gestured vaguely between them. “I'm just offering to make sure you get home safe. You don’t have to say yes. No pressure. I know you live in the same building as Cam. And It’s just—she told me earlier that you don’t always call cars after events and I figured, If I'm going that way anyway—-“

She was rambling now,voice pitching slightly higher with every excuse.

Azzi stared at her with arms crossed. Dry. Unamused. But not cold

Paige caught herself mid sentence, laughed once.

“Okay. Okay..Officially shutting up now. The offer’s still there. We can just pretend I didn’t black out in the middle of that sentence.”

She turned half away, stuffing her hands into her pockets again, her mouth twitching like she couldn’t tell whether to grin or wince.

Azzi bit back a smile—barely

Not enough for Paige to see.

But enough for her to feel it.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, soft and quiet.

“I’ll take the ride.”

Paige turned,eyes blinking as if she wasn’t sure she heard her right.

“Yeah?”

Azzi nodded once, arms still crossed.

“But only because I didn’t feel like waiting an hour for an uber. Not because of your tragic sales pitch”

Paige grinned. Fully this time. One that actually reached her eyes. Relief flicking across her face.

God Azzi was grateful she set the boundary when she did. Because seeing Paige smile for real—soft and unguarded, made her feel something dangerous. Something warm, but not sharp. Soft in a way that threatened to unravel her.

“That’s fair I’ll take the pity acceptance”.Then more playfully she added .“ Let the record show i did not mean that flirtatiously. Not flirting at all. Zero percent flirt.”

Azzi gave her a look. The quiet unreadable one she had given Paige the first time they met. But this time—a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

——————-

After long goodbyes and peeling herself away from the open bar chaos, Azzi found her teammates in various stages of drunk delight. Rickea, in particular, was leaning against one of the cocktail tables, flushed with laughter and wine, waving her phone around like a baton.

“Oh my goddd, Paige is driving you homeeee”

Rickea sang, dragging out the vowels like she was witnessing a rom-com

Azzi crossed her arms, deadpan “It’s not like that,” she said, tome clipped but not unkind. “I just need a ride home.”

But the grin Rickea threw her was all mischief. Rae let out a dramatic gasp behind her. Cam bumped shoulders with her like they were back in the lockeroom after a win—eyebrows wiggling.

She rolled her eyes and waved them off with j a muttered, “You all are insufferable.”

Still ,her cheeks flushed just slightly

Eventually after directing Rickea away from the alcohol table and towards a glass of water,she stepped out of the ballroom. When she stepped into the cold air she spotted Paige, leaning against the hood of a sleek white car that screamed money.

Her posture was cool and unreadable. Like the night hadn’t affected her.

It probably didn’t affect her.

They distance between them felt different now—not colder, not closer. Just….real. A silence that no longer ached.

Azzi took a breath, smoothed her dress, and waked toward her.

Paige glanced over, voice low.

“You sure? You don’t have to. I don’t wanna overstep.”

Azzi shook her head.

“You’re not.”

Then after a pause

“It’s just a ride.”

And for once, they both let that be enough.

—————————————————————

The car was silent except for the sounds of soft R&B playing low on the radio. The city lights flickered past, casting long shadows inside the car. Paige’s calm presence beside her was something Azzi couldn’t quite ignore. She kept her gaze mostly to the window, watching the blur of buildings ,but finally she spoke.

“I’d heard about your reputation,” Azzi said, voice low, eyes fixed on the passing lights outside the window. “From Cam.”

Paige glanced over, one veined hand on the wheel, a flicker of amusement in her expression.

“Let me guess, I’m a player right? Lot’s of women. No strings.

Azzi met her eyes, then looked away briefly again “Something like that”

Paige gave a short laugh—quiet, thin. Like it didn’t quite reach her chest. “Yeah. Something like that”

A beat passed. Azzi didn’t press. She didn’t need to

“I can’t afford distractions like that,” she said instead “This is the year I prove myself.”

Paige nodded, her gaze turning back to the road. ”I get that i was number one pick too once.”

Her voice softened, the weight of a memory lingering.

“The pressure’s different when you’re at the top of the draft. You’re not just playing for the hope to win. You’re playing like every game is a article being written on whether or not you deserved it in the first place”

Azzi swallowd, fingers tightening around her clutch bag.

She gets it

She really fucking gets it.

Paige looked at her quickly again, but it lingered long enough.

“You remind me of my rookie year.” There was something quiet in it, reverant almost

And for the first time all night, Azzi felt like someone had seen her.

In that moment she had to remind herself of one thing:

Basketball First. Everything second

“Then maybe you understand why i’m guarded” Azzi commented, tone steady.

Paige’s voice was warm “I do.”

Azzi turned her gaze back towards the city lights,silently repeating her mantra once more

Basketball before anything.

————————————————————-

The car slowed, rolling up to Azzi’s apartment building. The street was quiet, the glow of the outside light casting soft halos on the pavement.

Paige killed the engine and the sudden silence felt heavy.

Azzi reached for her door handle, but Paige was already opening her own ,stepping out first.

“I’ll walk you up.” Paige said quietly

Azzi hesitated a moment then nodded.

They moved side by side, shoulders close but not touching, their footsteps muffled on the pavement.

Under the light Azzi fumbled for her key fob

Paige watched her, eyes steady and soft. This close the height difference was shocking. Azzi’s heels made her already y tall frame tower above Paige, who hadn’t worn any. At 5’8, Paige felt almost small beside her. And maybe, for once, she didn’t mind it.

“Thanks for the ride” Azzi murmured, her voice low.but clear

Paige offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

Paige shifted her weight, sneakers snuffing lightly against conceete.

“Can tonight be a restart? she asked “Let’s pretend May never happened”

Azzi considered her for second before nodding once, sure and simple. “Yeah.”

Paige grinned at that—cheeks pushing up into full apples.

“It’s nice to meet you Azzi,” she said, her voice mock formal but earnest underneath teasing.

Azzi rolled her eyes but extended a hand anyways.

“It’s nice to meet you, Paige.”

Their hands met in a slow, stesdy handshake—-not stiff this time. Not cautious. Just two people deciding to actually meet each other now. No ice, no edge, Just warmth.

When their hands finally slipped apart, It didn’t feel like an ending this time.

Azzi turned and pressed her key fob to the buildings lock. The soft beep broke the quiet.

“Goodnight, Paige” she said, fingers curling around the handle.

“Goodnight, Azzi”

She stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her with quiet formality.

Paige stayed a minute longer on the steps outside. The scent of Azzi’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air.And something else, too

Something like the beginning of something new

————————————————————-

Paige got home later than she expected that night—thanks to traffic, or so she’d said.

But the truth was that, she’d lied to Azzi.

Paige wasn’t headed that way at all. Her place was in the opposite direction—nowhere near downtown L.A. In fact, she lived a solid fourteen minutes out of downtown.

But Azzi didn’t need to know that.

Paige flicked on the soft light of her phone, the quiet once again a familiar blanket. She scrolled absentmindedly through notifications.

azzi35 started following you.

The corner of Paige’s mouth turned into a small smile.

It felt like a small victory and a trap all at once.

She knew better then to read into social media.But something about this felt more different. More vulnerable

Her chest tightened. A flicker or something she didn’t want to let herself acknowledge—-hope.

But with hope still came that cold shadow of doubt.

I can’t get close.

Not again.

She’d built walls so high around herself that sometimes, she herself got lost in the maze of them.

Paige had learned that feelings were dangerous—an open door to being hurt, to being seen as weak. And weakness was something she couldn’t afford.

So she kept her distance. She played the part. The confident, unbreakable player with a reputation that kept people at bay.

This follow from Azzi was a crack in that armour. That she had spent years building. An invitation. An olive branch

And part of her wanted to reach out and grasp it firmly.

But the other part. The part that had been burned before—-warned her to stay back.

To keep the guard up.

The game was far from over. And for now she would play it her way. Careful, controlled, and just close enough to feel alive without being broken.

[sevarchive]

♡ bllk drabbles ──

જ⁀➴ blue lock characters! when someone hits on you.

starring: yukimiya kenyu, itoshi sae, barou shoei, sendou shuto and chigiri hyoma

YUKIMIYA KENYU

the guy had swagger, sure. leaning too close, grinning too much, throwing some cheesy pick-up line your way.

yukimiya tilted his sunglasses down with a little sigh, sliding beside you and draping a casual arm over your shoulders. his cologne, sharp and expensive, did most of the talking.

"flattering, really. you recognized perfection when you saw it. unfortunately..." his lips curled into a smile, just enough to show teeth. "she’s already taken. by me."

the guy scoffed. "you her boyfriend or something?"

yukimiya laughed. a soft, effortless chuckle like he found this all amusing. "no. i’m the only man she looks at. that counts for more."

then he leaned close to your ear and whispered, "but if you want me to start calling you mine, i’m game. i’m quite possessive when i get serious."

he pulled back, slipping his sunglasses back into place like he’d just dropped the curtain on a one-man show. the guy had already turned and walked off, probably reconsidering every decision he made since waking up this morning.

yukimiya just smirked. like this was all exactly how it was supposed to go.

ITOSHI SAE

the moment someone slid next to you with that smirk; lazy, cocky, overconfident - you could already feel the shift in the air. sae, ten feet away, paused mid-sip of his sports drink, eyes narrowing like a lion watching prey stalk too close to his kill.

“hey,” the guy said to you, voice slick. “you free tonight?”

you didn’t get a chance to respond.

sae was already beside you, staring straight into the guy’s face. cold. disinterested. murderous.

“she’s not,” sae said. “and even if she was, it wouldn’t be with you.”

“who the hell-”

“the person you should’ve noticed before opening your mouth.” sae’s tone was pure ice. he looked at you, then back at the guy. “go.”

the guy blinked, about to argue.

“don’t bother,” sae cut in, voice sharper now. “you should’ve kept your mouth shut the second you opened it. you’re embarrassing yourself. go home, rethink your life choices.”

no threats, no yelling, but that was scarier.

when the guy backed off, sae didn’t even watch him leave. he turned to you, eyes sharper now. “you attract clowns like that often?”

“…not really.”

“hmph. don’t. i don’t like distractions.”

but later, when you brushed your hand against his, he didn’t pull away.

BAROU SHOEI

the guy clearly didn’t know who he was messing with. all smiles, leaning far too close to you, trying to show off - until a shadow fell over both of you.

barou didn’t speak right away. he stood behind the guy like a threat carved from stone, arms crossed, veins flexing under the fabric of his black shirt.

the stranger glanced back. “uh, can i help y-”

barou’s foot slammed into the ground next to the guy’s with a thud.

"you’re blocking my view," he muttered, voice like a snarl. "of her."

the man blinked, confused. “wha- ”

barou uncrossed his arms slowly, like he’d love to be given a reason.

“you think you can talk to her just because she smiled once?” he stepped forward. the guy stumbled back. “she’s not interested. she doesn’t need to tell you that. i just did.”

once the guy ran off, barou glanced at you, clearly annoyed.

“…tch. you’re not allowed to smile at anyone except me.”

SENDOU SHUTO

he’d just come out of the convenience store with two canned coffees when he spotted the guy chatting you up on the sidewalk.

he froze. blinked. then dropped the bag and practically sprinted over.

“oi, oi, oi!” sendou threw himself between you and the guy like a flailing wall of ego. “hey, she’s with me, man!”

“…she is?”

“y-yeah! i mean, we haven’t gone official yet but like, i’m on the brink of asking—i even practiced a line last night!” he turned to you with wide eyes. “didn’t i? the one with the sunset and the rose? i was gonna do the rose thing!”

you couldn’t help laughing.

the guy looked unsure, then slowly backed off. sendou turned to you, proud and out of breath.

“…i saved your dignity. you owe me a kiss or at least a ‘you’re cool,’ right?”

you patted his head. “you’re…something.”

CHIGIRI HYOMA

you were standing beside chigiri outside a café after training, sipping on a smoothie, when a guy came up, flashing a flirtatious grin.

“hey, beautiful. didn’t think i’d see a goddess out here today.”

you blinked.

chigiri blinked.

you looked at him.

he looked at you.

then back at the guy.

“i’m sorry,” chigiri said, politely confused. “are you talking to—”

“you,” the guy purred, eyes practically sparkling. “long red hair, flawless skin, legs for days—” he let out a dreamy sigh. “you’re like an anime character come to life.”

chigiri’s eye twitched.

you cackled.

“oh my god,” you wheezed. “he thinks you’re a girl.”

“i am not—” chigiri snapped, face already redder than his hair. “i’m a guy, you idiot!”

the guy’s grin didn’t fade. “...okay. so, you're a really pretty guy. that doesn't change anything.”

you lost it.

chigiri dragged you away by the wrist, muttering furiously under his breath as you doubled over in laughter.

“stop laughing—! this isn’t funny!” you pointed at his furious blush. “you’re not helping your case!”

chigiri glared. “next time someone flirts with me, i’m throwing you in front of them as bait.”

“sure, princess.”

“DONT CALL ME THAT!”

જ⁀➴ © sevarchive ✦ masterlist ; like/reblogs are appreciated ꣑ৎ

[jarofstyles]

The Favor 12

It’s been 800 years and I’m sorry 😭 now that we reached this point inspo has come and gone so fast. But I got this part done and the next one on Patreon now! I would love to hear thoughts and suggestions, I’ve already implemented some of what you guys have asked for in my planned parts 🩷 enjoy! And happy holidays

Previous part

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 13 and 220+ exclusive writings

WC- 6.6k

Warnings- mentions of a Dom/sub dynamic, anxiety mention, misogyny, we hate Danny club tee shirts being passed around, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of relationship trauma

Danny hadn’t always been a bad boyfriend. 

At first he had been kind and sweet. With him being a tad bit more outgoing than Y/N, he had brought her into his friend group and integrated her as one of them. He had brought her flowers for their 6 month anniversary, they went on dates on the weekends twice a month, and it was nice. Solid, steady. 

Until he got a little too comfortable. 

Y/N could see it now that she had removed her heart from the equation. Danny was lazy, and it had shown more and more as the year mark hit, and then two years, and she had to remind him of Valentine’s Day, make the birthday plans, schedule the dates, or go along with the plans he’d made with his friends. He would get her gifts on those occasions, yes, but the most stereotypical things. It had lacked thought. Flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day were nice! She didn’t want to come across as ungrateful ever- but when he’d gotten her dark chocolate when he should have known she really disliked it, it made it a little less sweet- pun intended. 

If someone were to ask Y/N why she stayed so long,  she wouldn’t have one singular answer. Comfort? Familiarity? Routine? Perhaps lack of self esteem? She wasn’t sure. Being raised to think you had a specific way of doing things, of dating, engagement, then marriage, she hadn’t really been given many other examples. Growing up, her parents had been high school sweethearts, as had both of their parents. There was no breaking up, it was a one and done type of deal. 

She wasn’t sure if that was set in stone, though. It was an unspoken rule, something left unsaid like a thinly veiled threat in the night air. They spoke of the great love story of finding your one and only and it made her feel like she had to stick to that too. She’d never asked her mother about it, because she never really entertained the idea of having any other partner. 

It was easy with Danny in the way that she knew what to expect. She knew his habits, she knew his work, his schedule. She knew his friends, his plans for life, there were no surprises. Nothing that would jump back out and bite her, catch her off guard as he slowly leaned into being less attentive.&

Maybe that’s why even when she started having doubts she had stuck them to the back of her mind. 

There was no denying that Harry had been a very, very big part in all of it. The funny part of it was, she wasn’t sure that the sex bit was what truly got her to reconsider even if it had started it all. As incredible, euphoric as she felt- it was the way she felt afterwards. Before, even. When they sat in his bed and he stroked her cheek, feeding her cubes of cantaloupe or strawberries sliced in half, or when he’d picked up a carton of her yogurt and granola after mentioning what she usually had for breakfast at home. 

It was how gentle he handled her not only physically, but emotionally. He checked in, he cared, he asked her multiple times what she liked and what she didn’t. If it was okay to touch her certain ways, if he could kiss her. Just little things that seemed so minuscule in size if you looked at it from the outside but felt so big to her that it tore at her heart. 

He’d gotten her that damn water bottle, he’d gotten used to washing her hair when they shared showered, he used that tender tone of voice that had her bones feeling flexible as she melded into him each and every time. 

And another thing she had found to like about Harry, was the fact that he was just… dominant in most regards.

It wasn’t overly so. He wasn’t this complete alpha, macho man, fists banging on the chest sort of guy. He didn’t walk into the room and demand to be the biggest and baddest in the room. It was understated, quiet. If you looked at him you could just… see. Feel it. You could see he held it together well, that he liked control in the way he kept things organized and held eye contact regardless of who it was. He very rarely shied away from a situation. In fact, Y/N felt very special for being one of the only people she had seen make him blush or get flustered. 

It was second nature to him to just do. To pick up where she left off. So it did make her wonder what else she could do for him. How she could help him relieve stress. Yes, there was the sexual aspect that she was more than willing to hand over whenever he wanted (no exaggeration- any time, any place) but she wanted to be the person he allowed himself to loosen up with. 

She’d seen glimpses. Silliness and joking, that sort of tenderness that he didn’t seem to give to anyone else, but she wanted to make his life easier. Researching the dynamics between dominants and submissives, she had some questions- but the first thing she needed to do was cut off the dead weight- the only thing holding them back. 

—-

Meeting at the park was a good idea. She could tell by his face that he had a clue what was going to happen and as much as she tried not to, she did feel a tiny sliver of guilt. 

Y/N didn’t necessarily cheat, no. She’d had full permission, ecstatic permission, actually. He’d handed her over to Harry. Being realistic she knew he didn’t realize it would be an option that he wouldn’t get her back. Danny was headstrong in a way she found a lot of men were. He didn’t consider the possibility that she actually did know what she wanted and once she had a taste, she would want that for herself all the time.

“You’re leaving me for him.”

“Not necessarily.” She sighed, crossing her arms around her body. “It isn’t just about him. It’s about the fact that we aren’t compatible anymore, and we haven’t been in a long time.”

Danny scoffed, tilting his head towards the sky. “So, what? I’m nice? I let you go and see and play around to explore that shit and now you’ve gotten addicted to that sort of stuff? We can get you to therapy, because it isn’t healthy. But obviously it was a mistake to hand you off to him-“

“Yes. If you loved me, if you truly wanted me, Daniel- you’d never, ever want someone else to touch me.” She remembered how Harry had said he didn’t want to share her. Look, sure. But never touch. “You said the shit I’m into is weird, you shame me, then pawn me off to your friend which… it’s dangerous. The both of us are lucky Harry is genuinely an amazing guy-“ she shot him a look as he let out a noise but continued anyways. “Harry is amazing and kept me safe. He taught me the safe ways of doing things. And I liked it. I’m not going to lie to you, I really liked all of it and I know you aren’t into it.” For once, her face softened.

“And you don’t have to be. I don’t judge you for not wanting to do it. I never have. I was upset by your reactions and how you made me feel bad, but I would never ask you to do something you truly aren’t comfortable with. But if this is something I want, something I find myself needing to be fulfilled, I’m not going to try to change you or myself to try and salvage a relationship that was barely working anyways.”

“Barely working?” Danny looked genuinely confused. “The fuck are you talking about.” Again, her anger bubbled under the surface, but the exhaustion of the whole thing kept her from exploding. 

“Danny, you barely gave me attention. When you apologized the first time and we went out to the bar, you brushed me off the whole time. You treated me like an accessory. There was no passion to our relationship.” Y/N wasn’t sure how he didn’t see that. “We had the same conversations every day, barely had any excitement. I don’t think you loved me- I think I was convenient. And I don’t hold that against you either, but I think I was convenient to you.”

“That’s just how relationships are! They even out and get a little boring.” He defended, nostrils flaring as he was obviously offended with her observation. She had a feeling he would get that way. It was just another reason why they needed to end things. 

“To a degree. After years of marriage and things settle down, your partner is supposed to become your best friend. And we barely speak to each other if it isn’t about plans, or something you want to. If I feel like talking about something I can physically see you tune me out. This was happening far before you even handed me off to Harry.”

“And he’s going to give you that?” He sneered, looking at her like she was some sort of idiot. It had been very clear since the beginning that Danny really did put people into boxes, and Harry was in the sexual deviant one. He had no ability to see the depth in people and that had always been something that bothered her about him, but seeing it now towards someone she was falling for made her angry. 

“I don’t know.” She snapped. “But regardless if it is him or not, you need to stop that. You just… you learn something about someone and you completely disregard them as people. You knew he was into some different stuff and all of a sudden he’s a whore, some kind of sexual deviant that can’t commit. He’s had partners, long term. He’s caring. He’s kind. He listens to what I have to say. It isn’t just sex every time I go over to his place, you understand that right?” 

He didn’t, obviously, but the way his brows pulled together and he looked at her like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Did you expect him to string me up and hit me with a paddle a few times and me to run back to you?” She was positive that was the thought process as it was as soon as she saw the face he made. “We bond. We make breakfast or go out for it, we watch shows, we take his dog on a walk- the dynamic of this whole thing goes far past just sex, Danny. It’s trust. I know you did minimal research into what this actually is, but I’m telling you that we weren’t just going at it like bunnies. I’m not hypnotized by his dick. He’s so nice to me, and he listens, and he….” Y/N could feel herself getting emotional, so she had to reign it in. He didn’t need this sort of response from her. 

“Listen. I’m sorry. I know we had plans, but they’re not for me anymore. I have no idea if Harry wants to actually date me or not. I have no clue where my life is going, but I just don’t see us being together anymore.”

——

It was a bit anticlimactic. Danny couldn’t really argue with her, (even if he did try a few times). Not when it was so abundantly clear her mind was made up. It was over. Regardless of what he thought about Harry or her sexual preferences or anything she liked, it was her opinion that mattered. She’d been coasting for so long that she had forgotten how it felt to actually be behind the wheel. As terrifying as it was to navigate- it felt good. 

“A mixed box, please.” Y/N politely asked the worker at the donut shop, knowing Harry was a bit of a fiend for a donut with his coffee. “An extra chocolate though, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course! Half or whole dozen?” 

“Whole, please.” 

She checked her phone to see a text waiting from him, her mood lightening immediately as her eyes traced over the screen. 

H: You alright, sweetheart? Please text me when you’re on your way here x. 

H: p.s. I miss you a little. 

Her heart felt like it grew too big for her chest as she took a shaky inhale, thumbing over the keyboard to reply to the man. It had been ages since she had gotten giddy over a man texting her, Harry being the first one since she’d left school honestly. It wasn’t that she wanted to constantly compare her past relationship with him, but it was hard not to when everything felt so much better.

Y/N: hiiii ❤️ I’m good. I made a stop but as soon as I’m done here I’ll be on my way. Maybe 20? 

Y/N: p.s. I miss you a little bit too 

Tucking her phone back in her pocket, she thanked the girl and checked out at the register, tapping her card before taking the box and walking back out to her car. 

She was a single woman, now. Sort of? That was sort of a mystery. She was Harry’s. The fact was clear both in her heart and the bruises sucked over the swell of her breast, also coincidentally over her heart. The question laid in his hands, if they were an actual item or not. He’d proclaimed she was his what seemed to be a million times but how far did that go? 

It wasn’t like she was dumb- she knew there were feelings in both ends. Men didn’t act like that unless they were actually wanting you. She knew she wasn’t completely naive for feeling somewhat confident that Harry would want her, but it was the question of in what way. As a submissive? As a girlfriend? That question would be asked tonight, but right now she really just needed a hug. 

There was no need to knock anymore as she scales the porch steps and approached the door, instead punching in the code to his security system and pushing the door open. The clicking of nails alerted her to Buttons before she even saw the pup, eagerly running towards her with a happy yip. 

“Hello, my darling.” She cooed, hanging her purse up on the hook and toed her shoes off. “These are not for you, M’sorry. We can get you a treat though. Where’s daddy, hm?” 

“Kitchen!” He called through the house, making her smile widen. She could smell coffee, the dark roast permeating the air as she padded towards the room. It was one of the best times of day to be in the room, sunlight pouring through the wide windows. Even better to frame him as he leaned against the island, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. 

He was always beautiful, but seeing him in this light- literally and metaphorically- had her tummy swirling. His hair fluffy from the shower this morning and pushed off his head, the facial hair he had let grow because she said she liked it, the tee shirt tucked into linen pants, all of it was enticing. It felt more intense now that there was no real barrier holding her back from allowing her to think those sorts of things about him. 

“Excuse me, miss? What’s in that box?” His voice tilted as his smile grew, looking at the familiar pink box. 

“You know what’s in the box.” She hummed, placing it down next to him. “It’s where I stopped. I’m sorry to say I broke into them and ate a chocolate one on the drive here, but there’s 11 others in there for you to choose from.” 

“How will I ever forgive you.” His eyes rolled as he uncrossed his arms and pulled her into them, seeming to know what she needed before she could even utter a word about it. He knew what she went to do and while it was exciting, he knew she had been slightly anxious about the reaction. “You alright, darling? Seriously?” 

Y/N wasn’t sure if it was being in the safety of his arms and realizing that he was the only one she felt this safe with, if it was the slight exhaustion from not being able to sleep well, or the emotion of letting go of something that had once felt like her life, but she felt the wall hit her. Nodding into his chest, she stayed buried there as the tears bubbled over her lashline. 

“Oh, Angel. M’sorry. That’s a dumb question.”’he sighed, curling his hand around the back of her head and gently running his fingers through her hair. “I know. S’been a lot, the last few weeks. But you’re safe here, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it, or we can. It’s up to you.”

She knew he did want to. He wouldn’t press her because he was a good man and he was considerate of her feelings, but he wanted to know what happened and considering the entirety of this, she wanted to. It just… needed to be in a minute. Arms wrapped around his form as she took in unsteady breaths, trying to calm herself down. It was easier said than done when he felt like the lifeline now, but she didn’t want to cry over it. 

“We can.” She gave a watery laugh as she turned her cheek to rest on him, letting herself breathe properly instead of keeping herself shoved against his body. “I’m not upset because we broke up. I-I don’t really care about that, actually. I’m glad. He didn’t take it well but he also didn’t throw a tantrum. It just upset me because I was seeing him for one of the first times as who he was instead of m-making excuses and I felt a little dumb for staying for so long.” It was embarrassing.

Harry knew she wasn’t done so he didn’t interrupt, continuing the soothing strokes as she stayed leaning against him. “He puts people in boxes. Like he… he thought you were one dimensional and so was I. Thought that I didn’t actually know what I w-wanted, and that we were just fucking this whole time. Couldn’t believe that we were actually bonding and that you could possibly like me, or vice versa, outside a bedroom.” Her scoff made him chuckle just a bit, leaning his head down to kiss the top of hers, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. 

“And it really hit me how he couldn’t fathom that you have feelings that go past sexual deviancy or that I actually know what I want and I wasn’t just addicted to sex or something. Did you know he used to get me chocolates for Valentine’s Day but he’d get dark, and I hate dark chocolate.” She sniffled. “Or he’d make me plan stuff because I was ‘better’ at it. I just felt in charge of everything except plans with his friends, unless it had to do with getting a gift for a wedding or baby shower or birthday. Then I could handle it because… I don’t know. I was leading the whole thing and I wasn’t getting anything in return and I’m just now realizing how shitty I felt the whole time. I think I just coasted the whole time b-because my family did the whole high school or college sweetheart things and I felt like I needed to, too.”

It made a lot of sense to him, now, why she felt she needed this. The dynamic. Naturally submissive, he knew, but being forced to take the role that she didn’t want for the sake of a relationship she was trying to keep afloat merely because she felt a responsibility? His poor fucking girl. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I know it isn’t exactly the sort of thing you want to hear and it won’t make it better, but I’m sorry. It hurt you, it made you feel under appreciated and taken for granted. You didn’t deserve any of that.” 

It wouldn’t make a difference now but he wished he had met her first. Met her before Danny had gotten to her and been able to snatch her up, give her the sort of attention she properly needed, take care of her the way she had always been craving. For someone who didn’t naturally have that sort of instinct he had to imagine it was exhausting. Harry took pride in being the planner, the provider. He liked being in charge and knowing what was happening, making things easy and smooth. But for Y/N who already didn’t want to be doing it, he knew it had to have felt like she was trapped. 

“M’never going to make you do those things.” He murmured. “Not if you don’t want to. I don’t… it isn’t something that I’d ever want you to do if you didn’t want to. There is no right or wrong way to have a relationship, but the burden shouldn’t fall on only one person if they don’t want it to.” He smeared his lips in a ring of kisses around her hairline. “I know you don’t need me t’tell you that how you were treated wasn’t right, but I hope you know that you can tell me if you ever feel that way. If you… if you don’t want to do something, you don’t have to.” There was a pause. “When we’re not playing.” 

“I was gonna hold you to that.” She laughed against him, pulling her head back to look at him. “So, um.. I didn’t want to assume anything, but I’m gonna now and think that you want to.. that you like me enough to keep me around?”

Harry looked at her for a few moments before shutting his eyes, dropping his head to rest on hers. “If I hadn’t made it clear before, I think M’gonna make it even clearer now.” 

Y/N didn’t have a chance to breathe before he scooped her up to sit her in the counter, their lips fused together in a kiss she hadn’t fully felt before. Something he had held back, it lingered under it all as she easily melted into him.  It felt different, like a barrier had fallen off with the way he handled her. It was still delicate, still tender, but there was no hint of hesitancy in the way he led the kisses, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks as he cupped her face in those massive hands she loved so much. Unhurried, unrestrained but no sense of urgency. 

Like he knew now he didn’t have to rush, that he had more time to prove to her that he meant every unspoken word he poured into this. 

The slight salt of her tears reminded him to pull back, to pace himself. Oddly enough, he had no urge to have sex right now. Everything was soft. Silky. Lovelaced and sweet, hinted with the motivation to give her the relationship that she deserved. It meant he’d have to ask her what she would want, but right now he just wanted to bask in the feeling of her in his palms and the warm sun and sugary donuts in the box and the strong coffee finishing its brew across the kitchen. 

“Hi.” He smiled lightly as he pulled back, eyes hooded as he watched hers peel open to meet his own. Her lips were bare of anything but chapstick he had faint taste of- strawberry, he was positive of it- and slightly puffy from the kiss that had gone on for a bit longer than they should have been able to breathe. 

“Hi.” Her voice was a peep as the shyness took over her face, but Harry didn’t let her move from it. As much as she wanted to burrow back into his chest, he kept her chin up. The energy was palpable, giddiness rocking his belly as he tugged her lip from her teeth. No biting of lips near him, not right now. Even if it was cute. 

There was a lot to speak about in regards to them as a pairing, but he wanted to soak in this warmth for a bit before getting down to the gritty bit of it. The girl had brought him his favorite sweets, and he wanted to enjoy them with her.

“Do you want some coffee?” 

“Tea, please.” 

—

Harry hadn’t been positive Y/N would go through with it. 

That wasn’t a fault or doubt of her person, not at all. But he knew that she really didn’t like hurting people. That much had been something he’d learned very early on in knowing her. She had been mindful of Danny’s feelings the whole time, trying not to flaunt any of it in his face and not giving details unless he asked- which he hardly did. 

They’d not really gotten any sort of response about what they’d done in front of him but Harry knew he wasn’t going to say anything about it because he would be too ashamed to admit it. He wasn’t shocked, though, when he got text messages during the day while Y/N slept soundly on his lap while watching a movie as Harry worked on his phone. She never could stay awake when the movie turned on and he played with her hair. One hand had been gently massaging her scalp while the other typed on his screen when the message popped up on his screen. 

D: I don’t know what the fuck you did to her but I hope you’re happy. I trusted you with her, man. And you fucking stole her. She was mine. That shit you’re into is disgusting and you’ve brainwashed her or something, it’s fucked up. 

Harry almost laughed at the message until he remembered what Y/N had been so upset about. The fact she hadn’t been seen as a person with her own emotions and feelings during the duration of the relationship had hit her. It may have started out good but it ended badly when she realized that he didn’t think she could choose what she liked. This was a prime example of it. 

HS: I get being upset, but I didn’t steal her. She isn’t property. She’s capable of making her own decisions and you texting me something like that proves you don’t trust her judgment yet again. I’ll do my best to make her happy, I care about her more than you can fathom. 

HS: I won’t be by any group gatherings, so don’t worry about that. Bye. 

Harry muted the conversation. 

It really wasn’t something he needed to talk to about with him anymore. He wasn’t sorry, he didn’t regret anything, he didn’t think what they did was fucked up. He could go back and forth about how Danny had been the one to hand over his girlfriend and push her right into Harry’s arms but at what cost? Why would he bother? 

She was curled in his lap, head on his thighs with soft breaths puffing against his shirt. Buttons laid at his dog bed near the fireplace and he felt that happiness bubble up in his stomach again. This was what he wanted. 

The dominant and submissive dynamic was something he loved and he enjoyed, absolutely. But the base level of his desires was wanting a real relationship with this before all the rest of it fell into place. Happiness at the most base level, trust, peace. Finding the delicate balance. 

His eyes traced over her features as his mind wandered a bit. Was a full dynamic what she wanted? Was she looking for commitment right off the bat? Or did she need a little breathing room? 

That didn’t seem as likely considering how she’d come right back home to him. 

The knowledge that she didn’t have anything holding her back was something that pleased him endlessly. He didn’t have to worry about stepping on toes. While they hadn’t expressed out loud that they wanted to be in a full and committed relationship, he knew she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be. 

If he was honest with himself, he knew that an emotional affair had played a part in it. The both of them had been feeling things for each other for a bit, at least for him it had been a while. Y/N had poured her trust into him and he had taken that very seriously. He’d done his best to keep himself in check but now he really didn’t have to. 

It was astounding how fast emotions could form, how feelings could grow from a seedling planted in the pit of his belly to a full bloom that burst through his chest. She’d made a garden inside of him and he wanted her to see just how beautiful it could be, if she gave him the chance. A real one. 

Harry the dominant was one part of him but it wasn’t the whole part. He was a fully fleshed out human with faults. He was picky about keeping his house clean, he could be a bit pushy sometimes, he tended to isolate when he was upset about something. There was hints of insecurity and possessiveness in his personality, jealousy. God, he was a pathetically jealous person even if he tried to keep it under wraps. These were things she hadn’t exactly gotten to see, even if there were glimpses here and there. The underlying anxiety was there and prevalent that maybe she’d see those parts and not like him as much. 

The reminder that Y/N wasn’t that cruel circled back around and called him some, smiling as he felt her stir and scoot closer to him. Her nose nuzzled into his stomach, slow breathing evening out as she got comfortable again pressed up against him. The reminder that she also had faults that he hadn’t exactly seen yet was a comfort. He doubted that anything would truly scare him away, though. The obsession was already in place. 

“M’gonna do my best.” He whispered quietly, letting the back of his hand brush her warm cheek as she snoozed, unaware of his tender words under his breath. Unaware that it felt like he was holding the world in the palm of his hand now, and it was slightly terrifying as he tried to ensure he wouldn’t break it. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl. Promise.” 

——

Their dinner was quiet. Harry had put on jazz music that was understated beneath their talking, the food was good, but there was no denying that they both knew a conversation laid ahead that would be a defining factor. 

As much as Harry tried to be calm about it, he was slightly nervous. Y/N looked slightly anxious and he tried to keep his shoulders relaxed but it was hard to when he was unsure what part she was anxious about. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. 

“I’m over Danny.” She blurted out. The dam had splintered and she felt like she couldn’t keep it back anymore. “I think I was over him for a long time. if he was in love with me, he would have never sent me to fuck around with someone else. If I was truly in love with him, I wouldn’t have agreed. I wouldn’t have been so eager to come and see you. It has been bothering me for a bit thinking maybe I was a bad person for wanting to move on so quickly but I think I had accepted subconsciously that it had been over for so long that it made it easier for me to feel almost single when I was around you.” Taking a gulp of air, she continued. To his credit Harry didn’t interrupt, merely folded his hands on the table and looked intently at her. 

“The last thing I want you to consider yourself is a rebound, though. I’ve been torn because… while I know I like you a lot, and I do- I really do like you,” she paused to give him a nervous smile. “I wanted to make sure that you understand that I never saw you as someone to move on with when I wasn’t distracted by him in the first place. Every single time we were together I forgot about him. As cruel as it sounds… maybe the first time I had thought about how much better it was and how this was what I was missing, that I knew he’d never be capable of the things I wanted- but being with you was never about him for me.”

Y/N knew she was a flawed individual and it wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t morally right to most people and she understood that. But this had felt like a natural turn of events for her.

“You’ve been at the forefront of my mind since we first met up at the coffee shop. I always thought you were slightly intimidating and very handsome, very kind- but once I had the go ahead to think of you as more, it never stopped. It only grew.” Her eyes dropped to her mostly finished plate as she took a deeper breath. It felt like an avalanche of words were trying to come out, all the things she had held back coming out now that she felt safe enough to. 

“I thought at first it really was a favor to him, that you were doing this because you were a good friend. But I… I’d like to think I have good enough senses to know that you enjoyed it too. You paid me more attention than anyone else ever has. From the texting to check in and remembering things I said off hand, to getting me things that are so unique to me and our conversations… it blew me away.” Her fingers fiddled with the napkin before she braved his eyes again. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I… I really would like to try. With you. The um, the dominant stuff too, but… more? If that's something you’d want.” 

“It is.” There was no hesitation in his answer, knowing she was losing steam in her rant. “It’s what I’ve wanted for a while. I tried very hard to be respectful at first, you know…” he swallowed, trying to find the words. “I wanted to be respectful because of you. I didn’t want to get out of turn. And then… I started to care less about it when I saw how little he cared about your relationship himself. I didn’t take the favor on directly because he asked me.” This was a revelation, just a bit. “I took it on because I knew you, I knew the… I know how it is wanting to try something and feeling like you’ve got no options. I also know how dangerous it could be with the wrong hands on you. And I cared for you, back then more so as a friend but I cared and didn’t want you to have a bad experience. I wanted it to be safe and pleasure filled and selfishly, I was attracted to you as it was.” 

He may have fooled himself into thinking it was for Danny but he knew deep down why he had done it. 

“I think that you took me by surprise. How well we worked together from day one. It felt like… you were made for me. Y’know?”

“Yeah.” She peeped. “I felt the same.”

The small smile on his lips was a reward for her, the table being a good divider for now. If it wasn’t there he knew he would be distracted by wanting to touch her. “Good. I was taken back by it and I wanted more n’more, I got selfish and greedy for a bit. I broke a little, having you in the cafe bathroom. Doin’ that, it was selfish for me. For us. There wasn’t anything pre planned and I knew by how you reacted I wasn’t exactly alone in the want to do more but I didn’t want to make you feel guilty, so I kept it back for a bit.”

It had been so difficult not to beg for me. Ask her to come over during the week when he felt especially lonely. Even just to have her sit in his bed and leave her scent all over the sheets or hear her padding around while he worked. That was the domesticity that he wanted. “It’s been more than sex for me for a while. I know the dynamic is more than that too, but I found myself wanting you around more. Wanting to do more things with you than what we were supposed to do. When we went out the first time together, had me all sort of nervous in the good way and I realized I was getting myself into something that could be really good, or really bad.” His heart had been on the line the whole time. 

“Listen.” Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together again as he had her eyes. “I want t’be with you too. I want more. I want… the fun side where we play and go to the club, all of that. But I want more, too. The dinners and having you in my bed, without fucking. The softer things. I know that in the past you mentioned you had to control everything in your last relationship and I wanted to warn you that m’not like that- I like control in all areas of my life. It’s one of those things I’ve tried to work on a bit. Not necessarily of you in the traditional sense but… I like t’plan the dates. I like to feel needed, don’t mind bein’ the one to take care of you as long as you save that softness for me. Jus’ like you loving on me and being that sweet girl that you’ve shown me so far, and it’ll make me happy.” His hands itched to grab her. “Does that sound like something you can deal with.”

“It sounds like it’s perfect.” A shaky laugh left her as she felt slightly like she was dreaming. “I want to know more about how I can give back to you if you’re doing all the controlling but I… I really like that idea. I don’t mind you being the one to do all those things.” His version was exactly what she wanted. 

“Good.” The sigh of relief was enough to relax his shoulders. “Now c’mon over here. You’ve been far away from me for far too long.”

Y/N scrambled up and rounded the table, a shy smile lighting up her face as she sat in his lap and giggled in surprise as his mouth met hers, eager and languid as his large hand held her hip. She felt safe. Giddy. Warm. She could get used to this. 

[cloudcountry]

Hello uhm... i want to request break up prank for the Frostheim, Sinostra and Vagastrom House if you dont mind :")

SUMMARY: joking that you'll break up with your partner

WARNINGS: kaito has very unhealthy ways of coping with break ups!!

CHARACTERS: Jin, Luca, Kaito, Alan, Taiga.

COMMENTS: character limit is five for requests so i picked some random charas via SPIN THE WHEEL!!! the selection is just so cruel i fear. also the prank itself is cruel. please dont actually do this.

Jin is a fixer. You might be joking, but he isn’t. He’ll sit you down and talk through why you even thought of saying you’ll break up with him. Jin is very thorough about it too, gruffly prodding for every possible answer you can give him. Has something upset you? Did Tohma say something? Was it those underclassmen? With him as your partner, there is no stone unturned in your relationship. If Jin wants to keep you, he’s going to fight for you. You are the one person he can truly trust. Don’t fuck it up.

Kaito immediately hits panic mode. His heart starts pounding and his vision gets fuzzy. It’s like he’s about to pass out with worry as he begs you to reconsider, tears in his eyes. You’re so mean if you play this prank on him. He’s finally gotten everything he’s ever wanted, you by his side and happy to be seen with him, and now you want to end it!? What is he supposed to do with that information!? He’ll do anything, change his personality and his looks, just say the word and he will craft himself to be the perfect man for you!

At the risk of sounding redundant, why would you do this to Luca? He’s going to take you very seriously. Another guy who sits down with you and asks you what he did wrong and how he can fix it. If he can fix it. Once you tell him it’s a joke he’d breathe the biggest sigh of relief before telling you to not joke about that sort of thing. Luca is dead serious even though you’re not. He doesn’t know what he would do if he ended up hurting you so bad you thought leaving him was the only way to fix it. Just the thought of it...he hates it.

The last thing Alan wants to do is force you. If you say you want to break up with him, he says okay, and turns to leave. You know better than anyone that he is hurting badly right now, blaming himself for every time he so much as grazed you, assuming that he must have physically or emotionally hurt you so bad that you never wanted to see him again. Because of course you wouldn’t, it’s a miracle you felt safe with him for even a moment...tell him it’s a joke right NOW you MONSTER.

Taiga goes silent almost immediately. His eyes are boring into yours, staring deep into your soul as if trying to discern your intentions. With bated breath, you wait as his frown turns into a smile. “Trying to fool me, kitty cat?” Taiga mocks, narrowing his gaze at you, “That’s not very funny.” You’d better apologize if you don’t want him to march out into the casino and take his anger out on some poor unsuspecting person. He’s not having it at all.

[castn0shadow]

no time for running away now

pairing: liam gallagher x fem! reader

in which liam struggles with staying, and reader struggles with feeling like she’s not good enough for people to stay

basically all fluff, angsty-ish backstories but all dialogue and action is sweet

‘And as it fell from the sky, I ask myself why, can I never let anyone in?’

You had always struggled with not feeling enough in relationships.

It always hit you randomly, one fine day becoming the beginning of the end of whoever you were with.

Each time, you thought, “I’ve never been so happy with someone” when thinking of the months you’d spent with them. Just for it to overwhelm you suddenly. It didn’t matter if everything was going smoothly. You would just wake up and reconsider everything.

“Is he even as happy as I am?”

“He doesn’t seem to want to contact me as much as I want to contact him.”

“Fine, I’ll ignore him and see if he cares.”

You couldn’t admit it was all in your head. You’d shove and blow them off, until they finally stopped calling you just to hear your voice. Stopped trying to make dates. Each time you’d think, “well, I guess I was right.” You’d cry for a week then move on. Repeat the process of getting scared you’re not doing enough with the next.

In some twisted series of events, you met Liam. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he was the exact opposite as you. At least, he knew his worth—on the surface. The people adored him, naturally, it made him feel more important whenever he walked in a room. He’d slide into relationships easily, not even bothering to know a girls last name before leaving.

He’d never want to be chained down. Why would anyone want that? When things got too close— too uncomfortable, he’d run. Thankfully no girl has made it too unbearable. Just small things here and there that made him feel a little too loved. Over time the little things built up and clogged his veins, so he’d leave. But he never had this much at once.

He loved being loved for who he thought he was- a rockstar. He didn’t like being loved as Liam.

Terrified, oh God, you were terrified. A man who amounted to more than you could ever dream of being. You couldn’t guess what he wanted. Since he was so famous, you grappled with remembering he was real. That he was in this with you. He had preferences, likes, dislikes, feelings.

Overtime when you found the months speeding by just like how they did when you were a teenager stoned everyday, you got even more scared. He was still here. The man that had multiple infidelity accusations- which most were true- was still here. The man that made sure to start hateful feuds with other celebrities just for laughs. The man that would simply snicker when his current ‘girlfriend’ accidentally met one of his roadies.

How did it manage to last this long? Especially with someone like him.

“Makes me sick when you say that stuff to me.” He’d spit, trying to come off as collected. Before his voice shook, saying

“But I don’t want you to stop. Don’t stop, yeah?” He’d whisper, nervousness seeping through. Eyes trying to stay in contact with yours. If he looked down, he wouldn’t be able to look back up.

He was the first man that reassured you. You were doing good. Not too much. Not too little. If anything, he wanted you to be as much as you could be. Never leave him alone if he had a choice. Wake up with his naked torso pressed against your back, your warmth reminiscent of last night.

His hand that wanted to squeeze your chest while you were sleeping, used to rough lust painted as love, didn’t move upward. Instead he ran his hand in the less sexual, but just as intimate places. Tracing his initials on the plush of your stomach. Apologizing to any bruises with his thumb you might’ve gotten from last night.

He didn’t mean to give you them. You told him it was okay every time, it really was. His heart just felt so warm during sex he couldn’t help but squeeze you to relieve some of the pressure. He couldn’t show you he loved you enough with his words, his brain wouldn’t let him. Which resulted in him letting it out physically. Not just with sex.

“Fuck, ‘M Sorry love. Sorry. Sorry…” He’d murmur, kissing your hips that were slightly red and tender from his previous grip. His lips didn’t peck, instead melting over your smooth skin and lingering for seconds on every inch.

“S’alright. You could punch me in the face and I wouldn’t even be mad.” You joked, trying to make him feel less awkward. Even though he pretended he wasn’t.

His lips curled up for the first time today, you felt the air from his laugh hit over your skin. He was still practically naked, his boxers hanging low on his hips that only made you want to sit back on him. You slipped your underwear back on a while ago, but it was pulled down just enough to expose the marks behind and nothing else. He wanted to reassure you he wasn’t only after what’s concealed.

He cared about your body even when it didn’t affect his pleasure. Because just having you physically well was his pleasure.

Something made sense to Liam. Your joke. Even if it was just a joke, to him it meant you cherished him so much you wouldn’t care if he hurt you. Not that he’d ever even dream of it. It would be a nightmare.

After a few minutes, he slowed. Smoothed your underwear back up, adjusting and making sure the thin waistband was straight and not digging in at any point.

When most people think about their future family, there’s never an exact face to their partner. Just a blur of body who will deliver them home. However, when he met you, he subconsciously started sticking your face to the obscured feminine form that will have his children.

Liam couldn’t lie. Every time you looked at him his stomach turned like he was scared he’d do something to ruin it all. He was different around you than his past girlfriends. Hesitant, slow. Because he was testing himself out too. How much he could take before he wanted to leave you alone forever in fear of him growing too soft.

It actually hit him a while ago. The feeling in which all he wanted to do was throw away your number, slip the extra house key under the mat for the last time. But the feeling subsided every single time you told him he was okay.

He situated himself so he scooted up a little, his eyes that were permanently puppy— droopy, and telling his souls story, followed your reaction when he slid up to rest his torso on your legs and head on your stomach.

Your up and down breathing calmed him like waves against his cheek, completely relaxing his muscles as you ran your hands through his hair that was damp in parts closest to his forehead and neck, parting through it and gently playing with strands before erasing the twists with a massage.

“Don’t care anymore. I’m proper gone for you.” He confessed almost with a wince, as if it pinched to say. You didn’t want to say anything, if you did the lump in your throat would break open, unleashing your tears from never have feeling so loved in your life.

You hadn’t felt so normal in so long. Of course you had days where you wanted to test him, see how much he cared. To see how long it took until he thought of you. But nothing was ever a test. He looked at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky.

There was a mutual understanding that you both couldn’t do without each other. You needed the reassurance and he gave it to you every time even if he couldn’t say it. In turn, you letting him love you gave him something. Everything. Habit. Home. Comfort. You unknowingly forced him to get used to tenderness of contact.

It was a permanent wonderful cycle. You both gave something the other needed without even thinking. It felt too good, and neither of you could ever leave. To Liam, you were his drug. He stopped using, no longer needing cocaine to get hyped and going for a concert. Because all he needed to prepare was the image of you praising him for how well he performed when he gets home.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ think you don’t deserve this.” Was the last thing he spoke, before falling asleep with the smell of your body wash being the final thought in his mind.

send me ideas!!!!

hello, thank you to everyone that interacted with my first post!! it means a lot because honestly ive tried writing on wattpad before with unsurprisingly little to no interactions. if you actually said something know i saw it even if i didnt respond (sorry am just not good at these things i am quite shy and feel like i cant take compliments idk why) and your words encouraged me!

if anyone wants to give me an idea for a fic like this (oneshot I think this is called?) please feel free to share and ill see what I can do. but truthfully i am kind of uncreative lol so no promises it’ll be amazing. please request noel too!! im a liam girl through and through but i do love my other man.

[munnmolads]

Did Rafayel kill Raymond? Theory and Analysis

Raymond dies during Chapter 7 after suffering weird symptoms for several months. We know that Rafayel's painting was the reason for the symptoms, but did he really kill Raymond?

Spoilers for the entire game's story as I refer to several parts of the lore relating to Rafayel and Raymond.

Raymond's case is the first mission that our MC gets as a deepspace hunter. I did cover some details of his death in my Rafayel's bounty theory, but I did take more like a stance assuming Rafayel didn't kill Raymond - atleast, if the bounty was related to Raymond. But now I want to explore the entirety for Raymond's case and if Rafayel truly killed him or not, without considering the bounty on his head.

The commission itself takes place in Chapter 2, but Raymond's condition started half a month ago which we can assume happened before the main story actually starts. I'll make summaries of the important stuff relating to Raymond and his death, and then ponder some common questions about all of this.

Summary of what happened during Chapter 2

MC and Zayne arrive to Raymond's house, the founder of Xander Sciences. Zayne to conduct basic health examination and MC to inspect the house for wanderers. Raymond tries to recruit Zayne to Xander Sciences, and boasts about the benefits they have. He finally tries to provoke Zayne to reconsider by mentioning him not being curious how Raymond hasn't died yet.

After Zayne has done his job, a wanderer appears to Raymond's collection room and MC and Zayne defeat it. MC can't shake a suspicious feeling about the painting in the room, and when she resonates with it, she sees a peculiar illusion. She takes the painting back to Hunter's Association HQ for examination and finds out Rafayel has painted the painting.

Aside from what we know from the meeting itself, Thomas gave this description when Raymond bought the painting, and this in-game article "Stendhal syndrome? Mental health issues caused by wanderers? Or a haunted painting??" in more detail about his condition. You can share that article to Rafayel to possibility to ask about his blood, but he dodges the question.

Confronting Rafayel in his home, he tries to slither away from the allegiations that he would be resposible for the wanderer, and then "curiously" tries to infuse a drop of his blood to the coral stone he used for the paintings. This causes a wanderer to show up, and after coercing MC to accept a position as his bodyguard, Rafayel gives the coral stone to MC.

Summary of what happens in Chapter 7 and before it

During Chapter 7 reporter Joe is trying to get a scoop out of Rafayel while stalking him and MC, and once he is caught, he spills the beans and tells Raymond is dead. Joe tells that he was found drowned in his bathtub, rumors saying he had bunch of fish-scale cuts in his skin. Police had searched his home, and found nothing, no traces of other people entering the room. The only thing that was remarkable was that the painting Rafayel had painted had vanished from his collection and because of Raymond's reputation, police is trying to cover the case up quickly.

After Joe had told his piece, Rafayel threatened him to tell his workplace about his stalking behavior and cancelling his exclusive column interview, which could cause Joe losing his job. Rafayel "graciously" then hired Joe to find out about who is trying to cover up Raymond's death.

At this point it has been over 7 months that he has been suffering these symptoms if we consider that Zayne mentions in Chapter 5 it has been 6 months since Grandma died in Chapter 4. The story so far doesn't really confirm or deny that Raymond was in that state all the time, but we can assume he was.

Aftermath from his death

In Bouquet's and Dirges, Rafayel attends to his aunt's, Talia's wedding and tells the news of Raymond being dead. Talia sighs in relief and says at least they can rest for a while. Later Rafayel attends to Raymond's funeral in his home, ignoring the nasty looks from everyone else and bringing a bright bouquet of flowers symbolising "freedom, rebirth and happiness". Talia is also attending the funeral but assumably didn't arrive there with Rafayel and she sings a dirge - not to Raymond, but someone else.

Raymond's mother loses her composure, and starts causing a scene, calling Rafayel a murderer and how it was time for Raymond's rebirth. Rafayel once again ignores the looks from other people and leaves the funeral.

In the end of Zayne's story branch we learn that since of Raymond's death, Xander Sciences gets acquired by Ever because they were the biggest shareholder for his company.

Rafayel's motives to torture and possible to kill Raymond

It's undeniable that Rafayel is behind Raymond's condition from the start - even in Addictive pain, it's stated that Rafayel started experimenting with mixing his blood into pigments back during his professor days. His intention was to get the painting to a renowned collector - it could be that his target was Raymond for a long time until he actually managed to put his plan into fruition.

We know from Micro Universe and Siren's Song that Lemurians have been experimented on for their unique abilities and blood. These experiments have been really painful for Lemurians and possibly have forced them to scatter around away from their home. Rafayel having the responsibility to his people is trying to protect them and secure their home from invaders exploiting them so they can return home.

While it's not directly said who is in the immediate responsibility doing the research since it could be either Gaia Research Center or Xander Sciences, but both of these institutes are funded heavily by Ever. In Final Farewell Abyssal Chaos commission we can see Ever logos plastered on the walls during the puzzles and it's referenced in the commission story itself that the glass cylinder in the sanatorium is remarkably similar to one in Raymond's house. Gaia Research center is mentioned in Micro Universe Chapter 1, where Michael researches LCMECs (Lemurian Cardiac Microvascular Endothelial Cells, mentioned in Chapter 5). While Xander Sciences isn't directly mentioned in relation to the experiments made on Lemurians, but Xander Sciences is founded by Raymond and he has the Lemurian skeleton in his house. It's very possible both institutes work under Ever to do research on Lemurians.

Why Raymond and MC were the only ones who could see the illusion?

Assumably Raymond has made experiments with Lemurian's cells/blood for himself - this could be why his vital signs show improvement and the monitors show his age far younger than he actually is. This is most likely related to Lemurians living for a very long time - MC's note about Talia remarks her being Rafayel's aunt but looking like her age.

It could be that the coral stones work as a hallucinogenic for Lemurians and that feature has transferred to Raymond with him having Lemurian cells in him now. This is probably why he (and partially MC) was so drawn to the painting so strongly.

As for MC, I feel Rafayel never meant her to see the illusion, but understood why she saw it. She saw it because she tried to resonate with it, which Rafayel seems to understand in Chapter 7. With her Evol, she can match her frequency with other people and objects to enchance their abilities. I think her matching the frquency to the coral stone let her see the illusion.

How does the painting work and what happened to it?

I have been thinking about the painting and how it worked. We know that Rafayel used his blood in addition to the painting from Addictive Pain and the coral stone from the main story. We see repeatedly that Rafayel's blood attracts wanderers - first in Chapter 2 in his home when he purposefully cuts his finger to "test the coral stone", and the second time in Chapter 7 when Deluge Wyrmlord attacks MC and Rafayel after a cat scratches him. There is also a phone call "Sense of Security" at affinity level 127 which alludes that Rafayel purposefully summoned low-level wanderers near his home to invite MC over, which could be that he used his blood for that.

Rafayel explains during Chapter 7 that the coral stones when they are ground into a pigment can make strong illusions which created by the artist. The coral stones also have ability to cause metaflux fluctuations, and MC managed to create a protofield by resonating with Rafayel's sample later in Chapter 7.

I think Rafayel's original intent with the painting was to summon a Wanderer in to Raymond's collection room - he could have died to the wanderer in Chapter 2 if it wasn't for MC and Zayne stopping it. The cuts in the skin could have caused the fresh blood to get a contact to the coral stone which would have summoned the wanderer. It could be possible that Zayne did draw a bit of blood from Raymond during the examination, and after Zayne leaving, Raymond probably could have touched the painting with the fresh wound, causing the wanderer to appear. Atleast, that's my only hypothesis for now.

It's good to note that during Chapter 2 MC did send the painting to the Hunter's Association for investigation, but assumably it was returned back to Raymond once they had finished the investigation. During Chapter 7 the journalist Joe mentions the painting vanished from Raymond's collection.

Honestly, I think it's most likely stolen. It could be possible the painting had been destroyed by accident or on purpose before Raymond died, but in addition to my ramblings in the Bounty post. I think the painting could be very important later on the story. It's unlikely that it got destroyed and not leave any traces behind from that.

Possible causes for Raymond's death

We know that Raymond was drowned in his bathtub. It was also rumored that he had cuts in his arms and legs, like his skin looked bunch of fish scales. It sounds a bit too specific to be completely made up, but it could be possible. I'll treat this information as if it was true. (TW: talking about the cuts in more detail)

The cuts on Raymond's skin could be a form of self-harm caused from his madness, and eventually collapsed into the bathtub from the blood loss. It could be that the illusion Rafayel created in the painting eventually made him go insane enough to do it. It also could be that there was a another wanderer in the painting who caused the cuts, but I doubt it.

I was also thinking maybe Raymond was partially turning into a Lemurian because of him getting too much treatment with Lemurian cells. This could be why he was in a battub and had the cuts that looked like fish scales - maybe he was forming actual scales on his skin. Him being a human most likely would mean that his body couldn't take the transformation and he died because of that. This could be also why Ever would have more reason to cover up the death - they couldn't let anyone know that their experiments are going this wrong as well as benefitting his death by acquiring Xander Sciences.

These again sound reasons that excuse that Rafayel didn't kill Raymond - it's because I don't really believe that Rafayel would have gone in person to his home and kill him. In addition that the surveillance in Raymond's home didn't detect anything, but also, Raymond dying could be worse outcome for Rafayel than keeping him alive. That gave Ever free reign over Xander Sciences, and also put all eyes on Rafayel with everyone suspecting he murdered Raymond. Of course it could be that hindsight is 20/20 and it could be he didn't see all that coming. He allures in Bouguets and Dirges that this isn't over yet.

Rafayel definitely isn't innocent in all this and he would be vengeful and resourceful enough to kill Raymond. And seemingly the initial way of luring a wanderer into his home seems more his way of killing someone - indirect and he could claim not being any of part of it. If he meant to kill him. Similarly in Siren's song when he kills Mr. Fallon, he kills him with a song - but who would actually believe people who think he is a siren?

I'm really stumped how he would be able to kill Raymond without being seen/heard at all by the surveillance. Not to mention the painting - why he would take the painting back or get rid of it? Or why he would demand Joe to find out who is trying to cover up Raymond's death? Or why he would wait for 7 months to "finish the job"?

Who would be the murderer if not Rafayel?

I did cover this topic on the bounty post and earlier in this post so I won't be repeating myself too much here. My personal headcanon for now goes to that Raymond died because of he was slowly turning into a lemurian, his body couldn't take it, collapsed into the bathtub from blood loss and eventually drowned.

I also mentioned that the painting was likely stolen and it could be important later on the story. If it was stolen, I am kind of hoping it could have been Sylus and he would have also been behind of killing Raymond as well. I feel that Raymond's death had couple important story catches for Rafayel, so I feel it could be that the painting itself was the creater motive in his death. Though I have to admit that I love juicy drama and I would be so ready to get some popcorn and see some sexy enemy banter between Sylus and Rafayel.

We can't also ignore Ever's involvement. Ever has been the biggest beneficiary from Raymond's death - they acquired his company and getting free reign on it, meaning they have more power over that area than before. The painting is most likely a curioisity as well to them, and they would have a perfect scapegoat for the murder as well. They want the investigation to be over as soon as possible - and have the resources to do so.

All in all, I feel Raymond did pick a wrong Lemurian to make enemies with. While I don't feel like Rafayel was the one doing the killing blow, he definitely wanted to incacipate Raymond for a long time, probably just for the revenge and seeing MC again. It was a win-win situation for him.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

A Song of heart and blood - part five | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: After an horrible prophetical dream, you find yourself traveling through time to try and save your sister, Daenerys, from her fatal ascension to the Iron Throne. During your mission, your heart derives you from your duty and you fall in love with your ancestor

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: After a long wait, the fifth part is finally there! I hope you didn't forget about this story... In case you did, please give it a re-read. The last two parts will follow soon (for real)

masterpost

—

Was there a day when Daemon Targaryen wasn’t plotting and scheming? When he wasn’t trying to secure his succession to the Iron Throne, he was coming up with war strategies or helping his great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter change the future of an entire dynasty.  

He didn’t understand the magical side of your story, how exactly you had traversed through the stones, but he believed you.

As the sky gradually darkened, you shared with him the future you knew — the dance. The demise of King Viserys, the crowning of the usurper, the Velaryons’ betrayal to Rhaenyra, plunge culminating in Daemon's final breath, Rhaenyra’s barbarous death, and more. 

Daemon wished he had brought a strong alcohol of some sort. Your tales were very difficult to hear at times. 

‘’We have to stop this war from happening, Daemon.’’ 

The prince nodded, his gaze fixed on the flames dancing in the stone fireplace before you. ‘’How do you suggest we do so? You suppressed the wrongly-crowned king before he could be born, but no moon tea will stop Alicent from birthing another babe. My brother is determined to have a son, and he'll persist until one is born to his young bride.’’ 

Being wedded to a king so young and with such a considerable age difference must not be pleasant for her. She wears a crown and owns beautiful dresses, but she was forced into a role she never desired all because her father aimed to have his blood on the Iron Throne. You almost felt bad for Alicent, but you couldn’t erase the horrible things she did — the things she will do. 

A reflection struck you. ‘’The king declared Rhaenyra his heir, but if you were to marry and have a babe of pure Targaryen blood, would the king be willing to reconsider your succession to the throne? His and Alicent’s children will never be pure Targaryen blood, yours could.’’

Daemon turned his head toward you, raising an eyebrow. ‘’Are you suggesting we marry?’’

Air got caught in your throat, causing you to choke. ‘’No! No, I…I was thinking of the princess. She is young, but—’’ 

‘’Marrying my niece has been on my mind in the past, but I’ve grown out of that idea. But you, you are of pure blood. Born from another time, but you carry the blood of the dragon.’’

Shaking your head, you stood. ‘’I cannot marry you, Daemon.’’ 

‘’You said you were in great danger from the hands of Otto Hightower. Marriage would ensure your safety.’’

You shook your head again, laughing at the insane words that left the prince’s mouth. ‘’You’ve lost your mind.’’  

Dameon suddenly looked serious, any ounce of humor wholly erased from his earlier easygoing features. ‘’You are my blood, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.’’ He combed a hand through your hair, pulling your face away and forcing you to look at him. ‘’You’re safe with me. I swear it.’’

Every bone of your body believed him. If you hadn’t felt safe in his presence, you would never have revealed him your secret. You would never have come to him for help.

You closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his touch. ‘’But I can’t stay forever,’’ you said, reopening your eyes. ‘’I’ve played enough with the future; a marriage would have significant repercussions.’’ 

Daemon’s finger ghosted across your cheekbone, sliding downwards until it settled on the corner of your mouth, gently caressing your pout with the rough pad of his finger. His eyes were contemplative, thoughtful. Gradually, his touch gently lowered, your decollete now the point of his focus. His index finger ran a smooth ring around the chain at your neck, a ghost of a perplexed frown forming on his face.

‘’I don’t care.’’ 

‘’Birthing an heir myself will change the whole lineage, Daemon. By doing this, my sister and I may not exist in the future.’’

‘’You said yourself that you were from my lineage—’’

‘’Your and Rhaenyra’s lineage,’’ you corrected. Was he not listening to what you were saying? ‘’If you don’t marry her, your children won’t be born and therefore I cannot exist.’’ 

Your eyebrows furrowed as a question echoed in your head. If you disrupt too much of time, will you vanish? Unfortunately, there was no way of finding the answer to your question. Not many had dangled with time-traveling, let alone written about it.

‘’How long do we have?’’ Daemon asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

‘’I don’t know,’’ you said truthfully, lowering your eyes to the stone floor. 

Daemon lifted your chin, tipping your head up to look at him. ‘’Let’s not waste time, then.’’ He closed the space between you, his lips molding perfectly with yours. 

You angled your head to deepen the kiss, not realizing how much you missed the taste of him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, nimble fingers burying in his silver hair as he pulled you against him, his clothed body flush against yours. 

Then, you were suddenly reminded of Rhea Royce. ‘’Don't you already have a wife?’’

⁂

All Daemon had said before leaving on Caraxes was that he had a business to take care of. Assuming it had to do with his wife being in the way of your marriage, you didn’t ask questions. You wouldn’t like the answers. 

He could have it dissolved by the king. His marriage with Rhea Royce had never been consummated, which would leave her honor intact. But Daemon had mentioned Runestone. Hopefully he’ll spare the woman’s life, you didn’t want to indirectly have blood on your hands.

To put your thoughts to rest, you busied yourself exploring the castle. The corridors echoed with the history of your house, each step revealing a new layer of the past. 

Eventually, you stumbled upon one of the bedchambers, situated atop of the castle. Pushing open the heavy door, you stepped into the large chamber. Like the rest of the castle, the walls adorned large dragons crafted into stone. You ran your hand over the stone, smiling. 

Dany would love this.

Curtains were draped above the large windows, a bright red shade — Targaryen red. It made the room more elegant and matched with the couch cushions. How nice must it be to sit there and look at the sunset.

Lastly, your eyes found the bed. It was smaller than the bed you shared with Daemon and the velvet bedding was slightly dusty from not having been used in a while. You laid on it regardless, tired from all your travels.

⁂

The hour was late when Daemon returned to Dragonstone, the moon casting a silver glow over the island. He should have gone to bed — with you —, but the weight of his responsibilities pressed upon him. There was no rest for the prince tonight. 

In the dim light of the candlelit room, he sat at a desk and wrote a message to a Septon he trusted would keep his tongue, arranging for the discreet ceremony that would bind you and him in the morrow. It had to be done rapidly and in the most secrecy. 

When the devastating news of Rhea Royce’s passing would inevitably travel across the realm, he knew that as her husband, the first suspect would be him. Their marriage was purely political. His dislike for the Lady of Vale wasn’t a secret. But if whispers of Daemon’s wedding to you were to reach the people’s ears, it would strengthen their suspicion that Daemon had something to do with it.

⁂

You had never seen a traditional Valerian marriage before. You had only read about it in books. The entire ritual involved blood to keep with the Targaryen legacy of being wed by blood and fire. 

A breeze coming from the bay blew over the hill, causing your silver waves to dance in the foggy air. You had removed most of your braids for the ceremony, letting your hair cascade down your back. Atop your head sat a traditional piece of Valerian headgear, given to you by Daemon. You assumed it was old, so you treated it with the utmost care. 

The Septon stood between you and Daemon, your vibrant marital robes contrasting with his dark clothes. ‘’We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. In the sight of the Seven, I, hereby, seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words: Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.’’ 

Although this marriage won’t last forever, you wished Dany was present for the ceremony. When you were little, you and her would fantasize about getting married and the beautiful dress you’d be wearing on your big day — and the lucky man who you would wed to. 

‘’Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,’’ Daemon repeated, his violet eyes looking into yours. He was so beautiful. 

The Septon turned to you, silently telling you it was your turn. 

‘’I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,’’ Daemon continued.

You repeated the words, then, using a dragonglass blade, Daemon cut the middle of your bottom lip. He took blood that was drawn from the blade and smeared it on your forehead. You mirrored his action, smearing his blood on his forehead. The ritual felt witchcraft-y, but whispers had it that your Valyrian ancestors used magic to build this very castle. 

You handed back the dagger and, in turn, Daemon cut a line in his palm. You followed suit, hissing as you drew a matching cut on your own skin. Blood trickled from the fresh cut before clasping your hands together, letting your and Daemon’s blood mix together. 

‘’Blood of two, joined as one,’’ the Septon said, placing a ribbon with a traditional pattern and tying it over your joined hands as blood dripped from your injuries and to the ground. ‘’Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.”

A chalice brimming with wine was passed to you, and you sipped from it before passing it to your soon-to-be husband. Even standing there, you almost couldn’t believe you were marrying this beautiful man. 

Daemon leaned down, pressing his cold lips against your own. You could taste blood through the kiss, unpleasing and metallic, but you ignored it and kissed him harder. 

—

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[birdofwildness]

♱Watched.

Mattheo Riddle x Onlyfans!reader

Summary::Mattheo catches you live on camera in a lace and silk - things get way more intense than either of you expected.

Warnings:: slight nudity,reader is on social media.

The silk robe slid off your shoulder like a sigh, the faintest brush of shadow sweeping across your collarbone in the golden lamplight. Beneath it, nothing but sheer black lace — delicate, transparent, barely clinging to your skin like a whispered promise. The camera, balanced perfectly in Theo’s room, cast you in that perfect warm glow: skin radiant, eyes half-lidded, lips gleaming with the gloss you knew they liked.

Your voice was low and velvet-smooth as it poured into the mic.“I could take it off... but you’ll have to convince me.”

The screen exploded to life. Hearts flickered, donations chimed in rapid succession, and the live chat scrolled like wildfire. You bit your lip just enough to catch their attention and leaned forward on your elbows, arching slightly to give the lens a deliberate, tempting view. The lace strained against your chest — exactly as intended.

Without warning, the door banged open, hard enough to rattle the frame.

You recoiled, startled, heart lurching in your chest as the robe fell completely off your shoulders and pooled at your waist.

“Bloody hell—!”

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping from the black coat plastered to his frame. His hair was damp and disheveled, storm-tossed from the downpour, and somehow it made him look even more like the brooding, infuriatingly magnetic bastard he’d always been.

Your body froze, every muscle locked tight as if time itself had paused around you. The air thickened, heavy and still. Across from you, he mirrored your sudden stillness—his eyes wide, unblinking, caught in the same suspended moment. Neither of you dared to move, each waiting for the other to break the silence

His eyes — dark, sharp, unreadable — dragged over you like smoke, lingering far too long on the curve of your bare thighs, the stretch of lace barely covering your chest, the heat rising in your flushed cheeks. His jaw tensed.

“Shit. Sorry—I didn’t mean to—” he muttered, his voice rough and low, like gravel scraping over stone. He began to turn away, shoulders tense and stiff. But then, something caught his eye. He paused, pivoting back slowly, eyes narrowing as if reconsidering everything.

“You’re seriously… live right now?” he asked, disbelief painting every word. But there was something else laced in his tone too — something quiet and electric that curled low in your stomach.

Without a word, you reached out and snapped the laptop shut, your heart racing.

“Do you ever knock?” you hissed.

He leaned against the doorframe like he owned the room, arms crossed, eyes never leaving yours.

“I came to talk to your brother. Didn’t think I’d walk in on… whatever the hell this is.”

“It’s called work,” you snapped, clutching at the edge of your robe even as it refused to stay in place. “Unlike some people, I actually do something useful.”

He scoffed, a dry, bitter sound that barely passed for a laugh. “You call this useful?”His eyes flicked back to you, sharp with disbelief.

You rose slowly to your feet, letting the robe fall farther than it closed. You didn’t bother fixing it. Whatever shame you might’ve felt had already burned away in the heat of his stare.

“Why are you still standing there, Riddle?” you asked coolly.

He stepped inside. Just one step — but it was enough to pull the air tight between you, stretching the moment unbearably thin.

“You never answered my question,” he said, voice low. “You really do this in Theo’s room? While he’s out fetching you bloody takeaway?”

“It’s not like I invited you to watch,” you shot back. “But here you are. Still not leaving.”

You tilted your head, letting the robe slip again — this time intentionally.

“What’s wrong, Mattheo? Never seen a half-naked girl before?”

“I’ve seen plenty of half-naked girls.” His gaze raked over you again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Just never one who makes money off it.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you muttered with a faint smirk.

He stood his ground, unmoving, as if the tension in the room hadn’t even touched him.

“You act untouchable,” he murmured. “Like no one gets close. But there are thousands of people begging to see you. Wanting you.”

Air snagged in your throat, shallow and sharp, like your lungs had forgotten what to do.“And you’re not one of them?” you asked softly.

His lips parted slightly, then closed again. Whatever words he’d had were gone. All that remained was the stare—quiet and distant.

“You should go,” you said, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

His head dipped slightly in a slow nod. “Yeah. I should.”

But even then, he remained perfectly still—like his body had forgotten how to respond, or refused to.

“Tell me something,” he said, voice quiet, unreadable. “Would you let me subscribe?”

You raised a brow, a sharp little smile tugging at your lips.“You don’t have the balls.”

That crooked smirk of his widened.“I don’t need to pay. I just need to walk into the right room at the right time.”

Your eyes narrowed, slow and deliberate. “That’s a terrible idea,” you said, each word heavy with warning.

“The worst,” he agreed, voice nearly a whisper now.

Then— from down the hallway, the unmistakable creak of the front door opening. Theo’s voice called out, loud and vaguely annoyed:“Hey, I’m back!”

Mattheo took a slow step back, retreating toward the door, his expression unreadable but laced with something dangerous.

“Show’s over, sweetheart,” he murmured, flashing one last glance your way. “For now.”

And then he was gone.

You stood there alone, your breath uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, the lace still clinging to your skin like a secret, like a dare you weren’t ready to take back.

[starryeyedstray]

connor visits detroit's newest botanical garden but it looks a little too familiar...

"The garden is indoors?" North asked as they arrived at their destination.

"Correct. Given Detroit's natural climate, it would be difficult to sustain a botanical garden year round. So they've opted to create the garden inside something akin to a greenhouse."

"Leave it to humans to put nature in a tiny box they can control," North murmured as she stared up at the building. "Why did Markus want us to come here again?"

"It's supposed to be help relieve stress."

North gave Connor a skeptical look. He shrugged in response. Nature offered calming effects on humans, but Connor had some doubts whether that would hold true for deviants.

North sighed, "I guess we shouldn't keep them waiting."

They stepped inside and were greeted with a small garden. A stone paved path snaked around a central pond. White and wooden bridges connected to a small island in the center with a rose trellis. An artificial blue sky almost indistinguishable from reality stretched above them.

It was the Zen Garden. Amanda's Zen Garden. Connor froze while his OS unhelpfully told him that his stress levels had spiked.

Why was this here? His eyes flickered around. No mission telling him to talk to Amanda. No Amanda. This was fine. It was not fine.

"This is actually really pretty," North said in awe as she looked up at the cherry blossom tree. "Can't believe we're inside. They made the sky looks so real."

Markus, Simon, and Josh appeared from the path at their left.

"Hey, glad you guys made it!" Markus smiled as North greeted him and Connor nodded in response.

The deviant leader pouted when he noticed Connor, but quickly recovered as he turned to North. "It's pretty, isn't it? We already walked through most of it since it's pretty small, but Josh and Simon can show you around. I have something to talk about with Connor privately first."

"Sure thing, Markus," North said before shooting a curious glance at Connor who still was rooted in place at the entrance. The trio went back up the path on the left.

Markus turned to Connor. "C'mon, Connor, let's take a walk."

Connor nodded again and stiffly followed him as they took the path to the right. "What did you need to speak with me about?" Connor asked to distract himself. He tried to keep himself calm. Keep his LED blue.

Apparently, he was doing an inadequate job because Markus' eyes flickered up to his LED before meeting his eyes. Connor didn't see a benefit in removing his LED before, but having everyone able to have a general idea of his current mental state at a glance felt a bit violating which made him reconsider his decision.

"Is something bothering you?" Markus asked.

It was very typical of Markus to ask him that despite being able to definitively discern that something was indeed bothering him. Connor looked away. He was tempted to lie, but he'd have to explain why his LED was yellow if something wasn't bothering him. He's never told anyone about Amanda before. Should he tell Markus?

His thoughts were ripped away from him as he noticed a white headstone inside a small clearing at the edge of the path.

No.

This wasn't the Zen Garden. It couldn't be here. It wouldn't make sense to see it here.

He didn't hear Markus call after him as he quickly walked ahead to crouch in front of the headstone.

sorry but this wip has been sitting in my drafts since december and i don't think i'll ever finish it bc it was just a vague phantasm of an idea. it was gonna just rot in there so decided to post the unfinished idea here since i haven't posted a fic in a bit. my apologies for it's half-baked condition u_u i'll probably post it on my ao3 if i ever develop it more but for now this is all i got

[technically-human]

So I've seen you mention fics in the tags of some of your art and I'm just wondering if you write fanfics???

I do, though not very often! I wrote The devil wears black and I'm currently writing a post second movie one from the Doctor's POV. Here's a scene just in case I never do finish it

When Robotnik was around 4 years old, bored with the coloring books and the rhymes in the ones that actually had words, he had read about symbiotic relationships, and concluded it was a good enough way to classify human interaction.

Parasitism was easy enough to understand, and something to be avoided. He knew himself extraordinary, and was aware of how that could attract all kinds of leeches to him. He couldn't allow anyone to benefit from his spoils while actively harming him. If he was prone to that kind of analysis, maybe Robotnik would claim that was when his paranoia and distrust began to build. In reality, he considered that his default mode ever since birth.

Mutualism seemed like something to aspire to, beneficial for both parties, strong. Unfortunately, Robotnik would later learn that while lots of people –and institutions– wanted something from him, rarely did they have anything to offer. He was self-sufficient, and although some things he couldn't get on his own, he was sure he could find suitable replacements if he felt so inclined. Mutualism was rare, perhaps even unrealistic, at least for him.

Commensalism was stupid. Even if he wasn't being harmed, why would he allow someone else to benefit from him without giving anything in return? Sounded like slightly more subtle parasites, in his opinion.

So Ivo Robotnik learned to live surrounded by leeches and ticks.

People, yes. Foster parents who only wanted the benefits of having a genius at home, colleges that wanted him to attend even if they had nothing to teach him, because his presence made things more prestigious, government organizations that intended to put a leash on him, to guide his genius like it belonged to them.

He managed. He learned when to say no and when to say yes, when he could tolerate the sting and painstakingly squeeze some benefits for himself.

He didn't reconsider his stance on commensalism until he got Agent Stone assigned to him. Robotnik didn't actually need him, he had lived more than enough on his own to be confident in that assessment, but… having him around actually didn't hurt. Stone never took from him, never subtracted. He just attached himself to the Doctor, clearly got some things out of it, but without stealing them from him. Like a barnacle.

What do whales think of the barnacles that cling to them? Do they even notice? Robotnik certainly did notice his, but found he didn't actually mind. Even while knowing that Stone held on waiting for future compensation, he found that it was acceptable. When he eventually revealed his true nature as yet another parasite, Robotnik concluded, it would be fine, for he, unlike everyone else, had earned it. The Doctor had bled for lesser men, he could spare a few drops for a pest that at least was loyal.

The idea that he could be the parasite had never occurred to him before.

Ivo Robotnik was the man with the resources, the one with the brains and the plans and the irreplaceability. People wanted, needed things from him. Even when he was a child, an orphan with nothing but his half-baked plans and the few spare parts he could collect and transform, it was easy to see potential in him. It was easy to know he had a lot to offer, if one was willing to take the risk of trying to steal it.

Ivo Robotnik had nothing now, defenseless and empty in a way he had never been. He couldn't even move. He couldn't even build or create or think. And he was only alive because he was taking from his own agent.

Subtracting.

There weren't mosquitoes in the crab, but Robotnik could almost visualize it. Stone distractedly slapping his hand on his own arm to eliminate the pest. Looking at it, at the tiny trace of blood with disgust. Then pausing, turning towards the Doctor, who couldn't move and wouldn't speak and had nothing anymore, and realizing…

Well, the crab was underwater and mostly free of living organisms, except for Stone himself and, if one felt inclined to count him, Robotnik, so that wasn't realistic.

The image still played in his mind every now and then.

[skay-ali]

The sacrifice of a poor soul

Well, maybe the whole family won't appear yet, but I want to give the reader a little development in this chapter. I think their entire dynamic is explained in this one. So, in the following ones, there will be more interaction and more story related to the comics and movies.

0 1

Oh innocent soul

Oh withered flower

While you continue to wait with hope

Your loved ones sharpen their spears to stab you

And watch you bleed to death

Ever since you became self-aware, you knew one thing very well.

You were in a big world and you were just a little girl, but that wasn't the problem, well, not the one affecting you this time...

You hated yourself.

You didn't feel much love for who you were, your life, your appearance.

You thought that at some point there would be something better, and you waited for it with open arms.

You were on autopilot, oblivious to the time you wasted being capricious, hating yourself with every fiber of your being.

You didn't think of yourself as pretty or nice; you only saw a reflection in the mirror, a horrible one, one that reflected an insect, a freak.

Then you met him, the most handsome boy, an ethereal beauty, who was very kind, funny, and nice to you. It was like a dream. He was an angel, somewhat ironic because the day you met, when your eyes met for the first time, that boy was dressed like an angel: a baggy shirt with the top buttons unbuttoned, revealing his abdomen, also white pants, and wings with thin, fluffy feathers sticking out of his back.

He smiled at you, leaving a conversation with his friends who couldn't stop talking among themselves, pushing each other, and laughing.

But it only took a few minutes for you to reconsider. He was a radiant star in a sea of ​​​​little lights and dull stones, where you belonged. Ha, why would he smile at you?

You smiled, but not in response to the boy. No, tonight was your night. You wore a lot of makeup and a good costume. You were a total loser at this point, so you'd let go of your fears and enjoy the party, or try to, before running home scared.

And minutes later, fate believed it was time for your canonical event.

You met that boy dressed as an angel. What you thought was a one-night stand and flirtation turned into a friendship at school, and later into a relationship.

You were truly happy. You no longer looked in the mirror and saw every little imperfection.

You were no longer unhappy at home, no longer so alone. You had someone who truly cared about you.

For a socially marginalized girl, in her daily life and at home, reserved, introverted, difficult to understand. It was a dream, something wonderful.

A dream that later turned into a nightmare, and then you wished you'd never met this boy... he wasn't an angel, he was just a disguise.

"They say they cut out his heart while he was still breathing."

"Only a deranged mind could have done it."

It was the talk of the school; his death was shocking.

"I think he deserved it."

"Did you know the kind of person he really was? He deserves it."

You sighed, locked in the large closet in your room.

What did you do?

What a monster you've become!

"Get up, subject, we have a plan to put into action."

You turned a deaf ear to his words.

Your body didn't want to move, to leave your comfortable, warm state inside the darkness of your closet.

Curled into a ball, tormented by all your actions.

"How many people now? Ten people," you said in a weak, soft voice.

"Fuck, I ate my ex, his heart, and... I ended him." Your voice cracked.

"I truly loved him."

"And... and he gave me love, he gave me attention, happiness."

"Is that so? Don't forget what he did to you."

You froze.

Your sadness wavered.

"I'll break up with you at the concert and leave you alone at the concert."

His voice was mesmerizing; you couldn't turn a deaf ear, ignore it, or refuse to believe it.

His words were true, undeniable.

"He was the one who left you vulnerable to being kidnapped."

"He left you just like your family."

"Oh, come on. Now they're going to be mentioned too."

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, comforting yourself.

"Don't you see how devastated I am... why do you insist on making me suffer?" you sobbed sadly.

"I, I make you suffer, react, silly human."

His voice was now cynical, no longer holding any playfulness.

"None of them care about you, not your dear deceased love, not your family, not your friends, no one."

"Your true love, as you always mention in your head, made you suffer until the very end, even if you try to justify it."

"Your family, you were always the last person on their list. Not even they, with their great role as heroes, saved you."

"No one protected you from me, a demon, or from being sacrificed."

"I am all you have, the one who gave you another chance."

"Stop feeling sorry for them and think more about yourself."

"My first subject, one of the few survivors of my new world."

Harsh, cold words.

You stared at your food, with no appetite for the contents of the plate.

It was too sweet for you, but not in the way that it was something super delicious and after a few bites you couldn't eat anything else.

It was more like something unappetizing, a sour taste running down your throat every time you looked at the contents.

You felt full just looking at it, as if you'd just tasted something more delicious.

You played with your food, your fork moving from one side to the other, scattering food across the plate.

You felt lost, so out of yourself.

You were no longer able to recognize why you kept moving.

Why were you still alive?

It was silly to say, but the only person who had ever understood you, made you happy, the only one who stayed, made you feel loved... was gone.

You didn't have friends to keep you company in your free time or to be there for you in insignificant moments, people to talk to, laugh with, share profound things with, and have fun doing fun things with. You were alone, with no one to talk to.

You didn't have any family, it was cruel to say, difficult to acknowledge after so much time.

But you never had any family after your grandmother died.

Your mother was long gone, and some time later, your last caregiver, whom you loved so much, left... You were surrounded by serious, cold, emotionless faces.

Strangers who didn't see you as anything more than a passing presence.

"So I decided to skip school."

"I had a great role in the new play."

"I was lucky enough to buy one of the new unlimited series that were released."

"It was a difficult case, one that kept the whole department busy, but I managed to solve it."

"I got the perfect movie for our next movie day."

You didn't pay attention to the distant voices; it was probably a small meeting before dinner.

The loud thoughts screaming in your head were too powerful for you to focus on anything else.

The butler was still in the room, watching you eat.

Waiting for you to devour your plate, thank him, exchange a few words, and finally, disappear until the next meal.

That reminded you of when you were still a child, your grandmother watching you, convincing you to eat, always with a smile and a kind voice.

How she would give you a sweet after you finished your plate, how you would devour it on the house's old wooden porch, where you would watch the birds, the cars, and the people passing by.

You no longer had that happy moment where she would tell you little stories, stories that bore no resemblance to the ones you knew, but which you loved to hear, leaning on her lap, feeling the fabric of her skirt on your head.

She combed your hair, carefully, causing you to tingle and feel relaxed and calm.

You missed your mother's warmth, her smile, her warm touch, the time you spent together, the jokes you told, the silly things you shared every time she drove, her concern every time something changed in you.

She knew it instantly and was there with open arms, ready to wait for you.

You missed your home and the thousands of memories you had.

You missed the food cooked by the two women you loved most in your life.

Even... with their presence... with their cooking... you wouldn't have eaten it.

No, you couldn't, because now you were a monster... you were a horrible being, at the mercy of others just to keep breathing.

You pushed the plate away from your sight with trembling hands.

You looked down at the table.

How you wished it was all a dream and that you could wake up on your grandmother's lap, her waiting for you to get up to make dinner until your mother returned from shopping.

Please...

Please...

I don't want this nightmare...

You didn't stop begging.

But everything remained the same: the dining room, the dinner plate, the empty room, cold, devoid of familiarity and feelings.

You watched reluctantly.

Your gaze met the demon that was possessing you and slowly destroying you.

He only smiled, a sinister smile, full of hidden intentions.

He had the power, even though he was a small creature, a rare kind of black cat, with fangs, an arrow-tipped tail, and horns instead of ears.

Tim was exhausted.

He'd spent many days investigating his last case, adding his missions with his team and his work as a civilian at Wayne Company.

It had been an exhausting week.

Now all he needed was a little rest and a good meal for dinner.

The house had been empty since his brothers and their father had left a few hours earlier.

Alfred was in the laundry room, he deduced as much when he remembered the man carrying a basket of dirty clothes.

Then what he saw as he passed by the living room surprised him.

It was you, his sister, the one who didn't fight or take justice seriously, the quiet and strange girl in the family.

But it wasn't your presence that surprised him; it was the state you were in.

As if it were a horror movie.

You were hunched over the table, staring into space, concentrating your gaze on a single point, your long hair covering almost a large part of your face.

A gloomy air seemed to surround you; worse, you were alone, and you showed no signs of moving...

how long had you been in that state?

Before he knew it, you were already standing up, still hunched over, at a slow pace.

He watched as you left the dining room, appearing mesmerized as you continued on your way.

Curiosity was piqued.

Now what the hell was happening to you?

What are you up to?

Then he heard the front door open, slow footsteps, and the sound of the large door closing.

Now he didn't know if he should worry...

You had lost your boyfriend; that must have affected you, even if it wasn't a big enough deal to drive you crazy...

A little drama of yours, maybe...

Oh, actually, you were in trouble...

"Where are we going?" you asked with curiosity and fear.

"Ahgg, you're becoming more and more disappointing and pathetic."

"I can't let this continue."

Nervous was too small a word to describe what you felt.

You were walking down an unknown, dark path, full of danger, without a weapon or anyone to protect you, blindly following a demon.

A long walk led you to an abandoned building. Where many dangerous-looking men crowded the area.

Their gazes fixed on you, burning your body, displaying malicious smiles, swearing as compliments, and warnings about what they were planning to do to you.

You swallowed in fear.

"No... I don't think we should be in this place."

"Damn, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you."

The little demon continued walking through the halls of the building, already annoyed by your cowardly and soft behavior. He didn't think that this behavior of yours would be a great impediment to his plans.

Because you can't be the same as the wild, sadistic, revenge-seeking girl you were the last two times.

That's why he brought you to this place.

The small pit of sin created by one of his former acquaintances who managed to get out of hell before him.

"Oh, it's you. I'm surprised to see you, especially with that appearance."

"Yes, yes, yes, save your words," he said reluctantly.

"ahaha you never change no"

Ignoring his words, he decided to continue with his plan. "Look, I didn't come here for a good meeting. Right now, I need this follower excuse to become stronger and less whiny."

"Oh, so you got a human?"

"Is there anything wrong with that?" he asked, no longer willing to put up with the annoying guy.

"Hey, calm down. I just think it's funny. You're a high-level demon, one of the favorites with a human."

"Haha, I think it's really funny. I even think it confirms the rumors."

The commotion stopped when a scream of intense pain was heard.

The demon only angrily moved his elongated tail away from the human-like demon's chest, who fell to the ground and tried to stay steady.

"Do you still believe those rumors?" he asked reluctantly.

Receiving nothing but a scared look, he walked away and returned to his human, who was distractedly staring at the large ring where two men were fighting.

"If you don't mind, I'll borrow your fighting space."

A massive punch came at your face. You luckily dodged it, but immediately another punch came at your body. You couldn't dodge it, and it hit you with great force.

A sharp pain ran through your body. A clean blow to your stomach knocked the wind out of you, leaving you sprawled on the floor, writhing.

"Get up and continue," the demon ordered.

You didn't; you tried to recover from the pain, but a kick landed directly in your stomach, knocking you a few feet from where you were lying.

The pain intensified.

With little strength, you tried to get up.

Muscular arms lifted you up and threw you to the other side of the ring.

You collided with a post, a very hard object that impacted your back, leaving your bones in severe pain.

You held onto the ropes that extended from the post to those next to you.

You needed to get out; you couldn't shovel.

"No... I can't," you cried, scared. Those blows were horrible.You didn't want to continue this crazy excursion.

"Get me out," you cried desperately.

"keep fighting ____"

Seeing the demon's refusal and no one from the cheering, screaming crowd tried to save you.

You pulled up the laces holding you up to throw you to the floor.

They grabbed your feet, a great force knocking you to the ground.

Your chest hit the floor hard, and your knees also took a heavy hit.

You tried to crawl, but the hands from before held you tight.

"Please stop... I give up," you begged again and again. It was your last way out. You received no response; the blows continued.

You ended up on the floor, trying to regain consciousness. Despite the pain, you tried to move.

This was a nightmare. You were feeling intense pain, just like that day...

That day, where everything changed, that day where thousands of stab wounds pierced your skin.

You looked at your skin, at your arms that must have had scars. There was nothing, it was smooth skin without imperfections. You were painfully aware that this torture wouldn't end quickly. Your body was healed despite the pain. You were sure that when you recovered, the blows would return.

You cried in helplessness, knowing what was next.

"Stop crying, that's why you're on stage."

"You were a coward, and I don't need a coward."

"I can't," you cried, frustrated.

"I can't do it, you should have thought of that."

"Ahhhhh," you were so angry.

Everyone wanted to see you in distress. The voices cheered and filled with joy.

No one ran to your aid, didn't they care? They only enjoyed your sacrifice.

They only used you.

They were destroying you.

Suddenly, something clicked.

You saw the blood on the floor, your blood coming out of your mouth and nose.

You were filled with rage.

At first, this demon forced you to do terrible things.

They wouldn't let you be miserable.

Your family is still the same shit as always.

Your damn friends are still top-notch hypocrites.

Everyone wants you dead.

They're thinking of sacrificing yourself again...

They want to kill you again...

You slammed your fists hard on the floor.

They turned red, and the pain made you stand up.

Carefully, still in pain, but with great anger and determination, you stood up.

You walked carefully toward where the woman you'd fought was strutting.

You grabbed one of her shoulders. With a strength you didn't know you possessed, you threw her across the room.

When the woman reacted, you prepared your fist and slammed it hard into her stomach, causing her to spit and gasp for air.

The screams peaked again. The smell of blood and sweat grew stronger, as did the alcohol.

The woman recovered again, but you were already ready, waiting for her attack.

You wouldn't dodge it; you would receive it and take advantage of it to take the woman with you.

You tasted the blood in your mouth with every blow.

There were blows, punches, kicks, intense lights on the stage, fierce screams, splattered blood.

"Haha, that's what I'm talking about, girl."

"Sniff... I'm so proud."

You regained control and threw the woman to the floor.

And with a great surge, your hand flew to her face before she could get up.

This left the woman lying on the floor.

A few minutes passed, and she didn't move.

Then everyone celebrated.

You had won.

It was a shame you couldn't end your feast another way.

"Wow, looks like we have a new threat in Gotham."

"Oh, a new partner."

"I don't think it's just Gotham that needs to be careful."

"Did you record it?"

"Yeah, dude, I did it. This will make us a lot of money," he smiled.

"Oh, wait until we make it public, it'll explode." He was very excited about his new content.

"Hey, kids, I told you, get out of this place."

The two teenagers ran away when the guards recognized them.

Wow, I just got back to my apartment, back to college, in a city a few hours away from home... and I feel like shit. Not even my adorable little four-legged companion helps me stop and forget about feeling miserable... damn, I miss my home and my family... It's even more damn now I think about all the bad things that can happen to my little company while I'm gone... I'm in a spiral...

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆REGRETS

Content warnings: Angst, Death, Foul Language, Toxic behaviors, Unhealthy Relationships.

Pairings: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

“Are you still thinking about her?”

Obanai questioned, leaning  into the oak tree with his hands behind his head as his heterochromic eyes dissected every flicker of emotion on the wind hashira’s face, searching for clues hidden beneath the mask of indifference that sanemi had.

Sanemi didn’t answer at first, opting to shred a blade of grass between his calloused fingers. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“No i’m not.”

He avoided Obanai's searching gaze, staring up into the leaves instead as they rustled gently in the breeze. 

Obanai gave him a look.

The serpent hashira knew how sanemi’s mind works. He was probably thinking about you again, and fuck was he right, Sanemi was thinking about you.

He was thinking of you like some lovesick idiot, he was thinking of your smile, the way you’d bark insults back at him whenever he’s in the mood to be grumpy.

The way you feel, and the sweet sighs you’d breathe into his skin.

He missed how well you knew him, able to read his moods with just a glance.

And damn, did he wonder what would happen if he didn’t acted on impulse back then?

What if instead of breaking up with you, and telling you to just leave the corps, he supported your decision?

Would things be different? Would the two of you still be together?

Would he be able to marry you like he had always wanted to?

“I know you’re thinking about her, Shinazugawa.” Obanai interrupted his wishful thinkings bluntly. Sanemi shot him an irritated glance but didn’t deny it.

There was no point in arguing — Obanai could see right through him anyways.

“Thinking of what could have been if you didn’t split up, yeah? Putting a ring on her finger?”

“Tch. Mind your own business,” he grunted.

“So what if i am thinking about her? It doesn’t matter.” sanemi answered bluntly, making obanai sigh.

“You should move on. it’s been a year and a half.” Obanai replied.

“It’s pathetic to still yearn for a girl. When you wwre the one who broke up with her in the first place.”

“I know it’s pathetic. You don’t have to remind me.”

Sanemi scowled.

He hated it—the reminder that he was the one who had broken your heart, the one who had walked away.

The mere mention of you was like a blade, pristine yet serrated; It was a very sensitive topic for sanemi.

Whenever you were the topic, Sanemi grew sensitive—He disliked discussing about you, because it hurts and left him feeling ashamed.

He loathed this conversation, this topic that dug into the wounds he thought had scabbed over, and he was ashamed that he was the one who broke your heart, when now he was the one pining and in pain. 

Why the fuck did the both of you have to be so stubborn?

All he wanted was to protect you—to shield you from the bloodshed and gore he faced daily as a demon slayer—yet your determination to join and spill demon guts for vengeance for your family was as immovable as a mountain.

Time and again he pleaded with you, begged you to reconsider, to choose another path, any path but that one. But you wouldn’t bend. 

It hurts him whenever he remembers that you and two had something special back then.

Every time he returned home injured from a mission, you would gently clean and dress his wounds with a tender touch, wanting nothing more than to ease his pain.

Your days were spent caring for the handful of stray dogs he had rescued from the streets, nursing them back to health alongside your own beloved pets and your relationship with him was basically all sunshines and rainbows.

But that was until a demon attacked and slaughtered your family.

Your gentleness turned hard as stone. Gone was the refuge you once shared; in its place grew thorns of bitterness, vengefulness, and distrust. All the love you had poured into caring for sanemi and your home seemed wasted and all you cared about was getting revenge. 

And your relationship became toxic, always arguing and all.

Though, one argument made him snap — when you said something hurtful about him.  He knew that he shouldn’t have risen to the bait, shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him, but damn you just know how to push his buttons.

And before he knew what he was doing, the words were spewing from his mouth like vomit—words he could never take back, words meant to wound as deeply as you’d wounded him, and in the heat of the moment, he ended up storming out and dumping you on the spot, so that you’d quit the corps because he knew you wouldn’t want to see his face anymore or some shit like that.

Sanemi ran both hands roughly through his white hair in stress, tugging slightly in frustration as the events replayed in his mind. The hurtful words you had said were burned into his memory.

He let out a groan and leaned back against the tree, eyes closed as he tried to forget the look on your face when he left.

But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t escape the guilt.

And the fact that obanai just kept mentioning you was just adding salt into the wound.

 “If you miss her so bad, why don’t you just send her a letter and apologize?” Obanai asked casually, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Lower your pride a little. It wouldn’t kill you.” He added.

 “Trust me, I’ve always wanted to apologize.” Sanemi huffed out gruffly. 

“Damn it... I look like such a dramatic fool.” He grumbled to himself, cringing as he recalled his rash actions.

“Then why don’t you send her a letter? You know where to find her...” Obanai said with an arched brow, as if the solution was obvious.  

“I don’t wanna bother her.” Sanemi muttered, already dreading your possible reaction if he tried to reach out, he feared that you’d just tell him to fuck off.

But maybe Obanai was right... He really needed to apologize.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐀/𝐍: i was listening to xxxx by loonie when i was writing this dawg, it fits the theme & atmosphere of this fic... Same ground by kitchie nadal fits this aswell.

(this is totally not inspired by my previous rs)

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

@achaotichuman !!! I HAD TO 😭

Nyxlin oneshot

Tamlin's knuckles whited on the tabletop from the effort of restraint. His heart was beating an erratic rhythm in his chest. A cool hand settled at the nape of his neck, lightly squeezing.  

Ignore my father, beloved. You know he says these things to upset you. 

The words echoed in his mind, ringing with the force of Nyx's irritation. Any Daemati present would surely hear the words as plainly as if they'd spoken them themselves. Even as his pale blue eyes held his gaze, Nyx's words continued to bounce around in Tamlin's mind, loud and bold.

Tamlin turned his head slightly, unable to stop the smile that tugged at his lips. He drew his mate's hand from his neck and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of Nyx's wrist.

I know. But I can't help wanting to jump across the table to wring his neck nonetheless.

Nyx's laughter rippled down the bond, and his neat, pointed fangs poked at his plush lower lip. He turned his hand, curling it over Tamlin's jaw and stroking lightly.

Well. Some things just can't be helped, can they? Please try to keep from killing my father, though. I would like him there.

A loud, dramatic, mental sigh. If I must, my love.

Someone cleared their throat from across the table.

Rhysand looked faintly ill.

"That's enough, Nyx. You've made your point," Feyre said coolly.

Nyx turned his gaze to his mother with a smile, "Of course, mother. I apologise." he pulled his hand back, settling it instead on Tamlin's thigh.

A muscle twitched in Feyre's eye as she tracked the movement from underneath the glass tabletop, but she continued after a long, suffering breath.

"Now. We have been unable to resolve this issue for quite some time. I have called this meeting to talk things over, speak our perspectives and make our case, as it were. We're running out of time, as I'm sure you're aware, so I would like to resolve this issue today. Yes?"

"Yes, mother."

Tamlin curled his lip, but inclined his head, "Your point is well made, High Lady. But I'm afraid that I have argued my case one too many times. It is your High Lord who refuses to co-operate." 

"That was the purpose of this meeting," she looked over to her mate, smiling tightly, "Perhaps we can come to a compromise. Rhys?"

The High Lord of Night glowered, his eyes flicking from his son's stone cold expression, to Tamlin's petulant scowl. Feyre cleared her throat pointedly and a moment passed in a silent exchange. Rhys sighed at last.

"... I suppose it would not matter if the napkins were pale pink."

"Wonderful!" Feyre said brightly, quickly, not giving Rhys the chance to reconsider. Her pen scrawled across the paper in a blur.

"Now, the guest list. If we are to host the ceremony, we will need to cull some guests from your side, Tamlin."

Tamlin leaned forward, a frown deepening on his face, "The ceremony will be held in Spring."

Rhys slammed his hands on the table top, "Over my dead body!" he snarled.

"Gladly!" Tamlin responded, his chair toppling over as he surged upwards.

Nyx smothered his grin, leaning backwards in his chair as his mother rubbed her temple wearily. At this rate, the wedding would never happen, but he didn't mind. So long as his mate didn't kill his father and vice versa.

original big brained post here:

https://www.tumblr.com/achaotichuman/773277588914372608/oh-my-god-please-i-would-die-bonus-points-if?source=share

[rinawrote]

My brother you know I love these relationship hcs 🤭 so I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing some for our pookie Sean Stone?!

PERIODDD my baby fr I love him sm he’s so me

Realistic Relationship Headcanons

DS Sean Stone (Chasing Shadows) x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of smut

- Talks thru every single TV show u try to watch esp if it’s a crime show he’s like, “that would never happen 😒”

- Falls for rage bait every time

- Sometimes js lurks around the house like you’ll turn around and he’s there like���🏻

- Lowkey the best kinda bf cos he literally never lies

- “I don’t like that outfit 😐” ahh boyfriend

- Ur the only person allowed in his car (but ur not allowed to eat or drink or breathe loudly xx)

- God FORBID you play music around the house

- U once told him u stole some sweets as a kid and he genuinely reconsidered ur whole relationship

- Would ring u in the middle of the night and get confused when u shout at him

- Always gets SO into his work so u gotta come sit in his lap and distract him 😝

- Will act like u annoy him (u do) but he’s a little bit in love w it

- Lowkey likes being told what to do ONLY BY U THO anyone else and he’s already leaving the room

- Calls iPhone games pointless but is an absolute sweat at them (beats u every time)

- Never tells u he misses u but he WILL ask how you are 15 times a day

- Typa bloke to turn everything into a lecture

- Does not gaf about his own well-being but has a mini stroke if u feel unwell

- Actually lowkey will NOT come near u if ur ill tho he doesn’t want lurgies (but will love u from a distance 🫶)

- First time he touched ur boobies he didn’t know how to act so he kinda just froze with his hand on ur tit (he has never been so turned on in his life)

- Actually if u show any kind of intelligence/competence it’s like an instant boner for him

- ESPECIALLY if ur standing up to someone else his dick is 🆙

- If u asked him to roleplay/use cuffs on u in the bedroom he’d immediately be like NO bc it’s “highly unprofessional” and then think about it non-stop for the next 3 days

- I js know that when he wears a towel he wears it up to his chest and not just around his waist I’m laughing

- Will only ever call u by ur full government name and deffo refers to u as his “partner” and has to clarify that he means the domestic one, not the work one

- REFUSES to use emojis but types “hmm.” w a full stop and thinks that’s expressive enough

- Would try to schedule sex if you’d let him

- When he’s home alone he’ll send u pics of things he finds sus like “this van has been outside for 17 minutes. thoughts?”

- Bro would not like ur friends at ALL 💔

- But it’s ok bc they probably don’t like him either ❤️

- If he needs space he’ll just silently relocate across the room until further notice

- U called him babe once and he was js like “don’t do that again”

- He thinks shagging in a position that isn’t missionary is spicing things up

- Thinks putting his hand on ur leg is foreplay

- U and Adele probs have a text chain monitoring his v fragile emotional state at any given time

- Once called him Detective Serg-cunt during in an argument and he wouldn’t come near u for 36 hours

- If u ever broke up with him he’d act like he was fine but keep ur toothbrush for 3 years “just in case you come back”

- Probs didn’t realise he fancied you for MONTHS, was just like “why do I feel vaguely unwell every time she smiles”

- Fully would’ve thought there’s summat wrong w him like was sat googling “shortness of breath around specific person”

- His fav flavour of crisps is ready salted

- Will say shit like “I’m not arguing w u” and then proceed to argue

- Likes being babied when he cries 🤭

- Texts u like he’s in HR

- Grabs ur hand to cross the road like you’re a toddler

- King would rather walk into traffic than say “I love you” but will defrost your car at 6am without being asked bless him xx 🫶

- One of those absolute wronguns who leaves the teabag in the mug

- Storms off if u ever prove him wrong

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