#weaponized vulnerability lol

[luvergirl-535]

full court distress

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.0k

c/w - weed & drinking, fluff, azzi is going thru it and paige is just trying to vibe 🥀. pure chaos. not a serious bone in my body apparently. based off one of my headcanons :)

a/n - in which paige pays the price for something she didn’t do, but kinda deserves anyway.

most mornings between them are soft, routine: azzi wakes first, then paige. azzi allows herself five minutes, no more and certainly no less, to lay with paige’s sleeping figure, holding her, admiring her, borrowing her warmth. and then she will slip out of bed to do mundane things like taking off her bonnet and tidying up and dressing. paige will wake up to the sounds of azzi bustling around, or to the feel of her hands stroking through paige’s soft hair.

so it comes as a bit of a surprise when paige wakes earlier than usual and realizes it’s because her girlfriend has been watching her sleep with a pouty expression for who knows how long.

paige blinks a few times in an attempt to un-blur the morning. “hey, weird-ass,” she says, voice thick with sleep. once her vision finally clears, she looks at azzi again. she frowns when the pout is still firmly on azzi’s face. “what happened?”

azzi’s lip juts out further. she’s typically pretty tough, not quite as soft around the edges as paige is. she’s gentle and kind and sweet, but the pouting and baby-talk are mostly reserved for special occasions. which is why her wide, misty eyes and quivering bottom lip have paige concerned. “az,” she says when azzi doesn’t reply. “c’mon, what’s up, babe?”

azzi shakes her head, and paige is a little relieved to have at least some reaction from her. still, it’s strange. paige isn’t used to prying information out of azzi—it’s usually the other way around.

bracing herself for a potentially bad start to the morning, paige shifts closer, tangling their legs under soft sheets and slinging an arm around azzi’s waist. “baby,” she says, trying to soften the sleepy roughness from her throat, “tell me what’s goin’ on, sweetheart.”

azzi shakes her head again, lip trembling aggressively enough now that she nestles into the crook of paige’s neck to hide.

“aw, nah, don’t cry,” paige coos, placing a hand on her girlfriend’s cheek to try and nudge her out of hiding. “look at me, mama, for real.”

azzi stays strictly put. “it’s nothing,” she says, voice muffled in the skin of paige’s neck.

“why you making me fight for this right now?” paige asks. it’s a valid question—usually, azzi will go to paige for comfort without needing to be prompted. even when she is more closed off, all it takes is some cuddles and a few pet names to get her talking. but paige is putting on her best soft girlfriend right now, and azzi is still being oddly stubborn.

“it’s just embarrassing,” azzi grumbles.

paige frowns. they’re far past the point of getting embarrassed around each other. “don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

there’s a beat before azzi’s quiet admission—“i don’t want to tell you.”

paige’s eyebrows furrow at this. she tilts her head back, placing both hands on azzi’s cheeks now and lifting her face up. azzi goes more willingly this time, eyes a little watery and sad and cheeks flushed pink. the sight worries paige. “are we okay?”

azzi nods.

“is it something i did?”

azzi hesitates, then shakes her head. the hesitation is odd, but not enough to completely sway paige. she trusts azzi to tell her the truth. “okay, mama,” she says, pressing a tender kiss to azzi’s forehead. “you don’t have to tell me. but you should, eventually.” she makes a face. “mostly because i’m nosey.”

that gets a small, amused smile out of azzi, which is a relief in and of itself. she lowers her head again, settling into paige’s chest. “just want you to hold me for awhile,” she mumbles.

paige hums. “i can do that.”

they end up falling back asleep, and for the moment, it’s forgotten.

❀❀❀

azzi doesn’t let it stay forgotten for long.

in fact, paige thinks she only gets another hour of sleep before she’s being nudged awake.

she grumbles, turning away from her girlfriend to bury her head into the pillow.

“paige,” azzi whispers, poking at her back.

“still early, baby,” paige grumbles. then she remembers the events from earlier on in the morning and says, “you crying again?”

“no,” azzi huffs.

paige nods, satisfied that she has no girlfriend duties to fulfill at the moment. “‘kay. lemme sleep.”

“you can go back to sleep after,” azzi says, poking her again.

“after what?” paige yawns. her monkey lesbian brain goes straight to sex, because of course it does, but also azzi was all emo just an hour ago and that’s probably not what she’s waking her up for.

“after you help me,” azzi says, sounding almost a little annoyed that paige isn’t getting it.

monkey lesbian brain conjures images of all the ways azzi might need paige’s help—like to de-stress, perhaps, or maybe she’s sore and wants a massage…

“i gotta pee,” azzi explains.

monkey lesbian brain shuts down.

“okay,” paige replies, confused. “go piss, girl.”

“it’s dark out there.”

paige cracks an eye open. yeah, it’s still dark out—maybe it’s a little earlier than she thought. still, she’s not getting it. “use your flashlight.”

“babeee-uhhh,” azzi borderline whines, which is, again, unusual for her usually poised, mature girlfriend. “it’s scary.”

and, okay, the two of them might be a little codependent. paige isn’t denying that. but for the most part, they’re pretty capable of emptying their bladders without the other present.

paige turns over, eyebrows furrowed. “you fucking w’me?”

“no,” azzi says. she’s propped up on an elbow, eyes wide and round. “just, come with me, please?”

as far as paige can tell, she has two options: argue with azzi, henceforth postponing her sleep even longer, and end up losing the argument and doing this for her girlfriend anyway, or just getting up and doing it now.

she thinks about how kk will demolish her for being a simp if she ever finds out about this, and slowly sits up.

“aight, let’s go,” she says, motioning for azzi to get moving.

azzi stands and waits until paige is up, too, before taking her by the hand, then wrapping her free hand around paige’s bicep, effectively shielding herself with paige’s arm.

paige looks down at her, sure azzi’s about to laugh at her and say ‘gotcha’, but she’s just staring wide-eyed at paige’s cracked bedroom door and the dark hallway beyond.

paige guides her out of the room, keeping her eyes half-closed in the hopes she’ll stay tired. “you’re letting me sleep after this, right?” she double-checks as they make the slow, sleepy trek through the hallway.

“uh-huh.”

“you have a nightmare or sum’?”

azzi shudders. “something like that.”

“what about?”

azzi chews on her lip, then points at the light switch outside jana’s bedroom door. “turn that on.”

“jana’s gonna kill me if we wake her up,” paige mutters.

“so jana’s more important than me now?” azzi asks, releasing paige’s hand with a dramatic little flourish, stepping back to cross her arms.

paige is much too tired and much too confused to decipher whether azzi’s messing around or being serious. “c’mon, azzi, quit it.”

it’s too dark to make out her expression—especially without contacts—but she can hear the eye roll in azzi’s scoff. “whatever. maybe you should just go back to your room. let me go alone.”

if it weren’t the middle of the fucking night, paige would probably have the energy and emotional capacity to comfort her girlfriend, despite the drama of it all. but it is, in fact, the middle of the fucking night, and it’s her second time waking at an ungodly hour, and her patience is worn thin.

“fine,” she snaps, already turning. “maybe i will.”

she doesn’t even take a full step before azzi whisper-yells, “wait!” and grabs her wrist, tugging her back. “don’t leave me. it’s dark.”

“you were being all sassy to me,” paige says. “you want me to leave, i’ll leave.”

“i was obviously not serious,” azzi hisses.

“oh, what—so you gotta attitude so i can baby you or somethin’?”

“yes, actually,” azzi mumbles. “now can we go to the bathroom?”

paige opens her mouth to argue, but stops. it’s not like azzi to so openly fish for attention, and it gives her pause. makes her think about the crying earlier. the clinginess. the sharp edges covering something softer.

maybe azzi’s picking a fight because it’s easier than admitting how vulnerable she feels. “yeah, okay. whatever.”

azzi takes hold of paige’s arm again, once again shielding her body with it as they make the rest of the way to the restroom. once they get there, azzi flips on the light—paige squints against the sudden harshness of it—and pulls paige inside before closing the door.

“ughhhhh,” paige groans, sliding down the door to sit against it, hiding her face between her knees. “it’s brighttttt.”

“stop being dramatic,” azzi says. “i turned on the lowest setting.”

“it’s still bedtime,” paige argues. “i shouldn’t be seeing any light whatsoever for at least the next five hours.”

“you’ll go back to sleep after this,” azzi waves her off. paige rubs at her eyes, squeezing them shut, but even with her knees blocking the light out a dull headache begins to form at the base of her skull. she rubs the back of her neck and looks up to find azzi sitting there, staring ahead.

“are you taking a shit?” paige asks. “because if you are, i’m leaving.”

“no,” azzi replies solemnly, “just feeling too lazy to stand up. trying to find the will.”

paige sighs. “would a countdown help?”

azzi frowns, thinks about it, then says, “sure.”

“okay. three, two…” she pauses, giving azzi time to gear up before saying, “one, go.”

azzi stands, looking quite proud of herself, and paige gives a small round of applause as she pulls up her sleep shorts.

“ten outta ten,” she says, watching azzi move to the sink to wash her hands. “great form. perfect leg work.”

azzi smiles at her through the mirror. “thank you, thank you.”

paige makes a fist, holding a pretend mic up to her mouth. “azzi, how’d you find the courage to perform such a brave endeavor?” she sticks the mic in azzi’s direction.

azzi grabs a hand towel and turns around, kneeling so she’s on paige’s level and leaning towards her hand. “well, i couldn’t have done it without my ridiculous girlfriend.” before paige can gasp in mock offense, she stands up, holding a now-dry hand out for paige to take. “c’mon, dummy, let’s go to bed.”

paige lets azzi pull her up, their fingers tangling automatically like they’ve done this a hundred times before. which, to be fair, they have.

“i think that counts as cardio,” paige mumbles, leaning her weight onto azzi’s side.

“don’t know how much coach would agree with that,” azzi says.

paige hums. the hallway feels a little colder now that they’ve left the bathroom light behind, but azzi’s hand is warm, steady.

“you know,” paige says, “this is above my pay grade.”

azzi raises an eyebrow. “what, helping your incredibly brave girlfriend pee?”

“exactly,” paige says, yawning into her shoulder. “i should unionize.”

azzi snorts. “pretty sure that makes me your boss.”

“god, don’t say that,” paige groans. “now i feel like i need to clock out.”

azzi opens the bedroom door for her with a flourish of her hand. “enjoy your unpaid overtime, baby.”

paige flops into bed face-first. “i hate you.”

azzi climbs in after her, grinning as she worms an arm around paige’s back. “you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

“what was that?”

paige nuzzles into azzi’s neck, poking at her ribs. “just playin’.”

they settle into the blankets, limbs tangling easily, comfortably. within seconds, paige is already halfway asleep, and azzi presses a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“thanks for the countdown,” she whispers.

“mm-hmm,” paige mumbles. “ten outta ten. great form.”

❀❀❀

this time, when paige wakes first, she doesn’t think twice about it. considering azzi had seemingly two nightmares last night—maybe more—it’s best for her to get some extra sleep. she fiddles around on her phone for a few minutes, taking a picture of azzi sleeping soundly on her chest and then staring at the picture for a solid five minutes before deciding it’s time to get up.

carefully, she places a hand under azzi’s head and another on her shoulder, maneuvering her over so she’s lying flat on her back. azzi makes a little sound at the movement, and paige presses a kiss to her forehead, shushing against her skin until she settles again. she takes a few more seconds to admire her girlfriend, then slips out of bed, wincing at the cold floor on her bare feet. sun is shining through the curtains now, and she rubs her eyes as she pads down the hallway.

in the bathroom, she listens to a story time on tiktok while she brushes her teeth, volume turned just low enough for only her to hear. her goal is not to wake azzi up—because she needs the sleep but also because she tends to be grumpy whenever she’s woken by anything other than her natural circadian rhythm. and paige already dealt with a strange, emotional azzi last night. she doesn’t need a cranky one, too.

she’s just wondering how long her girlfriend might sleep in when azzi sneaks up on her, arms wrapping tightly around her middle as she buries her nose into paige’s neck.

paige startles slightly, surprised that she apparently summoned her girlfriend. “oh,” she says, toothbrush dangling from her mouth. “hey, mama.”

“why’d you leave me?” azzi grumbles.

paige furrows her eyebrows, then leans forward and spits, sure she’s heard wrong. “huh?”

“why’d you leave me?” azzi repeats, clear as day now as she lifts her head to meet paige’s eyes in the mirror. she pouts at their reflection. “i woke up alone.”

paige laughs, sure azzi’s messing with her. “the codependency is crazy.”

azzi pinches her in the stomach.

“ow!” paige hits azzi’s hand away. “what the…?”

azzi pinches her again, maybe for good measure, then walks herself right out of the bathroom.

paige watches her go, shaking her head to herself. “what?” she whispers, incredibly confused. she glances around, half expecting a camera crew to jump out at her and tell her she’s being pranked. nobody appears and thus, it seems like this may actually be real. unfortunately.

she looks down at her stomach where azzi pinched her—twice!—and rubs the spot tenderly. she considers lying down on the floor and saying something like, “i’ve been hit,” and groaning until someone finds her, then decides it would be better to just go ask azzi what the hell that was for.

she finds azzi in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge like she’s trying to decide whether to make breakfast or crawl inside and disappear. her bonnet’s still on, and she’s got the same t-shirt on from last night—paige’s t-shirt, technically—but now it’s crumpled and drooping off one shoulder in a way that’s both ridiculous and somehow hot.

“hey,” paige says, leaning against the doorway.

“hey,” azzi echoes, without turning around.

paige narrows her eyes. “you, uh…pinched me. twice.”

azzi shrugs. “you deserved it.”

paige bristles, just a little bit. “no i didn’t.” when azzi doesn’t respond, she sighs. “it actually kinda hurt.”

“you left me.”

“that doesn’t mean you get to pinch me.”

azzi stares into the depths of the fridge, clearly defeated. “i know. i’m sorry.”

“is this about last night?” paige asks gently, stepping closer. “your nightmare?”

azzi finally turns to look at her, expression unreadable. “no.”

“you sure?”

“mm-hmm.”

paige isn’t convinced. she steps forward and slips her arms around azzi’s waist. “you’re acting weird.”

“you’re weird.”

“okay,” paige says, letting it go for now. “do you want me to make breakfast?”

azzi shakes her head. “no. just…stand here.”

“here?”

“yeah. just for a minute.”

paige obeys, resting her chin on azzi’s shoulder. the fridge is still wide open. neither of them seems to care.

“you sure we’re okay? it’s not something i did?” she asks quietly.

azzi hesitates just long enough to make it noticeable. then she says, “nope.”

“really?”

“really.”

paige hums, unconvinced but not willing to push, still trying to hold onto that trust that azzi will tell the truth eventually. “okay.”

they stay like that for awhile, paige letting azzi be the first to let go, holding her until she’s ready to move on. morning lights pools the floor, the fridge hums quietly beside them—azzi doesn’t say anything else. paige doesn’t ask. not yet.

❀❀❀

paige has officially declared azzi insane. as in, clinically. in her head, of course—she’d never say that to azzi out loud. especially not when she’s acting like a crazy lady.

after the whole pinching incident, paige thinks maybe the rest of the day will be normal. they’ll chill until practice, then get ready for that frat party later, then fuck when they get home. that’s the plan.

azzi, however, appears to be on an entirely different timeline. or maybe a different planet. one where it’s okay to be clingy one second and upset the next. one where it’s okay to beg your girlfriend for cuddles then lock her out of the room for calling you by your name. (“why didn’t you call me ‘baby’? are you mad at me? do you hate me?”).

so yeah. paige is tired. mentally. emotionally. spiritually.

she gives azzi her space for a bit, hoping that whatever cosmic shift she’s experiencing will pass on its own, like a storm system. but when it’s been a suspiciously long time since she’s heard any noise—no music, no tiktoks, no passive-aggressive throat clears—she decides to go check.

the door to paige’s room is cracked open now. which is progress, considering it was fully closed (and locked) fifteen minutes ago. paige pushes it gently, peeking her head in.

and stops short.

azzi is curled up in the middle of the bed, blanket bunched around her waist, a tissue clutched in one hand and paige’s baby photo album in the other.

she is crying.

like, actual tears.

paige blinks. “um.”

azzi doesn’t look up.

“are you…crying?”

still no response.

paige steps into the room slowly, like she’s approaching a wild animal. “baby?”

azzi finally looks at her, bottom lip trembling. “you were so little.”

paige stares. “what?”

“your head was gigantic and your legs were so chubby. you looked like a little alien.” she hiccups. “a cute alien.”

paige walks over, cautiously sits at the edge of the bed. “are you okay?”

“no,” azzi sniffles. “you were just a baby. and now you’re not. and that’s so sad.”

“okay,” paige says, carefully pulling the tissue box closer. “but, like, if i was a baby, you wouldn’t be able to date me. you’d actually get sent to jail for dating me.” she considers it, then says, “well, i guess there are still some countries where we could go to jail for dating each other.”

azzi nods solemnly, then breaks into a fresh wave of tears.

paige gently pries the photo album out of her hands and replaces it with a tissue. “what are you even crying about right now?”

“i don’t know!” azzi wails. “you’re just so cute, and i love you, and one day we’re gonna be old and wrinkly and then dead.”

paige opens her mouth, then closes it again.

there’s just…no response to that.

so she pulls azzi into her lap instead, settling her against her chest the way azzi had done that morning. “oooh-kay. that’s enough internet for you today.”

“i’m not even on the internet.”

“i know, mama. that’s the scary part.”

azzi sniffles again and clutches the tissue like it’s a life raft.

paige presses a kiss to her forehead and sighs. “you are being so weird.”

“you like it.”

“debatable.”

paige strokes her back, ignoring azzi’s occasional mutterings of things like look at her little cheeks and this should be illegal every time she sneaks a glance back at the album.

paige still has no idea what’s going on. and honestly? she’s a little scared to ask anymore.

❀❀❀

practice is normal. at first.

there’s the usual yelling, the squeak of sneakers, the smell of floor polish and gatorade and barely contained rage. azzi’s running through drills like always—fast, locked in, pesky. paige watches her from the other end of the court, doing her own reps but always with one eye on her girlfriend, as usual.

and then it happens.

“azzi! what the hell was that?” coach bellows, clipboard smacking against his thigh.

everyone stops.

it’s not unusual for coach to yell—that’s kind of his thing—but he almost never yells at azzi. azzi is his golden child. his pride and joy. azzi could throw the ball in the opposite direction and coach would be like, “great look, just unlucky.”

so when azzi freezes mid-drill and blinks at coach like she’s been shot, everyone else freezes too.

“run the play right or don’t run it at all!” geno shouts again.

azzi doesn’t respond. just kind of…stands there. looking small. her mouth opens like she might say something, but then her lip wobbles and—oh god. oh no.

“is she crying?” kk whispers.

“shut up,” ice hisses, elbowing her. “she never cries.”

paige is already moving.

by the time she reaches azzi, her girlfriend is standing perfectly still, tears silently sliding down her cheeks, basketball clutched in her hands like it personally betrayed her.

“baby,” paige says gently, stepping in front of her.

“i’m fine,” azzi insists, voice watery. “i’m totally fine. i just—i can’t see. the lights are…bright.”

“okay,” paige says, nodding like that makes sense. “super bright. you never noticed the lights before?”

“maybe they got new ones.”

“no, yeah. that’s prolly it.”

coach looks borderline horrified. like he just yelled at a toddler or kicked a puppy. “shit,” he mutters. “i didn’t think she’d cry.”

“nobody thought she’d cry,” morgan says under her breath, still watching like she’s witnessing the downfall of a dynasty.

“maybe she has allergies,” caroline offers. “sometimes my eyes water when i’m sick.”

“do you sob when you’re sick?”

“okay, well—”

“do you want water?” paige asks, brushing the tears from azzi’s face with her sleeve.

“i want justice.”

“yup,” paige says, kissing her forehead. “totally reasonable. we can do that.”

“do you think coach hates me now?” azzi sniffles.

“nah. he probably already wrote a formal apology and a fruit basket.”

in the background, geno is frantically talking to cd, gesturing wildly at azzi with the clipboard like he’s trying to take it all back with body language alone.

“do i look ugly when i cry?” azzi asks suddenly.

“you look beautiful. like a…betrayed deer.”

azzi squints. “…i’ll take it.”

practice ends early. nobody knows why, but coach announces it in a shaky voice and then disappears into his office like he needs a moment to reevaluate his life.

everybody says thank you to azzi as they walk out, because practice doesn’t end early unless a volcano erupts or a tsunami strikes. or, apparently, unless the princess cries.

in the locker room, the girls flock.

“girl, i didn’t even know you had tear ducts,” kk says, still looking a little shell-shocked.

“do you want a hug or a juice box?” morgan asks, one arm outstretched and the other holding a lukewarm juice box from her locker.

“you guys,” azzi mutters, pulling her shirt on. “you’ve seen me cry during movies.”

“barely,” aubrey says.

“yeah, you usually watch us cry during the sad parts and laugh about it,” allie chips in.

“she saves the crying for later,” paige informs.

azzi shoots her a glare.

oops. paige clears her throat, waving them off with one hand and holding azzi with the other. “aight, move on. y’all are crowding her, damn.”

caroline nods, like the supportive best friend she is. “she needs privacy in this trying time.”

the girls giggle but obey, drifting off even as they continue to glance worriedly at azzi every few seconds. paige finishes getting ready quickly, taking azzi’s hand to walk out with her into the nippy connecticut air.

paige stops her once they get outside. “you okay now?” she asks softly.

“no.”

“do you want to be dramatic about it for a lil longer?”

“yes.”

“okay.”

paige presses a kiss to her temple. “you’re lucky you’re a pretty crier.”

“you’re lucky i don’t have the energy to fight you.”

paige smiles. “you finna sue coach?”

“maybe. emotional damages.”

“i’ll testify.”

azzi nods solemnly. “you’re a good girlfriend.”

“yeah,” paige says, tugging her closer. “i know.”

even after everyone else has left the facility—most of the girls gagging at the pda as they walk past on their way to the dorms—paige and azzi stay like that. holding on. clearly, azzi needs it. and paige wishes she knew why.

but for the first time all day, paige doesn’t feel tired at all.

❀❀❀

“you sure you’re okay to go tonight?”

paige lays on the bed, watching azzi do her hair in the mirror. what with everything that’s gone on today, paige thinks azzi might just need a good old movie night. and while paige loves a good party, she’d never say no to a night in with her girlfriend.

azzi nods, spraying her hair down with water. “i’m good.”

“okay,” paige says doubtfully. “i just ask because of, you know, practice. and the baby pictures. and this morning, in the bathroom. and the two times you woke me up in the middle of the night.”

by the time she’s done listing everything off. azzi has turned around to glare at her, unimpressed.

paige puts her hands up in the air. “am i wrong?”

azzi squints at her, then turns back around, picking up the leave-in conditioner. “i am fine.”

“it’s just the whole crying multiple times thing that’s throwing me off. and the abuse.” paige rubs her tummy. “i think i have a mark.”

“don’t make me come over there,” azzi warns, combing her fingers through her curls.

paige smiles. “i want you over here, mama. what else i gotta do? talk about how dramatic you’ve been? ask why you made me watch you pee at the asscrack of daw—ow!”

azzi smiles smugly. “that’s what you get.”

paige picks up the item that azzi just threw at her—a hairbrush—and holds it up in the air. “see? abuse.”

“you call it abuse,” azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, “i call it karma.”

paige scoffs, flopping on the bed and turning on her side, facing away from azzi. “i hate you.”

it’s quiet for a few moments, the low sounds of azzi doing her hair the only thing filling the space. paige thinks maybe azzi isn’t going to fall for the bait and is about to give up and turn back around when footfalls approach the bed.

she smiles to herself, then fixes her expression into a pout.

the mattress dips as azzi sits on it, just a moment before painted nails begin to scratch at paige’s scalp. “hey.”

paige doesn’t reply.

“sit up for me,” azzi murmurs.

paige lets herself be guided, slow and sulky, until she’s upright against the headboard. azzi swings one leg over, settling into her lap with practiced ease, having done the same thing countless times before. her hands find paige’s shoulders, sliding over the planes of them, down her arms, then back up again, teasing.

“you’re such a baby,” azzi says, but her voice is warm, fond. her eyes flick down to paige’s mouth.

“you threw a hairbrush at me,” paige mutters, even as her hands settle on azzi’s hips, fingers tightening just a little.

azzi leans in, nose brushing paige’s. “and you survived.”

paige laughs, breathless, and then azzi kisses her. soft at first, slow and coaxing, then deeper. paige melts into it, letting herself be pulled under, hands roaming—azzi’s back, her thighs, the curve of her waist under her shirt.

azzi pulls back just long enough to whisper, “still hate me?”

paige shakes her head. “you know i couldn’t if i wanted to.” she kisses azzi again, prodding her tongue against the seam of her lips, a silent question.

azzi hums approvingly, opening her mouth just enough for paige’s tongue to slip inside, and paige groans when she gets a taste of her. she knows this is all azzi’s way of getting what she wants, but she lets herself be played. if you see me being manipulated by a fine-ass girl with dimples, she thinks to herself in amusement, don’t save me, i’m right where i wanna be.

paige lets her hands wander down to azzi’s ass, grabbing her the way they both like. azzi lets out this little noise, sexy and enticing—and then there’s a knock, sharp and sudden, at the door.

“yo,” comes a voice from the hallway, muffled but unmistakable—yanna. “az, you in there?”

azzi pulls back, looking irritated as she stares at the door. “yeah, what’s up?”

“you still want help with your hair?”

azzi’s eyes widen before she squeezes them shut. “shit. i forgot,” she whispers, looking apologetically at a frowning paige before calling out, “yeah, just gimme a sec!”

“aight,” yanna responds, sounding like she knows exactly why they need a sec.

azzi drops her forehead onto paige’s shoulder with a groan. “i knew someone was gonna interrupt.”

paige grins, arms wrapping fully around her. “karma,” she sing-songs.

azzi pinches her side.

❀❀❀

the party’s lit, rap music playing so loud paige can feel it in her bones—her favorite volume for music, if she’s being honest. bodies press close together, a swirl of heat, laughter, and the occasional shout to be heard over the beat. the air’s thick with the mingling scents of beer and some kind of fruity vodka drink that no one’s really sure about, body spray and cologne and sweat. the kitchen’s a disaster—a counter full of empty bottles and half-eaten chips, the trash overflowing with beer cans and paper plates.

paige has long given up trying to find a quiet corner, instead letting herself get swept up in the chaos. she had been with azzi, of course, the two of them navigating through the crowd together, paige’s arm wrapped loosely around azzi’s waist like it was some kind of built-in tether. azzi clung to her like she was the only solid thing in the room, fingers grazing paige’s side every time the crowd pushed them apart. azzi has never liked to party alone on a good day, but on a strange one like today? paige hadn’t been surprised one bit when azzi glued herself to her side like her life depended on it.

they’d been there for a couple hours by the time azzi had told her she needed to use the restroom, and though paige had offered to come with, azzi surprisingly shook her head. apparently she’s able to pee on her own now. good for her.

now, paige checks the time on her phone for what feels like the billionth time. it’s been too long since azzi disappeared for the bathroom. she wonders if she might need saving.

paige scans the room, eyes moving over the knot of people in various stages of inebriation—some laughing too loud, others slumped against walls, and a few making out in plain view, which simultaneously grosses her out and makes her miss her girlfriend more. she wants to be drunkenly making out in a public space right now.

more urgently, paige goes to the bathroom. the line is pretty long, but she walks along it, looking for any sign of her girlfriend—nothing. she’s not there.

“anyone seen azzi?” paige asks, a hint of unease creeping into her voice as she approaches a few of the girls who’ve huddled up in the kitchen.

they all look up, aubrey sipping from a red cup, ice half-heartedly playing with her phone. no one seems to have a clue. they also look faded as hell, which doesn’t help.

“she was with you, right?” sarah asks, sounding like she doesn’t care at all. paige raises an eyebrow and considers getting on her ass for underage smoking, then decides against it—that’s caroline’s job.

“yeah, but that was like… twenty minutes ago. where’d she go?” paige asks again, more insistent now. she scans the space once more, her heart rate picking up just a little bit. maybe azzi slipped out to get some air? got stuck in a conversation? paige checks her phone, half-expecting a text or something, but there’s nothing. just the usual group messages.

“maybe she’s in the bathroom,” kk suggests, not looking too concerned. jesus, even kk is chilled-out. that must’ve been some serious weed.

which makes her think—“where’s jana?”

the girls look around lazily, and ice blinks hard. “she was with us, like, i swear, two seconds ago.”

“yeah, no,” sarah agrees. “she was just here.”

paige stares at them. “she wasn’t here when i walked up.”

“we was just smoking with her,” kk says casually.

“y’all, she left twenty minutes ago,” ayanna informs them. they all look at each other, then bust up laughing.

“god,” paige mumbles under her breath. she has a half a mind to tell the girls to stay put so they don’t get lost, but azzi is the only thing on her mind right now. if she hasn’t texted paige, she must not need saving from an awkward social situation. and if jana disappeared around the same time azzi did, maybe they found each other at the bathroom and decided to sneak off.

“y’all are no help,” she tells her friends before heading off, shouldering her way through the crowd until she gets past the bathroom line. she’s in the back of the apartment now, where it’s much quieter, and a whole lot more potent. paige wrinkles her nose. the stoners are back here, that’s for sure.

she opens up one door—there’s a group of red-eyed girls passing around a blunt, laughing at a joke someone made. they look up and a girl holds the joint up, but paige waves her off. “nah, i’m good. my fault.” she closes the door and continues on.

the next room is locked, and she doesn’t even wanna know what could be going on in there, so she moves straight on to the last door in the hallway. she cracks it open, and immediately, the smell of weed hits her like a truck. if she’d thought it was strong in the hallway, it’s like a fucking oven in here. and inside, three familiar faces: caroline, jana, and azzi, who looks perfectly unharmed, but also ten times more zooted than the last time paige saw her. and, why isn’t paige surprised, she’s crying.

azzi doesn’t see her—she’s too busy crying into her hands while caroline rubs her back and jana gives some sort of motivational speech—but carol does. even carol—responsible, mama carol—looks fried.

“oh, hey!” she says happily, smiling when she sees paige. jana looks over and cheers, “yoooo!”

jesus. did everyone decide to smoke without her? though, standing in the doorway, paige is sure she’s getting a contact high.

“hey, hey,” caroline is saying to azzi, jostling her a little. “look, honey, look who it is! it’s paige!”

azzi pulls her face out of her hands. her mascara is running, and when she sees paige, she practically wails.

“what the fuck?” paige asks. “what is going on with y’all?”

“well, jana asked if we wanted to smoke with her,” caroline supplies. jana nods.

“and she has some legit ass weed because i swear i only took, like, two puffs, and i’m high as hell,” caroline continues. jana nods again, proudly.

“and then we got on the topic of you and azzi started crying? i don’t know why. i thought she missed you. but maybe not. considering…”

“she’s been crying a lot today,” paige tells them.

jana snorts. “yeah, clearly. practice was crazy.”

paige shakes her head at the two of them, then walks inside, fanning a hand in front of her face to try and ward off the smell. “az,” she says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. “what’s goin’ on, mama?”

azzi looks up. she looks at paige, who nods encouragingly at her. and then she looks at caroline, who smiles. and then she stands up and wipes her eyes and points at paige with such a viciousness it actually makes her scoot back a little.

“what’s going on?” she asks mockingly. “what’s going on?”

paige leans away from her finger. “uh…yeah?”

“you! you are what’s going on!” azzi cries. jana makes a small ‘oop’ noise and caroline stands up, muttering something about ‘gotta go, gotta go,’ while she ushers jana out, and then it’s just the two of them. paige looks longingly after them, because she feels like she’s in the middle of wwIII with no ammunition.

“i don’t—“ paige starts, but azzi cuts her off.

“it was you,” she seethes, “and that fucking girl in your stats class.”

paige stands, feeling a little less threatened now that they’re eye to eye, but no less fucking confused. “what?”

“that pretty fucking girl whose messages i found in your phone!” azzi continues on, throwing her hands in the air. she wipes furiously as more tears stream down her face. “i can’t believe…i thought you loved me…” she turns around, once again burying her face in her hands.

“baby, i do online school!” paige says, incredulous.

“and then,” azzi says darkly, as if she hadn’t heard her, “you went and fucking died.”

paige practically chokes. what is it with her girlfriend and death today? “azzi!” she says, taking her by the shoulder to spin her around. “the fuck are you talking about?”

“my dream, paige!”

paige stares at her for a moment, waiting for more. when nothing comes, she blinks. “wait. you’re telling me this whole—” she gestures vaguely around the weed-smoked war zone, “—meltdown is because of a dream?”

azzi lets out a choked sob and nods, eyes wide and glassy. “you died, paige. you cheated on me and then we fought and i walked away and then i tried to find you later but i couldn’t and you were dead and the last memory i had was of you calling me a stupid hoe—”

“okay, whoa,” paige says, holding up both hands, trying not to laugh. “first of all, why would i call you a stupid hoe if i was the one who cheated?”

“i don’t know!” azzi yells, frustrated tears falling freely again. “dream-you was so mean!”

paige finally breaks. she doubles over laughing, trying to muffle it behind her hands but failing completely. “you mean to tell me i’ve been getting dirty looks all day, got hit with a hairbrush, got woken up twice last night, cried on like five times, and now walked into a fucking hotbox death match—because of dream-me?”

“don’t laugh!” azzi cries, though her voice cracks and she’s fighting a smile now too. “it felt real! and i went to the bathroom and then i smoked and i realized i didn’t know where you were and i was starting to think maybe i dreamed this too.”

paige walks up to her and pulls her into a hug, burying her face in azzi’s shoulder, still chuckling. “you are so stupid. like, dangerously stupid

azzi mumbles something unintelligible into her shirt.

“what was that?” paige asks.

“i said i love you,” azzi repeats, louder now but still pouty. “even if you’re a ghost.”

paige laughs again, kisses the side of her head. “i’m not a ghost. i’m right here. and i love you too. even if you’re fucking insane.”

azzi sniffs. “you’d tell me if you were dead, right?”

paige pulls back just enough to look her in the eye, grinning. “baby. i promise i will never die without texting you first.”

azzi nods solemnly. “okay. good.”

and then she lays her head on paige’s chest like they haven’t just been yelling at each other in a smoky bedroom over something that didn’t even happen.

paige wraps her arms tighter around her and sighs. “i’m never letting you sleep again.”

❀❀❀

later that night, azzi is curled up like a shrimp in paige’s bed, half-tucked under the purple blanket, her other half dramatically hanging off the side like she’s forgotten how beds work.

“do you want water?” paige asks from across the room, holding up an owala like she’s offering a peace treaty.

“no,” azzi replies, voice muffled. “yes. no. i don’t know.” she flops over. “my mouth is dry but i don’t want to move.”

paige crosses the room, uncaps the bottle, and presses it gently to azzi’s lips. “open up, bighead.”

azzi sips obediently. “thank you,” she whispers, like paige just pulled her from a burning building.

paige sets the bottle down and climbs into bed beside her. “you’re lucky you’re cute, because today has been a journey.”

“you’re lucky i keep it cute,” azzi mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “or else i would’ve knocked your ass in that dream. i was holding back.”

paige snorts. “you think dream-you could take me?”

“girl, we both know real me could take your ass down.”

paige grins, pulling the blanket up over both of them. “i hope jana and carol don’t remember your meltdown tomorrow.”

“it was tragic,” azzi says, dead serious. “a tragic moment.”

“you’re the least tragic person i’ve ever met,” paige replies. “you cried and then called me a ghost.”

“you were dead, paige!”

“i was in the kitchen,” she says flatly. “eating chips.”

azzi opens one eye. “so you’re saying the chips were more important than me?”

paige stares at her. “go to sleep.”

azzi reaches for her under the covers and pulls her in with all the upper body strength she has left. “never leave me again,” she whispers.

“i left for twenty minutes.” paige thinks about it, then says, “and technically, you left me. i was all up in that party looking for your high ass.”

“never again.”

paige rolls her eyes, but settles in beside her, letting azzi press her cold toes against her shin like always. the room is quiet for a few minutes, and paige thinks maybe azzi’s finally asleep when she hears—

“hey, babe?”

“hm?”

“if you die in another dream, can i come with you this time?”

paige groans. “you are so weird.”

“but you love me.”

“unfortunately,” paige says, smiling in the dark. “yeah, i do.”

[sneakydraws]

FULL TSUBAKI DRAWING PLEASE!!!!!

sure lol

camelia flower arc... i actually love the relationship btwn black star and tsubaki a lot as well. when he makes a point of how she can rely on him?? and then sees right through her when she tries to put on a brave face for the sake of not burdening him with her grief??? and the hug???? it's so BEAUTIFUL!!!!!

ive even got my soma crumbs... no but its literally all about the trust and love btwn meisters and weapons for realllllll tsubaki can fight her own lonely battle because she has black star waiting for her and believing in her and interrupting the sad anime flashback in her head and black star can fight because he has the one partner who can match his freak and maka can fight because soul is ready to die for her and soul can fight because he would die for maka arghhhhh hhhh bites bites chews tears apart

[in-asterism]

cursed daughter of a blessed mother who is the blessed daughter of a cursed mother who is the cursed daughter of a cursed mother

[layla4567]

Something for you

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n doesn't know that Bob likes her, but she wonders why he acts weird when she's being nice, maybe she has a sneaky suspicion

Warnings: fluff, a little bit suggestive, ex-avenger reader (no superpowers), curse words, Bob being a shy pookie (muah), beta read, no appearance of The Void (just mention)

A/n: I haven't seen the movie yet lol, I just started playing with my imagination and what I remembered from the trailers/TV spots

It was an open secret that Bob was attracted to Y/N. A lot, to tell the truth.

Well, the only person who didn't seem to notice was Y/N herself. In the small complex where everyone now lived, they constantly watched the small interactions between her and Bob.

The little ex-avenger always, always showed herself to be extremely kind and empathetic towards Robert, but it was because she perfectly understood everything he had been through and despite the fact that everyone saw him as a powerful man with the strength of a thousand men capable of leaving the whole world in shadows, for her it wasn't like that. When y/n laid eyes on Bob she only saw someone vulnerable, someone who needed to be contained and supported, like a lonely puppy eager for love.

On the other hand, the brunette man felt a deep affection and respect for her. Y/n was the only one who was patient with him and always showed understanding. Yelena was also a great help by listening to him and not judging him, but the almost maternal warmth that Y/n radiated was incomparable. If she were metal, he would be a magnet; he couldn't help but always be close to her or follow her as if she were a planet and he were a satellite orbiting around her.

Of course, this generated some suspicion among the other members of the group. Everyone knew about Y/N's kindness, but some thought it was excessive and she was actually hiding something more. Also, Bob's attitude toward her was nothing new, but they even found it a little blatant how obvious his feelings for her were.

The memories of that mission with Bob are still fresh in everyone's minds...

..Some time ago..

After the others learned of Valentina's true plans to use Bob as a weapon, the group hatched a plan. They would rescue Bob at all costs.

They still couldn't believe they'd been tricked like that, or maybe they were; Valentina's bitch-like attitude wasn't anything new. But Y/N was the angriest and most hurt. It's not that she trusted Valentina; she wasn't that stupid, but imagining the torture they inflicted on a poor, innocent man made her blood boil.

She was always a reserved person, able to control her temper and not explode; in fact, it was rare that she get truly angry. But this time, that was one of those times; she hated injustice. The others perceived it, her calm face was wrinkled by her frown.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the laboratory where they had the brunette locked up.

He was on some kind of stretcher, he seemed asleep. Y/n approached carefully, his chest rising and falling peacefully, was he unconscious? She moved a lock of hair out of his face and he frowned, waking up in fright.

Please don't be scared, we won't hurt you, I promise, calm down" Y/n crouched down and raised her hands in surrender. He looked at her, not only was she pretty but something in her serene features told him that he could trust her. Robert aka Bob got off the stretcher and let Y/n gently guide him. She always had a hand near him, on his bicep, his wrist or his back, guiding him and giving him security and comfort, and he thanked her for it with silent glances full of affection.

As we left the building and dodged several guards, a person dressed as a chicken suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a sign ready to attack us. Bob, scared like a child, covered his head with his arms and hunched over slightly. Y/n stood in front of him, serving as a shield. The chicken-man was fighting with Bucky but suddenly seemed to turn his attention to Bob. He moaned in fear, and that's when something woke up inside the girl, an anger never seen before, a strong protective impulse to take care of that brown-haired boy who had suffered so much in life. She wouldn't let a creepy son of a bitch ruin everything.

"OH HELL NO"

Before the stranger could get any closer, Y/n gritted her teeth and, growling, landed a strong punch in the middle of his mask, which knocked the man out and left him unconscious on the floor. Robert, seeing himself out of danger, slowly and cautiously lowered his arms, watching the scene in bewilderment. His gaze wandered from the fainted man to Y/n's, a little in shock. She, afraid that he was now afraid of her, spoke to him gently and sweetly.

"Sorry about that, are you okay?"

He gulped. "Yes, thank you." She smiled in relief, and they got into the truck. Y/n sat in the back seat next to Bob, watching over him. She occasionally glanced at him until she slowly slipped her hand over his, holding it firmly. He looked at her in surprise.

"You're safe now, we won't let anything happen to you" she smiled

He nodded and blushed slightly. They both stared out the window. Bob's thoughts were now troubled, and not exactly by The Void, which seemed like a miracle. No, now he couldn't get that benevolent face that had saved him, his guardian angel, out of his mind.

..Present..

The complex was pretty quiet that time, almost everyone had left except for Yelena and Alexei and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the TV.

Bob was sitting on the couch in front of the television, his body upright and his hands in his lap, looking calm as usual. They were playing a comedy show he'd never seen before, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling at the screen from time to time.

Y/n was in the kitchen with Alexei, helping him dry the dishes. He cleared his throat and, with a smirk, said, "How are things going between you and Bob?" She looked at him a little confused "What do you mean by that?" He laughed. "Oh, nothing, you know, do you like him? He seems to like you more than the others."

Y/N blinked and stopped moving her hands over the plate. "Uhm, well, yeah, I like him. He's kind, friendly, and sweet." The girl's gaze softened when she mentioned Bob, causing Alexei to raise his eyebrows with a mischievous smile. She noticed and shook her head. "But that's all. You know I'm always nice to others, and if he approaches me, it's simply a reflex action."

"If you say so... just don't be surprised when I yell in your face: I told you so!! when you're making out and groping him," Alexei finished with a laugh.

Y/N gasped in disgust and hit him affectionately on the shoulder as she finished drying everything and headed into the living room. There she saw Bob with his back to her, focused on the TV, with only his broad shoulders and wavy brown hair sticking out of the couch. She came up behind him, touching his shoulder.

"Hey, can I sit down?"

Bob jumped and she giggled softly, then nodded several times "o-of course" She sat down next to him with a kind smile, crossing her legs comfortably. Now the boy's body was no longer relaxed as before, but very tense and rigid. He secretly glanced at the girl next to him, admiring her profile. His eyes fell on her long eyelashes, moved down to her nose, and rested for a few seconds on her lips, so soft and rosy.

Suddenly, Y/N turned her head to look at him, and he quickly looked away to the TV.

"Have you seen this show before?"

"Uh no, this is the first time" He swallowed

The minutes passed and her laughter filled the room. He smiled at times, but all his attention was on her, on her melodious, cheerful voice, or on the way her nose wrinkled in a smile. Suddenly, she leaned closer to him, and Bob's breathing quickened. The brunette boy tried to calm his nerves, but with her so close, it was difficult work. Y/n was focused on the TV, waiting to see what would happen next, unaware of Bob's reaction. At one point, she burst out laughing as she bent forward and placed a firm hand on his thigh. Bob gasped loudly, his mouth open as his face turned red, and his hands gripped the seat of the couch as if he were going to fly away. The warm sensation of her hand on his leg sent an electrifying shiver through his body, especially his lower stomach.

The former Avenger continued laughing, amused, not noticing anything until she turned to look at him and realized his hand was on his leg, and he seemed uncomfortable. "Oh shit, so sorry!" she exclaimed, embarrassed, and quickly pulled her hand away, much to Bob's relief.

"N-no worries, I-it's okay" he stuttered nervously. Then he exhaled all the air he had been holding and his body momentarily relaxed again.

Now an awkward silence settled between the two and they didn't know how to break it. Y/n felt confused and a little embarrassed for having made him feel uncomfortable although she didn't know why, when she was very close to him Bob seemed to almost reject her or appear a little indifferent, was it that he didn't like her? But if so, why did he always seem to follow her around like a dog? On the other hand, Bob felt so embarrassed and shy as to tell her the truth, but he hated to imagine that she thought he couldn't stand her and he didn't want to make her feel bad either.

Just at that moment Yelena came out of her room to go to the kitchen where Alexei was still cleaning, only to see that scene and roll her eyes. "How long are they going to keep this up, huh? I swear if they don't confess to each other right now, I'll punch them both in the face." She said to Alexei

He let out one of his characteristic laughs. "Patience kid, I'm sure something will happen today," he concluded mysteriously.

In the living room, Y/n didn't know how to make things better. Resigned, she sighed, "Fine, uhm, I think I'll go. I won't bother you anymore. Sorry."

Bob, surprised, watched her get up with puppy dog ​​eyes. Before she could completely walk away, he raised his hand and gently brushed his fingers against hers. Y/n turned to look at him, confused. "Wait, don't go... you weren't bothering me" he said shyly.

"So why do you act so weird around me?" She crossed her arms.

He stood up hesitantly, standing near her, swallowed, took a breath and sighed "uhh well, it's just that..." he didn't know how to find the courage to confess "It's just that I think I like you..."

y/n opened her eyes in surprise and he got more nervous and blushing he blurted out "Uh well actually I don't know if I like you that way, I'm not saying that you're not pretty so that he wouldn't like you!, I mean you're very beautiful and very kind to me and uh" Bob seemed to stumble over his words and she just smiled tenderly. He realized he looked like a fool so he closed his eyes and said "The only thing I know is that when I'm with you I can be myself, well, almost. You know, sometimes The Void wanders around my mind and it bothers me but when I'm with you he seems more... silent. And, and it makes me feel good, with you I feel good and it's something I haven't felt in a long time. Yeah, just that"

He finished with a nervous smile and stared at her expectantly, praying that she wouldn't run away or hate him or something. But no. She would never do that and deep down he knew it. The girl simply gave him a sincere smile, one of those that don't come so easily to others, a smile that radiated warmth and shone like the sun itself. Y/n approached him and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her back and rested his face in the hollow of her shoulder, feeling safe.

"I.. I didn't know that you felt that way for me. And I thought you were scared of me maybe" she giggled

Bob laughed softly, and she could feel his smile against her skin. He pulled away slightly. "You could never scare me, especially knowing that you don't fear me" he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Y/n smiled compassionately and placed her hands on his cheeks, giving him a kiss on the cheek very close to the corners of his lips. Bob froze, surprised, not expecting that sudden and sweet gesture. She laughed amusedly and softly asked him "May I?" looking at him with doe eyes that made his heart pound hard as if he could faint at any moment.

He nodded vigorously and she closed her eyes and placed her lips delicately on his. At first he blushed and she felt the heat of his face but then he closed his eyes and let himself go. The kiss was tender and sweet, not wanting to rush things, she didn't want to pressure him, she just wanted him to adapt to the rhythm. But quickly, as if he had wished for this a long time ago, he slowly lowered his hands to her waist, holding her firmly in place and his mouth opened to speed up the pace. When things started to heat up, she brought her hands to his hair, caressing the back of his neck while he leaned closer to her, not wanting to let her go.

Unfortunately, before they could move on to the next level, a cough and a clearing of the throat put them on alert, quickly separating and looking at the person who had interrupted them. Yelena had a serious face and her nose wrinkled slightly in a disgusted grimace.

"I swear to God, if you start doing it on the living room floor, I won't be cleaning anything up the next day. In fact, I'll make you clean up your mess."

Alexei arrived right behind the blonde laughing but then seeing Bob and Y/n far from each other his face turned into disappointment "Oh c'mon!, I missed the fun"

Y/n looked away blushing and trying to hide a smile, Bob smiling shyly asked her "so that means that I... I mean that you, feel the same way?"

She caressed his face "I thought it was already clear" and laughing she gave him another kiss on the cheek and said goodbye going to her room.

As she passed by Alexei, he shouted, "I told you!!!" She walked down the hall and simply stuck her middle finger above her head.

[woogilicious]

i'd burn the city for you ꒰ seonghwa ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: drug dealer!seonghwa x boss!reader (gender neutral) ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 3.7k words. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: slow burn? + action + mild romance ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: violence, blood, guns, murder, criminal themes, intense tension, emotional vulnerability, possessiveness, jealousy, subtle seduction, suggestive themes, mentions of past betrayal, hyunjin is the bad guy lol. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ a.n: i'm so happy to see my last yunho's oneshot got a lot of likes and reblogged, so here i tried to write something way out of my comfort zone, so hopefully you guys like it because it does look a little bit cliché in my opinion lol. love ya!

The alley smells like blood and wet asphalt.

You lean against the car, cigarette burning low between your fingers, eyes flicking toward the broken neon sign overhead. Red light pulses over Seonghwa's face like a warning. His knuckles are scraped, lip split, and there's a streak of something dark―definitely not his―on the collar of his shirt.

He's quiet. He always is.

"You weren't supposed to go inside," you say, voice flat.

"I know."

"You weren't supposed to touch anyone."

A pause. Then, "I know."

You sigh like he's inconvenienced you, like this entire situation is more tedious than dangerous.

"Then explain to me," you say slowly, "why you left your post, broke protocol, and nearly killed the client."

Seonghwa doesn't flinch. He just looks at you with that same unreadable calm, that same infuriating stillness.

"He pulled a weapon on you."

"I was armed."

"You didn't reach for it."

You flick the cigarette to the ground and crush it beneath your boot.

"I didn't need your protection, Seonghwa," you say coldly. "You're not my bodyguard. You're a dealer. You move weight. You don't play the hero."

His jaw tightens at that, but he doesn't respond. Not yet.

You step closer, slow and deliberate. Your presence has always been ice―quiet, sharp, unforgiving. Most people stumble over their words when you look them in the eye. But not Park Seonghwa.

"You could've burned that entire deal to the ground," you murmur. "And for what?"

Still, he says nothing.

So you push.

"Why?"

His voice is low when he finally answers, like he's choosing every word too carefully. "Because I didn't like the way he looked at you."

That makes your brows lift―just a fraction―but it's the closest thing to surprise you've shown all night.

"You don't get paid to care how people look at me."

"No," he agrees. "I don't."

His tone isn't challenging, it's something more quieter. Deeper.

Your eyes narrow, not out of anger, but calculation. There's always been something dangerous simmering under Seonghwa's calmness―an edge you haven't touched yet.

And tonight, he got too close.

The car door clicks open behind you, one of your drivers waiting for your signal. You glance back, then look at Seonghwa one last time.

"We'll talk later," you say coldly. "Don't disappear."

"I won't."

You slide into the backseat without another word. He watches the car pull away from the curb, hand still bloodied, eyes sharp in the rearview mirror until you're gone.

The headquarters aren't flashy. You hate flashy. It's tucked inside an old office building downtown―top floor, clean lines, cold walls. You don't need aesthetic when efficiency gets the job done.

You step into your office without looking back. It's silent. No assistants tonight. No eyes or ears but yours.

Until the door clicks shut behind you.

You don't turn around. "I didn't tell you to follow."

"I know," Seonghwa says quietly.

You walk to the liquor cart in the corner, pour yourself a glass of something expensive and sharp. Take a sip, slow. Let it bite your tongue before swallowing.

Still, you don't look at him.

"I should cut you off the schedule."

"Then do it."

That makes you pause.

You finally turn, drink still in hand, and lean back against the desk.

He's standing by the door. Posture straight, clothes a little damp, bruises starting to bloom at the edge of his jaw. But his eyes? Still steady. Still fixed on you like you're the only thing that matters in the room.

"Is this what you want?" you ask. "To be dismissed?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just studies you. And you hate―hate―how his gaze never slips.

"You took a risk," you say, slowly walking toward him. "For what? To make a point? To feel useful?"

"I already told you."

You're close now. Not close enough to touch, but enough to read the subtle change in his breathing. Slower. More careful. Like he's watching every single move you make.

"Say it again," you murmur.

His voice is low. Controlled. "I didn't like the way he looked at you."

You tilt your head. "You don't get to like or dislike anything when it comes to me."

He doesn't speak.

"You don't get to step in. You don't get to make decisions based on impulse. You're here to move what I tell you, when I tell you. Nothing more."

You wait. Let the silence stretch. Let it settle over both of you like smoke.

Then, softer―deadlier. "Do you understand?"

"I do."

Still so calm. So collected.

But his hands are clenched at his sides now.

You notice.

"You're good at your job," you say. "But you're not irreplaceable."

"I never claimed to be."

Another pause. Another sip from your glass.

"I could have you killed for disobedience."

"You could."

"And yet here you are."

He finally moves, just a step forward―enough to tilt the scale of the room.

"I'm here because you let me be."

Your lips twitch. Not quite a smile. Just a flicker of something between amusement and approval.

You finish your drink and set the glass down with a quiet clink.

"Go home, Seonghwa."

His jaw flexes, like he wants to say more―but he doesn't. Not yet.

"Yes, boss."

He slips out of the room without another word, quiet as a shadow.

But the weight of him stays long after the door clicks shut.

You don't see Seonghwa the next day.

Which isn't strange.

What is strange is the silence.

No update from the ports. No chatter from your usual network. No check-in from Yeosang, who's never more than a minute late to report. No word from the courier team either―the ones Seonghwa was supposed to meet this morning to finalize the next drop.

You're patient, but not stupid.

Something's off.

By noon, you've torn through three encrypted lines and six secure channels. Nothing. Only static. Dead air. Or worse―voices that sound just a little too rehearsed to be natural.

By 2:17 p.m., your headquarters is empty.

By 2:21, someone slips a plain black envelope under your door.

You don't move at first. Just stare at it―matte finish, no markings, edges sealed with wax. Unbranded. Old school. Only one person still uses wax in this industry.

You kneel slowly, pick it up with gloved fingers, break the seal.

Inside, a single photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Clearly taken through a scope or some high level surveillance rig.

But clear enough to see who's in the frame.

Seonghwa.

Cuffed to a chair. Head bowed. Blood running from a split above his eyebrow.

There's a message scribbled on the back in jagged, rushed handwriting.

"If he matters, come alone. Midnight. You know where."

You stare at the photo for exactly three seconds before you burn it.

Then you pick up your coat.

No calls. No texts. No backup.

You're not walking into a trap.

You're bringing one.

The warehouse is abandoned. Or at least, it looks abandoned.

You've driven past it a hundred times over the years―tucked between a shipping yard and a rail track, rusted shut, swallowed by weeds. But it's not the kind of place that gets forgotten by accident.

It's the kind of place people pretend to forget.

Midnight.

You arrive five minutes early.

No backup, just like the note said. No weapons visible, though you're never really unarmed.

The door's open.

Of course it is.

You step in.

And they're waiting for you.

Four men―armed. Unsubtle. Hired muscle by the way they stand, like they've never held a gun long enough to love it. The kind of men who pull triggers without knowing why. You keep walking anyway.

And there he is.

Seonghwa.

Still tied to that goddamn chair, head lifted now, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His eyes flick toward you as you approach, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't call out.

He just watches you.

You don't speak either.

Not until the fifth man steps into view.

You know him.

His name's Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin. And you've left him alive exactly twice. Once out of pity. Once out of profit.

This time, you're not sure what it'll be.

"Well," Hyunjin says, all teeth and arrogance, "you came."

You stop a few paces away, hands in your coat pockets, expression unreadable.

"I'm flattered," he continues. "Didn't think a boss like you would walk into a pit like this over some street dealer."

"He's not just some dealer," you say coolly. "He's my dealer."

There's a small shift in Seonghwa's posture.

Hyunjin scoffs. "You still talking like you own people?"

You tilt your head. "You still acting like you're relevant?"

That gets under his skin, just a little. Enough that his jaw tics, enough that one of his men inches forward instinctively.

You flick your eyes toward him, slow and deliberate. He stops moving.

"You're bold," Hyunjin says. "I'll give you that."

"You're stupid," you reply. "I won't give you anything else."

He grins. "He messed with one of my shipments. Thought I wouldn't notice. You trains your dogs too well―they get ideas."

You glance at Seonghwa. "Did you touch his shipment?"

"No," Seonghwa answers, voice hoarse but stable.

You look back at Hyunjin.

"Then you're lying."

"I have proof."

"No, you have bruises on your ego and four walking liabilities with guns they don't know how to use." You take a step forward. "What do you want?"

Hyunjin snorts. "Want? I want leverage. I want you to owe me."

"You kidnapped one of my men to negotiate?"

"Well, you came, didn't you?"

You smile.

But it's the kind of smile that people don't walk away from.

"You're right," you say softly. "I did."

Your hand moves.

No one sees the blade until it's already Hyunjin's throat.

His men hesitate. One raises his weapon. Another steps back. But you're not even looking at them―you're looking at Hyunjin, calm as ice, the edge of your knife tucked just beneath his jaw.

"You think I'd come here unarmed?" you murmur. "You think I'd risk my dealer without knowing exactly how this would end?"

His breath catches.

Behind you, Seonghwa shifts again, but still says nothing.

"I'm going to walk out of here," you say, low and controlled, "and he's going to walk out with me. You're not going to stop me. Not tonight. Not ever."

"You won't make it out alive," Hyunjin grits.

You lean in, blade pressing closer.

"Neither will you."

For a beat, no one moves.

Then you pull the blade back, just enough to let blood bloom in a fine across his skin. Not deep. Just enough to prove you could've gone further.

You turn without waiting for his answer.

"Cut him loose," you order.

No one does.

Until Seonghwa stands.

He'd already freed himself.

You don't show surprise―but inside, something twists. You don't know when he got loose. Don't know if he was waiting for a moment to attack or if he trusted you enough to handle it alone.

Either way, he's on your heels as you walk out, silent as ever.

No one follows.

You step into the night like nothing happened.

The penthouse is silent when you return.

No lights on, just the city light bleeding through the glass wall, casting reflection across the marble floors. You keep it cold, minimalist. The kind of space that doesn't invite people to stay long.

But Seonghwa follows you in anyway.

He doesn't speak. Not when you motion for him to sit on the edge of the velvet couch. Not when you disappear into the bathroom. Not even when you return with a metal case full of antiseptic and gauze.

Only when you kneel in front of him, glove peeled from your hand, cotton pad pressed gently to the cut on his cheek―does he speak.

"I can do it myself."

You don't stop.

"I didn't ask."

He exhales, almost like a laugh, but not quite. You dab at the blood along his brow, eyes locked on his face, watching every subtle shift. He doesn't flinch. He never does.

"You're reckless," you mutter. "Coming to the drop point early. Unarmed."

"I wasn't unarmed."

"You were tied to a chair."

"I could've gotten out sooner."

You tilt your head. "Then why didn't you?"

His eyes flick up to meet yours.

"I wanted to see if you'd come."

That sits between you for a beat. Heavy, and unspoken. Then you move on to the split lip, gentle but detached, like this is just another task. Another mess to clean.

"Who is Hyunjin to you?"

You pause, fingers stopping.

"Why?"

"I want to know."

You sit back on your heels, gaze dark, expression unreadable.

"We used to be close."

He doesn't ask more. But you give it anyway. You don't know why, but maybe it's the silence. Maybe it's the way he asked―like he has a right to know.

You lean against the couch, reaching for a cloth soaked in antiseptic.

"Back then, he was different. Smarter. Controlled. He worked under me. Very ambitious, clean hands, doesn't complain about anything. He'd follow me into any fire without even flinching." A pause. "I liked that."

Seonghwa's jaw tightens, just a little.

"We were so good together. Built things fast. He knew what I wanted before I said it. Didn't care when I made choices others wouldn't touch."

"And then?"

"He got greedy." Your voice hardens. "Wanted the crown before he earned it. He thought betrayal would buy him power."

You press the cloth a little harder to his cheek.

"I almost slit his throat in his own office."

"But you didn't."

"No." A beat. "Once out of pity. He begged which was pathetic. And the second time..." You look away briefly. "There was profit in keeping him alive. A deal I needed. He was useful."

Silence again.

But then, "You hesitated tonight."

Your gaze snaps back to his.

"I didn't hesitate," you say coldly.

"You didn't kill him."

"I don't waste bullets on someone like him."

But Seonghwa doesn't believe you. You can see it.

There's something shifting in his eyes. Not anger, but something sharper. You could call it, jealousy. Though it's subtle, but you can feel it in the tension rolling off him.

You narrow your eyes, slow and calculating.

"You're jealous," you murmur.

He doesn't answer.

You lean in.

"I gave you everything tonight. Loyalty. Blood. I walked into a trap for you." Your voice drops lower. "And you're thinking about a man I should've killed years ago."

He grabs your wrist.

The movement is sharp, but not rough. His fingers wrap around you―tight enough to feel your pulse.

Then he pulls you down.

Your mouth crashes into his like it's inevitable. There's nothing gentle about it. Nothing soft. It's a collision. A demand.

Heat explodes beneath your skin, and surprisingly―you respond. You kiss him back. Hard. Like you've been holding back for too long and didn't realize it.

His hand slides behind your neck, holding you. The other grips your waist, pulling you closer like you're the only thing keeping him upright.

Your breath stutters when his teeth graze your lower lip.

Then he pulls back just enough―forehead pressed to yours, voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Would you kill him for me?"

You stare at him.

His thumb brushes your jaw.

"I'd burn the city for you," he says, soft and dark. "Would you do the same?"

You don't answer.

Not yet.

Because the question doesn't scare you.

What scares you is how quickly you want to say yes.

A week passes.

You never call it love.

You never call it anything.

But whenever you're alone, when the doors are locked, Seonghwa's hands are on you. In the shadow of your penthouse, in the quiet hush between plans and strategy, he kisses you like it's all he's ever known. And you let him.

Sometimes it's just kissing. Sometimes it's more.

Always, it's wordless.

But you feel it.

You feel it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not watching. The way his voice drops when he says your name. The way he treats your body like it's something he'd die to protect, something that he already has.

You don't say anything about it.

Neither does he.

Until the night you both end up in that empty park, 2:00 a.m.

You don't know why you walked this way. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was just the need to breathe after working. You're side by side, shoulders brushing. Seonghwa's hand slips into yours, calloused fingers cool against your palm.

It feels easy and calming for once.

And then―

bam��

The bullet hits him.

You feel the pull of his hand as he stumbles back. The sound rips through the night. You turn just in time to catch him by the waist, dragging him to the ground behind the empty bench.

Blood spreads fast across his side―his shoulder.

Your breath stops in your throat.

You look up, and there he is.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Gun still raised. Breathing hard. Eyes wild.

You rise slowly, rage rising with you. There's no fear, just fury.

He grins.

"You should've stayed dead," you hiss.

"You should've killed me when you had the chance."

You lunge, and before he could shoot you, you kick the gun from his hand.

No more knives. No bullets. Just fists. Raw, brutal, loud.

The fight is fast, messy, unforgiving. You land the first blow. Then the second. Then he slams your shoulder against the bench and your vision blurs.

You hit the ground. Hard.

He's above you, breathing heavy, smirking through a cracked lip.

"Funny," he spits. "You were always better with orders. Guess you lost your edge."

You almost believe him.

Until you hear Seonghwa call your name.

You look over and see he's bleeding, barely upright, but his eyes are on you like they never left. Like he knows you. Like he believes in you.

You push off the ground, panting, eyes locked on Hyunjin.

"Seonghwa," you rasp, still breathless. "You asked me once... if I could kill Hyunjin for you."

Hyunjin laughs, shaky. "Oh, please―"

You step forward.

And you don't blink.

"You should've shot me in the head when you had the chance."

You raise your gun and pull the trigger.

Once. Clean and instant.

He hits the ground, a final twitch, and doesn't move again.

Silence crashes down and you quickly run to Seonghwa―drop to your knees, fingers shaking as they press against his wound. Blood seeps through your hands, warm and sticky and terrifying.

"Don't close your eyes," you command, voice shaking in a way it never does. "Don't even think about it."

Seonghwa exhales, slow. "I'm not going anywhere..."

"You better not."

You press your hand to the bullet wound. Not fatal. But you know how fast blood can turn against you. His breathing gets more laboured eyes fluttering just a second too long for comfort.

You reach into your pocket with your free hand, pulling out your phone, speed-dialing without a second thought.

It rings once.

"Get to the park," you say. "Bring the car. Bring the med kit. Tell them to prep the safehouse. Now."

You hang up.

You can hear the engine five minutes later.

Your crew pulls up fast―three cars, two of your most loyal at the front. They jump out, expecting anything. But what they see still freezes them.

You.

On your knees, holding Seonghwa like your whole world just cracked in half.

"Boss―"

"Help me get him inside. Carefully."

They obey instantly. No questions.

They always obey.

The drive to the safe house is tense. You don't say a word the whole way, your hand pressed against Seonghwa's, eyes fixed on him. His head is resting lightly on your shoulder, his breath shallow.

Your safe house is less a house and more a fortress―sterile floors, blackout windows, medical-grade everything. It's not your first emergency.

But it's the first one that makes you feel like this.

Your crew works fast. You sit beside Seonghwa on the cot while one of your top medics starts tending to him, gloves slick with antiseptic, voice calm. Seonghwa winces, but doesn't cry out.

He's too stubborn for that.

And you?

You sit there and watch the blood on your hands. You should be used to this. You've seen worse. You've caused worse. But right now―

You feel your throat tighten.

You stare down at your shaking fingers. At Seonghwa's pale skin. At the hole Hyunjin left behind.

Then, a tear slides down your cheek.

Then another.

You blink fast, furious with yourself, but they keep coming.

One of your subordinates stops moving. Another glances toward you, wide-eyed. No one says it, but it's clear.

They've never seen you like this.

Never crying. Never even cracking.

"Boss?" someone says cautiously. "Do you... need a moment?"

You shake your head. You're still clutching Seonghwa's hand. You feel it twitch against yours.

"I don't know why I'm crying," you whisper.

And that's the truth.

You don't.

Maybe it's shock. Maybe it's relief. Maybe it's the way he looked at you, even when he was bleeding out, like he knew you'd never let him go.

Seonghwa smiles.

"Maybe..." he rasps, voice hoarse but warm, "because you love me too much."

You look at him.

You want to laugh. You want to scream. Instead, a broken, silent breath leaves your chest, and you lean your forehead against his arm.

"You almost died," you whisper.

"But I didn't."

"You scared me."

You wipe your face on your sleeve. You don't care who's watching now. They're loyal, and they know better than to speak on what they've seen.

"I killed him," you murmur. "For you."

"I know."

"No hesitation."

Seonghwa reaches up―weak, shaky―and brushes your jaw with his fingers.

"I never doubted you, Y/N."

"I hate this feeling."

"What feeling?"

"This one," you say, raw. "Of being afraid to lose you."

He leans closer, still pale, but strong enough to kiss your knuckles.

"I won't leave you."

You close your eyes.

"I love you," you say. "I'm not saying it again."

"I'll say it enough for both of us," he teases, voice soft. "But I love you too."

The medics step out, leaving you alone for a moment.

You sit beside him, still holding his hand.

And for the first time in your life―you feel like having power isn't the most dangerous thing you've ever wanted. Love is.

And you'd do it all over again.

[acid-ixx]

gets fucking stabbed by damian and my last breath still be like "it's not his fault ! he is ten and was raised to be murderous since he was born ! kid entered a household where everyone ignores my existence, i don't blame him for assuming that to be the norm and acting evil to me so that he assimilates to his new environment ! bro literally went through the worst all his life so of course the way he expresses himself is harmful to others !"

and then i get stabbed again lol

— masterlist !

OH MY GOD PLEASE 😭 the gaslighting yourself is real, i'm telling you.

unfortunately, the reader's toxic mindset of justifying everything your family does is a common scenario for every time one of them fucks up; only in the past though. the present chapters will have you slowly realize just nothing really is ever your fault. that you've never once been in the blame for the actions of your youngest brother.

but right now, i want to focus on why you just seem to let damian go about his own crazy path of targeting you. and it's either it's because you have nothing, nobody else to fight back with you, or it's purely because you allow him to.

to destroy you, to make you suffer, to make you learn that you have no place, or standing in the family. and if you do have a place, it is at the rock bottom.

this is what damian is taught: the weak should be eliminated before they fester into some type of unnecessary cancer.

you're weak, when he first saw you, when you first approached him with your tail tucked behind your legs and an invitation to hang out together with the scent of cookies wafting in the air— he knows that it is you who will make him weak.

you give him temptations to be a child, he's raised to fight against it. he ignores the unwelcomed feeling of wamth that blooms in his chest, those are feelings that gets you killed.

so it's how the story goes: he brings his sword up to your neck, and sways his hands swift enough to make a small cut to ensure that the first thing you associate him with is fear. and for someone vulnerable like you, it doesn't take much before you quickly submit to the prospect of your place beneath a trained assassin like him.

he ignores the sudden pang of his heart and the aching, gnawing dread that chews at his mind at the memory of your widening eyes and the wobble in your steps.

it's already damaging enough to have the youngest be introduced and immediately accepted into the family, but it's worse when he's significantly younger than you, a boy nearly half your age; someone you've always wanted to have, to care for, to help raise and cherish... despises you from the start, before you two even formed a connection.

someone you once called your younger brother, now became an enemy in opposing lines in a place called home.

what would've been fine-tuned jealousy towards him because he was given everything in a silver platter turned into shame that you couldn't even face him, not right after he threatened to kill you, no... and especially not after you've convinced yourself that if you couldn't even prove your worth for a young boy like him, then you really have nothing good to offer.

you give him the autonomy to think it's alright, that due to his upbringing, alongside your naive brain always justifying that your other siblings are right, and you are in the wrong— he was given every opportunity to torment you when you even go as far as being in the same room as him.

and i have my receipts on why you're just like that; all in the grace of low self-worth and self-esteem. past you reasons out that it's because it's always your fault.

you couldn't even find a way to save your mother, you couldn't even establish your place in the manor, you couldn't comfort bruce when he was still not over jason, what more could you be when all you see damian as is a young, broken child like you? that behind that veil of threats and weapons ready to attack you, is someone you knew could've been different, if he was raised right...

if he'd given you a chance to help nurture the softer, more humane part of him.

you've always wanted a younger sibling, not only from back when you were just with your mother, but also when you were introduced to the manor. because not only did it mean that you'll know how your mother felt when she raised you, but because you thought you'd have somebody by your side throughout the silent torment you've went through.

and when you're graced with one, who doesn't even consider you his older sibling; you let it be.

you let him be himself.

damian wayne, demon's granson, the son of the bat.

so many titles he's called, but never one where he's your younger brother.

it doesn't help that you justify his past, because the man you idolize, dick, does so too whenever you try to complain. his excuses are never out of malicious intent to have you suffer further— it's just that he never once actually considered you as important enough to bat an eye on, like how the rest of them treat you.

because you know that even dick has his limit towards the youngest member of the family; he just never reaches it when it comes to you.

so if you have a person allow another to act terribly towards you, but have another, a friend or family, who teaches you that it's not right, who fights by your side; it wouldn't take long for you to also learn how to defend yourself then. you'll gain confidence that you're at least not alone, that your actions are completely valid.

... but if you have an entire family that couldn't even scold the boy for leaving a scar on your neck, who brushes his mean comments about you aside, who isolates you even further with malicious words that you know becomes crueler when targeted at you—

then you have no basis for what is right, and what is wrong.

and that makes your authority, your trust in yourself dwindle like your already crumbling relationship with all the others the further you try to fight back.

that's when you learn what it's like to give up, all over again. if you accept his vidictive insults, if you know your place to turn back if you see him in the same room, if you knew from the start that sometimes trying doesn't equate to succeeding; then it'll at least numb the pain that comes after.

for the entirety of your life from when damian was introduced, that was how you coped—

but your life after the manor, after damian matures and learns softness, about empathy (that he's buried long ago during his training from when he was all but a toddler) on your situation; reading your journal entries because he still felt entitled to due to some hidden, twisted trait of possessiveness... that's an entirely different story.

would you still be as understanding as you were back in the past towards him? would you still force yourself to love the demon you saw as just a little boy? or would damian finally understand that it's too late to turn back time, to correct all his mistakes?

either way, if you were capable enough to change (at least, in his eyes), becoming an independent person (you think, huh? your place is at the manor), then maybe you could give him a chance too, to fix your relationship and build a bridge to an even stronger one.

one where you could finally baby him, like what you've desired. one where he could feel vulnerable, when he learned that it's valid to feel weak— it cuts back to the previous points: you make him weak.

and when he's out to find you after going through every single diary, every entry, after deducing that there's still a small spark in your that'll forgive him if he tries; he refuses give up any sooner if it meant replicating the same warmth he felt when he stood by your presence.

so... you wouldn't want to leave your youngest brother waiting for you, don't you?

after all, it's just like what your entries told him, right? this is what you always wanted, right?

a/n: everyone is entitled to their own feelings about how i portray damian and mc's relationship!!! i love how all of you guys have different conflicting reactions to this. it's all so complex for me, how damian sees you as someone who's weak and makes him weak (he's just a stubborn little guy), and you, who sees yourself in damian, alongside the added desire to just have someone to care for (because you want to so badly honor your mother's memory), and that person also caring for you is ARGH!!?!

i apologize for my long rambles (if anyone wants me to cut back on posts like this, just tell me), i'm sure everyone is anticipating chapter 5 and possibly (soon) chapter 6 (since the drafts, not the final work is becoming too long). but right now, all i could provide are my depictions of the reader's relationship with every member of the family. i love to churn scenarios where it feels like you're actually part of the family so i'm actually manipulating all of you guys to become attached to the characters too, just to add an extra layer of angst, hehe...

[vaguely-concerned]

I really really like that lucanis reaches the 'there must be some way through this' realization 'off camera', so to speak, while presumably looking at rook explaining the situation to spite. it just. hits right. he gets that moment to himself after 'this place is a nightmare, why would I want to stay here' to come back into focus, to gather himself and think it through in peace, outside of the demands of anyone’s gaze (including the player’s!), while rook takes care of spite’s confusion and urgency and distress as he can’t himself in this shattered state. they're inside his soul, but he still gets that moment of privacy, with rook and spite there and supporting but not intruding. idk there's just something so good and right-feeling about it. rook's presence in lucanis' mind at its most vulnerable and frozen could have felt SO invasive if the quest wasn't written as skillfully as it is, and I get skeeved out by that kind of thing incredibly easily so it's a testament to how well it's done that it always feels safe and supportive. lucanis has had both his bodily and psychological (slash spiritual/existential) integrity and autonomy violated so brutally and repeatedly, and having even the way the camera perceives him here grant him the dignity and respect and privacy of soul he hasn’t experienced in a long time… it’s a whole thing huh. No wonder it’s taken me a while to put it into words lol 

(also what a contrast to what solas and rook have got going on, and what a sly way to slide the point of comparison in there to build to the thematic whole. the solas version of this IS of course wildly invasive and skeeves me out but in the intended delighted horror movie way. solas, too, was let into someone’s soul through the cracks in the wake of a traumatic event, and he IMMEDIATELY sought to turn it to his own benefit and use that trauma as a weapon against them fhdsja I’m sorry but it’s just such a character-revealing instinct for him to act on without hesitation and I love how terrible he is, it’s all so unforgivably premeditated and consistent.

rook acting out of the desire to make sure lucanis is ok vs. solas going ‘well. When life gives you oops killed my friend, make dead friend poisoned lemonade and make his loved ones drink it. this sunk cost fallacy isn’t going to perpetuate itself’ is such a neat contrast and it’s not in your face about it but it’s still there, deep and solid down in the thematic narrative. rook doesn’t do anything to or in lucanis’ mind, really — they negotiate their way through the layers of defense and are let through, and they help him make the whole thing more explicable, but they never exert any force or go rooting around for anything that doesn’t present itself to them first. solas goes about gathering ammo for when he's going to nothing personel kid this person from like the first moment fhdskh doesn't waste a second before he's on that gaslight gatekeep girlboss grind. the fact that the game goes out of its way to show there IS a respectful, non-selfish and kind version of this process makes what solas is doing even more deliciously awful (glee) and rook and lucanis’ relationship (platonic, romantic, whatever it might be in any given playthrough) all the more moving to me)

[fayelero]

ⓘ 03. BUT IM A CREEP !

⤷ ANGST ﹫ michael kaiser x fem!reader ﹫ i think i want you guys to cry those days lol srry

⚠︎ heavy angst, past childhood abuse, self harm (kaiser), mental health struggles, PTSD, anger issues, toxic masculinity, mention of physical violence (not towards reader!), gosh I love psychology .ᐟ.ᐟ

You always knew what you were getting into with Michael Kaiser.

You didn’t fall for the persona the world adored—the golden boy with a god complex and a smirk that could slice through steel. No, you fell for the cracks in him. The trembling underneath the arrogance. The moments when he couldn’t meet your eyes because if he did, he was afraid you’d see the rotting guilt, the fear, the hollow grief underneath the diamonds.

You loved him because you saw it.

And you stayed, even when no one else would’ve dared to.

𓍯𓂃

Kaiser was violent.

Not in the way people expected—not loud fists or barroom brawls (though that had happened before), but in something more insidious. Sometimes it was in the way his voice would shift, low and sharp, cutting through you like glass. Sometimes it was the way his jaw would clench until it looked like his bones might crack from holding back what he really wanted to do.

You were good at psychology. Not just the study—the heart of it. You knew what trauma looked like when it grew up and tried to wear confidence like armor. You recognized the signs when a person had been taught that vulnerability equaled punishment. You understood that violence, especially his, wasn’t power. It was a defense mechanism—a scream in a language only pain could speak.

And Michael had been screaming his whole life.

You saw him for what he truly was: not a monster, but a boy who had never been taught what to do with his rage except to weaponize it. Who had never been held in safety long enough to learn gentleness.

So you never flinched.

Not even when you should have.

𓍯𓂃

There were moments he scared you.

You’d be lying if you said otherwise. There were nights when his eyes turned distant and cold, like he was possessed by ghosts too heavy for his frame. Sometimes he’d snap—at himself, at walls, at you. He’d punch mirrors, scream into the darkness, tear through the apartment with a fire he couldn’t contain.

But he never touched you. Not once. Not even when he was shaking, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms like he could hold back the beast by drawing his own blood.

You knew that mattered more than anything.

He was trying. And every ounce of that restraint was the loudest proof of his love.

𓍯𓂃

The worst night of all came after a loss. A brutal one. The kind that left silence in its wake, not even the fans had the nerve to speak after.

You knew something was wrong the moment he walked in the door.

He was soaked in sweat, but his eyes were hollow. He didn’t speak. Didn’t kiss your forehead like he usually did. He just drifted past you, the ghost of the man you knew, and locked himself in the bathroom.

For a while, you let him be.

But then the sounds started.

Gasps. Slaps. Choking.

You dropped everything.

He was on the floor when you burst in, knees bent, back against the wall like he was hiding from the world—and his hands. His hands were around his own throat.

Strangling himself.

He didn’t even look at you. Didn’t hear you call his name. His eyes were wide, somewhere else, filled with unshed tears. Like he didn’t know where he was. Like he wasn’t even in his body anymore.

And you—god, you ran to him. You dropped to your knees and grabbed at his wrists, crying.

“Michael! Stop! Baby, please—please stop, it’s me! It’s me—look at me!”

You didn’t care that your voice cracked. That you were crying so hard your hands were shaking.

You loved him too much, that’s all.

He didn’t respond right away. His grip tightened. You thought you were going to watch him die in front of you, in your arms, and it terrified you in a way you’d never known.

But then you touched his face.

His real name. That always got through to him. You said it again, whispering it like a prayer.

“Michael. Please…”

And that’s when he finally saw you.

He blinked. Choked on a breath. And then his hands dropped, and he collapsed against you with a sob so deep it shook your bones.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry—I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean—”

You just held him. As tight as you could. Rocking him gently like a child.

“No more sorry,” you whispered. “I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re not alone anymore.”

That was the first time you’ve ever saw him strangling himself.

𓍯𓂃

But he never understood how you ended up with him.

Michael Kaiser—the self-proclaimed emperor, king of the field, and god of ego—had spent his whole life building a fortress around his heart with barbed wire and stained glass. Flashy smiles, golden locks, and a mouth that never shut up unless he was losing—those were his weapons. But beneath it all, he was still just a boy scraping his knuckles on the floor of a cold, silent apartment, wondering why his mother never came back.

You, though. You were something else entirely.

Warm hands, soft eyes, a voice that could soothe the roaring chaos in his mind. You were gentle, but not naive. Sweet, but never fragile. You didn’t love him despite who he was—you loved him as if you saw who he was. And that was the part that made him crumble.

Because he didn’t even know who he was.

Not really.

𓍯𓂃

Kaiser had been alone for so long, he didn’t know what it was like to be wanted—not for fame, not for talent, not for the glimmer of victory, but just for existing. You made him soup when he was sick. Held his face in your hands when he was spiraling after a loss. You listened when he talked about nothing. You never asked him to change. You never walked away, even when he pushed.

He couldn’t understand it.

Why would someone like you want someone like him?

He’d stare at you sometimes, when you were asleep, the sunlight pooling across your skin. Beautiful. Kind. The kind of woman men would write sonnets about if the world hadn’t forgotten how to write them.

And he? He was a bastard in every sense of the word.

𓍯𓂃

Kaiser didn’t talk about his childhood. Not because he was protecting something precious, but because it was like staring into a well with no bottom. His mother left when he was six. She said she was going out to get groceries and never came back. His father stopped speaking not long after that—but the beatings started soon after.

He learned fast that being quiet made him invisible, and being invisible kept him safe.

Until he discovered football.

Football gave him something—a place to exist. Something he could control. He could be anyone on the field. He could be loved there.

Except it wasn’t love, not really. Not the kind you gave him.

The fans didn’t love him—they loved the version of him that scored goals. His teammates didn’t know him—they tolerated him for what he could offer. Even in Blue Lock, everything came at a price: talent, survival, performance. It was all about power, glory, ego.

But you… you brought him soup.

𓍯𓂃

He didn’t deserve it. He was loud, arrogant, cruel when cornered. Sometimes he said things just to hurt, just to feel something, just to remind the world not to get too close. But you never left.

And that scared the hell out of him.

He hated that he needed you. Hated that when you were gone for too long, his chest got tight and his mind went dark. He hated how much he missed you, how he couldn’t focus on the game when he didn’t know if you were okay.

He used to think love was weakness.

But now he saw it for what it was: the only thing in his life that wasn’t transactional.

𓍯𓂃

He didn’t get it. Not fully. Not yet. Maybe he never would.

But every time he woke up with you tangled in the sheets next to him, your breath soft against his chest, he felt something break and heal in the same second.

You were his miracle.

And if he had to spend the rest of his life learning how to be worthy of you… that was a life finally worth living.

𓍯𓂃

You were scared. But you stayed.

He was broken. But he loved.

And together, somehow, you made something whole.

Something messy. Fragile. Raw. But real.

Because you knew him—not the emperor, not the image. Him. And you never looked away.

And that… was the one thing he’d never received before you:

Unconditional love.

[aventurineswife]

HAI its meeee idk if you've already written something like this before so if yes then my apologies but if not can i request ratio, aventurine, and boothill comforting their s/o after a nightmare? you don't have to go into details about what happened in the nightmare if you don't want to but id love to see how they'd comfort their s/o after one!! i just want these guys to snuggle me and tell me everything's gonna be okay and comfort me tbh ,,

sending lots of love !!

-firefly anon

Whispers in the Night

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Angst, Comfort, Nightmares, Emotional Support, Tenderness, Protective Characters, Relationships, Vulnerability, Soft Moments, Intimacy, Healing, Romantic Tension, Gentle Love.

Warnings: Nightmares, Anxiety, Mild Violence (Mention of weapons), Emotional Distress.

A/N: wrote a similar Aventurine fic like this lol

The moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting delicate patterns across the room. Aventurine stood at the edge of the bed, his usually sharp features softened by concern. The sound of a shuddering breath broke through the silence, and he watched as you stirred restlessly, your brow furrowed in distress.

He had been asleep, but the faint tremor in the air, the restless energy, woke him before the nightmare could reach its full crescendo. Without a word, he slid beside you, careful not to startle you further.

"Shh..." His voice, smooth as velvet, was a balm to your frayed nerves. He gently touched your shoulder, his hand warm against your cool skin, his fingers tracing reassuring circles. His presence alone was a fortress—steadfast, unwavering.

"You're safe," he murmured, leaning closer. He could feel the sharpness of his usual detachment slipping, replaced with a softness he rarely let others see. "You’re safe with me. No nightmare can reach you here."

Aventurine's eyes, ever perceptive, studied the way you tensed, the way your breath hitched. He moved a fraction closer, his arm carefully wrapping around you. It wasn’t about force, but an unspoken promise: You won’t face this alone.

He pulled you into his chest, cradling you as if your fragility were his to protect. His fingers combed through your hair, slow and steady, a methodical rhythm that spoke volumes. “Rest easy, love. I’m here. Nothing will hurt you.”

The warmth of his embrace was steadying, and the subtle pressure of his hand on your back made the chaos of the nightmare seem distant. His breath was steady, his heartbeat a quiet lullaby in the still night air.

"Whatever shadows haunt you," he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair, "they won't have the power to keep you here. Not while I’m with you."

Aventurine’s usual charm was gone, replaced by something far rarer—a tenderness only a few ever saw. He stayed there, holding you close, letting his presence be the anchor that tethered you to the here and now.

His words were soft, but they carried the weight of truth. "You’re stronger than you know. We’ll face this together."

And as the tremors slowly faded, Aventurine stayed by your side, a silent promise to never let you go.

You jolted awake, your heart racing and breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The vivid remnants of the nightmare clung to you like a heavy shroud, making it hard to distinguish reality from the terrors of your subconscious. Beside you, Ratio stirred. Though he often appeared detached and consumed by his intellectual pursuits, he was startlingly perceptive when it came to your well-being.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, deep and steady, cut through the haze.

“I… just a nightmare,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Ratio sat up, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his sharp features. His eyes, circled by the faint rings, softened as they studied your face. Without a word, he slipped an arm around your shoulders and drew you close. His strength was reassuring, his warmth a balm against the cold grip of fear.

“Nightmares,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful yet soothing, “are the brain’s attempt to process overwhelming emotions. A chaotic library, if you will, where the books fall from the shelves.” He placed a hand on the back of your head, gently guiding it to rest against his chest. “But they’re not real. You’re here, with me, and no harm will come to you.”

His words, tinged with the calm authority of a scholar, grounded you. He shifted slightly, wrapping both arms around you in an embrace that was as protective as it was comforting. “Let me be your anchor,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat slowing to match his steady rhythm.

Ratio tilted your chin up gently, his gaze meeting yours. “Breathe with me,” he instructed, taking slow, deliberate breaths. You mirrored him, the storm within you gradually settling.

When he was certain you were calm, he leaned back, propping you against him as he spoke softly about the constellations visible outside the window. His words—filled with awe and wonder—distracted you, drawing you into his world of intellect and beauty.

“You’re safe,” he said finally, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I’ll always be here to remind you of that.”

The nightmare left you trembling, your breaths uneven and tears threatening to spill. Boothill was already awake—he was a light sleeper, his cybernetic enhancements alerting him to even the faintest shift in your breathing.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice low and raspy but laced with concern. “You alright?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Boothill didn’t push. Instead, he swung his legs over the bed, his spurs jingling faintly as he settled back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. His metal arms were cool but comforting as they encircled you, the faint whir of his mechanics barely audible over your labored breathing.

“You’re safe now,” he assured, his voice steady and firm. He rested his chin on top of your head, his long hair falling around you like a curtain. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m here.”

His shark-like grin softened into something far more tender as he tilted your face toward his. “Look at me, sugar. Whatever it was, it’s gone. Just a bad dream. You’re tougher than that, and you got me watchin’ your back.”

Boothill rocked you gently, the motion reminiscent of sitting on horseback. “Close your eyes,” he coaxed, his drawl soothing as he began to hum a low, calming tune. “Think ‘bout somethin’ good—somethin’ real.”

He reached for his scarf and draped it over your shoulders like a blanket, its familiar weight and scent grounding you. “Ain’t no monster or memory that can take you from me,” he murmured, his eyes softening. “And if it tries, well…” He patted one of the holstered guns on his hip. “You know I’ll handle it.”

The reassurance in his tone and the rhythmic hum of his song eased the lingering fear. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Promise.”

[microclown]

I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

[michanvalentine]

Astarion’s quotes that make my heart race!

Ok, maybe you’d expect something extremely romantic—but that’s not quite it. Or at least, not just that. There are moments when this vampire spawn truly drives me crazy—and not in a sexy way. Let’s just say that part is the cherry on top! But let’s not waste any more time…

"You deserve something real. I want us to become something real." Can we talk about this? This is the very first time Astarion truly opens up. Willingly. Officially. Even at the risk of being kicked out of the group, even at the risk of being told to fuck off—because yes, everything he did before was purely out of self-preservation. He used Tav/Durge and paid for the favor with his own body. And yet, he takes a risk. He puts everything on the line—even the very mechanisms that have protected him for centuries, allowing him to keep going without stopping, without thinking, without letting himself get emotionally involved. Because if he hadn’t dissociated, it would have hurt too much. But this time? He’s done pretending. This time, he really wants to try. He wants to take a chance—for the one person who managed to crack through his armor, who lowered his defenses. He wants to be real and experience something real, for the first time in over 200 years—with everything that comes with it. For someone who has always worn a mask, this is a massive, deeply important concept. Especially because, as I said, this confession goes against everything he’s ever believed—about love, about sex, about relationships. It goes beyond control. Beyond using emotions and feelings as weapons. Beyond self-preservation, which is what pushed him to act like a piece of shit so many times throughout Act 1. Here, Astarion takes a step away from selfishness and toward altruism—toward the other, beyond himself—and spits out the truth. He shows himself, stripped bare and flawed, and braces for the consequences. He takes responsibility for what he’s done. He makes himself vulnerable. And that’s an even more powerful, meaningful act when you remember just how hard that is for someone like him—someone who’s made fear his primary driving force for so long.

“This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.” What can I say? It begins in Act One and ends at the conclusion of the Pale Elf’s quest in the “good” ending. The callback is incredibly powerful—revisiting the concept of the gift shows just how much he’s grown, how he’s come to genuinely appreciate what is offered to him. Even when it’s not what he expected, or what he claimed to desire. And in this case, we’re talking about trust. He is grateful for the trust he’s been given. Just like in the bite scene, where those words are first spoken. Trust in him as a person, not a monster. Trust in his qualities—the ones lying beneath the bitter, hardened, sarcastic façade. Trust in his potential. In the depth of his soul, where something much more profound is hidden. Something more delicate and vulnerable, too. And trust—or rather, certainty—that all of this has immense value and is worth nurturing. And for this, for the opportunity he’s given to finally explore that side of himself in his future, he is grateful. He considers it a gift. And that’s something that quite literally melts me.

“I did it. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” I’ve never experienced it in my playthroughs—I always freed the vampire spawn. Except for one time when I damned them, lol. But here, you can clearly see Astarion's growth and sensitivity. Not only that, but it also emerges in a context that doesn’t involve Tav/Durge, the safe harbor who has accompanied him on his journey so far. Instead, it involves the Gur tribe, with whom Astarion has a history that’s nothing short of turbulent: the law enacted against them, his own death, the kidnapping of the children. All violent and terrible events that left a mark on him—marked by hatred, anger, and shame. In this scene, there’s everything: forgiveness, reconciliation, redemption, leaving the past behind, and facing the future with a stronger, more determined spirit. Here, Astarion opens his mind and heart to someone he once despised, hated, and hurt. He acknowledges and embraces their pain, grief, even their resentment, and does so with compassion and newfound maturity. What else can I say but that I’m so proud of this mischievous little bastard?

“Even I deserve something better.” This is a moment I absolutely adore. I never cheated on Astarion with Mizora—just to be clear—I’ve only watched the cutscenes on YouTube. The she-devil just doesn’t do it for me, unfortunately for her. Lol. If I have to throw myself at someone with horns, I’d much rather pick Wyll or Karlach! <3 But back to why this scene makes my heart race… This is where you can see all of Astarion’s growth. All of it. This isn’t about jealousy—he makes that clear right away. We know very well that the spawn isn’t against open relationships; he’s even open to including Halsin in the mix. This is about betraying the trust of your partner—something he’s only just begun to claim for himself. To trust someone, and in turn, to be worthy of their trust. It’s a deep and incredibly important concept. If Tav/Durge attacks him with the idea that he would’ve been the first to jump into such situations and betray others, Astarion quickly replies that maybe, once, yes, he would have. But things change. People change. Another powerful concept. And the most beautiful part of all this is when spawn Astarion chooses to leave Tav/Durge, because he finally has enough self-respect and strength not only to keep going on his own, but to fight for himself. To say “No, thank you.” He’s no longer willing to settle, to bend, to swallow the bitter pill—even if that means parting from the person he loves more than anyone else in the world. Because yes, damn it, he deserves something better than that! And because, in that moment—just as he himself says—Tav represents everything he’s trying to escape from in order to become better: someone who only thinks about themselves, without caring about the consequences or who gets hurt along the way. Simply beautiful. Especially when compared to the tragic words of Ascended Astarion, who—when Tav/Durge suggests they had a bad night and regret it—responds by telling them not to dwell on it and to just focus on the next conquest. He doesn’t face anything. He runs. And deludes himself that next time, it’ll be better.

“You. I want you.” Okay, this is where my heart just can’t take it. Awwww. I mean—finally, after everything we’ve been through in the game, after all those times we’ve asked him “What do you want?” and all the times he wasn’t able to answer… At last, Astarion gives voice to his own desires and replies: “You.” Not power. Not control. The relationship. That deep connection with another person, without any more doubts, masks, roles (master, slave, vampire, human), or ulterior motives. Pure and simple, from one soul to another. It’s a conscious and free choice. From someone who, not that long ago, couldn’t even put a name to what he had with Tav/Durge—“What are we, to you?” “I don’t know. But isn’t it nice not knowing?”—I think he’s now fully realized how warm, comforting, and fulfilling it is to know. To be able to give a name to what binds him to another. And the “I love you” that follows not only warms our hearts—it shows us just how far this small, desperate vampire spawn has come. He’s achieved the unthinkable: reclaiming his shattered identity, freeing himself from the curse of vampirism—not physically, but spiritually—and rediscovering his right to be, to choose, to express himself, and to feel something real. But most of all, he’s found the ability to recognize it and name it, without fearing the consequences anymore.

I think there are more, but I’ll stop here for now. Every single line from Astarion deserves to be analyzed, if you ask me! I have a feeling my next list will be about the Astarion quotes that piss me off. Lol

[bvidzsoo]

Cosmically divine

☆ Synopsis: Olympus, the place where Gods play pretend and do as they wish. Dion, the place where mere mortals suffer and do as the Gods wish. One might wonder, is life ever fair? ★ 

☆ Author: bvidzsoo ★ 

☆ Pairing: Ateez members x female reader ★ 

☆ Rating: nsfw, 18+ ★ 

☆ Genre: Greek mythology, dark romance, violence, smut, gore

☆ Status: on-going ★ 

☆ 1. Choi San x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Underwater ◖Ares x Naiad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: You knew that your love would never be fulfilled as the man you loved belonged to another woman. But can you help your poor Naiad heart when San, the God of war himself, seeks you out again and again when he is most vulnerable?

☆ 2. Kang Yeosang x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Marionette ◖Aphrodite!au◗ 

Summary: Doomed from the beginning, your mother, Hera, only saw a weapon in you. If you had once thought she loved you, she proved you wrong the second she cast you away once you failed to kill her enemy's son. Yeosang, Aphrodite's dearest and most prized offspring.

☆ 3. Kim Hongjoong x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Color of love ◖Hermes x Iris!au◗ 

Summary: If there was a God everyone feared, perhaps it was Zeus. After the continuous abuse he's put you through, you never thought you'd get to live your eternal life peacefully. That is, until the messenger God shows up and whisks you away before Zeus can see and stop him.

☆ 4. Jung Wooyoung x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Kingdom come ◖Oread Nymph x Dryad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: Nymphs were nothing but deities that preserved nature and allowed the Gods to love them in return for their blessings. And when Zeus lurks around, you are labelled as his, never to be touched by anyone in the whole cosmos. But can you help yourself when the man he claims is Wooyoung himself? The gorgeous and warm-hearted Oread that coincidentally returns your forbidden feelings for him?

☆ 5. Song Mingi x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Dead man running ◖Hades!au◗ 

Summary: You were cursed, at least that's what your family thought about you. After a while, you started believing it too, the shadows that whispered to you convincing you that you were either crazy or just...different. And maybe you were, after all, the God of death himself, wouldn't have just called you his little shadow without a reason, right?

☆ 6. Choi Jongho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Nightmare ◖Phobos!au◗ 

Summary: Coming from a family that thrived under pressure and mayhem, it was only a matter of time until your father allowed you to join him on the battlefield. But perhaps what set you apart from other warrior families was the fact that each one of you worshiped a God of war. You just happened to make the mistake of offering yourself up to one in exchange for your dear sibling's life.

☆ 7. Jeong Yunho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　One Kiss ◖Atë!au◗ 

Summary: Cast out of Olympus because Zeus has had enough of the mayhem and craze you created amongst men, living and meddling with mortals changed nothing. You thrived off of stupid men falling to their knees and begging you for attention, promising things no mortal could offer. But when a pure, untouched, and unassuming boy might just fall into your trap, you can't help yourself and entice him just to the point of madness.

☆ 8. Park Seonghwa x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Moonlight Melody ◖Poseidon!au◗ 

Summary: You always thought the man of your dreams never existed, would never come and whisk you away from this terrible terrible life that you lived. And perhaps when he starts showing up in your dreams, with promises that he'd soon come and see you, you find yourself hoping for a love that only the stars would bear witness to.

☆ A/N: Hello, my lovelies, I am here with a new story, can you believe it?! Because I can't lol, this wasn't supposed to exist but I thought...why not? Updates won't be too frequent, probably, as I have got quite a few others things to write, but I can't wait for you all to see what I have planned here! ^^ These stories won't be too dark, but I felt it necessary to mention dark romance as we're still dealing with some ambiguous topics. Taglist, as usual, is open and you are all very welcomed to comment on this post if you'd like to be added! Thank you for showing love, support, and interest in my works on here, they mean the world to me! <3 divider ★ 

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[wilsonology]

i feel like i need to say this cuz ever since people started (rightfully) realizing that wilson is actually just as emotionally manipulative and messed up as house, i’ve seen a weird wave of “house deserves better” takes like. you guys. they are both disasters. they are mutual wrecks. they deserve each other (and maybe also a psych ward stay)

house isn’t some poor misunderstood genius being dragged down by his toxic friend. house is a grown man with abandonment issues the size of god, chronic pain he refuses to manage responsibly, and a compulsive need to blow up every good thing in his life before it can leave him first. he is not okay. he is not better than wilson!! he is just LOUDER about being fucked up !!!

like. yes. house is brutally honest and emotionally stunted and painfully smart. he’s a bastard and he knows it. but he weaponizes that self-awareness. he uses it as a shield — like, “yeah, i’m a terrible person so you can’t hurt me by pointing it out.” but he cares. so much. all the time. and he hates that he does. so he builds a whole personality around pretending not to

house is constantly poking at people’s trauma and vulnerabilities like it’s a science experiment — not because he’s evil, but because he genuinely does not know how else to relate. he’s terrified of intimacy. intimacy means exposure, exposure means rejection. so instead he picks at people until they push him away. it’s safer that way. it’s controlled

... but he wants people to stay. that’s the worst part. he wants so badly to be loved and chosen and understood and he’s absolutely incapable of asking for it in a non destructive way. so he tests people. constantly (it does not work lol)

AND LIKE let’s talk about the pills. because yeah! obviously! house is addicted. but the way he treats his own pain — physical and emotional — is so self-punishing it hurts to watch. he doesn’t just want relief, he wants punishment. he doesn’t believe he deserves to feel better. he thinks suffering is what makes him sharp, what keeps him useful, what keeps people from getting too close

he’s miserable and mean and brilliant and lonely and he turns all of it into a performance. he turns his trauma into a weapon and his brilliance into a cage and he pretends he likes it in there

also — and i cannot stress this enough — he needs wilson just as much as wilson needs him. that relationship is codependent. it is toxic. it is real. wilson makes house feel human. house makes wilson feel important. they cling to each other because no one else would put up with either of them for more than five minutes. it’s not healthy. yet it’s true

but. yeah. house pushes everyone away. he ruins every relationship he touches. he mocks vulnerability and ridicules emotion because those things terrify him. he solves medical mysteries like they’re puzzles he can win at — cuz diseases don’t leave you. they don’t get tired of you. they don’t betray you. they’re consistent. they make sense. unlike people. unlike his parents. unlike stacy. unlike wilson sometimes

and when people do try to care about him — cuddy, cameron, stacy, wilson, even random patients — he doesn’t know what to do with it. he wants it. but he’ll destroy it just to prove it was never real. because if he believes it was real and then it leaves he’ll actually fall apart. and he knows it

tl;dr: house is a brilliant, emotionally self-sabotaging, pain-riddled, intimacy-phobic disaster who uses cruelty and honesty to protect himself from the fact that he’s deeply lonely and thinks he’s unlovable. he doesn’t trust love. he trusts pain. and that’s why he’s a mess. wilson lies to himself and others; house tells the truth like it’s a knife. they are the same breed of broken. one just hides it behind a smile. the other behind a snarl. equal levels of unwell !!

[axetivev]

~🌘 Nightmares!

Damian Wayne & M!Reader

(Slight?) Bruce Wayne x M!Reader

~ Summary:Damian was having a nightmare. He'd usually brush it off and try to do something—anything to forget those dreams. But tonight, something rather unexpected happened.

~ Warnings:Fluff

~ Words: 624

~ Note:Yahoo! It's my first time posting something on Tumblr, I barely know what I am doing— but regardless. I hope you enjoy this fic! :3

FYI, I do these fandoms;

PGR (Punishing: Gray Raven)

HSR (Honkai Star Rail)

AK (Arknights)

DCU (Majority about Batfam lol)

PROSEKA (Project Sekai) !!

You can find me on :

Twitter : AxetiveV

AO3 : Axetive

Being Bruce Wayne’s husband could be quite one of a challenge. Other than the media would go nuts and paparazzi Y/N Wayne, asking him questions. He also has to worry about the super-villains in Gotham targeting him knowing he was the husband of the richest man in Gotham. And much other.

But there’s one thing that Y/N often struggled with; dealing with Bruce’s kids. Well, everyone was easy to deal with. Expect… Damian Wayne. Who often sees him as a competitor to his mother, and would often try to kill the poor second father to him, from Dick to Duke everyone was a piece of cake to deal with but not Damian. But this night, perhaps. Changed.

Y/N was alone, reading a book in the shared bed where he and Bruce would spend the night while wearing one of Bruce’s clothes. But of course, Bruce being Batman would go for patrols on the night streets. Y/N was fine about this but not for Damian, as stubborn as he was, asking to join but since he have school. Bruce refuses. Which leaves Damian in his room, everyone thought he was asleep. But in the middle of the night—Unsure by time. The door of the shared bedroom opened, with Damian and Titus standing beside the boy who was carrying a pillow with weary eyes which worried his papa.

“Is everything alright, Dami?” Y/N closed his book with a worried expression. As Damian shook his head.

“…Pa…Papa. Would I disturb you if I… needed comfort?”

Y/N blinked to the boy’s statement, but he simply smiled. Sitting to the edge of the bed, he gently patted the other side of the bed. Damian then made his way to sit next to his second father, followed by Titus who stood on the ground firm. Y/N then gently guided the boy to rest his head against his lap. Once he was settled, with a slow and delicate movement. His hand brushed over the boy’s hair while keeping their silence between them. It wasn’t the silence of seriousness. It was simply a silence of calmness, a quiet moment between father and son. Something Damian barely had with Bruce.

Damian was born to be a weapon (other than Cass), to be an assassin who was just cold and firm and barely showed humanity. But the moment he met Bruce—Alfred and his older siblings, followed by Y/N, Damian’s stoic demeanor melted as they showered him with love he always deserved. Burying his emotions wasn’t the answer. He hated the fact he could show vulnerability, but for this night? He just let it go. The feeling of Y/N's hand brushing his hair and him while saying sweet whispers and affection words was enough to let Damian fall and continued his slumber.

As the clock continued to tick, and Damian finally fell asleep once more. Y/N sighed with relief, he adjusted their position. Letting the sleeping Damian rest beside him, as he tugged the boy. Before soon, tiredness followed Y/N his eyes were heavy. He hugged Damian, smiling to himself. As for Titus, was curling close to Damian.

Soon, Bruce came back after patrol with weary eyes while casually still in his suit. He yawned the moment the Dark Knight opened the door to the bedroom. His eyes widened seeing the sight behold in his very own eyes; the love of his life, Titus, and his biological son. Who was “hating” Y/N’s presence in the Manor. Hugging each other like a mother who hugged her son who has a nightmare. This sight made Bruce smile, soon, he joined two of them, Bruce big spooning against Y/N. The four sleep like one happy family.

Alfred? He was taking a picture of the wholesome scene.

[kxttsstuff]

tiny cowboys, an appreciation.

"If I had a nickel for everytime a tiny cowboy appeared in g/t media, I'd have two. Which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice, no?"

I think there is something inherently wholesome about a character that is traditionally seen as a symbol of strength, toughness, or masculinity; subverted in a character that at least physically they're very vulnerable and prone to be underestimated or just overall not taken seriously.

What I find most fascinating about these two characters is the fact that besides the whole cowboy esque thing, and the whole bravado, both of them are also incredibly emotional and choose to hide what would make them appear even 'weaker'.

They just can't afford having their size used as a weapon against them, they have to try and show everyone else that they still own the place.

I think that's why I'm extremely normal about tiny cowboys lol (...and specifically these two extremely niche characters). I think the fact of getting them to open up about their feelings, and not resent their size brings out something sweet and tender about trust and validation. Even considering the g/t fluff aspect, the whole cowboy thing brings a nostalgic feeling that adds up to the size and forms the 'this character does not really belong to this place or time period, so it will be misunderstood' vibe.

Do you also have an extremely niche g/t interest like this one?

[bunni-v1]

hii, congratulations on 500 followers 🎊

May I request a full nsfw alphabet for azul ashengrotto please?

🍓Huzzah, Azul is done. I think I only have three more of these, and then I'm done with them. I'm planning on writing more for Lighter though, so... lord knows when I'll refocus lol. I just... I love he.

Azul NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare: This can go one of two ways: Azul pampers you or you pamper Azul. He wants nothing more in the whole world than to ensure that you are comfortable, happy, and satisfied. He will wipe you down, draw you a bath, wash your hair, and give you a whole spa treatment if you let him. He wraps you up in fluffy towels and gives you his softest set of pajamas, that is when he has the energy to do that. Usually, Azul is so worn out that he can’t pamper you like the queen you are, and you’re the one doing all that for him. The only exception is when he’s in his mer form… he uses considerably less energy to satisfy both of your needs like that, let's just say.

B = Body Part: He’s a thigh guy, you can just tell from that stupid little smirk. Legs are so annoying, they’re clunky and they move oddly; he hates them. That is until he saw yours. Suddenly he gets the appeal. They’re truly captivating, you know? They can be so graceful on the right person. As for himself, I think he’d probably say something like his hands or his face. He uses his hands a lot, to write contracts, make food, use magic, etc.. They’re useful, and you seem to enjoy them a lot when he uses them on you. With his face, he knows he’s handsome and charming, it’s one of his biggest weapons so of course he’s a fan of it.

C = Cum: Azul is very conservative, I feel. It’s either inside or nothing. He just thinks it’s kind of gross, I mean, seriously he doesn’t want to stain his nice satin sheets. Also, uhm, why would he waste his seed when it could be put to proper use? Before you ask, yes, he scoops up any that manages to slip out and pushes it back in. As for color, I imagine it’s much darker in color than humans, more of a grey/blue color and it’s rather sweet tasting. If you ask him nicely, he might let you eat it up.

D = Dirty Secret: Maybe not a secret, but he wants to knock you up sooooo bad. He’s fully aware it’s irresponsible, you’re both college students with lives ahead of you, but imagining you with his kids makes him a little more than irrational. He’d NEVER let it happen though, always ensuring you’ve taken the morning-after pill or your birth control if you have it. He’s not ready to be a father until he’s got his business ventures settled. (In a few years after you graduate though? Lol, good luck with this guy.)

E = Experience: NONE! Azul has zero experience and it shows. He’s super clumsy the first time, and everything makes him blush. He cums putting it in and he cries about it too. You can’t blame him though, he’s kind of a super loner. It’s not like he’d ever let anyone close enough to sleep with him in the first place, so be gentle with him. He definitely gets way better as he learns what you like. You come across him studying human sexual anatomy a few times, and even though he’s embarrassed, thinking about it like classwork helps calm his nerves. 

F = Favorite Position: If he’s topping, probably missionary – unless you’re fucking his mer form, then he pretty much pulls you around however he likes. Weirdly, he likes holding you upside down while he pumps his tentacles inside you. He thinks you won’t be able to hurt him that way (you weren’t gonna hurt him period, but instinct wins ig).  When you’re topping, cowgirl all the way, please. Loves watching you bounce, it’s so satisfying.

G = Goofy: I don’t see him as goofy during, not intentionally, at least. He’s playful sure, enjoying teasing you for your reactions, but he’s not really jokey. He doesn’t think sex is the time to mess around and poke fun at each other. It’s intimate and vulnerable, so he’d rather not crack jokes if he can.

H = Hair: Rest assured that Azul is wonderfully groomed. Sometimes he shaves it clean down there, other times he keeps a little white tuft of hair, but it’s always nice and presentable.

I = Intimacy: Oh Azul is so sweet. He holds you close and whispers in your ear about how happy he is, how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you. It’s a very vulnerable time, and when Azul is so flooded with pleasure, he tends to lose himself to it. He wants the same reassurance from you, of course, especially when you’re the one in charge. Be sure to whisper sweet nothings to make him feel good.

J = Jack Off: He doesn’t like masturbating, like, at all. It’s such an annoying task and it’s so messy, so he avoids it at all costs. The only time he’ll try it is if you ask to watch him, and he expects a nice reward afterward too. Other than that? Why would he do anything like that when he has you to help?

K = Kink: So other than the established breeding kink, I think Azul is pretty vanilla. He’s not into restraints usually. Other than in his mer form, where he can easily twist and bend and hold you where he likes. He’s not all that into marking, finds it more embarrassing than anything. One thing he is into is size difference – specifically when he’s in his mer form you are dwarfed by him. You’re so small and malleable and cute, especially when you whine that you can’t handle it anymore.

L = Location: His bedroom is a fan favorite. It’s quiet and private, and no one can bother either of you. He’d rather no one be able to see either of you in such an intimate position, especially not Floyd or Jade. You can, however, convince him to let you have sex in his office. The door is lockable and there are no widows, and the room is soundproof. The only issue is Jade has a key (NOT Floyd), and you could still get caught, but the risk is… kind of thrilling. (Jade would 100% do it on purpose too).

M = Motivation: Seeing your legs is a big one for him. He could stare at them all day if allowed, the way they move, and sevens if he could touch them it would be way better. Wearing stockings or particularly short shorts and skirts also kills him. Alternatively, arguing with him (in a playful way) is a surefire way to get him riled up. He doesn’t know why he likes it so much, he just gets a thrill when you’re both poking each other's buttons.

N = No: Absolutely nothing public, he hates the idea of being watched. On top of that, no filming or pictures of either of you. He doesn’t want them to accidentally get out and be used as blackmail against him. Also no degradation, please. He’s sensitive, he will cry and it will ruin the mood, so don’t hurt him like that. Oh, no sharing either. He’s not a big fan of sharing his loved one’s attention, especially not in this context.

O = Oral: Listen Azul might be bad in bed to start, but he’s amazing at eating you out. It’s the one thing that he just got immediately, and that isn’t a commentary on him liking food or anything, he’s just fucking talented with his tongue. Like, mind-blowingly good at manipulating it in ways that will have your eyes rolling.

P = Pace: Azul always tries to take his time with things, so he’s very slow and sensual. He prefers deep and precise thrusts over aggressive and fast ones because he likes to feel everything. Sometimes he closes his eyes just to get lost in that sensation. However, as he gets closer and closer to cumming he gets a little sloppy. He misses his rhythm more and more until he stutters his hips and pushes aaaalllllllllll the way in.

Q = Quickie: Not a big fan of them, honestly. Like I said, he prefers to take his time and really feel everything, so quickies are just not his forte. Not to say he’s against them, he absolutely has indulged you in his office really quick between clients, but he just doesn’t prefer them.

R = Risk: He does not like risk, which makes him way too anxious and he performs way worse than he normally does. He doesn’t want to be seen in an intimate position with you like that, and he’s not all that up to experiment out of his comfort zone either. He knows what he likes, and it’s highly unlikely you surprise him.

S = Stamina: He doesn’t have a lot of stamina for himself, which is why he takes a nice long time with foreplay. He enjoys seeing you cum a few times before the main event, mostly because he can only cum once before he’s done. Though, in his mer form this isn’t the case. He can go for multiple rounds non-stop if you want, he just usually doesn’t because that’s not exactly healthy for a human to go through.

T = Toys: I don’t think he has many toys for you, because why would you need them when you have him? He can do more than any of them even could. He takes extra offense to tentacle-shaped toys, do you think he’s a joke? Besides, he knows how much more you like his tentacles so why would you waste time with silicone when you have a much nicer alternative?

U = Unfair: Believe it or not, Azul isn’t unfair at all. He’s not that big of a tease, though sometimes he comes off that way, and he certainly won’t make you beg for your own pleasure. It’s his job to make you feel good, withholding that is a failure to uphold his side of the bargain. He can’t have that. Now if you tease him a little he wouldn’t be opposed, just… when he tells you to stop, please stop. 

V = Volume: Azul is very whiny. He tries his best to bite back his noises, but he always makes them, and he makes a lot of them. Usually, it’s little squeaks and sighs of pleasure, but sometimes when he’s really far gone, he makes these delicious drawn-out moans that would make a porn star blush. He would like it if you were vocal as well, mostly to drown out his shame a little lol.

W = Wild Card: Azul would absolutely love to eat a full meal off you one day. Like, appetizers, main course, and you for dessert type shit. As much as he tries to hide it, he loves food so much, and I know he would love to combine it with you. So, eating food off of you is a bigggggg thing he wants to do someday. (He would never voice this, and would take it to his grave.)

X = X-Ray: Azul’s member is the strongest out of the Octinivelle trio, purely because it’s just not human looking even in human form. Jade and Floyd at least have human-like penises, but Azul… not so much. It’s wide, on the shorter side about 4 inches, and black in color. It resembles a tentacle but retains the human penile structure. It’s the same in his mer-form, so its easy to assume his penis just isn’t affected in the transformation.

Y = Yearning: Azul’s sex drive is about average, but he doesn’t usually act upon it. He likes to have sex maybe once a week, but with his schedule, even that can be difficult. He’s very good at ignoring his needs when he needs to, so a lot of the time you’ll have to be the one to initiate and tell him to do something about his yearning problem. Z = Zzz: He falls asleep pretty quickly depending on how long everything took. He likes to stay up and care for you and himself a bit, but he’s still quick to fall asleep when everything is in order. He just doesn’t have that much energy, poor thing.