#and then refused to acknowledge the error

[bloodysparklez]

i redrew one of my favorite scenes from the novel! they're literally so silly. it's comedy central out here in puqi shrine

[brokenmenswhore]

a proposition: a return | poly!marauders

#4

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, and sirius, featuring alecto, dorcas, evan, lily, marlene, and mary)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), voyeurism

a/n: if you’ve requested to be on the taglist but didn’t get tagged, check the taglist at the bottom to see if your account is unlinked, and if so check your settings to make sure i can tag you! i added everyone’s @ even if it didn’t let me tag an account to it. also i don’t have it in me to proofread 17 times anymore sorry for any errors

a proposition: masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

When you approached the girls, who were seated around their usual Gryffindor table after class for a study session, you were immediately thrown by the unfamiliar face among them.

“Y/N! Come sit!”

Lily’s usual excitement shone through as she patted the empty spot on the bench next to her. You tentatively sat down, hoping someone would introduce you to the unfamiliar person, but she was occupying the group too much to even take notice of you.

“And they call the bin a trash can. I mean talk about being literal, right? I swear, if one more person over there called something by the exact descriptor of what it was, I would have thrown a book at their head.”

The table chuckled at her story.

“Marlene, this is Y/N,” Lily chimed in once the girl was done speaking.

Marlene turned her head toward you, scanning the visible portion of your body before landing on your face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, flushed and uncomfortable.

“So you’re a part of this group now?” Marlene asked completely unprompted.

You were slightly taken aback. “Yeah, yeah, I guess.”

“Well you either are or you aren’t.”

You stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to act. You had never met this person, and now she was snapping at you. “I am.”

Instead of responding to you, Marlene turned to Lily and said, “I thought this was a set thing? Since when do we let new people in?”

“God, Marls, it’s not like there’s a rule book,” Dorcas said.

“We literally all agreed, Dorcas,” Marlene bounced back.

“And we all agreed to include Y/N,” Lily smiled, refusing to include herself in the tension of the conversation.

“I didn’t,” Marlene responded, leaning on her elbows over the table in a confrontational stance.

“You weren’t here,” Dorcas fought.

Marlene took a deep breath before grabbing her books and standing up. “I’ll see you guys later,” she said, exiting the Great Hall in a huff.

You looked around in hopes that someone, anyone, would explain to you exactly what just happened. Instead, the table stayed quiet, refusing to acknowledge any of it as they continued studying.

You were too nervous to ask, so you pretended like nothing happened as you pulled out your books.

The next day, in between classes, you ran into Sirius in the library. You were met with two consecutive free blocks, which allowed you time to study. Sirius, on the other hand, just didn’t feel like attending charms.

“Aren’t you usually in class right now?” he said, catching you browsing through the shelves of books.

“Mhm.”

“You’re skipping?”

“I have it free today.”

Sirius furrowed his brow as he studied your face. It was unlike you to be so dry in your answers.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, engrossed in your own thoughts about Marlene and her reaction to you. You hadn’t realized how you were speaking to Sirius.

“Wanna sit for a second?” Sirius said, nonchalant as if your answer wouldn’t phase him.

“Sure,” you shrugged, approaching a nearby table.

Sirius sat across from you, studying your face as you tried to arrange your books. You peered up at him for a second, noticing his gaze but pretending you didn’t.

You thought about speaking, but weren’t capable of acting as though you weren’t bothered. If this person was part of the group, surely Sirius knew her already, so you decided to test it out.

“Marlene’s back, you know,” you said, as if you were completely in the know about everything regarding this mysterious new person.

“I know,” Sirius responded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

You waited to see if he would elaborate any further, but he simply sat there, smoking his cigarette, staring at you.

“I didn’t even know she existed until this morning,” you said, “is there a reason no one told me? She was pretty cold to me.”

“That’s just Marlene,” Sirius brushed it off. He seemed as if he didn’t want to talk about it, but you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing it.

“Where has she been? I’ve never seen her before,” you asked.

Sirius sighed. “She spent a year at Ilvermorny.”

You were getting frustrated from how little information Sirius was giving you. He was strategically only answering your exact question, and only doing so in the most concise way possible.

“Why?” you pressed.

“Wanted a year away,” he said.

You sighed. “Sirius, you’re not giving me much.”

Sirius sat upward, leaning his elbows on the table and smiling in amusement at your interest. “Why so curious?”

“Just wondering what happened is all.”

Sirius saw the intrigue on your face and caved. “She took a year away from here after a bunch of drama happened. She was falling pretty hard for someone in our group and that person wasn’t really the monogamous type. They got in a huge fight, the whole group was there- it got really messy. She couldn’t take it anymore and decided to transfer schools. Guess she’s back now,” he finally explained.

“She wasn’t supposed to come back?”

“I have no idea. She only told Dorcas she was leaving. That’s the only reason we all knew.”

You nodded your head, flipping through the pages of a textbook as if this new information meant nothing of importance to you.

“So she left the group?”

Sirius sighed. “She left the school, Y/N. I don’t think anyone expected her to show back up.”

“So she never officially left the group.”

“Why would it matter?” Sirius smiled, “you jealous of her or somethin’?”

“What? No,” you said, “I just didn’t know this person existed and she was a real bitch to me earlier. Just wondering why.”

Sirius leaned an arm over the table and put his hand over yours. “You have nothin’ to worry about.”

The gesture was unlike Sirius, but you appreciated it nevertheless, and you smiled at him to show it.

────── ☾ ──────

“So you’re in this now, hm?”

You, startled by the sudden voice, whipped your head around to see Marlene McKinnon jogging to catch up to you in the hallway.

“Yeah,” you said as you continued on your route to class.

“What’s so special that you’ve got Sirius Black asking for you to join? You that good of a lay? The whore of Hufflepuff?”

You stopped on your tracks, wiping stray hairs out of your face as you huffed, “what?”

“I just mean, Sirius isn’t really one to pick and choose,” she said, sizing you up, “you must have gotten a glowing endorsement from someone. Let me guess, Remus?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you brushed her off.

“Sirius Black wouldn’t invite a lower-year virgin into our little group,” Marlene said, “he just wouldn’t. So fess up.”

“This is insane,” you said, turning forward and beginning to walk again.

Marlene stepped in front of you, cutting you off as you nearly walked straight into her.

“I have class,” you stated dryly.

“You won’t last, you know,” Marlene started, “once the shiny new toy gets played with a few times, they’ll get bored and throw it away.”

“What’s your problem?” you said, surprising yourself with your confrontation. Being in this group was making you more confident in yourself.

“Don’t have one,” Marlene said, “just trying to get the scoop, since I was so rudely left out.”

“I have class,” you repeated.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you, but I should warn you that those boys don’t tend to stick with the good girls.”

“That’s too bad, since I’m already in the group,” you fought back, sick of her insults.

“For now,” Marlene said, smiling triumphantly and she stepped to the side.

You shot her a look before walking off.

────── ☾ ──────

When you’d confided in Dorcas how Marlene had been treating you, you didn’t anticipate that she would become quite so enraged, pulling you around and collecting all the members of your group until you were all together.

Fuming, Dorcas finally took a seat.

“What’s goin’ on?” James asked.

“A good ol’ Dorcas summoning,” Evan joked.

Dorcas sat in silence, nostrils flaring as she stared at Marlene.

“Well?” Marlene said, legs and arms crossed, “what is it?”

“Have you been threatening Y/N?”

Marlene immediately threw her hands up. “What am I, on trial? Fuck this.”

She began to stand, but Sirius stood as well. “Sit down,” he said, and she sighed, but did as she was told.

You were taken aback by how serious he was being. You hasn’t even told him what Marlene said to you.

“I didn’t threaten her,” Marlene said.

“So you didn’t tell her she’s a toy we’ll all get bored of playing with?”

The heads in the room all turned to Marlene. “Why does it matter? If she can’t handle being part of this, then she shouldn’t be a part of it.”

“You can’t just bully her out because you’re jealous.”

“Jealous of what, Dorcas? Hm? The fact she’s in the goodie two-shoes house?”

“Guys,” you tried to chime in, but it got lost in the tension.

“Oh, you know what,” Dorcas spat.

Dorcas and Marlene both stood, their voices growing louder and louder.

“No, I don’t. Tell me Dorcas, what the fuck do I have to be jealous of? Some young little girl who doesn’t even know how to fuck?”

“Guys,” you tried again.

“Why did you even come back, Marlene?” Dorcas retaliated.

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

“One day you’re my best friend, and the next you just leave a note like ‘oh! I can’t do it anymore and I’m transferring to America, bye!’ and I’m just supposed to jump up and down in joy when you suddenly decide we’re worthy enough to have you back?”

Marlene plopped back into her chair. “This is bullshit, I’m not doing this. Did you really call us all here just to yell at me in front of everyone?”

“No,” Dorcas said, “I called us all here to vote you out.”

The room stilled for a moment before Marlene scoffed. “To vote me out?”

“Guys!” you finally yelled, and it caught their attention, “can we please calm down?”

“You wanna vote me out? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding you.”

Marlene and Dorcas stared at each other, intensity in their eyes as Remus finally tried to calm the situation down.

“Marlene, things are a little different than when you were here before,” Remus said, “I think it’s only fair that you’re either okay with that, or you’re out.”

“Oh yeah?” Marlene replied, “and what’s different? Besides the Huffle-slut.”

You threw your hands in the air, exhausted of Marlene’s inexplicable hatred toward you.

“Well, for starters, are you over him?” Remus asked.

Marlene stared at Remus blankly, almost as if she was trying to think her way out of answering, but couldn’t.

You looked around the room, but everyone was too focused on Marlene’s answer to provide you with any explanation. You couldn’t help but feel left out of something.

“Yeah,” Marlene shrugged.

“I don’t believe you,” Dorcas said.

“Go cry about it,” Marlene spat.

“Stop, fuckin’ hell,” Remus sighed, “are you or are you not okay with Y/N being here?”

“Clearly I’m not, mom.”

Remus huffed and stood up. “Well, fuck this, I’m done trying,” he said, walking over to the ashtray and flicking embers off the butt of his cigarette.

The room stilled, everyone unsure of what to do.

“You guys shouldn’t have agreed on anyone new without me,” Marlene spoke up.

“Bloody hell, you were gone, you fucking idiot,” Dorcas said, “and we had no reason to think you were coming back. What were we gonna do, send an owl? Fuck off.”

“Can she even fuck?”

“Give it a rest, Marlene,” Sirius spoke up.

“No, I wanna know. Can you fuck?” she said, turning to you.

Your eyes widened. “I’m not dignifying that with an answer,” you stated.

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“Prove that you can fuck like a big girl.”

You looked around the group in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Pick someone here, and prove it.”

“Marlene, come on, shut the fuck u-“

Sirius was cut off by Marlene pressing on, “pick someone and let’s get on with it, Hufflepuff.”

A feeling shot straight to your core at the thought of having to fuck someone in front of the entire group. You were too worked up.

You looked up at Remus, who had been your obsession and your safe person thus far, and waited to see his expression. Marlene noticed your attention turn to him.

“Remus it is,” she said, moving the coffee table away from the center of the room, “hurry up. Let’s go.”

“I don’t think-“ Remus started.

“You know what? Fuck you, Marlene,” Dorcas said, rushing over to you.

Dorcas leaned down and kissed you hard, the kiss full of intensity and fire and anger. You were startled, but quickly started to kiss her back. This was your group, not hers anymore. If she wanted to see you fuck, she’d get a good show before she was kicked out.

Dorcas dropped to her knees in front of you. She propped one of your legs up against the armrest on the side of the couch.

Dorcas propped up your other leg and pushed it toward James, who was sitting right next to you. “Hold her, will ya?” Dorcas said.

James nodded, taking hold of your right leg.

With your legs widespread, your skirt bunched up at your waist.

“You consent?” Dorcas asked.

You nodded your head yes.

Dorcas wasted no time pushing your underwear to the side and diving in, flattening her tongue against you and moving up and down.

Your head tilted backward as you sighed, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried not to focus on the several pairs of eyes on you. You leaned onto James, trying to somewhat hide your face in his neck,

Dorcas was someone you’d always assumed would be rough in the bedroom, and she was angry and worked up over the Marlene situation, however, you were surprised by how soft and gentle she was being. You knew it was intentional for you.

She was in no rush, moving her tongue slowly against you. You thought of something Lily had told you previously: Girls give better head because they know what truly feels good.

You whimpered each time Dorcas swirled her tongue particularly well, and James lightly rubbed his thumb across your leg, comforting you on top of the pleasure.

“Jeez,” Evan spoke from across the room.

Marlene slouched in her chair in a huff, her eyes fixed on everyone else in the room, trying to gage their reactions to you.

You let out a light squeal when Dorcas began to trace around your hole with her finger, alerting you of an oncoming intrusion.

She slowly slipped one finger inside of you, again in no rush as you softly moaned at the sensation. Her mouth never detached from you as she began to pump her finger in and out of you.

James stroked your thigh with his fingers as he watched Dorcas eat you out, occasionally kissing the top of your head to remind you that you were okay. He also just wanted the validation of feeling included. James liked to feel needed.

Everyone was watching intently, turned on by the sight in front of them. Marlene was focused on everyone else, and Sirius took a drag of his cigarette every time James leaned in to kiss your head.

“Shit, I-“

You spoke so low that only James could hear it. James tapped Dorcas to warn her that you were about to come, and instead of following through, she stood up and backed away from you.

You instinctively closed your legs, remaining in your comfortable position against James.

“That wasn’t shit,” Marlene said, “you really want that in here?”

“Who said we were done?” Dorcas spat back.

Dorcas grabbed Remus’s arm and pulled him over to the empty space on the rug where the coffee table used to be.

Remus looked at Dorcas expectantly, but she just raised her eyebrows and gestured toward the floor.

Remus threw his hands up. “Yeah, it’s a nice rug.”

Dorcas sighed and pushed his shoulders until he was kneeling on the floor.

“You could have just fuckin’ told me where you wanted me, damn,” Remus said.

“Y/N?”

You were still slouched into James, trying to calm your breathing despite your core being on fire from the abrupt stop to your pleasure. “Mhm,” you vocalized.

When you didn’t receive an answer, you forced your eyes open to see the entire room staring at you.

“Think you’re needed down there, angel,” James whispered to you, nodding toward Remus.

You took a deep breath. You dropped to your knees and sat in front of Remus. He leaned in to your ear and whispered, “I’m gonna take care of you, baby.”

He kissed your cheek before he adjusted himself to a lay, sprawled out against the rug and waiting for you to sit on him.

You adjusted your legs around his waist, grateful Dorcas didn’t take your skirt fully off. You were still clothed and modest to the group.

“Remus doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Marlene said.

“Don’t you speak for me, I’m doing just fine down here,” Remus said, placing his hands behind his head as he watched you in amusement.

You blindly undid Remus’s belt, pulling it off of him as you began to unbutton his jeans. Remus pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his already hard cock.

You began to pull your underwear to the side, but a voice stopped you.

“No no,” Marlene said, “fuckin’ amateur. Don’t you know Remus needs a little something first?”

You knew she was just messing with you and trying to prove that she knew everyone better than you, but you felt like you knew Remus above everyone in the room.

But, if she wanted a show, you’d give her a show.

You slowly backed up on your knees until you were between Remus’s legs. You remained on your knees, allowing your ass to stick upward and your skirt to fall onto your back, exposing your backside, as your hands found Remus’s cock.

You looked to Lily, who had taught you the little you knew so far, and she nodded at you so as to say “you got this.” Her approving nod gave you confidence.

You licked a stripe from the base of Remus’s cock to the tip before sinking down on the entire length. Remus was large, too large to fit entirely in your mouth without deepthroating, but you didn’t care. You were running on pure lust, anger, and adrenaline.

Remus was looking down at you, but when his tip hit the back of your throat, he slammed his head back against the floor, a satisfied moan leaving his lips.

You pulled away almost entirely before sinking back down again, deepthroating him once more.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Remus sighed.

You swallowed in uncomfortability at the feeling of his cock in your throat, which only added to his pleasure.

“Bloody hell, you can see him in your throat, Y/N,” Lily said, “do that again.”

You looked up at Remus, who looked down to see what Lily was talking about. You swallowed again, and Remus could see the slight bulge of his cock in the top of your throat.

“Holy fuck.”

You pulled away and began to suck him normally, maintaining a steady rhythm. You couldn’t taste all of him without deepthroating, so you used your hand to account for the base of his length.

You looked up at Marlene, who scoffed and looked away as you kept your gaze on her, evidently showing her your confidence and ability as you sucked off Remus.

Marlene looked around the room and saw everyone’s eyes trained on you. Sirius adjusted his position in his seat, and James was nearly salivating.

“Okay, enough, get to it then,” Marlene said.

You pulled off of Remus, making a show of wiping your lower lip as you moved upward until you were sitting on top of Remus.

His hands found your waist without hesitation. He was lost in pleasure and lust, eager to feel you again.

You pushed your underwear to the side and held onto Remus’s length with one hand, positioning it at your entrance.

You slowly sank down, watching Remus’s face for any uncomfortability, but he was immediately just to happy to be inside of you that he pushed his hips up.

You gasped at the sudden feeling of a thrust, and Remus snapped open his eyes and looked up at you.

“You okay?”

You leaned down and kissed Remus. “Fuck me, Rem.”

Remus used one hand to hold your hair as he pulled you back into a kiss, and the other hand gripped your waist to hold you in place as he began to fuck up into you.

You dropped your head into the crook of his neck, and he held your head there, happy to have a few moments where he was the only one who could hear your small whimpers and whines. James was right: he did enjoy being special to you.

Dorcas knelt beside your bodies and wrapped her fingers in your hair, pulling back until you were seated up. She tugged at the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up over your head. She then unclasped your bra and pulled the straps off of your arms.

She hungrily kissed you, keeping you sat up so that your body was on full display for everyone in the room.

She kissed down from your neck to your breasts, sucking on your nipple as you threw your head back in pleasure.

You felt a sudden pang of embarrassment, but it was quickly gone as you looked to your right. Alecto was pressing her legs together for dear life, Evan was holding a pillow between his legs, and Sirius was staring you dead in the eyes.

You stared back for a moment, matching his eye contact. He coughed on cigarette smoke, something he never did as a veteran smoker, but continued to look back at you.

Your attention was pulled by Dorcas, who kissed you again as Remus’s thrusts grew harder and faster.

You moaned out as you threw your head back, trying to lift your hips in rhythm with Remus, but he was thrusting a little too fast for you.

Dorcas noticed, and she crawled behind you, kneeling on the floor as she held your body against hers, ensuring you remained seated upward and on display.

She kissed the side of your neck, sucking on a sweet spot as you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to get lost in the pleasure. You tried not to think about Marlene or the voyeurism, but just to be present in the moments of pleasure.

Your moans grew higher in pitch until you began to clench around Remus.

“Fuck, Remus, I- shit, I can’t-“

“No fucking cop outs,” Marlene said.

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Saying it was hard. “I- I’m-“

“Merlin, Y/N, please say it,” Remus spoke through erratic breaths below you.

You took a deep breathe. “I- I’m gonna come, Remmy, please-“

Remus snapped his hips hard, hitting your sweet spot and causing you to come with just a few more thrusts. Dorcas held you through your high, causing your legs to shake and your body to nearly convulse from the intensity as Remus came in succession.

You blinked your eyes open, trying to catch your breath as Dorcas kissed your temple and stood up.

You wiped sweat from your forehead and looked down at Remus, who put his hands behind his head again and smiled up at you.

“Stay there as long as you like.”

You giggled and leaned down to kiss Remus as Dorcas gave you back your shirt.

With Remus still in you, you pulled your shirt over your head and looked at Marlene, eyebrows raised.

“Good enough for you?” you grinned.

Marlene shrugged, clearly bothered. “Nothing I couldn’t do better.”

“I beg to differ,” Remus sighed, “not a lot could top that.”

You leaned down and kissed Remus before carefully lifting your hips and sitting back on the floor. You knew better than to try to stand.

Remus took a moment before covering himself back up, and you both sat on the floor with your backs against the couch. No one said anything.

“Didn’t think you could get any hotter, but fuck was I wrong,” Evan said.

“Are you always the horniest one in the room?” you joked.

“I don’t know, is he?” Marlene said, turning toward Sirius.

Sirius flicked embers into an ashtray. “Meaning?”

Marlene’s voice was not as confident as before. “You seemed to enjoy the show.”

“Oh, come on, Marlene, don’t start shit right now. You got what you wanted, you saw her fuck. You in or out?”

Marlene looked around the room, and everyone was focused on her. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees.

“I’m already in. I never left the group,” she said dryly.

“One more shot,” Remus said, and Dorcas tried to speak up in protest, but Remus shushed her. “One more shot, but if you pull any shit, you’re out.”

Dorcas threw her hands in the air. “You come and suddenly you’re in a nice mood?”

“Y/N?” Remus said, looking to you, “that seem fair?”

You looked up at Marlene. She was clearly insecure about someone in this group, and if she left right now, you’d never find out who. Regardless, you didn’t feel like drama. If she stayed, whatever.

“Whatever.”

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @alixmarauders @riddlemenottsluttyslytherin @twilightlover2007 @hcqwxrtss123 @queerndepressed @prongs-wolfstar-marauders @flowersarcute @remussbitch @ch4rlotte35 @alwaysanundertone @urfavhanna @donovorita28 @randomcreator-09 @joey-hoey @chronically-sh-ana @pinksmellslikelove @blvebanisters @aaronhotchswife @roseblack1864 @chaevvonders @champomiel @the-flaminhos @ilovesugurugeto69 @sammyreid @treefairy-28 @aza-writes @made-for-oliverwood @kaileygirl444 @livslifeonline @hi172826 @greyeyedmockingbird @prettylittlewrites @st0rmzi3 @butterchicken06 @yarri0 @camslut7 @ilovewhiteboysforlife @bibblemiluvr @moonyxstars @charlxzagzy @maxinehufflepuffprincess @yejiswifex @maverickgalathynius @bmyva1entine

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[bunni-v1]

I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud.  It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

[clourey]

˗ˏˋ BESTOW UPON ME , YOUR BEAUTIFUL WISDOM ! ࿐ྂ

synopsis ; phainon wanted nothing more than to be with you, but if there is one thing his journey has taught him, it is that he isn’t allowed to wish for anything. so, it falls upon you to convince him otherwise.

featuring ; gender-neutral reader & phainon

contains ; angst w/ comfort, there may be typos/errors (didn’t thoroughly proofread </3)

the first lesson phainon had learnt as a chrysos heir was that the luxury of placing his needs before anyone else’s was not one he had, not even for a moment. to shoulder the burden of the cruel fate that had been plunged upon amphoreus, he had to be selfless to an unrelenting degree.

as a result, on some gloomy night, in his melancholic lonesome, his thoughts begin to drift. he wonders, is his destiny as a hero just a tale of unending sacrifices? will salvation come at the cost of everything dear to him? would the new dawn, the amphoreus after rebirth, even feel like home? is this journey of the flame-chase just a utopian dream?

“no.” phainon shakes his head, bunching nothing in his fists, “i can’t disappoint everyone like this.”

for the predetermined saviour, freedom was never within his reach. it was an illusion he had deceived himself into believing. alas, despite his efforts to refocus, to remind himself of his duty, yearning was a part of human nature that refused riddance almost zealously.

and what was it that the hero of amphoreus, the chrysos heir bound for greatness, yearned for? something grand, surely. perhaps power, unconditional respect, or even wealth? nothing would seem too avaricious for someone of his standing.

this—this is where phainon had learnt his second lesson. his longing craved for you.

“phai?” a familiar voice beckons, forcing the white-haired man’s back to straighten in alertness.

“(name)?”

the shrill sound of the door causes the both of you to cringe, but when your eyes meet, phainon's expression melts into something closely resembling fondness.

"i was looking for you."

your voice is so mellow, phainon thinks he doesn't deserve this. you really shouldn’t be gentle with him, lest he start expecting that of you in a world that never gives him what he wants.

“and why is that? you missed me too much, did you?” he teases, lifting his arm from the stone railing of his balcony.

“i did.”

there is a thumping in his chest, one he has tried to deny countless times. you answer him so earnestly, as if you aren’t aware that he’s only jesting.

this is a common occurrence; he often tries to gauge how you feel about him under the guise of his sportive antics, hoping in secret that you counter him with such an apathetic remark that it elicits an audible cracking of his fragile heart. he needs it—an implicit rejection that will give him a final push, and the feelings he isn’t sure are normal will have a reason to flee as far away from him as possible.

phainon blinks in succession, each time his gaze lands on a different corner of his room. his lips part to say something, but nothing comes out.

i missed you too, he wants to respond. although he’s unsure if that would sound too desperate—a reflection of all that he’s worked so hard to hold back. in a singular instant, one sentence would communicate everything that he shouldn’t.

instead, he opts to offer you a smile of acknowledgment before he turns to admire the stars that adorn the sky.

“can i join you?”

you ask, but you don’t wait for the affirmative reply you know you would receive. you’ve always been like that. right by his side, without conditions—you expect nothing of him and give him everything.

phainon glances at your face from the corner of his eye (despite the love he harbours for his motherland, he would much rather look at you), something akin to sadness swirls in his irises.

a fear of regret makes his body feel numb, his breath stuttering. he shifts uncomfortably, the movement not going unnoticed by you.

“if.. if something’s on your mind, i’m willing to listen.” you whisper.

phainon looks at you in contemplation, sighing in defeat as a tense minute passes.

“of course you are,” his lips curl upwards bitterly.

somewhere, in distant echoes of an ideal present that wasn’t accomplished, you would be able to hear the faint laughs of cerces and mnestia, laced with something between mirth and adoration. the deliverer was to be graced with beautiful wisdom, full of love.

phainon’s hands reach for your hips, effortlessly lifting you and placing you snuggly on the railing that was previously supporting your body as you leaned against it. you yelp, the suddenness throwing you off-guard that you don’t even realise phainon has already secured you in his arms.

“phainon!”

your intentions of rebuking the man responsible for your current disposition are quickly dispelled when you see his visage, dressed with a rue that you had never witnessed.

uneasiness pools in your stomach, prompting you to call his name again, softer this time.

“phainon?”

he focuses on your partly exposed shoulders, grazing his thumb over the fabric that covers your hips. he bites his tongue, something at the back of his head screaming that this is wrong.

unbeknownst to you, you reassure him otherwise. your right hand rises from your side, guiding his head to lie on your shoulder, whilst your other hand finds his arm that is possessively wrapped around your waist. you rub his skin in a comforting back and forth motion, his muscles flexing under your touch as his grip grows tighter.

“is it.. is it stupid of me to want more of this?” phainon ponders openly.

“no—no, why would would it be?” you inquire; a subtle dive into what is plaguing his mind.

“i’ve—” he pauses, cherishing the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, wondering if the words that leave his mouth next would ruin this already fleeting moment.

“i’ve sacrificed everything endlessly,” he buries his face deeper, hiding, “i have lost so much, (name), i’m beginning to lose count.”

he hesitates, but the way you stroke his hair encourages him to continue.

“my family, my comrades, my friends—and now,” he inhales, “the world itself seems to be on the brink of destruction.”

his forceful chuckle does little to veil the truth of his emotions.

“i’m starting to think i’ll go mad, you know.”

you feel a wetness on your shoulders, it pains you. it takes every bit of your strength to not envelop phainon in a crushing hug, should it disrupt the flow of this conversation that might not ever reoccur.

“i must be cursed,” he hiccups, “everything i have wanted has been snatched from me so violently; i must be cursed.”

“i fear that if i hold you like this for a second longer, i’ll lose you too.”

something clicks in your head, discerning his troubles that weigh heavy. your pupils dilate accordingly, and the corners of your lips stretch.

phainon’s breathing hitches when your digits cease to card through his hair, accepting with resignation that this is the end.

this is it, he thinks, then why does he feel a warmth on his cheeks that contradicts his assessment?

against his reluctance, he lifts his head. there’s tear-streaks across his countenance, you note—albeit not without a sharp ache striking some intangible part of you. the manner in which he stares at you mirrors a plea, like he is begging you.

you lean forward, and he mimics your action until his bangs are tickling your forehead. his finger twitches as you shepherd them to cradle your face.

you’re so close, in a way that is different—more intimate—from your former embrace. the heat from your bodies mingle, creating an atmosphere that tests phainon’s ability to control himself.

“you’re holding me right now, phainon,” you press further against his palm, “have i disappeared?”

“no,” his vision starts to blur, “no.”

he sounds relieved, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead collide with yours. transparent beads of respite soon emerge, the pad of your thumb brushing them away without complaint.

“you’re allowed to want things, your desires aren’t a curse. not to me, not to anyone.”

you plant a chaste kiss along phainon’s jaw, as if to seal your words in an unspoken promise.

“please, be selfish.”

thus, the third lesson undid the teachings of the first.

[plizha]

secretly dating anton but y'all are actually really obvious: headcanons

𖦹 anton x reader, reader uses they/them pronouns!

𖦹 fluff, secret relationship

𖦹 typos + grammatical errors ahead :)

anton carrying your bags, and you consciously giving it to him as if your friends aren't looking at both of you.

"why are you carrying their bag?" friend asks

"he's just being nice" good thing, you're a pathological liar

but anton's not the best at lying nor pretending

anton unconsciously taking a portion of your meal because he knows that you get full easily.

"when did you guys got so close to the point that you eat each other's food?" anton would just stare at them til they drop the topic.

meeting up at the restroom because anton wants to hug you so bad he's tearing up

anton playing with your fingertips under the table

anton accidentally calls you "babe" so he started calling everyone babe

anton looking at you whenever someone's flirting w him. he refuses which makes your friendgroup suspicious about his dating life.

"i'm just- i'm- i'll- um" anton can't lie, unfortunately

"coincidentally" wearing matching fits

"what the hell, 'ton. do you have like a big fat crush on me? why did u wear the same fit" you jokingly said. anton's eyes are shimmering as if he's being hypnotized; he was about to say yes.

anton unconsciously playing with your hair while everybody's busy

"i thought you don't like it when people touch your hair?" they ask you so you're now forced to like it when OTHER people touches your hair

"bab- hey. do you um- can you help me with my stuff" anton can't come up with an excuse to get you out of the room either.

you explaining something to your friends, anton suddenly removing a strand of hair from your face which made everyone freeze.

"what the hell" -- "it's just hair" anton defended

anton UNCONSCIOUSLY giving you the first bite of his sandwich. at this point y'all aren't pretending anymore

sidewalk rule. anton pulling you casually to his side while you're busy yapping w ur friends

anton always asks: "did you skip your breakfast again?" which makes ur other friends wonder if anton would ask about their breakfast too...

"oh this is good" anton instantly taking a sip from ur drink the moment he hears ur reaction.

"you guys just kissed indirectly." - ur friends

"i mean- i don't- that's not true lol. are we kids?" and you gaslighting them

ur friends js watching anton take candid photos of you for like 27x today

acknowledging ur presence the moment u enter the room unless..

.. u arrive together (coz he's always picking u up)

most importantly, the eyes.

anton's eyes never lie. the way he looks at you while you're talking, the way he's always admiring you-- it's already a huge give away

even before you guys started dating, everybody already concluded that anton has a big fat crush on you.

with that, they're now thinking that anton finally got together with his crush

though you guys think that y'all are hiding it so well

[pbaz7]

NORTHBOUND PART 2

paige x azzi

word count: 6.2k

A/N: Once again thoughts on a page. This one isn’t as heavily revolved around religion but it is definitely still mentioned so do with that what you will! Let me know what you think (in a kind way preferably lol) Also if you see any errors lmk!

—————————————————————————

Since the train ride, they hadn’t seen each other. Not in the way that mattered. Where breath folded into conversation and glances stretched into something.

Still, there were footprints.

A few liked posts.

A late-night message from Paige: “Is it weird that I started reading the book again just to feel a little smarter around you?”

Azzi smiled at that one, tracing the words with her thumb before replying hours later after getting distracted with hair and makeup: “Not weird. Endearing.”

And another interaction, quieter, more unexpected—Paige posting a picture of a sunset over an empty court. No caption. Just color.

Azzi had double-tapped it without thinking, the screen flickering with her silent acknowledgment.

The world had gone on spinning: campaigns, practices, events. Fame shifting around them like restless tides. But somewhere between it all, there was them—small, bright interactions that kept them tethered to one another.

So when Azzi’s agent suggested attending a Dallas Wings game for “visibility,” after noticing how much the internet seemed to like the two of them together Azzi almost said no.

She didn’t need more cameras. She didn’t crave another headline. Her career was already a constellation. Already recognized amongst smaller stars.

But the thought of stepping into the city, of feeling the weight of Paige’s gaze again—the quiet one that saw her in paragraphs rather than photographs. it caught something inside her. Something curious.

So she didn’t outright refuse like she normally would. She just tilted her head, thumbed the idea like a coin between her fingers, and said, "Maybe. I’ll think about it"

And when her agent offered it a second time—after more sparse messages and quiet likes. After a few late-night book suggestions and thoughtful questions passed back and forth—Azzi said yes.

Not because of visibility. Not because she needed another headline. But because of Paige.

Because of the way their conversations had lingered in quiet hours—Paige sending her a picture of a book, “This one reminded me of what you asked about stories shaping belief.”

Azzi replying days later with a picture of an old mythology collection from a secondhand shop, “Found this today. Thought you’d approve.”

Their words had been careful and curious. A slow weaving of something neither of them rushed to name.

So when the offer came again, Azzi’s yes wasn’t for the cameras. Not for the stories about her at the game. But because a part of her wanted an excuse to see her again. Maybe talk to her in person again. Pick her brain.

That’s how Azzi found herself sitting again against Paige’s headboard, legs folded beneath her, an open book resting lightly in her lap.

The room was lit in soft lamplight, the kind that blurs edges and makes silence feel deliberate, almost sacred.

Paige was laying across the bed a little ways down, propped up on one elbow. Her fingers toyed with a loose thread in the comforter, but her eyes were on Azzi. “What does it say…” Paige said, her voice curious, “about memory and the body? How it kind of holds onto everything I think?”

Azzi ran a thumb along the seam of the pages, glancing down for a moment before speaking. “It says that trauma isn't just a story we retell ourselves. It’s stitched into the way we move. The way we breathe. Even when we think we forget...our bodies remember.”

Paige was silent as she thought about it, her mouth pulling into a soft line of concentration.

She pushed herself up a little. “I remember there was a part I underlined when I was reading it,” she said. “Something about...in the absence of safety, the body learns to live in survival instead of living.”

Azzi smiled—small, impressed —and found the page, flipping through like she knew exactly where to go. “Right here,” she said, tracing the words with the pad of her finger. “'In the absence of a loving, safe environment, the body organizes itself around defense and fear rather than exploration and pleasure.” Azzi turned the book towards her and Paige leaned closer, reading it again, slower this time.

“My thought process when reading it was kind of just,” Paige took a moment to gather her thoughts. “How you can be alive but not really living. Just always reacting. Preparing for the next thing to go wrong instead of being in the moment.”

“It teaches you to anticipate harm even when there isn’t any.”

Paige gave her a crooked smile. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” Azzi let the book fall closed softly between them. “But I think a part of understanding the book is understanding that survival isn’t the end of the story.”

Paige tilted her head, that quiet curiosity between them blooming again. “So what is?”

Azzi tucked a curl behind her ear, thinking as she looked out the window before saying, “Healing. Connection. Letting someone stand close without expecting the worst from another human.”

“That’s harder than survival.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, the sound barely there. “It is. But it’s better.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke—both of them untangling their own thoughts.

Paige, still toying with the loose thread, lifted her gaze to Azzi’s. “What makes it better?”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then tilted her head slightly, a soft amusement flickering through her. “Do you disagree?”

Paige shook her head slowly. “No. I just...I want to know why you think it’s better. Understand your point of view more.”

“Because surviving is lonely,” Azzi said simply. “You’re always half-bracing. Always floating somewhere else in your mind. When you heal...when you actually let yourself connect...you get to be here. Fully. You get to notice the way the sun feels on your skin. The way someone laughs when they aren’t guarding themselves. You get to actually live your life instead of just trying to survive it.”

Paige took a long breath, like she was trying to take the words in through her whole body to fully process them.

She turned onto her side to face Azzi more fully, resting her head against the curve of her bent arm. “I think you’re right,” Paige said. “But I think it can be scary for some people. Letting yourself get soft again after you’ve spent so long...armored.”

Azzi nodded, her eyes gentle. “It’s terrifying,” she agreed. “But armor gets heavy after a while. Starts getting harder to carry. Makes you miss the good stuff, too.”

Paige smiled faintly.

And another long slow beat passed.

“Yeah I guess it’s a trade,” Paige said eventually. “Risking the fall for a shot at something real.”

Azzi’s thumb traced absent circles against the closed spine of the book between them.

“Best trade you’ll ever make,” she said as she looked up to see Paige looking at her.

She didn’t look away.

Not for a long, long moment.

Azzi toyed with the corner of the page again. Then shifting her gaze toward the window she asked, “How do you respond to someone who tried to find themselves in religion…but couldn’t?”

Paige’s mouth curved, into an almost imperceptible smile. “We talking about you?”

Azzi smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hypothetical,” she said simply, shrugging one shoulder.

Paige studied her for a moment before answering. “Then I’d find another way in.” She shifted, sitting up a little more. “I’d talk to them about science. About how atoms bind and break and rebuild again. Or about nature—the way a tree still grows toward the sun even after a storm splits it down the middle. I’d meet them where they do believe. Because faith isn’t always a church or a scripture. Sometimes it’s just…the fact that the seasons change. That your heart keeps beating. That we’re all still here, somehow, despite everything in this world being thrown at us.”

Azzi watched her, something unspoken unfolding slowly across her face. “The words that come out of your mouth are always so beautiful,” she said, almost under her breath.

Paige shrugged again, shy in a way that didn’t match her words. “It’s just true,” she said.

“So you think…faith can live outside of religion?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “I think it always has. Like I said on the train, religion's just one language for it. There are thousands.”

Azzi toyed with one of the rings on her finger, the silence stretching between them in a way that felt full, not empty.

Paige tilted her head, a ghost of a smile pulling at her mouth as she watched Azzi think. “What about you?” she asked. “What do you believe in?”

Azzi thought about it before answering. “I believe in connection. In something bigger moving through all of us. Even if I don’t always know what to call it.”

Paige’s smile grew, a warmth creeping into her chest. “Sounds like you found it then,” she said quietly.

Azzi met her gaze across the short distance of the bed, neither of them moving to break it.

“Maybe I just needed someone to listen for me to see it differently,” Azzi murmured, her voice almost a confession.

Paige’s heart beat once, hard.

Then Paige changed her position so she was laying on her back now tilting her head so she could look at Azzi. “So…religion’s not your thing?”

Azzi shook her head, not in disagreement but something caught between yes and no.

“It is,” she said quietly. “I just—” Her mouth curved, like she was searching for the right shape of the words. “I’m struggling with certain parts of it. Struggling to…wrap my head around some things. Being okay with what I can’t make sense of yet.” She paused, running her thumb along the ridge of her knuckles. “But I don’t want to miss out on the world while I figure it out.”

Paige nodded, something bright flickering in her eyes. “So let’s start with what you do understand. What makes sense to you?”

Azzi smiled, a little more sure of herself now. “Evolution,” she said. “How the body adapts. How it changes to survive, even without our permission. How our chemistry shifts with love, with grief, with hope.”

Paige’s mouth quirked into something like awe as she connected the dots. “The body keeping score,” she murmured, referencing their earlier conversation, and Azzi’s smile grew.

“Exactly,” Azzi said.

They sat there, unwinding ideas like threads between them. They talked about how a broken heart could physically hurt—how fear could make your hands shake, your stomach twist,

how joy could bloom so deeply inside you it left a mark.

They talked about spirituality—not as a doctrine, but as a sensation. How sometimes you meet a person, or walk into a place, and something in you knows. Before logic. Before language. Just the body recognizing something ancient and familiar.

Azzi spoke about the ocean, how its pull felt like a prayer she didn’t have to understand.

Paige countered with the way certain songs made her chest ache, as if she was remembering a life she hadn’t lived yet.

And somewhere along the way, they drifted into space—into the infinite stretch of black velvet and burning stars—into how humans invented time to measure their own lives. “How we cut up forever,” Paige said, “just so we wouldn’t be so scared of it.”

Azzi looked at her like she was seeing something rare, something precious. Something she maybe hadn’t even known she was hoping to find.

They talked until their voices turned into murmurs, until their ideas overlapped and blurred—until it wasn’t clear who was teaching and who was learning.

Just two people, tracing the shape of the world between them, learning how to name the things and ideas that mattered most to them.

Before they knew it, the clock on Paige’s bedside table read 2:37 AM. The city outside—usually pulsing—had quieted into something softer.

Lights flickered like distant stars beneath the wide glass windows, but up here, it almost felt like they were floating above it all in Paige’s apartment.

Paige stretched, blinking slowly, reluctant to break the moment between them. She glanced at Azzi, now curled up more against the pillows, still flipping absentmindedly through the book in her lap with tired eyes.

“You should just stay here,” Paige said, her voice a little horse from talking so much. “It’s too late for you to go back to your hotel.”

“It’s ok I have a driver. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Paige’s mouth curved into a small, tired smile as she stood, already pulling the extra blanket off the foot of the bed as if the decision had been made. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’ll take the couch.”

Azzi opened her mouth to argue again, but Paige just shook her head with a gentle insistence

and Azzi, finally, nodded.

“Goodnight, Azzi,” Paige whispered, one hand lingering on the doorframe.

“Goodnight, Paige,” Azzi said.

Paige closed the door behind her with a quiet click. The room felt different instantly—heavier, somehow, filled with the echo of everything they hadn’t said.

Azzi settled against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind wandered through every conversation, every glance, every shift in Paige’s expression. The way she listened—really listened—like she wanted to memorize the shape of Azzi’s thoughts.

Across the apartment, Paige lay on the couch, doing the same. Thinking about the way Azzi’s voice softened when she spoke about things that mattered. How she seemed to hold the whole world in her hands, questioning it but never letting it fall.

They both were awake longer than they should have, hearts humming with something they didn’t have words for yet.

It wasn’t romance—not exactly. But it felt like something deep, something patient, inevitable. A silent pull toward understanding. A desire to know every thought the other carried.

Morning crept in slowly, spilling through the high-rise windows in slanting beams. Azzi stirred, the unfamiliar quietness of her morning waking her before anything else did. She blinked up at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, before the memory of last night settled over her like a warm blanket. The laughter. The books. The way Paige had looked at her—like she was something rare and worth being studied.

Azzi slipped out of the bed, the floor cool under her bare feet as she padded softly toward the living room. She stopped just at the edge of the hallway, unseen for a moment.

Curled in the corner of the couch, was Paige. Still in the same hoodie from the night before, legs open in front of her, a small devotional open in her hands. The city stretched out behind her, muted and far away, but Paige’s whole world seemed tucked into those quiet pages.

Azzi watched her for a moment longer than she meant to. Something about the scene—the sereness of it, the reverence—made her feel like she was intruding on something sacred. But then Paige glanced up, catching her eye, and smiled—that soft, easy smile that wordlessly said you’re welcome here.

Azzi crossed the room, lowering herself onto the couch beside her, their knees almost brushing.

“What are you reading?” she asked, her voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

Paige flipped the little book around so Azzi could see the embossed cover then turned it back.

“Just a daily devotional,” Paige said, messing with the page she’d been on. “A little grounding before the day gets ahead of me.”

Azzi tucked one leg under herself, pulling the sleeve of the sweatshirt Paige had given her after the game over her hand. “What’s today’s?”

Paige smiled like she was surprised she wanted to know, but in the best way. She cleared her throat, reading one line she had been thinking about quietly: "Be still and know that I am God."

She turned the book so Azzi was able to read the context surrounding it. “You believe that? Being still is enough?”

Paige thought about it for a moment, setting the book down between them like it belonged to both of them now.

“I think…” she started before pausing, wanting to choose her words carefully, “going back to what we were saying yesterday, sometimes we think healing has to be loud. Or obvious. Big declarations. But most of the time, it’s just sitting still long enough to feel something real. Trusting that we don’t have to have all the answers all at once to be okay.”

Azzi picked at a thread on the hem of the sweatshirt, nodding slowly. “I like that,” she said before adding, “I think I’m bad at being still.”

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly against Azzi’s, smiling at her. “You’re not bad at it. You’re just used to a fast-paced life. It’s different.”

For a while, they sat there—the devotional open between them, the city waking up in muted colors beyond the glass as they talked about belief and stillness and all the ways people tried to outrun their own hearts.

Paige listened the way she always did and Azzi found herself saying things she hadn’t even known were lodged inside her chest.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just two people, sitting still enough to let something real find them and somehow, that felt like the rarest thing of all.

After that morning, something changed, almost like a door quietly swinging open between them. They exchanged numbers this time and from there, the distance between their cities felt a little less permanent.

Nights blurred into mornings. Time zones lost their sharp edges. Azzi’s phone would buzz at 1:43 AM with a picture of a book Paige had picked up with a quick “You’d hate this chapter.” Or a picture of the skyline from Paige’s window.

Azzi answered with voice notes whispered half-asleep, little bursts of laughter, an article she thought Paige would like, or a retweeted quote from some philosopher neither of them could ever remember how to pronounce.

Sometimes it was lighter—Paige replying to a story of Azzi’s with a flame emoji, Azzi rolling her eyes but smiling anyway as she responded. Other times it was heavier—quiet late-night conversations about the ache of their ambition, about homesickness in cities that were supposed to feel like dreams.

Still, whatever it was—it wasn’t romance to them. That wasn’t what their minds were on. It was something else, something quieter and maybe even rarer: an ache to know the other person’s mind the way most people only ever wanted to know bodies. Wanting to go on the journey of understanding the world with another soul.

In comments and likes. In shared songs and book recommendations, in the long spaces between texts when they were both busy that somehow still felt full—they built something neither of them could name yet. But they were building it all the same.

It wasn’t until a haphazard afternoon, when the world outside was just beginning to tilt toward oranges and yellows, that the tone shifted.

Paige was sitting across from Cameron Brink, mic in front of her, the casual rhythm of the podcast filling the air. The conversation wound easily through basketball, life, and travel until Cameron, grinning, leaned back in her chair.

"So what's really going on with your little interactions on socials with the model?"

Paige chuckled. "You can say her name, Cam."

Cameron raised her eyebrows, playing it up. "Fine. Azz Fuddi. What's going on there?"

Paige shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Nothing, she's just...she's a great person. We met randomly on the way to New York and just...clicked, I guess. We stayed in touch."

"Clicked how?" Cam pressed grinning. "Because from the outside looking in, it looks like something. Fans seem to love the idea too."

Paige laughed, rubbing the back of her neck—a little shy, a little flustered. "Nah, it's not like that. We just talk. Like, real conversations. She's genuine. She's curious about everything. Smart in a way that makes you think differently."

"You’re glowing right now," Cam said, pointing at her. "I wish y’all could see her face."

Paige laughed again, trying—failing—to look unaffected. "I mean...Azzi's a very beautiful woman," she admitted, voice soft. "Inside and out. But we're just friends."

Cameron threw her hands up dramatically. "Friends? You need to hop on that!"

The room broke into laughter, Paige included, cheeks slightly pink but smiling.

Azzi’s phone buzzed against her nightstand later that evening. One message from Paige. Three from friends linking her to the podcast clips.

“Beautiful huh.” Sent without any afterthought just that light teasing tone Paige had learned to expect now.

Paige grinned down at her screen, fingers already typing back before she could think twice. “Inside and out.”

Simple. Unfiltered. The shift was so slight it was almost imperceptible.

After that night, their conversations thickened—like honey stirred into warm tea. Still sweet, still simple, but heavier now, richer.

Texts stretched longer. Less about facts and concepts of the world, more about feelings. About fleeting thoughts that crossed their minds at midnight. About songs that made them shiver for reasons they couldn’t name. About the way the sky looked when it broke open before a storm. Little things. Big things. Everything in between.

Azzi would send her favorite lines from a book she was reading and Paige would send a picture of a page she dog-eared in response.

Between their own lives, they found each other in small pockets of stillness. Azzi, moving through airports and studios, wrapped in fabrics and flashing lights, the weight of expectation always brushing against her skin in the form of a makeup brush

Paige, bouncing from hotel rooms to locker rooms to arenas, the roar of crowds still humming in her ears long after the final buzzer.

There were hours where they missed each other—where time zones folded wrong and sleep clawed them away. But somehow, the messages always found their way through. Somehow, they stayed stitched into each other’s hours.

One night, Azzi sent a picture from her balcony of a skyline blurred with gold and soft navy. “Wish you were here.”

It sat in Paige’s chest for a beat too long, made her thumb hover above her phone before she typed back: “Me too.”

No teasing. No emoji to soften it. Just two words and Azzi stared at them longer than she meant to, feeling something small and warm anchor itself behind her ribs.

The next night, Paige returned the favor—sending a picture of a half-lit street from her hotel window, rain streaking the glass like a painting, the quietness of a city that wasn’t really hers seeming through the pixels. “You’d like it here.”

And somehow, Azzi knew she wasn’t talking about the city.

One night—or morning, depending on which continent you stood on—Azzi’s phone rang instead of buzzing.

Groggy, tangled into her pillows, she answered without thinking and Paige’s voice filled the line.

"I’m sorry did I wake you up?" Paige murmured, her words filled with guilt. "I didn’t mean to. Go back to sleep."

Azzi smiled into the darkness, the corners of her mouth brushing the pillowcase. "Maybe you did. But I don’t mind. I want to talk."

On the other end, Paige went quiet for a moment, like she was testing if this was real, if she was allowed to stay inside the soft moment with her. Then, a quiet, "Okay."

Azzi shifted under her blanket, phone warm against her cheek, eyes fluttering closed again, trusting that Paige’s voice would keep her tethered.

There was something special about talking like this—half-dreaming, half-confessing—words sliding out easier when the world was quiet and dark.

"What kept you up?" Azzi asked.

Paige hesitated, then said, "Not sure. Just...kept thinking. Couldn’t turn it off."

Azzi hummed. "What were you thinking about?"

A rustle on the other end—maybe Paige rolling onto her back, staring at a ceiling she'd seen too many nights alone. "Everything," Paige said, a small laugh tucked into the word. "Games. People…You."

Azzi's heart tucked itself a little closer to her ribs.

"You ever get that feeling," Paige said, "where you’re standing in the middle of your life, and it’s so loud, but you still feel like you’re missing something?"

Azzi's fingers curled into the blanket at her side. "All the time," she whispered. "Kind of like you're inside a song you know by heart, but suddenly the lyrics don’t make any sense."

Paige breathed out, almost a sigh. "Yeah. Exactly like that.”

There was a moment before Paige continued, "What do you do when it feels like that?"

Azzi thought for a moment, racking her mind so she could answer authentically. "Sometimes I try to hold on tighter," she said. "Sometimes I take a risk and just let it break open and see what’s hiding inside."

They talked for two hours without meaning to. About how books felt like secret doorways. About how certain cities seemed to recognize you. About how some strangers in airports—in train stations—make you feel more seen than people you’d known your whole life.

Azzi described the way the city air tasted different after a shoot, heavier somehow, but alive.

Paige talked about the calmness before a game started, the strange holiness of a thousand people holding their breath at once.

They still didn’t name the thing building between them. Didn’t rush it into something solid too soon. Instead, they kept weaving it—thread by thread, word by word, until the distance between them didn’t feel quite so wide anymore.

The days folded into each other, stitched together by little check-ins that meant more than either of them said aloud.

Paige would text after a rough game, shoes kicked off in some unfamiliar hotel room, bruises blooming along her arms like watercolor. “you up?”

Almost always, Azzi was. Sometimes at a shoot, eyeliner winged against her sleepy eyes, half-dressed for a camera she didn’t always feel real in. Sometimes just lying on her bed, book open, world heavy on her chest.

Their messages always curled into each other. No pressure. No expectations. Only space offered, and space taken.

One night, while a makeup artist dusted powder across her cheekbones, Azzi took a quick picture—not of herself, but of her worn paperback lying open on her lap. “Chapter 6 is crazy. Thoughts?”

Paige replied within minutes—a rarity given her schedule—with a blurry picture of the same book open. “That part about forgiveness fucked me up a little ngl.”

From there, they fell into a soft debate—unraveling passages, quoting lines, sending voice memos when words felt too clumsy to type until Paige’s soft words were replaced with harsh camera flashes.

Azzi’s voice would slip into Paige’s headphones late at night. Paige’s laughter, half-hoarse with exhaustion, would tangle itself through Azzi’s quiet spaces.

Small pieces of themselves, traded like worn-out coins.

By the end of a particularly heavy week—travel, press, endless expectations for her upcoming campaign—the ache sharpened into something Azzi could no longer name. She didn't even think about it as her thumbs moved across the screen. “when am i gonna see you?”

The question sat there, trembling slightly in the blue light of her phone. Not quite demanding. Just...open.

Paige’s reply came after a minute that felt like a lifetime. “i'll make it happen soon.”

It was simple but it cracked something open in both of them—something that had been humming beneath every conversation, every soft exchange.

Azzi smiled at her screen, a slow, helpless smile.

The show was already a breathing thing; a pulse of lights and camera shutters, velveted music stitched through the room like thread. Azzi stood backstage, a perfect statue carved of stillness and nerves, the silk of her dress against her skin.

The runway stretched before her like some impossible dream and when her cue came, she stepped into it, years of discipline folding into every movement.

Paige sat in the front row, sitting between strangers in designer suits and wide-lensed photographers, her presence quiet amongst everyone else.

For a moment, a split second, the world sharpened into just this: The lights flooding downward like captured stars. The crowd leaning forward, breaths held. And Azzi floating down the runway, grace folded into every step, eyes forward, untouched by the noise.

Until there was a flicker.

As she reached the middle of the runway, Azzi’s gaze, steady and sweeping forward, caught on something—someone.

The crowd was a blur behind the lights, but not her. Not Paige.

Front row. Centered. A stillness in the ocean.

Their eyes met—not like a collision, not a stumble—more like a tether. Soft. A thread drawn tight between them in the sparkling air.

Paige didn’t move. Just the smallest lift of her eyebrow, the smallest tilt of her head as she smiled at Azzi.

Azzi’s face didn’t change, she was a professional, after all, but something loosened inside her, something sighed and made room for joy.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t break stride. Just kept going.

Paige’s heart thudded once, twice, a heavy rhythm against her ribs as she watched Azzi glide past, as flawless and untouchable as moonlight on water.

The cameras flashed. The music swelled. And the two of them, in the center of all that noise, all that glittering chaos, had found something only they could feel.

The room was still filled with life—laughter echoing against marble walls, champagne flutes clinking, designers in sharp silhouettes shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Camera flashes still stuttering through the air like fireflies caught in a jar.

Paige stood a little off to the side, hands in the pockets of her jacket, talking to someone who recognized her.

And then—Azzi. Moving through the crowd like a current through water, graceful even without the runway beneath her feet.

Their eyes found each other before their bodies could and Paige excused herself.

A smile bloomed across Azzi’s lips—a small real smile. Paige’s smile in return was softer, something private carved into the chaos.

Azzi was the first to reach for her, arms slipping around Paige’s neck with a sense of familiarity that surprised them both, tucking herself into the crook of Paige’s shoulder like she belonged there.

Paige's hand slid to the small of Azzi's back, fingers pressing into her skin, grounding them against the whirl of the room.

For a breath—or maybe a lifetime—they just stood like that.

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, breathing in the warmth of Paige’s skin, the faint trace of her cologne while Paige exhaled into Azzi’s hair, the whole world narrowing down to the feeling of her body against hers.

They knew they shouldn’t linger but neither moved, not right away. The flash of cameras was a distant thing, meaningless compared to this.

Finally, reluctantly, Azzi leaned back.

“You looked amazing,” Paige said.

Azzi’s smile tilted into something shyer at Paige’s compliment, a spark behind her eyes. "You always say that."

Paige’s thumb brushed, featherlight, along the curve of Azzi’s waist. "Because it’s always true."

Somehow, without speaking, they slipped out of the crowded room, weaving through groups of glittering strangers, past velvet ropes and heavy doors, until they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the venue.

A small lounge, half-lit by golden lamps.

Paige sat first, legs spreading slightly, arms thrown on the back of the couch, her body relaxed. Azzi sat down beside her, elegant without trying, one leg crossing gracefully over the other—the curve of her calf brushing against Paige’s knee.

Neither of them moved away. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It never had been.

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second before she spoke, "Do you ever think about...who you would’ve been if none of this happened?"

Her hand gestured vaguely—to the fame, the spotlight, the heavy things stitched into both of their lives.

Paige turned her head, studying her—the curve of her jaw in the low light, the vulnerability carved into the question.

"All the time," Paige said, her voice slightly louder than she meant it to be. "I think I’d still be looking for something that made me feel the way basketball does. The way—" she hesitated, her gaze flickering to Azzi’s profile, "—the way certain people do."

Azzi’s lips quirked, just a little. She didn’t press.

Instead, she opened her eyes and turned, their knees bumping more solidly now—a deliberate thing rather than accidental.

"You’re good at this."

Paige raised an eyebrow. "At what?"

Azzi smiled slowly, a little shy. "At seeing people. At listening."

Paige let the compliment settle between them for a second before nudging back, her voice lower now, threaded with something softer: "I think you’re a little bit more worth seeing."

The air tightened in a way neither of them had the heart to break.

Azzi’s hand drifted down, fingertips brushing lightly against Paige’s leg as she adjusted—so light it could've been a mistake, if not for the way her touch lingered.

A beat passed.

And then Paige, with a small grin, bumped her knee against Azzi’s playfully, easing the tension before it could unravel too fast.

But the shift had already happened.

Outside the lounge, the city still roared with life. Inside, it was just the two of them, caught in a moment that felt somehow inevitable.

Azzi shifted again, her voice softer, but there was something almost...light in it, a warmth that Paige hadn’t heard from her before.

"I’ve been thinking about it," Azzi began, and Paige, eyes fixed on her, tilted her head slightly to show she was listening. "Religion, I mean. I’ve been...reading more, you know? Slowly, but I’m starting to see it differently. I never thought it would click, but...it’s like something small is finally falling into place."

Paige’s expression softened, a gentle smile forming at the corners of her lips as she leaned in slightly, her body leaning toward Azzi’s as though the space between them might close on its own if they stayed like this long enough.

"I’ve been looking at it more like you said…just a different way of understanding things, of feeling like there’s more to this life than just... surviving like we always talk about," Azzi’s voice trailed off, but the honesty in it was enough to fill the space. "I can’t explain it all, but when I read, when I think about it—there’s a peace I never thought I’d find."

Paige’s smile grew, the kind of smile that made her eyes hold a secret. "I’m proud of you," she said simply, her fingers almost without thinking brushing lightly against Azzi’s wrist. "I can hear it in your voice. You’re making progress, even if it feels small."

"It’s strange," Azzi said, almost as if she were speaking to herself now. "I used to think that belief had to be something big, some grand declaration, but now...I’m realizing it’s more like a slow unraveling. Just tiny bits at a time."

Paige nodded slowly, her voice drifting back into that quiet, familiar cadence. "Sometimes," she said, her hand going back to resting casually on the back of the couch, close enough for Azzi to notice but not to touch, "sometimes the answers come like that. Quiet. Unassuming. Like you’re collecting little pieces until one day it all makes sense. It’s just about letting yourself listen."

Azzi smiled at that—the rare kind of smile that reached her eyes when she talked to Paige. "You always know what to say."

Paige laughed softly. "I think it’s just that I listen to you. Listen to what the world is telling me.”

Azzi shifted, her knee grazing Paige’s again, this time on purpose, as if the closeness didn’t feel like an accident anymore.

“Maybe I just needed someone who could hear all the little things I never said out loud."

Paige’s heart skipped a beat, the words settling into her chest like something precious she wanted to hold on to. "I’m glad I could be that for you," Paige replied softly, her eyes locking onto Azzi’s with a depth that had only grown stronger over their time apart. "I’m glad you have someone to listen."

"You’re...you’re different," Azzi whispered softly,as if the words were something fragile. "In a way I can’t explain."

The room outside, still full of voices and noise, felt distant—muted somehow. Almost like they were alone in the world, in the soft unfolding of something new, something that didn’t need to be rushed, something they both knew was unfolding with a slowness that was divine in its timing.

“Do you... want to come back to my place with me?” she asked, that same softness in her words. “We could talk more. Away from all this. I have so many thoughts…questions.”

Paige's answer was a quiet nod, a slow smile. “Yeah of course..”

As they stepped into the hallway, the light of the photographers’ cameras flashed in different areas of the room, staccato bursts of light that felt like jagged pieces of a world that didn’t quite fit with the one they’d created.

The door to the car swung open, and for a moment, the harshness of the world seemed to fall away completely. Azzi slid into the seat, the familiar smell of her leather interior mixing with the scent of her perfume, a scent that now seemed inseparable from her presence, from this softness between them.

They slipped into the waiting car, the door closing with a soft click that cut the world clean away—shutting out the flashing lights, the prying eyes, the world that didn’t make room for learning one another.

Inside, it was quieter. Warmer.

Azzi leaned back, eyes fluttering closed, a small, secret smile curving her lips. They had created something here, something quiet and careful, something that would grow without needing to rush.

[loulou-land]

Bucktommy | post episode 8x09 and 8x10 prob | slight spoilers, fix-it | 1327 words

(Not 100% happy with this but I’m not gonna agonize over it. And I’m so sorry about any verb tense errors, tried writing in present tense and boy was that confusing. Probably messed up multiple times lol 😮‍💨)

It took some getting used to, living here now. 

No matter how many times Buck had stayed over, how many beers he’d nursed on the couch, how many mornings he’d sat at the kitchen table with Christopher, eating pancakes and how many times he’d cooked for Eddie and Chris in this very kitchen. Living here—calling it home—had been quite an adjustment. 

So much had happened since he moved in, Eddie leaving, the aftermath of Maddie’s kidnapping and the serial killer, that it had been hard to feel comfortable.

But it’s been a couple of weeks, and he thinks he’s starting to get the feel of it. Seeing some of his own decorations hang on the walls, his things spread out all through the house, claiming every corner. It’s definitely not Eddie’s anymore—it’s his. 

And yet, the house doesn’t feel like home. Buck doesn’t think anywhere will. 

Not when home had been a person. And he’d let him slip through his fingers. 

The thought catches him off guard, and he shakes it off before it can take root, pushing it into the far edges of his mind with the other things he refuses to acknowledge. 

Instead, he resorts to his usual way of working—ignoring—his feelings. By baking. 

Unfortunately, he’s also struggling with that at the moment. His new kitchen could use a major overhaul. 

Buck stands there, hands on his hips, surveying the mess of baking utensils and unfortunate lack of counter space with dismay. He sighs forlornly, shaking his head as he slides a batch of snickerdoodles into the oven. Ravi’s favorite. He’s switching over to their shift, stepping into Eddie’s place. 

His heart twinges at the fact, like it always does when he thinks of how Eddie and Christopher are thousands of miles away from him. But he lets it go, they’re where they need to be and it’s not like he’ll never see them again. 

And no one can replace his best friend, but Ravi’s awesome. Buck is excited to work with him again. 

He sets the timer, tidies up the kitchen and thinks about what to do next before deciding on an episode of Forged in Fire. It’s become his new obsession, and now that he has a house, he’s tempted to try forging for real. After all, Buck has discovered you can never have too many hobbies to keep the mind busy. Plus he’s a firefighter, so at least, he’s got the fire safety skills down. 

He’s just settling in on the couch when there’s a flurry of knocks at the door. 

What the hell. 

He’s not expecting anyone today. And certainly, not whoever’s trying to knock his door down. 

Buck rushes to the door and flings it open without checking the peephole. Only to immediately regret it. He would have liked a few extra seconds to prepare for who was on the other side. 

With growing horror, he realizes he probably looks a mess—flour dusted across his shirt, smudges of who-knows-what on his hands. Perfect. Just perfect. 

“T—Tommy?” 

Tommy looks…disheveled. Like he’s run his hands through his hair and pulled on it too many times. His expression goes through a rapid shift as he looks back at Buck—relief, confusion, apprehension, pain—before his features smooth out into something carefully blank. 

“You’re here,” he breathes, like he’s looking at something impossible.

“Uh…yeah.” Buck shifts on his feet. “I live here now.” 

“Oh.” 

Tommy’s face falls before he pastes on a smile. An incredibly fake one. It hurts Buck just looking at it. 

“You moved in with Eddie,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, like it doesn’t surprise him but still there’s hurt behind the statement. It makes Buck’s mind trip over itself. It doesn’t sit right. 

Buck takes a closer look at Tommy now, seeing the slump of his shoulders, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the tight press of his mouth. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in months. 

Actually, he looks…like Buck constantly feels on the inside since the breakup. 

For half a second, Buck feels vindicated. And then the thought settles uncomfortably in his gut, heavy and wrong. No matter how they ended, he never wanted Tommy to hurt. 

He must’ve been silent too long because Tommy inhales sharply, shifting back a step. 

“I should go.” 

He starts to turn, and Buck panics—sheer desperation trying to claw its way out of him—his hand shoots out before he can think better of it, fingers closing around Tommy’s wrist. His skin is warm beneath his palm. It's familiar in a way that makes something pull tight in his chest and his breath hitches. He lets go, already regretting the loss.

“Wait. Please.” Buck swallows hard, almost begging. “I…do live here. Shit, no. I mean, yes—Eddie left?” He cringes at the way it comes out like a question. 

Tommy frowns. “Are you asking me?” 

And god, Buck shouldn't have missed this. Tommy’s dry and biting remarks. But he did. He’s  missed everything about Tommy. 

“No. I meant…” He clears his throat, as he tries to organize his thoughts. “Eddie left for Texas. And well, I took over the rent for the house. It’s—It’s mine now.”

Tommy glances past Buck into the house, taking in some the still half-unpacked boxes stacked in a corner of the living room. His voice is quiet when he asks, “So you didn’t move in with Eddie?” as though he still needs to hear the answer from Buck’s lips. 

“No, definitely not.” Buck huffs out a laugh. 

And then it hits him. His pulse races. He’s talking to tommy. Standing in the doorway of his new place, having a conversation he never thought he’d get to have again. 

For all the times he’s imagined this, about what he’d say if he ever got the chance, he hadn’t believed it would actually happen. Now that it is happening, all the words he’d practiced in his head feel like nothing. Like they could never be enough to encompass the enormity of his feelings. 

But he does know one thing—Buck doesn't want this moment to end. 

“Were you looking for Eddie?” he asks, hoping Tommy will keep talking to him. 

Tommy hesitates before a determined look crosses his face. “I went to the loft.” 

Oh…oh.

“You…you did?” 

“I got there and you didn't answer the door. So I thought you were on shift. Waited a couple of hours, before one of your neighbors told me you’d moved out,” Tommy pauses, his voice going quiet. “They said you'd left LA.” 

Buck’s stomach twists in a flurry of nerves, mixed with something warm. Something that makes his heart pick up speed and his breath hitch. Tommy had gone looking for him. 

“You came to ask Eddie about me?” 

Tommy chuckles, embarrassed. “I didn't even stop to think. The next thing I knew, I was in my truck and making my way here.” 

Buck exhales sharply, the weight of the past couple of months pressing against his ribs. And suddenly, he wants. He wants so much to talk, to fix things, to get another chance at this. He’s still nervous, still scared he’ll be rejected. But he plows ahead anyways. 

“Do you—uh…” His voice wavers, but he pushes through. “Do you want to come in? Maybe continue talking?” He tries to keep the hope out of his voice, knows he failed. 

But he’s trying to be careful, not to push too hard. Because if Tommy leaves now, he doesn't know when, or if, he'll even get another chance like this. Doesn't know if he can take Tommy walking away from him again. 

Yet Tommy doesn’t look like he’s planning to leave. Not anymore. Since knocking on his door, something in him has softened. His shoulders are looser, his eyes brighter and his mouth has lost the tightness it had. His lips twitch into a small, hopeful smile. It's not his Tommy smile. But Buck thinks he can get it there. Wants the chance to try. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, voice quiet but determined. “I’d like that.” 

Buck’s breath stutters for a second before he grins wide, stepping aside to let Tommy in. Into his house. And hopefully, back into his life.

[juiceeypeach]

𓆉 lads fic recs 𓆉

[★] peach’s pick

[♡] fluff

[𖤐] smut/suggestive

[☾] angst

[𖦹] crack

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ S 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

★ (UN)PROFESSIONAL. chuluoyi.

𖤐☾.

5.2k

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★ JEALOUSY INCARNATE. chuluoyi.

♡𖤐☾𖦹.

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★ BANE OF EXISTENCE. chuluoyi.

♡𖤐.

unk. word count

part three to STRICTLY (UN)PROFESSIONAL. you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

★ THE MAN & HIS LADY. chuluoyi.

♡𖤐☾.

unk. word count

part four to STRICTLY (UN)PROFESSIONAL. everyone acknowledges you as his woman, but how far will he go for you when he realizes you are in danger?

★ WINNERS KEEPERS. chuluoyi.

♡𖤐☾.

unk. word count

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★ CATCH ME IF YOU CAN. chuluoyi.

♡𖤐𖦹.

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𖤐.

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♡☾𖤐.

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♡.

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ Z 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

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𖤐.

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★ DISOBEDIENT WIVES. illou-sainte.

𖤐.

unk word count.

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★ EVERY ANSWER, ALWAYS. iraot.

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☾.

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★ DOCTOR, DOCTOR. shouyuus.

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𖤐☾.

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♡☾.

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THE LADY WIFE. chuluoyi.

𖦹♡.

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BODY SHOT. luvzayne.

𖤐.

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ R 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

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𖤐.

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ C 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

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★ CUM HOME. aomiiine.

𖤐.

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GOOD ENOUGH. cinnamorollcrybaby.

𖤐.

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RUN AWAY. yandere-sins.

𖤐☾.

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YOUR MAN. plutotheplum.

𖤐.

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EYES ON YOU. kutepil.

𖤐.

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ X 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

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𖤐.

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ MULTI/POLY 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

FLASHING. tbaluver.

𖦹𖤐.

unk. word count

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COMFORTING. kirbmey.

𖤐.

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BEST DREAMS. poisonf0rest.

𖤐.

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♡𖤐.

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𖤐.

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COOKOUT. chibichibi-mia.

𖦹♡.

unk. word count

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BITING. oncasette.

♡.

unk. word count

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RAMBLINGS. alynnia.

♡ 𖤐.

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SAY MY NAME. dadddybangtan.

𖤐.

3.3k.

xavier overhears reader & sylus together and wants to join in on the fun. starcrow x reader.

FRAT LADS. onacasette.

♡𖤐.

unk word count.

frat boy!LADS HCs

★ WHY CHOOSE. cinnamorollcrybaby.

𖦹♡𖤐.

unk. word count

poly!LADS x reader/MC series.

★ WELCOME HOME. lovegasmic.

𖤐.

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ZAYNE TEACHING. deepspacenova.

♡𖤐𖦹.

unk word count

now that caleb is back and you & zayne are together, he has to learn from zayne all the things you like. poly!snowapple x reader.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ blurbs/drabbles 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ visuals 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

borders : dollywons

[n1-adora-fan]

I love the messy messy women of she ra so much

Adora, you self-sacrificing to a fault, poor communicator, valiant, full of a horrible inner critic, noble, victim of abuse who is not immune from repeating the cycle but despite it still tries her best to make things better, refusing to give up on anyone, determined, imperfect person, I love you.

Catra, you self-isolating, short-tempered, playful, scared, prone to lashing out, self-destructive, guarded, sweet, volatile, able to quickly do the right thing in a crisis, acknowledging of your previous mistakes and making an effort to fix all of the things you messed up, soft, imperfect person, I love you.

Glimmer, you hotheaded, overly confident, struggling to appreciate all you love until you lose it, wrapped up in your own beliefs, funny, quicker to act than to think, despite not realizing the error of her ways before the breaking point still trying to fix the results, learning to see nuance, imperfect person, I love you.

[naomi-nana]

✎ᝰ. too boring! . have the real me! series

in which a certain someone from ignihyde made a game called twisted wonderland with them in it, and you ended up ignoring the real them over their game self. how would they react?

featuring : floyd leech, (cameo appearance: riddle, kalim, azul, jade, idia)

cw : gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff, nothing else aside from grammar errors because english is not my first language🙏 also maybe ooc floyd???

a/n : this is some type of series!!! i plan to write this prompt with other characters too:3 i hope yall enjoy it!!

when he first heard that you're playing a game that replicates night raven college, he's ecstatic and immediately asks to play with you. he was a little disappointed to find out that it's a single-player game, though. but that's okay. you can always take turns!

yet, after a few minutes, he got bored of the game and decided that both of you should be doing something else. to his surprise, you refused and kept playing the game. "huh? you dont wanna play with me, shrimpy?" he asked, furrowing his brows at you. you didn't reply, though, and continued to level up his game character in it, which irks him even more.

well, fine! he can play with jade. so he walked out of the room and went to the lounge. only to see jade carefully looking over a bunch of papers. "what're those?" he asked, putting his hands in his pocket. jade only replied with a short, "assignments", and didn't further elaborate, which annoys floyd.

okay, fine. he can go and play with azul. but when he arrives in the vip room, he sees azul playing the game you recently played, with a blue tablet floating beside him. "hey, azul, come 'n play with me for a sec. im bored." azul hums in acknowledgement before replying, "sorry, but i am quite busy developing the microtransaction of this game. you should go ahead and play with jade or name, floyd."

and that's when floyd explodes.

"man, everybody's so busy! so is jade and shrimpy! you guys are so boring!" he then storms out of the vip room, stomping his foot like a child. "... please pay no mind to him." azul turns to the floating tablet, idia, with an apologetic smile. "is he always throwing temper tantrums?" idia asked, to which azul just brushed it off and continues talking about the game.

for the next few hours, all floyd did was walk around campus with a pout on his face. he looks like he's about to get angry at everyone, so people are steering out of his way immediately. and that's when he finally met kalim and riddle.

kalim asked why floyd is alone today, since he's always with either azul and jade, just jade, or you. floyd said that everyone back in the dorm is busy and that he's bored. he also added that you ignored him for a game.

"a game? hmm, if i may ask, is the game called twisted wonderland? if that is so, everyone seems to be fixated on it right now." riddle replied, mentioning the name of the game which made floyd pouts even more, if that's possible.

"waaah! i get you, i'd be sad too if my partner ignored me over a game ..." kalim chimed in, feeling empathy towards floyd. "maybe you should tell them that you feel sad about it!"

"huh? iunno how to say it, though. how would ya say it, sea otter, goldfishie?" he asks, finally wiping off the pout on his face. the two stayed silent for a while, before riddle finally replied, "i suggest you tell them about how you feel towards the game and their behavior after that. maybe something like, 'i do not appreciate you playing a game that steals others' voices and reveal their family matters to the public eye. i suggest you stop playing it and stop ignoring me'. that should work, no?"

it seems like riddle is venting his frustrations towards the game instead. kalim hums before sharing his opinion about the matter. "nah, i think that's a little too formal! you should pour your feelings into it, you know? like, 'baabe, i dont like it when you ignore me over a game character... especially since you have me! let's put down the game and throw a feast with me, okay?'. how's that?!" he seemed a little convincing until he added the second part.

"cmon, sea otter ... throwin' a feast on a whim is kinda your thing, yknow." riddle nods along, (rarely) agreeing with floyd. he decided that he's going nowhere asking people with a different mindset about it, so he went to just confront you himself.

he walks over to octavinelle and goes back to his room, and he sees you still playing the game. really? after hours? he grumbles before laying beside you on the bed. "shrimpy, pay attention to me ..."

well, that got your attention fast. "i don't like how yer playin' the game with my character in it instead of talking to me ... it's annoyin'. i was very sad about that. so, put it down and play with me, 'kay?"

but of course you did. you turned off your phone and embraced him in your arms while apologizing over and over.

achievement unlocked: happy eel!!

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use(with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[casuallyanidiot]

Omg your yandere coworker *chef's kiss*

I imagine he's just frustrated and angry because he can't believe he's fallen for a loser like reader. Like they are such a mess all the time. So soft and easy to tire. They look so out of place in this workplace environment.

But over time it starts to click that all he was to do is take them away and keep them at home. Reader shouldn't even be at work! Reader should be sitting pretty at home like the good little spouse he knows they are all that they are good for!

Man he'll have to come up with a plan to make that happen wouldn't he?

Thanks! He's awful! :)

I think the worst part about Yan coworker is that he believes he's actually a good person. Maybe if he just acknowledged how scummy he was, he wouldn't be half as bad.

He he's had enough of you stumbling all over yourself like an idiot. Yandere Coworker pulls you aside one day into a storage closet. He's trying so hard not to snap and fuck you stupid against some half empty shelves, so instead he settles for gripping your arms. Isn't he a gentleman? Anyways, he lays it out for you.

"You need to quit," He says simply. His voice is gruff and firm, and you blink in surprise. "What?" You stammer out. He's tall, intimidatingly so, and you tremble as he holds you. "No, no I'm not- I can't quit! This is my job! I know you don't really like me, but that's out of line," You hiss out and squirm away from him.

Yandere coworker realizes you really are very, very dumb. There's nothing in that stupid little head of yours, is there? You can't even tell how much he's looking out for you. You're crumbling under the weight of this job, and he can't stand seeing you so unhappy.

But he makes enough money for the two of you. He can handle this while you can't. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he can't figure out just what in the world you would be good at. He tries to picture you as successful at anything and comes up blank. Huh... You really are good for nothing. Except,,, you would probably do well if you didn't have to do anything at all.

Yandere coworker starts to think about how much prettier you would be if you got proper sleep. He likes the way you look in corporate attire (That is on the rare occasions where you don't look like a hot mess), but he bets you'd like to be in expensive and revealing loungewear even more. The only thing you would have to do is keep your house tidy, and keep yourself nice and presentable for whoever provided for you. Yeah, you'd be perfect for that. And guess what? He could give you that.

Yandere coworker knows that you're far too stubborn for your own good. He begins to actively sabotage your work. He inserts spelling errors into your reports, changes the numbers of any potential client before you have the chance to make a sale. He allows himself to be more officially promoted, and with the new power he has, he assigns you increasingly difficult tasks.

You try and report him for essentially bullying you, but the complaint is thrown out with little care. He's one of the best employees the company had ever seen, and you were just some bumbling broad who couldn't even spell their own name right on official documents.

Before long, you're fired. Yandere Coworker uses his position in the company and many connections he has to essentially black list you.

You can't get a decent job in your field anymore. Plus you begin to get behind on rent and bills. Your life is going to shit, yet you still refuse to take him up on his many offers. It's infuriating, and he just wants to put you in a place that he knows you'll be safe and happy in.

Yandere Coworker just thinks your too dumb to realize how kind he's being. He hopes that you're smart enough to recognize how nice the trunk of a luxury car is. After all, you're going to be there for a while until he can get you to his home where you'll never have to use that useless brain of yours again.

[drippingghoneyy]

I Plan To -Viktor x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Viktor share a secret history, known only to you and him. The reader grows weary of waiting, leading them to distance themselves, but who can resist?…

Genre/ Pairing: drabble, Implied smut (?), Viktor x GN!Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI!, tension, teasing, jealousy, possessiveness, dom!Viktor, GN!Reader, dom/sub dynamics, pet names… (lmk if I missed any!)

Word Count: 2.1k.

Notes: Reblog and like!! I read every comment, they make my whole day! If you find any spelling errors, no you didn't. Grammarly don’t fail me now 🙂 If you don't like nsfw content, please don't read it!

The first time it happened, it was a mere accident. Or so you liked to tell yourself. Late one evening in the lab, the soft hum of the machines and the flicker of candlelight had created an atmosphere thick with tension. Viktor had been explaining his latest research findings, his eyes alight with excitement, his voice a soothing rumble in the quiet space. 

Your gaze had kept slipping from his notes to the curve of his jaw, the way his fingers danced over the parchment. The air between you had grown charged, until a stray touch of your hand on his arm had sent a jolt through both of you. He'd looked up, and in that moment, the universe had narrowed to just the two of you.

Subtle glances grew into lingering stares, and stolen touches became something more. Viktor was dominant, not in the way that he ruled with an iron fist, but in the way he knew exactly what he wanted and how to coax it from the world around him. His confidence was like a magnetic field, and you, a sweet assistant, of course found yourself inexplicably drawn to the edge of his orbit.

He'd praise your intellect, your dedication to the work, and you'd blush, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the nearby Bunsen burner. He'd lean in just a little closer, and you'd catch a whiff of the faint scent of his cologne—spicy and alluring. The line between professional and personal blurred until one night, after hours of a shared passion for science, you found yourselves crossing it.

That first time, he'd walked you to your room, the silence of the academy hanging around you like a velvet shroud. His hand had found yours, and your hearts had pounded in a delicious rhythm that matched your footsteps. You hadn't even realized what was happening until you were both standing in your doorway, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. A look passed between you, one that said everything without uttering a single word. You'd invited him in, and he hadn't needed to be asked twice.

The secret meetings grew more frequent, stolen moments in the shadowy corners of the lab or behind locked doors in his study. It was thrilling, but it was also exhausting. You were torn between your desire for him and the frustration that came with his refusal to acknowledge your feelings beyond the physical.

So, you started to pull away. It was subtle at first, a shift in your schedule here, a missed rendezvous there. You threw yourself into your studies and experiments with renewed vigor. The late nights in the library were no longer spent in heated whispers but in furrowed brows and pen ink smeared across pages.

Your mind was filled with theorems and hypotheses rather than his touch. You ignored the ache that grew with every passing day, the emptiness that settled in your chest when you walked past his empty lab.

Weeks turned into a silent dance of avoidance. You'd pass him in the halls with a nod and a forced smile, the kind that didn't reach your eyes. You had too much to do, too much to prove to yourself and the world. Assignments piled up, deadlines loomed, and projects demanded your attention.

Each step away from his lab was a silent declaration of independence, a rejection of the shackles of a secret affair that had begun to chafe. You found solace in the predictable patterns of your research, the comforting ritual of your experiments. The hiss of steam and the smell of chemicals had become your new lovers, demanding yet fulfilling in their own cold, unfeeling way.

On this particular day off, the sun had kissed your cheeks with a warmth that seemed to whisper of freedom as you went about your business in the bustling streets of Piltover. The cobblestones beneath your boots echoed with the promise of a day filled with your own pursuits, away from the prying eyes and whispers of the academy.

You'd visited the market, bartered for rare ingredients needed for your latest experiment, and even treated yourself to a cup of steaming coffee at your favorite café. The sweet scent of baking bread wafted through the air, mingling with the metallic tang of the city's ever-present industrial heartbeat.

As the afternoon shadows grew longer, you made your way to the lab, the weight of your pack filled with books and equipment a testament to your dedication. You pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the familiar coolness, the scent of dust and knowledge greeting you like an old friend. 

The lab was empty, save for the ever-present glow of the crystal tech that hummed quietly in the background. The place felt eerily silent without the usual banter between you and your colleagues. But today was different. Today, you had agreed to help Jayce, and that meant a brief re-entry into the space you had so carefully extricated yourself from.

You set your things aside and began to prep the equipment, your mind racing through the list of tasks you had set for yourself. The sound of your own breathing seemed amplified in the quiet, a stark contrast to the days when you and Viktor had filled the room with the music of your passionate whispers.

You tried to ignore the memories that clung to the corners like shadows, the ghosts of your former self that whispered of what you'd been giving up. Instead, you focused on the here and now, the thrill of discovery that awaited in your research.

The hours ticked by, the soft click of glassware and the scratch of quill on parchment the only noises to break the silence. You had just finished calibrating an instrument when the door swung open, the sound echoing through the room.

You looked up, expecting Jayce, but instead found Viktor standing there, his eyes cold and distant. He didn't say a word, just strode over to his workstation, his movements sharp and precise. A flicker of annoyance danced across his features, as if your very presence was an unwelcome interruption to his solitude.

Your heart skipped a beat, a traitorous reminder of the attraction that still simmered between you. You straightened your back, determined not to let him affect you. You had your own work to do, your own path to forge. 

The tension grew thick, a palpable force that seemed to pulse with every beat of your heart. You decided to ignore him, to act as if he were just another piece of the lab's furniture. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, his silence grew deafening, a stark contrast to the electric conversations you used to share.

Finally, unable to resist the urge, you called out to him, "Jayce said he'd be by so you guys could work on some things, and asked if I'd help. You guys are still doing that tonight?"

Viktor's head snapped up, his gaze piercing. "Jayce?" he repeated, the name leaving a bitter taste in the air. "What does he need from us?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to ignore the way his eyes raked over you. "Some kind of new project. He said it was urgent."

Viktor's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "And he just assumed you'd come running?"

The accusation in his tone stung, and you couldn't help but laugh, the sound sharp and brittle. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?" you said, your voice a challenge. "It's not like I have anything better to do on my day off, right?"

He took a step closer, his expression darkening. "Why do you always have to be so...defiant?" The word hung in the air like a challenge, a silent dare to push him further.

"Is that what you think?" you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm thick in your voice. "That I come here to get bitched at?"

Viktor's eyes flashed with something that was not quite anger, but something far more primal. "You know exactly why you come here," he murmured, his voice low and intense. It was true; his authority and how he chose to use it had become an addiction, a secret thrill you craved even as you hated the feeling of being so utterly under his control.

You feeling emboldened by the challenge in his gaze, replied with a smirk, "Oh, I see. So it is all about power with you, is it?" You hadn't meant to goad him, but the words slipped out, a tiny rebellion against his coldness. You turned back to your work, pretending to ignore him, but every nerve ending was tingling with anticipation.

Suddenly, the sound of ripping fabric filled the room, making you jump.

"What the hell are you doing?" you asked without turning around, a smirk playing on your lips. You knew exactly what he was up to. It was a game you'd played before, one of dominance and submission that had become your twisted dance in the shadows of the academy.

When you did finally look up, you met his eyes, a thrill racing through you as you took in the long strip of cloth in his hand. The fire in his gaze was unmistakable, and you felt a shiver of excitement dance down your spine.

You knew this game all too well, the one where he'd prove his dominance and you'd pretend to resist, even though deep down, you craved the loss of control. It was a game you loved to play...

"You forget yourself," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air. "You forget who it is you're speaking to."

You rolled your eyes, the gesture filled with a blend of exasperation and arousal. "Do I really?" you replied, turning back to your work, pretending to ignore the electricity that crackled in the air between you.

The sound of his footsteps followed by the clicking of his crutch grew louder as he approached, each step echoing in the cavernous space of the lab. You could feel his presence behind you, a physical force that sent shivers down your spine.

You rolled your eyes and turned to face him, your heart racing. He towered over you, the fabric still clutched in his hand, his expression a storm of unspoken intent.

"I'm not afraid of you, Viktor," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. But as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but remember the way he'd looked at you when you were wrapped in his arms, the tenderness that had briefly softened his features before he'd pushed you away. It was like looking into the eyes of a wild animal, one that could either purr or pounce without warning.

He stepped closer, the fabric still clutched in his hand. "You should be," he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to resonate in your very core. His gaze was unyielding, a silent command that sent a thrill of fear and desire through your body.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, spinning you around with surprising agility despite his injured leg. In one swift motion, he bound your hands behind your back, the cloth tight and unyielding.

You gasped, a mix of surprise and arousal escaping your lips. His grip on your hair was firm, the pain a sudden, sharp reminder of the dynamics that had always underpinned your secret encounters. But this time, there was something different in his eyes—a coldness, a detachment that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You want to play games?" he said, his breath hot against your ear. "Fine. But remember, I always win sweetness."

He yanked you closer, your back pressed against his chest, you could feel the heat of his desire through the layers of your clothing. You squirmed, trying to pull away, but his grip was like iron, his fingers digging into your skin just shy of pain. His other hand reached around, capturing your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his.

"You want this," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that seemed to resonate through your very bones. "You always want this."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his intense gaze, your cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and desire.

You bit back a smile, feeling the thrill of the chase, and whispered, "Fuck you," with a laugh that you hoped conveyed the right mix of brattiness and challenge.

Viktor's smile grew predatory as he watched you struggle against the bonds, your eyes flashing with both defiance and want. He leaned down, his breath a warm caress against your cheek, and whispered, "Don't worry, my dear, I plan to."

[eggcats]

Radiostatic fic where Vox "loses a bet" and has to fight Alastor dressed in some version of a skirt and/or dress - or just like, the feminine version of his typical outfit. (Vox doesn't acknowledge he kind of likes the outfit in any way, but he still doesn't want to meet his RIVAL wearing it.)

Except. Alastor doesn't treat him any different. They fight as normal, and Alastor gives him all the same insults.

Finally, Vox is like, "HAVE YOU NOT NOTICED WHAT I'M WEARING?!" and Alastor is just like, "Of course I have, old pal, you're finally wearing something OTHER than that typical eyesore of yours!"

Vox: What.

Alastor: You didn't really think your competing stripes and colors were fashionable, did you? Not to mention that atrocious little hat you always wear! Why, I'd wondered if perhaps I should introduce you to my optometrist!

Vox doesn't even know how to handle this. Both Vel and Val are giving him shit and making fun of him "having" to fight Alastor in that outfit (he didn't really HAVE to, but he can't resist the opportunity to fuck with that deer) but Alastor didn't even seem to care? At all? What???

If Vox was gonna expect someone to have bad opinions on shit like this, it'd DEFINITELY be the deer who refuses to acknowledge it's not the 1930s anymore.

Alastor: You don't honestly believe you're the first man I've met in a skirt, do you? This is hell, my dear! I hardly see how what you're wearing takes away from your obnoxious clout chasing, after all!

Vox: Okay, fuck you for real then, I guess.

Does he realize he's transfem? Does he embrace some femininity he's refused to touch for years because he's transmasc and didn't want to be misgendered? Or does he just like to dress up in pretty skirts and dresses? You decide.

Either way, he starts wearing it more often (and he'll electrocute anyone who tries to say he's dressing up FOR Alastor, by the way, he's not. It means nothing to him that Alastor said he liked that outfit more than his usual one, and it has no correlation to him stopping wearing that outfit when he knows he'll see Alastor. No connection at all. Fuck you for even thinking that.)

It DOES lead to a hilarious misunderstanding at the hotel when Vox shows up at the hotel in a dress and Alastor immediately attacks him, only for Charlie to (tearfully) break them apart and force Alastor to go to sensitivity training for his intolerance. Vox is too busy laughing to correct her.

(Vox then chokes on his spit when the next time he sees Alastor, ALASTOR is the one in a dress because this was Charlie's way of "showing him the error of his ways" and Alastor gave up trying to explain he was attacking Vox for being VOX and NOT for wearing a dress. Vox sees an ankle and passes out like a Victorian man about it.)

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Well now I'm stuck with the idea of vampire trap Stan getting re-kidnapped by Bill during his denial phase. Because while I think normal Bill would think this is funny, edgy teen Bill might get really annoyed Stan refuses to acknowledge his cool edgy vampire-y-ness. Que a comedy of errors of Bill doing his best to convince Stan vampires exist without killing him from sheer annoyance, and Stan clinging to his denial by sheer willpower alone. He did not just watch that guy turn to dust in the sun. Spontaneous combustion is obviously what that was! (At that point give the man a metal. He deserves it)

Edgy Bill's annoyance towards Stan vs Stan's iron denial fight! Bill wants to kill or use him as bait so bad but his denial towards their whole existence is infuriating him.

Bill gets sidetracked trying to prove he (and Stan) are vampires and Stan is Not Looking. He's coming up with all kinds of excuses, blinks at convenient times, telling Bill he should get checked, because he thinks he remembers canabilism has serious health effects. Hey, is this why Fords convinced vampires are real? Because Bill's really into biting peoples throats out? This is messed up.

Ford rolls up to rescue Stan to find Bill tearing his hair out and screaming, and they both have a bizarre moment of connection where they commiserate about Stan's denial. Bill whips around, hearts in his eyes while Fords grimacing about agreeing with his nemesis about being annoyed with Stan's denial. Bills too high on having Ford agree with him to notice Ford breaking Stan out and leaving,

[hiddenzev]

Second Confession: Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Already having a crush on Joel for a year now, she was asked to be his patrol partner.

Chapter Warnings - Angst, One-sided love, Unrequited Love, Idiots in Love, a hint of fluff

WC: 1.6k

series masterlist . AO3

A/N: This is my first time committing to write a complete series of a fic. Also my first time posting it on tumblr so i'm still navigating and figuring things out. I love reading unrequited love with a happy ending stories so this has been living in my head rent free for awhile. I speak broken English most of the time (singlish iykyk) so there might be errors in my writing here and there, sorry bout that. Idk if anyone is gonna read this but if you do, i hope you enjoy it. This is prolly gonna be a 5 part series so the next few chapters will be longer than this.

Knock, Knock, Knock

You finish up washing your hands in the sink before shouting over your shoulders, “Coming!”

You dried your hands before making your way to the front door. You quickly put on your coat before opening the door and finding Tommy leaning against your porch with his hands in his front pockets.

“Good morning!” he say with a smile, “Ready to go?” he asks, turning his body to gesture them to walk out front. You nod your head and turn to lock your door. Both of you walk out and make your way to the cafeteria for breakfast as usual.

The cafeteria is filled with people in the morning. After getting your food, both of you made your way to the table in the corner with Maria, Ellie and Joel already seated eating their food. As you get closer, Tommy went to Maria’s side and bent down to kiss her on the cheek before sitting beside her. You sit down beside Ellie and gave your greetings to the group.

“Good morning,” you greet them.

“Morning.” Ellie greeted back with mouthful of food still in her mouth.

You get a nod from Maria as she looks up at you while eating her food. Maria has been nice to you from the moment you got to Jackson. Even though she can be strict and tough at times, that is what makes you admire her. You, on the other hand, are reserved and laid back. You are not a leader but more of a follower. That’s why you respect her a lot because of what she’s doing for the community.

It’s been 3 years since you arrived in Jackson, tattered with the remnants of the past and  the pain within you. It was difficult to adjust to the community at first but the couple currently sitting in front of you embraced you into the community with open arms without any judgement. They taught you everything that you need to know about Jackson and since then, you have been living here without much difficulties.

Unlike Maria, Joel does not even acknowledge your presence and keep on eating his breakfast with a frown on his face. You wonder if you will get to be the receiver of his smile one day. You had seen him smile a couple of times while talking to Tommy and you want to see his smile more often.

However, Joel is someone who distances himself from everybody else and has a tough exterior. People in Jackson find him intimidating and stay as far away as possible from him, scared to agitate and make him angry. He’s always tensed around everyone except the ones that he consider his people like Tommy and Ellie.

Joel and Ellie came to Jackson a year ago to find Tommy and that was when you saw him letting his guard down for the first time when embracing his brother in the middle of the town. After that, he had returned back in his shell refusing to open up to anybody. In the beginning, you tried to come up to him and strike a conversation but he always reply with one word answer or silence or a glare that can burn through your skull. You understand that after everything that happened to this world, it’s tough to live with optimism and hope like before.

Ever since he arrived, he had caught your eye. With his rugged appearance, tic in his jaw every now and then, a face that doesn’t show you a hint of happiness and you still can’t take your eyes of him when he’s around. You don’t know why you seek to look or ask about him when he’s not around. You have been harbouring this feeling towards him for a year now. It’s starting to bubble up on the surface and you’re afraid that you can’t contain it anymore.

You shake those thoughts away and start to dig in your food. Breakfast is filled with Ellie telling everybody on the table about things that she learned in school and asking us about life before the outbreak. Tommy and Maria answer her questions and Joel scoffs at what she said sometimes. You watch her talk about life before the outbreak with wonder in her eyes and you can’t help but smile at her. She brings up the feeling of serenity in you when you see the curiosity in her eyes.

Seeing the world through a kid’s eye is something that we adults cannot afford to do anymore. You are caught up in what Ellie is saying that you don’t realise that Joel, who is sitting on the other side of Ellie, is looking at you. You stare in each other’s eyes for a few seconds before he look away and go back to finishing his food.

“How are you feeling today?” Maria ask you.

“I’m good,” you answer, tearing your eyes away from Joel.

“Do you mind covering Tim on patrols next week?” Joel looks up hearing this. Tim is Joel’s patrol partner. They’ve been partners for almost a month now. Apparently, Tim and Joel don’t get along well. I mean, no one gets along well with Joel. Anyone that got assigned to be his partner always backed out after a few weeks. They cannot find anyone that can handle him except for Tommy. For awhile, Tommy was his partner but they cannot let him stick with him all the time as they needed Tommy’s help somewhere else sometimes.

You look at Joel to gauge his reaction. His stern look towards Maria is not breaking.

“Yeah I don’t mind.” You turn your head to look at the couple. Tommy is giving you an apologetic look knowing Joel is difficult to work with. He look at Joel who has turn his eyes away from Maria and now towards him.

“Joel, please. We don’t have anyone else.” Tommy says with a begging look on his face. Joel stares at him without saying anything.

“Oh come on man, is it so difficult to not be mean?” Ellie breaks the silence. Joel frown at her as she continues to speak.

“She’s my friend and she’s nice,” her eyes widen to emphasise her words.

“I don’t want you to infect her with your ‘old man attitude’,” she air quote annoyingly, making Joel to soften his eyes a little bit.

“Besides, she’s the only one that can stand you and your grumpiness.” Joel look at her confused. You are confused too by what she said. What does she mean by that? Tommy and Maria exchange glances before Maria speaks again.

“If everyone is ok with it, I’ll see you at the gates for patrol next week.” She looks at everyone for confirmation before stopping to look at you. You give her a nod before she stands up to start her day. Everybody quietly leaves before you are left with Ellie alone who still has a little bit of food to finish.

You timidly ask her about what she meant earlier, “Ellie, what do you mean when you said I’m the only one that can stand him and his grumpiness?”

Ellie looks at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She smirks and continue to eat her food not answering your question.

“Ellie!” you urge her to answer you.

She just laugh at you and stands up to return her tray. You are left alone being confused.

Feeling a little bit sluggish from the day, you make yourself a nice hot tea and make your way to your front porch. You sit down on your chair, immersing yourself in the calm stillness of the night. You have always enjoy the nights in Jackson more than the daytime. 

As you are relaxing, what happened earlier today, creeps up in your mind. The way Joel was looking at you makes your heart beat faster. What was he thinking while looking at you like that? Also, what did Ellie meant when she said that I’m the only one that can stand him and his grumpiness? You did not spend a lot of time with him alone for her to think that way.

You are perplexed on joining him on patrols, knowing the fact that a lot of people had a tough time with him. You cannot back out from it now and you are taking this opportunity to get to know him better.

While you are in thinking about Joel, you hear the strumming of a guitar nearby. It must be him. Joel lives adjacent to your house and you know that he plays the guitar some nights thinking no one is around to hear him play. You are not able to see him play because he plays the guitar at his back porch all the time. You did get to see him play once when he was back facing you, sitting at the edge of his porch, taking in the sunset. You had thought it was a beautiful view even though he wasn’t facing you.

You did not tell anyone about your feelings for him but you think that maybe Tommy has caught on to it. Sometimes he caught you looking at his brother and he would give you a mischievous smirk.

You have been wanting to tell Joel about your feelings that you’ve kept for about a year now. You also know that it is a risk as he will probably react badly to it. You do not expect him to accept it. You are doing it mostly for yourself. Call it selfish or whatever but you think it’s better to let those feelings out and move on with your life without keeping a secret that will only eat you from the inside.

Having a crush for a year is a long time and you think that it won’t progress any further so you’d rather do it fearlessly with no regrets. With a determination to confess , you let yourself listen to him playing the guitar for awhile more before calling it a night.

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